The holiday season is upon us, and I don't feel that I have any brilliant insights to offer.
We spent an unfortunate amount of time last week in the car in order to spend Thanksgiving with our grandson and his parents. We had a wonderful time with them, but the geographical distance separating us from those we most want to be with is depressing. Reality bites.
Now I am busy gathering goodies (not shopping for useless "stuff") for the packages I will ship to the family that won't be home for Christmas this year.
Truth is, I'm not even sure where "home" is right now. For the past twenty or so years, our home in Cleveland was the bustling gathering place for the whole extended family to eat, drink, exchange gifts, and be merry together. I would wake up on the morning of the 24th and spend the entire day in eager and purposeful preparation of a feast for the eventful eve.
But that isn't happening this year, and our move is part of the reason for that, as well as the reality that children grow up, move, have their own families, and life changes. My siblings and I will still have a family gathering, this time at my brother's house back in Cleveland, during Christmas week, and it will be a good time. But, for the first time ever, I will have only a tiny Christmas tree, because there's really no room for a larger one in our small house.
Adjustments...and wondering when we will arrive at a new normal and what it will look like.
A longtime big city suburbanite transplants herself in a small town and embarks upon a search for resilient, sustainable community in western NY
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Straight Talk about Peak Oil with James Howard Kunstler
No, I didn't speak with him---I can only wish. I've long been a fan of Kunstler's pull-no-punches social criticism, and this interview with Chris Martenson is so good that I am compelled to share it with you. Enjoy!
The Questions:
1. When will the average US citizen wake up to the perils of Peak Oil?
2. There seems to be no political will to tackle the reality of Peak Oil. What might tip that balance (before we hit the proverbial wall)?
3. If you were President and had free reign, what would be your energy plan?
4. Now take out your crystal ball. What is the most likely scenario you see playing out in global energy supplies over the next few decades?
5. The economy's a mess. What's the best possible outcome to this and how does it come about?
6. What steps are you currently taking in preparations for the upcoming “post-peak” years? What do you advise to those simply looking to protect the purchasing power of their current wealth?
7. Are you able to tell (either based on your website viewership or book sales, or from any other source) in which parts of the country/population your teachings are gaining the most traction?
8. You speak to a lot of audiences and groups. What has shifted over the years and what, if anything, gives you hope in those trends?
9. It seems inevitable that the suburbs (with 60-mile commutes) and places like LA will suffer badly in a Peak Oil future. Do you still hold the view that some regions are going to fare substantially better than others?
10. What question didn’t we ask, but should have? What’s your answer?
The Answers.
The Questions:
1. When will the average US citizen wake up to the perils of Peak Oil?
2. There seems to be no political will to tackle the reality of Peak Oil. What might tip that balance (before we hit the proverbial wall)?
3. If you were President and had free reign, what would be your energy plan?
4. Now take out your crystal ball. What is the most likely scenario you see playing out in global energy supplies over the next few decades?
5. The economy's a mess. What's the best possible outcome to this and how does it come about?
6. What steps are you currently taking in preparations for the upcoming “post-peak” years? What do you advise to those simply looking to protect the purchasing power of their current wealth?
7. Are you able to tell (either based on your website viewership or book sales, or from any other source) in which parts of the country/population your teachings are gaining the most traction?
8. You speak to a lot of audiences and groups. What has shifted over the years and what, if anything, gives you hope in those trends?
9. It seems inevitable that the suburbs (with 60-mile commutes) and places like LA will suffer badly in a Peak Oil future. Do you still hold the view that some regions are going to fare substantially better than others?
10. What question didn’t we ask, but should have? What’s your answer?
The Answers.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Gales of November
I think I just saw the Wicked Witch of the West zip past on her broomstick.
There's a wind advisory today, something that the weather service issues when sustained winds of 31-39 mph are forecast, with gusts in the 46-57 mph range. We just had one of those gusts.
Although stormy weather in November isn't unusual in and of itself, and in fact has been immortalized in a song by Gordon Lightfoot ("The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," about the freighter that sank in a gale on Lake Superior in November 1975), the frequency and intensity of extreme weather events worldwide is increasing. We are moving towards a new normal.
