It's been too long..

This blog has been looking unloved for too long.

I have been absent for many good, sensible reasons. First, I have been busy writing about gender and clothing, which didn't quite fit with the NWL focus. Second, there has been an explosion of blogs and social media about sustainable consumption, and I felt less pressure to add my two cents. 

Still, I feel the occasional tug to check in here and update any readers about my personal journey and share my insights on events and trends in Consumerland. I've been curating three collections on Scoop.it -- Aging Well, Looking Good, Fashion and Culture, and Pink and Blue. Aging Well, Looking Good is my stockpile for my next book (mental title: Age Appropriate). Fashion and Culture is a resource for my course, Fashion and Consumer Culture. Pink and Blue is all things gender and appearance. Notice: I have no ethical/sustainable/minimalist consumption collection. 

Frankly, it seems like we first-world denizens have all the information we need about consumerism and its impact. If our grandchildren come of age in a dirtier, more dangerous, more divided world, it won't be from lack of facts, but lack of will.

The Next Generation

My daughter is having a baby!

Well, not for another few weeks, but it's still given me an occasion to step back and consider procreation, parenting and consumption for the first time in many, many years. Maria was born in the twelfth year of our marriage, after much discussion and ansgt about our relationship, our finances and the Future of the Planet. I was part of a that group of Baby Boomers who delayed parenting, considered being child-free and, when we finally took the plunge, committed to no more than two children. So becoming a parent was, in part, a decision that had ethical dimensions. So did the preparations: cloth diapers, cutting down my childhood dresser to create a changing table, using home made or hand-me-down clothing. But it was clear how hard it would be to escape consumerism.

I wish my daughter and son-in-law well. They have a much stronger community of support than we did, because their friends are on the same path. Her husband was raised in a very self-sufficient household, on a farmstead in West Virginia, and he knows how to plant, preserve and pickle. They are both very selective about what they use and buy, to an extent that intimidates me! After all, I gave up on cloth diapers at three months.

Christina and Zoe

Since the horrible events in Tucson, Arizona, my thoughts have been drawn to two little girls, both about nine years old. Had they met, these two vivacious, outgoing children might have been great friends, but their lives only intersected on a single day: September 11, 2001. On that bright Tuesday, as we know too well, Christina Taylor Greene was born, a symbol of hope in a terrible, frightening time. That very morning, Zoe Falkenberg, just two months shy of her 9th birthday, had boarded American Airlines flight 77 with her parents and 3-year-old sister on her way to an adventure in Australia.

Zoe's mom was a former colleague; we were also neighbors, members of the same babysitting co-op. September 11 will always summon up Zoe's face, and my still-confused horror that anyone could be so villainous as to look at that child and see a de-humanized, symbolic target for their hatred. Of all the victims in Tucson, it is Christina whose face and story haunt me, somehow joined now with Zoe in the sad trajectory of our recent past.

There were children born all over America on January 8, 2011. What kind of America awaits them in 2020? What can we do to break this destructive cycle of hatred, dehumanization and destruction? Minister better to poor in spirit? Pursue more just policies, here and abroad? Address our culture's embrace of violence? Speak to each other with respect and care? Turn away from those in the media who profit from inflaming our fear and anger?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. For the next Zoe, the next Christina and your children and mine. For Glenn Beck's children and Barack Obama's children. For all of us.

Janustide - my six days of intention

For years now, the week between Christmas and New Year's Day has been my own private holiday. I've finally decided to give it a name: Janustide. Janus, you may recall, was the Roman god for whom January is named, whose two faces look to the past and the future. He was the god of beginnings, endings and of gates, doors and doorways.

My Janustide is six days of intentional transition from the old year to the new, a mixture of physical and mental decluttering, reflection, planning and preparation. It's the third day, and my home office is nearly ready for the coming semester; one more day will do complete the job. I have moved three large bags of unneeded stuff to the basement for the next charity pick-up, and filled two paper recycling bins. While I work, I listen to books or podcasts (Zencast is a favorite.) A small notebook and pen lie on my desk, ready to capture fleeting ideas or reminders.

