In Praise of Fixing What's Broken

Over the weekend while walking my dog, we went past a house that had put out their trash and recycling bins. Monday is our neighborhood's trash pick-up day, as well as our single-stream recycling, though not usually simultaneously. As I went past this house, I noticed that perched on the top of a trash can was a small artificial Christmas tree. I'd noticed the tree -- decorated -- on previous walks during the holiday season. There had been two trees flanking the house's front door and they'd been lovely: about four feet high, standing in forest green boxes, and had strings of unusual, copper-colored lights. They were decorated with dried starfish and other nautical shapes since we live by the water. At some point during December, I realized that the lights on one of the trees was out, and then it became an asymmetrical sort of display. Still lovely.

On Sunday, when I saw that tree, it made me sad. Not sad because the lights had stopped working but sad because it was going out with the trash, meaning: it was destined for the landfill. If you haven't thought too deeply about how they're made, let me tell you. This kind of artificial tree is made with metal and plastics and usually, one of the types of plastic is PVC - polyvinyl chloride. (Read: petroleum-based. Bad. But think that's bad? Older types used lead.) Basically, artificial trees are non-recyclable and non-biodegradable, meaning they are going to sit in a landfill for centuries, if you put them there. Which leads to the obvious question: well, okay, what DO we do?

Well, what I do for stuff like this, meaning *stuff*, things that can't be recycled or composted responsibly is that I try to either re-use it and if at all possible, FIX it. In the case of this tree, put on new lights. Sometimes the lights are fixed to the branches. Okay, well, then, leave the dead ones there and hang on a new string. Simple.

First, a word of understanding: This is complicated. I get it. On my Facebook page, I have a pithy quote, as many do. My quote is one I grew up with and stayed with me:

"Use it up. Wear it out. Make it do, or go without."

Somewhere between "make it do" and "wear it out" is an assumed step of owner responsibility in order to maintain use. I know people think this is weird because they tell me so. I tell them: I HATE cheap stuff and I hate built-in obsolescence.  They say: Enh, just buy another one. Then what I *think* but don't always say is: I resent this. I shouldn't have to buy another one.


And YES, this shouldn't be an issue. It SHOULD be easier. Companies SHOULD take responsibility for But right now, tell me: don't you hate it when stuff breaks down, soon after you've bought it??

Stuff is cheap -- or at least, cheaper than much of the manufacturing from previous generations and though I could go down the rabbit hole of angst over corporate greed and capitalism, I won't ... for today, at least. Today, we are talking about fixing stuff.


Last week at work, our Green Team ran a Repair Fair. What's that? A Repair Fair is an old idea that's making a comeback. They're gatherings where those with particular talents – Fixers – help people with broken items. The possibilities are wide-ranging but generally, there are people who can fix or offer guidance on repair of things like clothing, jewelry, books, bikes, and small appliances. They meet in a space with tables, outlets and good lighting and help keep items out of the waste stream and back into service. A good idea, right?

Something I suspect is that this grey area may trigger insecurities. I call it a "grey area" because in the realm of responsibility, if a company produces so much *stuff* in the name of "business" AND if in the course of your growing-into-an-adult process, you don't happen to learn life skills like sewing or soldering or using tools correctly, then how are you supposed to deal with this situation? If you don't know how to rewire something or sew a seam or even, use a glue gun to stick two pieces together and keep them intact, then maybe it's just easier to suppress any insecurities by just dumping the thing and starting fresh. I get that. I do but ...in the name of our planetary health, I have to ask for those with those insecurities to face them and get past it. There is a better way. 

A confession: I *hate* sewing. I really do, though I know how. I was taught to sew as a child. I was a Girl Scout who routinely made Sit-Upons, I suffered through Home Ec in Junior High AND I actually took a year of sewing in high school. I have made clothes, and know how to read a pattern. I still hate it.  But see? That is THE beauty of repair fairs. I don't have to love sewing -- though it is helpful if someone does. In point of fact, I don't have to actually be a repair person of any kind. In my case, last week, I was the organizer but I also did some jewelry repair, which is something I like. Could you go out pay for some of these services? Absolutely. I have no problem with that. It's a free market. But here's the thing -- and here is my deeper mission -- when you gather with others to do this work together, it's about community and a more meaningful purpose. Yes, sure, you're sewing back on loose buttons -- but you are also keeping a coat out of landfill *and* you are doing it together. 

Below are pictures of one of my favorite t-shirts. It's about twenty years old and the wonderful embroidery in the center was pulling the shirt apart. I hadn't worn it in at least a couple of years. But I brought it last week and a talented, caring colleague sewed a patch onto the back, strengthening the fabric and giving me my shirt back to wear. I was thrilled. 