It makes me glad for my low-profile house.
Moving on without segue, I've decided I'm not flying anymore (except maybe by broomstick). Not that I was ever a huge fan of air travel. But in a world that has gone insane over the fear of terrorists (a fear that has prompted responses far out of proportion to the actual threat and caused more pain and suffering than the terrorists themselves), subjecting myself to sexual molestation by security screeners so that I may have the privilege of being strapped into a crowded tin can to get from Point A to Point B (suffering delays, lost luggage, bad air, and annoying people) is one pleasure I can choose to forego.
I was outraged to see this story about TSA patting down a screaming toddler. If we've become that paranoid about our safety, then it's time to rethink a lot of things about the way we choose to live.
Off to yoga for a mood adjustment.
There's a wind advisory today, something that the weather service issues when sustained winds of 31-39 mph are forecast, with gusts in the 46-57 mph range. We just had one of those gusts.
Although stormy weather in November isn't unusual in and of itself, and in fact has been immortalized in a song by Gordon Lightfoot ("The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," about the freighter that sank in a gale on Lake Superior in November 1975), the frequency and intensity of extreme weather events worldwide is increasing. We are moving towards a new normal.
It makes me glad for my low-profile house.
Moving on without segue, I've decided I'm not flying anymore (except maybe by broomstick). Not that I was ever a huge fan of air travel. But in a world that has gone insane over the fear of terrorists (a fear that has prompted responses far out of proportion to the actual threat and caused more pain and suffering than the terrorists themselves), subjecting myself to sexual molestation by security screeners so that I may have the privilege of being strapped into a crowded tin can to get from Point A to Point B (suffering delays, lost luggage, bad air, and annoying people) is one pleasure I can choose to forego.
I was outraged to see this story about TSA patting down a screaming toddler. If we've become that paranoid about our safety, then it's time to rethink a lot of things about the way we choose to live.
Off to yoga for a mood adjustment.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Midweek musing
Indian Summer -- or something like it -- has arrived.
It's not really "warm" (high 52 degrees yesterday), but the blue skies and sunshine are just too irresistible, and we had to spend some time outdoors in this nature lovers paradise. So we leashed up the dog and hiked the part of the Eastside Overland Trail that goes to the camping area with pond and lean-to's. Being the non-athletic one in the family, I thought I would die when the first half mile of the trail was uphill. Tom and the dog put on their teflon suits and ignored my whining. Finally the trail leveled out and, with me having survived the climb, the rest of the adventure turned out to be quite enjoyable. The woods are beautiful even after most of the leaves have fallen.
Studies seem to confirm that being close to nature has a positive effect on both physical and mental health, and I anecdotally concur. Modern technology provides us with illusions that we have transcended the animal kingdom and now control our world, but Mother Nature smiles (and sometimes glares or snarls) knowingly.
Not that technology isn't useful. Bill McKibben makes clear that the kind of community he envisions for our future includes not only the folks on the block, but the ones we reach via the internet. The sharing of ideas is so vital to our success in navigating our changing world.
I love, love the internet --not only because I'm an information junkie and cherish being able to find the answer to almost any question right here on my computer screen. This wonderful invention has also enabled me to know people I would otherwise never have met. Even more importantly, it helps me keep in touch with friends and family members who live at a distance, much better than letters and phone calls. I was able to chat on Facebook almost daily with my son during his year in Iraq, which made the whole experience slightly more bearable. I can keep up with daily lives via photos posted online or emailed to me. And last night, thanks to Skype, we had a face to face video conversation with our little grandson in Boston! When you can see them in real time, somehow they don't seem quite so far away.
I would be sad if we lost the internet in our powered-down future, or (more likely) if it became restricted so that only powerful elites were given access to it. It could happen. But it's a small problem in the grand scheme of things.
Worse is the looming specter of our planet becoming unfit for human habitation because we think we can outsmart nature.