I'm curious; do others have the same turn-of the-year rituals?

Update: My office is ready for 2011! Yes, that's a sewing machine at the far right.

My money and my life

This week in my "simplicity and anti-consumption" class, we are going to focus on efforts that attempt to address personal economics and what the Nearings called "bread work" -- earning a living. Many of these stories overlap with other dimensions of the simple life and anti-consumption, but the main theme is the management of time and energy. I have posted a few resources on the course's companion site, Thoreau's America. These are my own musings on personal economics and simplicity.

From the time I left for college until I finished graduate school at 31, I lived a frugal life by necessity. As a scholarship student who worked part-time and summers to pay for room, board and books, the wife of a graduate student and then a graduate student myself, my skills in making do were finely honed. Spring break trips as an undergraduate? Unheard of. Joining a sorority? Not in the cards. We drove cheap cars we serviced ourselves, and vacations were spent either visiting family and friends, or camping.

When I finished my PhD in 1980, suddenly we had two full adult incomes for the first time in our 10-year marriage. It was a considerable shock; we literally had no idea how to spend the additional money. We booked a weekend at a B&B for our anniversary, subscribed to a few more magazines and went to more concerts. The next thirty years brought a daughter, a house and then a son -- and everything that comes with kids and home-ownership in middle-class America. It also brought recessions, job loss and financial insecurity, despite my steady income as a tenured professor. We've tried to spend wisely and save for college, retirement and emergencies, and for the most part have kept our debt under control. I believe that it is impossible to discuss "the simple life" in America today without including the role of consumer debt.

To live simply in America today means to balance work and leisure, consumption and production, income and expenditure (and debt) in a complex, dynamic society. The act of "balancing" is not the same as being motionless. Try standing on one foot and you can feel the muscles in your body make tiny, continuous adjustments to help you maintain that position. My life is like that: I monitor accounts, plan my time and reflect on my current state of mind and body in order to stay in balance, to the best of my ability.

To be honest, I am never completely in balance, but always having to correct and compensate for the imbalances in my life. Financially, that means making sure I pay my savings account first, to make sure I have funds for inevitable emergencies. I plan my work, to the extent I can, to leave time every day for pause and evaluation. My weekly schedule often includes a "walkabout", an unplanned day when I ride public transportation, visit a park or read at the local library. I am especially cautious about trading time and energy for money (agreeing to a paid speaking engagement or extra teaching) or trading money (which represents my time and energy) for very expensive things. No handbag is worth a week of my hard work, but I willingly exchange the same amount for a vacation with my family.

(In)voluntary Simplicity

One of the critiques of voluntary simplicity is that it is a choice made possible by privilege. What, after all,is the difference between frugality and poverty? Most readers of Walden know that Thoreau didn't really abandon civilization and live a life of deprivation. His friends provided society and occasional dinners and his mother did his laundry. He could essentially chose his level of poverty and abandon it whenever it was convenient.

My class happens to be reading and discussing Walden just as our furnace has died. A replacement arrives on Tuesday, but in the meantime the forecast is for daytime temperatures in the 20s and 30s. The indoor temperature is inching down, and I have no idea how cold the house could get. If we were wealthy, we'd board the dog and check into a nice hotel or bed and breakfast for the duration. But we are not, and a furnace already costs plenty; adding another $1000 to the tab is not possible.

So instead, I get to experience a few days of involuntary simplicity. Fortunately, we have a gas fireplace in the living room, a window unit heat pump in the family room and I plan to do a lot of baking and roasting in the oven. I am also a big fan of layers and long underwear, and my husband never gets cold. It remains to be seen whether or not this experience will encourage a more spiritual outlook, or a sense of living more deliberately. And no, Mr. Thoreau, I do not plan to pass the time felling trees.

Crafting as a Walkabout

For nearly two years, I've included a "walkabout" in my weekly schedule. It's an idea I adapted from a colleague's description of an Australian aboriginal practice of taking off from regular work for a short period of living in the bush. We were discussing it in the context of my up-coming sabbatical, because at the time I was trying to find a balance between setting up a rigid work schedule and wanting to have the time and mental space to "wander". I decided to experiment with weekly "walkabouts" -- days when I would let go of my work routine. I've stuck with the practice because it works. My productivity hasn't suffered, and the "walkabout" itself has resisted routinization.