So, this week: multiple encores for you and yes, I know it's challenging. First, if you work somewhere you could organize a Repair Fair, try it OR pass the idea along to whomever is a logical organizer. If you want advice about how to run one, you can do some research or just ask me. I would happy to share my observations. We are going to do a second one here in April. 

If this seems too big, then think smaller: How could something be fixed instead of tossed? Could you fix it? Could someone else? When you shop, consider your purchases carefully. Will your item last? If you already know that it won't, could spend a bit more money to buy something that will? If for no other reason, you will save money in the long run. You can think of it that way. 

In a world that too often feels broken, mending something -- sometimes -- can feel like a huge accomplishment. There's that, too.

Let me know how your projects go. 

Happy Repairing!   

 

 

On Doing Nothing

Many years ago when I was in graduate school, I spent one summer -- one pretty perfect summer -- in a room and board exchange with an elderly couple in Kennebunk, Maine. They were like the grandparents I'd never had a chance to know. They were in their early 70s then, and were the kind of people I quickly realized I wanted to be: politically liberal and engaged, involved with their community, volunteers at a local animal shelter's board, organic gardeners, and big-hearted, creative tellers of stories. Plus, they always had wonderful political cartoons taped to kitchen cabinet doors.  There is so much more that could be said about them but for the purpose of this post, I will simply say that Paula and Bruce gave me more than they ever knew, in ways they could never have guessed.

When I lived with them, what they needed from me in exchange for use of an apartment in their house was minimal: mostly it was working out in their garden, which of course, I adored. They were my first teachers of the beauty of compost and I would spend afternoons, weeding, mowing, spreading chicken manure -- something you couldn't possibly ever forget. It wasn't a very hot summer, and in fact, it rained almost every weekend, which disappointed the tourists but pleased the gardeners. Honestly, I never felt like I was doing much for them, certainly not enough, and I realize now that our connection had very little to do with them needing help. Because I felt like I should be living up to my part of the arrangement, when Paula would tell me to take a break, I usually balked. She was someone who liked her naps. After lunch, which always included a lovely salad from the garden, the table set with cloth napkins and clever animal-shaped napkin rings, she would go upstairs and have a rest. I rarely did. At some point in August as I was beginning to pack up my things to return to grad life in Boston, she saw me in a flurry of packing and said to me "Sometimes, you just have to do nothing. Let yourself do nothing!"

At the time, I nodded as though I both accepted and understood her command. Really, I didn't have a clue. Take a nap? Do nothing...when there is so much work to do? HERESY. But still, it was *Paula*. She was special in ways that went beyond words. So, I mentally put it on my To Do list and tucked it away.

Those of us who are Yankees...of Puritan descent... whether we want to admit or not, we have a problem with doing "nothing". Or at least, I do. It makes me feel guilty. But recognizing that and getting beyond it took awhile.

I have taken naps over the years and as I have gotten older, began to discover the lovely satisfaction that comes from getting more rest. More than simply sleep, though, stopping the *doing*, whether with sleep, meditation, or just being, I have learned, is in fact NOT doing "nothing" -- it's the opposite. You may use language that suits you but more than the physical aspects of stopping, for lack of a better word, is the genuine opportunity for spiritual refreshment.

There is a famous Zen Buddhist saying that I love:

Meditate for an hour every day unless you are too busy. In that case, meditate for two hours.

If this is new to you, stop and think. Heresy, eh? Talk about turning our oh-so-busy lives upside down. 

Last year, the New Yorker ran a piece on the concept of hygge, which is a Danish (and other Scandinavian) tradition of being "cozy", for lack of a better term, particularly in winter. The descriptions sounded exactly in line with the idea that instead of fighting the weather and fighting what you need, giving it to yourself and others and refreshing yourself in the process. Because the weather is similar to what we in New England expect, it made sense to me. Think about the feeling of sitting in front of a fire, warm mug of hot beverage in hand, listening to the crackle, blanket around you. It's all that and more and I am integrating as much of this into my life as I can.

Here is the link to that article: 

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-year-of-hygge-the-danish-obsession-with-getting-cozy

As I write this, the wind is howling and the temperature outside is about 5 degrees. Two days ago, we got a brutal Nor'Easter that dumped about fifteen inches of snow and kept most people inside. We are in hunker-down mode for next two days, when the weather is supposed to break. 

Also, as I write this, I am sitting in bed. I have been here for about five hours. It's almost dinner time. I have been in bed most of the day, with a dog quietly dozing at my feet. And furthermore, as I began writing this,  I had just woken up from a nap. Perhaps, I simply learned to give myself permission. 

It took me thirty years to understand the truth that sometimes, doing nothing is best. 

Your encore for the day? I think you know. Go do nothing.

Peace.