It's not really "warm" (high 52 degrees yesterday), but the blue skies and sunshine are just too irresistible, and we had to spend some time outdoors in this nature lovers paradise. So we leashed up the dog and hiked the part of the Eastside Overland Trail that goes to the camping area with pond and lean-to's. Being the non-athletic one in the family, I thought I would die when the first half mile of the trail was uphill. Tom and the dog put on their teflon suits and ignored my whining. Finally the trail leveled out and, with me having survived the climb, the rest of the adventure turned out to be quite enjoyable. The woods are beautiful even after most of the leaves have fallen.
Studies seem to confirm that being close to nature has a positive effect on both physical and mental health, and I anecdotally concur. Modern technology provides us with illusions that we have transcended the animal kingdom and now control our world, but Mother Nature smiles (and sometimes glares or snarls) knowingly.
Not that technology isn't useful. Bill McKibben makes clear that the kind of community he envisions for our future includes not only the folks on the block, but the ones we reach via the internet. The sharing of ideas is so vital to our success in navigating our changing world.
I love, love the internet --not only because I'm an information junkie and cherish being able to find the answer to almost any question right here on my computer screen. This wonderful invention has also enabled me to know people I would otherwise never have met. Even more importantly, it helps me keep in touch with friends and family members who live at a distance, much better than letters and phone calls. I was able to chat on Facebook almost daily with my son during his year in Iraq, which made the whole experience slightly more bearable. I can keep up with daily lives via photos posted online or emailed to me. And last night, thanks to Skype, we had a face to face video conversation with our little grandson in Boston! When you can see them in real time, somehow they don't seem quite so far away.
I would be sad if we lost the internet in our powered-down future, or (more likely) if it became restricted so that only powerful elites were given access to it. It could happen. But it's a small problem in the grand scheme of things.
Worse is the looming specter of our planet becoming unfit for human habitation because we think we can outsmart nature.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Small House
We live in a small house--600 square feet small.
It was originally intended to be transitional, a weekend getaway kind of place where we could stay without issues about where to leave the "kids" (our dog and cat) while we explored and got better acquainted with the area. Then, when we sold our house in Cleveland, we could look for a "bigger smaller" place--i.e., smaller than the house in Cleveland that we're downsizing from (4 bedrooms, 2 baths, and nearly 3000 sq. ft. including the finished basement space), but bigger than this tiny "cottage." But the place has kind of grown on us, and now we're trying to figure out how to make it work.
We have one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen, and a living room. No basement. I have learned that that is considered almost "spacious" by "tiny house" standards--there is indeed a tiny house industry for people who want to minimize their footprint on this earth, and these homes range from about 65 sq. ft. (!) to 800 on the "high end." It's certainly a matter of perspective--considering the average size of a home in Tokyo (800 sq ft) or a tent in Haiti. Here in the US, we've been conditioned to expect MORE. In a consumer society, we rarely entertain soul searching about what constitutes ENOUGH.
Well, rowing against the tide, Tom and I are working on that ENOUGH thing. How much do we really need? I wouldn't call us pack rats, but when you spend 22 years in a large home, "stuff" accumulates to fill the available space. Downsizing from 3000 sq. ft. to 600--you do the math. There's not much room for "stuff." Are we ready to take The 100 Thing Challenge? No, we're a long way from there. But it's a good direction to be moving in. It's very liberating to sort through "stuff" and realize how much of it you don't need anymore--both in the physical sense and in an emotional, even spiritual, one.
We've built a garage--besides storage, it provides workshop space. (Remember, no basement here.) We really feel that we need a couple more rooms. The space is surprisingly adequate, even comfortable, for the two of us (plus the dog and cat), but it gets crowded if we have company or if I try to work on my crafts.
I know we're fortunate to have options we wouldn't have in other parts of the world about how much space we can occupy, but I don't know if we're really tiny house people. For a look at how four people and a dog can live in 180 sq ft--check out this article, with photos! I have a hard time wrapping my head around it. I've come to believe that smaller is better, but there's a lot of wiggle room in my definition of "smaller."