When the weather is fine, I escape to the outdoors. I board the Metro at my local station; I have no idea where I'll get off, and sometimes I have ridden to the end of the line and part of the way back before deciding. While I ride, I listen to music. Sometimes I go to a garden, sometimes to zoo, sometimes a museum. if a work idea pops into my head, I write it down and let it go.

The weather was decidedly NOT fine this week; Friday was hot, humid and stormy. So I used crafting as my walkabout. Reaching into my stack of commenced projects, I spent the day making a simple shell in an autumn-hued paisley challis. Crafting lets me gather information through unused senses: feeling the soft drape of the fabric, listening to the clattering hum of my sewing machine, watching carefully as I sew each seam.  Crafting challenges me; challis loves to ravel, and I needed to figure out how to prevent that. Michael Pollan recently suggested that we have replaced cooking with watching other people cook on television. I wonder if our rich media culture hasn't done the same with gardening, carpentry and other crafts. My crafting walkabout was to a sewing show what my kitchen efforts are to Gina De Laurentis' creations. What is the advantage to working with my own hands, head and senses, instead of watching someone else? What synapses are being connected in my brain? What do I learn? How does it affect my relationship to the product of my effort? To be continued.

T-shirt angst

A couple of days ago, someone tried to give me a free t-shirt, and I turned it down. I am attending my denomination's annual General Assembly, an event that is full of energy and earnest enthusiasm for Doing the Right Thing. It's an election year this time around; we are choosing the person who will lead the denomination for the next four -- and possibly eight -- years, and that means all the usual campaign folderol. Each candidate has official buttons and t-shirts, given out free to supporters.

Here's the catch: I am not a fan of single- or limited use items, especially not clothing. I am also not a fan of conventional cotton t-shirts made under unknown working conditions. So I passed on the t-shirt. Being a Nice White Lady who is not inclined to lecture enthusiastic, well-meaning strangers, I also passed on the lecture running through my head  (and now into this blog -- oh, well). But if either of these candidates had offered more subtle t-shirt designs, badges or buttons that were made of recycled or sustainable materials, fair trade souvenirs or something other than disposable, wasteful gewgaws, they'd have an edge with me. And stop with the daily campaign newsletters, already.

But I do appreciate the opportunity to use "folderol" and "gewgaws".

Marybeth's Jacket - A True Story

Wordsmithing is a very odd craft. When I write blog posts, or work on my book, it sometimes seems I have nothing to show for my effort. It's hard for me to feel satisfied looking at characters on a screen, or a sheet of paper. This year I have probably spent more time making things -- cooking, knitting, crocheting, sewing -- than I have writing. Writing empties me, and making things restores me. Does this mean I am not really a writer at heart?Last week I wrote every morning, wrestling two recalcitrant chapters into order. Now I have a pile of paper, not unlike the pile of paper I had the week before. In the afternoons, I cut, stitched and ironed fabric, restoring a friend's battered thrift store jacket. The story continues here.

I wanted to do this project because the jacket needed it, I needed real work (the kind that ends with something tangible) and Marybeth is one of those women who always serves the cake at the party and forgets to save a piece for herself. Thank you, Marybeth, for trusting me with your jacket and for being my friend.

"Tightwad Gazette" author's take on the recession

One of the prime movers in the frugality movement of the 1990s was Amy Dacyczyn (pronounced sort of like "decision"), whose "Tightwad Gazette" newsletter inspired people all across the country to seek ways to live better for less. The Ann Arbor Business Review interviewed her at her home in Maine, where she still lives by her frugal principles, and it's an interesting read.

I don't agree with Dacyczn on every point, but -- as she points out -- neither of us is an economist. She faults people who took the subprime mortgage bait more than I would, and she thinks employees of the Big Three automakers are overpaid (she seems unaware the health care and legacy pension benefits parts of the equation).

Dacyczyn and I are just ordinary citizens -- sister Nice White Ladies, if you will -- who are trying to do the right thing for ourselves and our families, to live by our values. I agree with her that ""what's best for the economy is that every individual and individual family unit is in the best financial health possible" and I share her concern that too much self-sufficiency might not be "good for the economy at large", when that economy depends so heavily on consumer spending beyond necessity.

In the end, my primary concerns continue to be my own household's well-being and our impact on the planet, rather than on the economy. If I had much more money, I would probably not own more things, but better things and more locally-made things. Old Navy and Macy's should probably not count on me to help their bottom line.

Michelle Obama's help not enough for J. Crew

Just a quick link from my Saturday morning browse. J.Crew is eliminating 95 positions in its New York offices and suspending 401(k) company matching contributions. No merit-based pay increases, either. There's a still a chance that the Obama ladies can have an effect: watch the fall collection for styles like those worn by Sasha and Malia at the inauguration.

I used to love J. Crew, and used to have two identical denim skirts (I hemmed one at knee length and left the other mid-calf). But I dropped them back in the early nineties when they helped close down a local shop that sold catalog returns from various merchants. The offense: not destroying the J.Crew boxes for shoes, thus violating the agreement that all labels be removed from the merchandise. That seemed at the time to be incredibly short-sighted of J. Crew, since the store essentially offered them an outlet for their leftovers (some irregulars, but mostly returns for other reasons) and free publicity. After all, most the people who shopped there recognized the various Land's End, Eddie Bauer and J. Crew items from the catalogs, and getting the occasional item for a great low price only increased the love. This was back in the 90s, so perhaps I need to consider letting go of my grudge.

Frugality in the Face of Less

Unity Marketing released a survey of luxury spending by wealthy consumers yesterday, and the results are not really surprising. In the last quarter of 2008, these consumers (average yearly income just under $200,000) reduced their luxury spending (which includes "luxury fashion accessories, kitchenware, electronics and upscale home furnishings") by 6.4%. Clothing retailers, in general, are facing a tough consumer environment for at least the first three quarters of 2009. Ironically, one of the impediments may be the deep discounts they offered during the holiday season; getting people to pay full price after all those 75% off bargains may be tricky. Several of the articles I have read speculate that this new frugality may be permanent, and in my case, they might be right.

Right now, my financial situation -- a full year sabbatical at half pay -- is enforcing serious frugality. Although I have a wish list of purchases for when my income returns to normal (mostly electronics), I am also looking at retirement within 5-10 years. So if economists are looking for me -- and near-retirement Baby Boomers like me -- to help the retail picture in 2009 and beyond, they're going to be disappointed. These days, my discretionary dollars go to supporting my local yarn shop, my local brew pub, my church and Amtrak. It feels like I have a lifetime supply of clothing, and most of what I see in the stores is not very tempting. I wonder, is this an age thing, a class thing or something bigger?

Black Belt Minimal Fashion: the Suitcase Wardrobe

I am currently on a research/writing trip which has taken me from my home near Washington, D.C. to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, Bedford Hills and Rochester New York and eventually to my brother's home near North Bay, Ontario. Today I leave for Indianapolis, by way of Chicago. Most of the travel has been done by train, and I will have had convenient (i.e., free) access to laundry facilities twice along the way. It's an interesting way to explore minimalist fashion, and it's time to report on the experience so far.

1) Minimalist fashion is climate-dependent. What is considered "minimal" in southern California would be inadequate in North Bay in January.

2) Minimalist fashion is activity-dependent. I have been indoors and sedentary most of the time, and have managed to avoid anything resembling formal events.

3) Context (climate and activity) aside, a successful minimal wardrobe provides comfort, utility and satisfaction. This means pieces that layer, serve multiple uses and meet the wearer's need for tactile and aesthetic satisfaction. Pockets, too!

4) It is possible to wear many items more than one day without being noticed, especially when traveling.