I don't miss all the cleaning.
It was originally intended to be transitional, a weekend getaway kind of place where we could stay without issues about where to leave the "kids" (our dog and cat) while we explored and got better acquainted with the area. Then, when we sold our house in Cleveland, we could look for a "bigger smaller" place--i.e., smaller than the house in Cleveland that we're downsizing from (4 bedrooms, 2 baths, and nearly 3000 sq. ft. including the finished basement space), but bigger than this tiny "cottage." But the place has kind of grown on us, and now we're trying to figure out how to make it work.
We have one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen, and a living room. No basement. I have learned that that is considered almost "spacious" by "tiny house" standards--there is indeed a tiny house industry for people who want to minimize their footprint on this earth, and these homes range from about 65 sq. ft. (!) to 800 on the "high end." It's certainly a matter of perspective--considering the average size of a home in Tokyo (800 sq ft) or a tent in Haiti. Here in the US, we've been conditioned to expect MORE. In a consumer society, we rarely entertain soul searching about what constitutes ENOUGH.
Well, rowing against the tide, Tom and I are working on that ENOUGH thing. How much do we really need? I wouldn't call us pack rats, but when you spend 22 years in a large home, "stuff" accumulates to fill the available space. Downsizing from 3000 sq. ft. to 600--you do the math. There's not much room for "stuff." Are we ready to take The 100 Thing Challenge? No, we're a long way from there. But it's a good direction to be moving in. It's very liberating to sort through "stuff" and realize how much of it you don't need anymore--both in the physical sense and in an emotional, even spiritual, one.
We've built a garage--besides storage, it provides workshop space. (Remember, no basement here.) We really feel that we need a couple more rooms. The space is surprisingly adequate, even comfortable, for the two of us (plus the dog and cat), but it gets crowded if we have company or if I try to work on my crafts.
I know we're fortunate to have options we wouldn't have in other parts of the world about how much space we can occupy, but I don't know if we're really tiny house people. For a look at how four people and a dog can live in 180 sq ft--check out this article, with photos! I have a hard time wrapping my head around it. I've come to believe that smaller is better, but there's a lot of wiggle room in my definition of "smaller."
I don't miss all the cleaning.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Winterized! Almost...
We cut the grass for the last time this year and put away the mower, garden tools, hoses, and outdoor furniture.
The new windows make storm windows unnecessary this year, though some weatherstripping around the front door would probably be a good idea.
Got wood for heating the garage workshop, blankets, sweaters, coats, gloves, boots...
We don't exactly have the food thing under control. Oh sure, Wegman's is nearby, but they're dealing with supply lines like everyone else. Stuff doesn't grow here in the winter--the food shares from our CSA stopped a couple of weeks ago. And while I've got a decent supply of potatoes, onion, garlic, and winter squashes at the moment, it has occurred to me (many times) that if this eating locally thing is going to work out, we need to learn how to store up food for the non-growing season.
It's kind of scary to realize just how unprepared most of us are for disruptions in our (long) food supply lines--which can happen short term, in case of a really big snow or ice storm or other natural disaster, and longer term, in the event that a sharp increase in the cost and/or a drastic decrease in the supply of oil--which our entire system runs on, from factory farms to warehouses to markets. I read somewhere recently (if you'd like a really scary example) that the city of Los Angeles has on hand at any given time (including in warehouses) only a three-day supply of food for its entire population. That exemplifies just how dependent we are on keeping the machinery in motion, nonstop.
Well, we can't go on this way. Oil is a dwindling resource, and the rapid industrialization of giants like India and China are giving us a lot more competition these days for what's left. Not that you would know, from observing how our governments choose to deal with this situation, that we need to be moving in high gear towards alternatives in the way we live. I guess the thinking is that whoever kills off the rest of the competition is the winner. Downright Darwinian.
So, the proactive thing to do, if you're not really crazy about this "eat or be eaten" scenario, is to look around you and find your local sources of food. We're pretty fortunate here in Chautauqua county to have lots of farms. We can even grow some of our own food in our gardens, and that really cuts the supply line, farm to table, to a matter of feet--both in distance and means of transport. Of course some of us will keep drinking coffee from thousands of miles away as long as we can get away with it!