My suitcase wardrobe for this trip (26 days) consisted of three pairs of pants (1 jeans, 2 corduroys), 7 tops (ranging from a tissue-weight T-shirt to a pair of fleece pullovers), 7 days' worth of socks and undies, flannel pajama bottoms, a set of silk long underwear, a lightweight robe, two pair of shoes and pair of slipper socks. I also have a warm coat, hat, scarf, mittens and boots -- it was in the mid -20s today in North Bay. I could probably have eliminated one pair of corduroys, the robe and one pair of shoes, but that wouldn't have saved my enough room to be able to use the next smallest suitcase. I also wish my tops were more varied in color or texture; this fashion minimalist likes some aesthetic stimulation! But I did bring along a selection of my favorite earrings just to jazz things up. My favorite travel item so far has been the silk underwear (turtleneck and leggings) -- they are the best way to address the temperature difference between Rochester, NY and North Bay, ON without adding bulk to your body or weight to your luggage.

Conscious Consumption, Christmas edition #2 -- It really is the thought that counts!

The best present I ever gave my dad cost me less than a dollar in 1964. It was a tough Christmas. We didn't even have a tree that year, so my mother and I made one with string and our holiday cards. For my dad, who was the sort of person who bought what he needed and hated practical presents, I hit upon what turned out to be sheer genius. There was a picture my mom had taken of him, my brother and I, when we were on vacation in Colorado. We were standing together on a riverbank, all looking relaxed and a little tired. It was a black and white photo, but he was clearly wearing his favorite bright green cardigan sweater (the one he was eventually laid out in in 1994). My brother and I were on either side of him, sagging against his legs, and his hands were resting lightly on our shoulders. No one was looking at the camera or saying "cheese". My eyes are closed and my face was turned up towards my father, almost as if I were purring. It's a beautiful photo, and a rare one, because Dad was usually on the other side of the camera.

I took the photo to the local camera shop and had them enlarge it to 8 1/2 by 11, then put it in a frame from Woolworth's. He was speechless, and little teary-eyed.

Principle: Gift-giving is about expressing love and connection. One great way to do that is to rescue something truly precious from the box of jumbled keepsakes and souvenirs and let it speak.

Conscious Consumption, Christmas edition #1 -- Giving what people need.

My life has been very busy since I wrote the precursor to this series, and my mind has been full of ideas for posts. I've decided to go very personal with this, since there are so many great sites out there about simplifying the holidays. No Impact Man Colin Beavan's great article, which inspired this series, is a good place to start, and I will share others as we go. But I decided that what will work for me is sharing my own favorite Christmas memories and best gift experiences and use them to discuss underlying principles. (Oh, how pedantic! But that's what you get from a professor!)

My family was never well-off, but my mother was a great manager, so as kids we really didn't notice. I am sure economics lurked beneath one of my favorite traditions: pajamas. Instead of getting new pj's when it got cold (in Nebraska, that would be early October), we got ours on Christmas eve. It seems rather comical now,like something out of "A Christmas Story". We always opened all of our presents -- except the pajamas -- on Christmas morning. Christmas eve was reserved for reading the St. Luke version of the Nativity and attending a candlelight service at our church, often with my father singing "O Holy Night" in his beautiful tenor voice. When we got home, the silliness began: we would beg and wheedle for "just one present" to open, knowing very well what was in them. Wow! Brand new pajamas! Then we would put them on and head off to the coziest sleep ever. In the morning, we would all be splendid in our new finery, adding to the specialness of the event.

Principle #1: Necessities can be wonderful gifts. In fact, receiving them as gifts can make them special. My brother-in-law used to get several pair of black socks from his wife every year, which was obviously a well-loved inside joke. I used to buy my mother things she needed, but get nicer or prettier items than she would have bought for herself. In tough economic times, if you can only afford necessities, put them in the spotlight.

Caveat: Giving necessities can be tricky, so you need to know your giftee. This is not a great option for adults who enjoy shopping and who prefer to pick their own socks or pajamas. It is also not a license to get people things YOU think they need (example: the anti-frizz hair products my mother used to put in my stocking). It does work for the people who consistently minimize their own needs, and for kids at the stage when anything in wrapping paper is a present, and if they get to open it early, it's a bonus.

Needs and wants: the euphoria of retail therapy

I came across this old news item in a waiting-room magazine. It's about a study (funded by T.J. Maxx) that indicated that the euphoric jolt of finding a designer item at a discount price is more pleasurable than "eating a piece of chocolate". Depends on the chocolate, I say, but that's another study.

The pleasures of shopping are a fascinating topic; I recall some theorizing some time ago that women enjoy shopping because we are wired to get a charge out of spying the elusive berry, from our prehistoric "gathering" days. Shopping has been much on my mind lately, as the days grew colder and I noticed some gaps in my winter wardrobe. Facing a year on half salary as I write my book, I'm trying to limit spending, and on a strictly pragmatic level (number of items of each type), I didn't need anything.

However. My everyday wardrobe was boring, and not quite warm enough for my chilly house, without layering to the point where I felt restricted. Not only are the colors bland (lots of white, black and brown) but my shirts were tactally unsatisfying flat knits: T-shirts (short-sleeved, long-sleeved, v-necks) and turtlenecks. Each morning, I'd open my shirt drawer and think "who cares?", pull something out, put it on and forget about it. Once dressed, I forgot what I was wearing. To some extent, that's good. I am trying to focus on daily progress on a huge task. But that downer moment with the open drawer was bothering me.

I was also starting to have the jones for shopping. Usually, it's satisfied with a trip to the library or my weekly grocery shopping, but the desire to find that perfect, ripe, sun-warmed berry and pop it in my mouth was undeniable. What's a Nice White Lady to do?

Solution #1: A trip to my favorite thrift store, where, after forty minutes of careful searching, I scored a brand new J. Jill fleece pullover in Neopolitan coconut candy colors (pink, white, brown) for $15 (original tag: $70). It is a particularly fluffy kind of fleece, nearly weightless and very cozy. I have worn it three days in a row, over T-shirts and turtlenecks. Now that's euphoria!

Solution #2: Realizing that I need a sensory blast once the leaves are on the ground and the days get darker, I sat down and ordered two new fleece turtlenecks in bright colors from Land's End.

Bottom Line: I need to add an item to my "ideal consumption" wish list.

My clothes should make me happy, not just covered.

steps on the personal path to ethical consumption: fresh veggies, local beer and hand-knit socks

There was a collision in the blogosphere this morning. I'd been playing with the idea of listing the changes I'd made just in the last year, and No Impact Man posted 40 steps on the personal path to green, a list of easy first steps for individuals who want to make a difference. (He's a nice guy, but apparently numbers aren't his main thing -- the post says 50 steps and he repeats one, making a Hitchcockian 39 steps.) I've been doing some things on the list for years (or even decades):

• Buy fewer things. Don´t buy on impulse. Ask yourself if the thing you're buying is something that you really need.
• Eat less meat
• Getting your fingers dirty by growing your own food--even if it is just some basil on your windowsill--is
  the quickest way change your thought patterns about other green issues.
• Stopped using my dryer and use a clothes line or drying rack--and enjoy saving the cash.
• Drive less
• Fly less
• Walk more, and walk *to* places.
• THINK about how running the tap wastes water. THINK about how lights on in rooms not
  occupied wastes energy.
• Avoid bottled water
• Swear off plastic bags.
• Don't waste (thanks, Mom)
• Make a detailed budget and track
  spending habits
• Switch to CFL lightbulbs, turn down your thermostat, and put a blanket on your water heater.
• Stop your junk mail

I omitted the steps that were actually mind sets ("Recognize that happiness in
life is related to relationships with other people, not shopping") or, irrelevant to me ("Pray").