But again, our growing season here is limited, which means storing up food for the months when the local pickings are slim. I started small this year, to prove that I could do it--I made strawberry jam from local berries and applesauce from the fruit of our ancient gnarly backyard trees. Those jars of organic goodness are beautiful to look at, and we'll be enjoying them when the wind is howling and the snow is swirling outside our windows.
But we cannot live on strawberry jam and applesauce alone, so next year I'd better step it up and fill some jars and freezer containers with beans and greens, tomato sauce, and a chicken or two.
It's ironic that our progressive modern lifestyle with all its work-saving conveniences has left us so vulnerable when it comes to taking care of ourselves.
The new windows make storm windows unnecessary this year, though some weatherstripping around the front door would probably be a good idea.
Got wood for heating the garage workshop, blankets, sweaters, coats, gloves, boots...
We don't exactly have the food thing under control. Oh sure, Wegman's is nearby, but they're dealing with supply lines like everyone else. Stuff doesn't grow here in the winter--the food shares from our CSA stopped a couple of weeks ago. And while I've got a decent supply of potatoes, onion, garlic, and winter squashes at the moment, it has occurred to me (many times) that if this eating locally thing is going to work out, we need to learn how to store up food for the non-growing season.
It's kind of scary to realize just how unprepared most of us are for disruptions in our (long) food supply lines--which can happen short term, in case of a really big snow or ice storm or other natural disaster, and longer term, in the event that a sharp increase in the cost and/or a drastic decrease in the supply of oil--which our entire system runs on, from factory farms to warehouses to markets. I read somewhere recently (if you'd like a really scary example) that the city of Los Angeles has on hand at any given time (including in warehouses) only a three-day supply of food for its entire population. That exemplifies just how dependent we are on keeping the machinery in motion, nonstop.
Well, we can't go on this way. Oil is a dwindling resource, and the rapid industrialization of giants like India and China are giving us a lot more competition these days for what's left. Not that you would know, from observing how our governments choose to deal with this situation, that we need to be moving in high gear towards alternatives in the way we live. I guess the thinking is that whoever kills off the rest of the competition is the winner. Downright Darwinian.
So, the proactive thing to do, if you're not really crazy about this "eat or be eaten" scenario, is to look around you and find your local sources of food. We're pretty fortunate here in Chautauqua county to have lots of farms. We can even grow some of our own food in our gardens, and that really cuts the supply line, farm to table, to a matter of feet--both in distance and means of transport. Of course some of us will keep drinking coffee from thousands of miles away as long as we can get away with it!
But again, our growing season here is limited, which means storing up food for the months when the local pickings are slim. I started small this year, to prove that I could do it--I made strawberry jam from local berries and applesauce from the fruit of our ancient gnarly backyard trees. Those jars of organic goodness are beautiful to look at, and we'll be enjoying them when the wind is howling and the snow is swirling outside our windows.
But we cannot live on strawberry jam and applesauce alone, so next year I'd better step it up and fill some jars and freezer containers with beans and greens, tomato sauce, and a chicken or two.
It's ironic that our progressive modern lifestyle with all its work-saving conveniences has left us so vulnerable when it comes to taking care of ourselves.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
About this thing called community
What is this "community" we are seeking? I find myself wanting to write about it, yet I haven't quite determined how to articulate it. I'll be working on a definition and refining it as I go along, I think. Plunging right in, for now...
This week's sermon and post-service discussion was about Bill McKibben's book Eaarth, about the global warming crisis that most people are in denial about, and how we, as individuals and as a congregation, can respond.
It's exciting to have finally connected with some people--right here, locally, not on the internet!-- who share the very concerns which caused me to launch this blog in the first place. There is promise for future discussions and actions toward living responsibly,even happily, with the new conditions we are already experiencing on our changing planet. And I'm not feeling quite so isolated now.