Now I'll add the specific things I've added to my life since last summer:

• supported my daughter and son-in-law in planning a green wedding and reception
• joined Freecycle (we used it to donate the IKEA flatware purchased for the reception)
• participated in Wardrobe Refashion for two months
• switched our electric power source to wind
• joined a CSA group for local produce
• purchased about 80% of my produce at farmers markets
• became more informed about ethical fashion options
• informed other about ethical fashion options through this blog, online communities and a TV and radio interview
• contacted dozens of manufacturers and retailers to ask about their green products and claims
• finally made composting a habit
• supported my local brewpub instead of buying bottled beer (most of the time)

Probably the best thing about all of this activity is that it has absolutely changed my life for the better. I have never felt deprived, or impoverished; on the contrary, my life is richer and more satisfying. It's probably the fresh veggies, local beer and hand-knit socks.

My Ethical Roots, concluded

Ok, so this 3-part saga has been too long in the telling. I started with my frugal childhood and then moved on to my years as an impoverished student and (very) small scale environmentalist. For our first ten years of marriage one or the other of us was in graduate school. To be quite honest, it was probably inevitable that a former costume designer and a carpenter who both loved to cook would end up wearing handmade clothing, eating homemade food and surrounded by hand-crafted furniture. What that really means is that both of us got a great deal of satisfaction from making things. Then we had two years of life with two incomes and no kids before embarking on parenthood in 1982. Goodbye, disposable income; hello frugality.

Even as it became easier to afford things (and harder to resist child-generated consumption), I've fought a continuing battle for a simpler, more attentive brand of consumption. I've resonated with the voluntary simplicity, local food and DIY movements because they are consistent with my lifelong values.

Deciding to go public as a blogger was a big step for me, because until the summer of 2007, I had pretty much kept my personal journey separate from my academic pursuits. But something shifted for me one day and I realized that I needed to put my scholarly nature to work to support my everyday living, and to share that story with other people who might be trying to move in the same direction. Ultimately, it's not about consumption; it's about living. In the words of Alfred North Whitehead:

"-The secret to happiness lies in knowing this: that we live by the law of expenditure. We find the greatest joy not in getting, but in expressing what we are. There are tides in the ocean of life, and what comes in depends on what goes out. The currents flow inward only where there is an outlet. Nature does not give to those who will not spend: her gifts are merely loaned to those who will not use them. Empty your lungs and breathe, run, climb, work, and laugh: the more you give out, the more you shall receive. Be exhausted and you shall be fed. People do not really live for honors or for pay; their gladness is in not taking and holding, but in doing, the striving, the building, the living. It is a higher joy to teach than to be taught–it is good to get justice, but better to do it–fun to have things, but more fun to make them. The happy person is the one who lives the life of love not for the honors it may bring, but for the life itself."

What about the bamboo ads?

I am having a really existential Nice White Lady moment. What do I do about the bamboo ads that pop up in rotation on my own site? (This is my modest attempt to "monetize" my expertise -- so far it's earned me $11.49 in the last six months, and I won't get paid until it hits $100, sometime in 2013.) Here's what I suggest: send the advertisers a comment along the lines of, "Please label your products according to the FTC regulations: RAYON, MADE FROM BAMBOO." I've been doing this on my own when I get a news alert about a new product, or see another article about the wonders of bamboo textiles. But a few more voices won't hurt.


Additional note after sleeping on the issue: I think I'd also be happy with "Bamboo Rayon". I do think bamboo (the raw material) is a very promising solution to global environmental problems. I'd be even happier to see certification of sustainable processing (there are a few new viscose processes out there) or organic cultivation (ex.- GOTS certification). Many savvy consumers I've talked to are not displeased to find out that "bamboo" is rayon -- they like rayon! -- but they are unhappy with the perceived attempt to mislead them by not using the r___ word.

A pause to reflect

You've probably noticed the hiatus. Last week I was at my annual retreat/reunion with about 200 members of my Unitarian Universalist "faith family". It's the kind of experience that refuels my hope for a better, more just world. Then I returned home to the unfolding story of a sad, tormented man who decided to attack "the liberal movement" by taking a shotgun to a children's worship performance at the on Tennessee Valley UU church in Knoxville. I'll get back soon to the business side of being a Nice White Lady, a job that now and then gets me some verbal smackdowns but is otherwise sufficiently harmless to be safe. I've been reading too many news stories and bloggers (left and right), but this one is close enough to my own thoughts that I'd like to share.