When you move to a new community, there's this whole watching and listening and getting-to-know-you process that takes place while you figure out who's who and what's what. It's somewhat jarring to be the new kid on the block when you're accustomed to being an active, known, and respected member of the community you came from.
Some people move around a lot during their lifetimes, often for employment reasons, and they develop a knack for unplugging from the old, plugging into the new networks, and instantly becoming part of the flow.
But Tom and I aren't those people. We're the type that tends to grow roots. This is only our third major move in our entire lives. It's difficult leaving "the people in your neighborhood" (I can hear the Mister Rogers song in my head) that you've known and trusted for so many years and moving on. A lot of people don't do this. We decided, for a lot of reasons, that we needed to.
Things don't remain the same forever, no matter how comfortable you may be. Family has always been an important part of our lives. They're the people that are still there when friends and neighbors move away--or die. We observed my mother's community evaporate around her as she outlived all of her contemporaries. Thank goodness for family.
So, facing retirement in a house too big and the kids too far away, we needed to be proactive. They're still too far away, and no doubt there are more moves in our future. But for now, we've taken this step and this is where we are.
Becoming part of a new community, post-work and post-children, is uncharted territory for us. So far, we've gotten to know some of our neighbors (especially the ones who have dogs), dealt with businesses, found places and activities we enjoy, but still don't have, for instance, a family doctor here. It will all fall into place in time. Circles will widen and overlap. In the meantime, in finding this church community, we have found an oasis of familiarity in the sea of change. It's comforting.
To be continued, of course.
com-mu-ni-ty: a unified body of individuals: asWe began attending the local Unitarian Universalist church here this fall, and it is proving to be the obvious choice for us (since we have been UU's for more than 30 years) as a network to plug into and find people with whom we have values and interests in common.
a : state, commonwealthb : the people with common interests living in a particular area; broadly : the area itselfc : an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (as species) in a common locationd : a group of people with a common characteristic or interest living together within a larger societye : a group linked by a common policyf : a body of persons or nations having a common history or common social, economic, and political interests g : a body of persons of common and especially professional interests scattered through a larger society
This week's sermon and post-service discussion was about Bill McKibben's book Eaarth, about the global warming crisis that most people are in denial about, and how we, as individuals and as a congregation, can respond.
It's exciting to have finally connected with some people--right here, locally, not on the internet!-- who share the very concerns which caused me to launch this blog in the first place. There is promise for future discussions and actions toward living responsibly,even happily, with the new conditions we are already experiencing on our changing planet. And I'm not feeling quite so isolated now.
When you move to a new community, there's this whole watching and listening and getting-to-know-you process that takes place while you figure out who's who and what's what. It's somewhat jarring to be the new kid on the block when you're accustomed to being an active, known, and respected member of the community you came from.
Some people move around a lot during their lifetimes, often for employment reasons, and they develop a knack for unplugging from the old, plugging into the new networks, and instantly becoming part of the flow.
But Tom and I aren't those people. We're the type that tends to grow roots. This is only our third major move in our entire lives. It's difficult leaving "the people in your neighborhood" (I can hear the Mister Rogers song in my head) that you've known and trusted for so many years and moving on. A lot of people don't do this. We decided, for a lot of reasons, that we needed to.
Things don't remain the same forever, no matter how comfortable you may be. Family has always been an important part of our lives. They're the people that are still there when friends and neighbors move away--or die. We observed my mother's community evaporate around her as she outlived all of her contemporaries. Thank goodness for family.
So, facing retirement in a house too big and the kids too far away, we needed to be proactive. They're still too far away, and no doubt there are more moves in our future. But for now, we've taken this step and this is where we are.
Becoming part of a new community, post-work and post-children, is uncharted territory for us. So far, we've gotten to know some of our neighbors (especially the ones who have dogs), dealt with businesses, found places and activities we enjoy, but still don't have, for instance, a family doctor here. It will all fall into place in time. Circles will widen and overlap. In the meantime, in finding this church community, we have found an oasis of familiarity in the sea of change. It's comforting.
To be continued, of course.
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