Re-Learning Some Lessons About Art of Simple Living : Environment: When things break down, it can point the way to a lifestyle worthy of Earth Day.
About a year and a half ago, the modern conveniences at my house began falling around me like pins in a bowling alley.
Although I had never felt totally comfortable with all my gadgets, I had forgotten many of the resolutions I made in 1970 as a bright-eyed zealot championing the first Earth Day. As a new high school history teacher, I had founded the Ecology Club, and, along with my students, I swore eternal vigilance against wasteful habits.
But, in the intervening years, I’d become dependent on my essential mechanical servants. When disaster started to strike them, I began to wonder if there was a conspiracy under way. Were ecology-minded pioneer aliens sabotaging my orderly life?
First, it was my television set. The humble black-and-white jobbie flickered and the picture vanished into a pinhole in the center of the glass. I was too busy to get another one right away, so I rediscovered the radio. Time enough to replace my TV next weekend.
But a weird thing happened. I started enjoying music again. I found talk shows where people gave great advice about where to invest your money and how to keep your begonias in bloom. Best of all, I could listen to the radio and do a lot of other things at the same time. Hey, I thought, maybe it’s time I take a vacation from the TV.
When the hot water heater quit on me, that was different. I mean I had never lived without hot water pouring forth from the faucet. I hurried to the dealers to find out which kind of heater was most energy efficient.
But then there was a sizzling heat wave in Southern California. I did something I’ve never done before. I took a cold bath. A cold bath is mighty refreshing when it’s 97 degrees in the house. I kept pushing off buying the new heater and, as the weather cooled, I heated a couple of big pots of water on the stove and poured them in the bathtub. It worked well. I got a bracing feeling that I was a pretty self-reliant character. After all, didn’t our frontier ancestors pour hot water into tubs for bathing? I felt like Daniel Boone’s daughter.
Suddenly I realized that six months had gone by, and it was going to be spring again. Time enough to get that heater next winter.
My old pickup truck developed a few minor problems along about then. That has to be expected when a trusty old Chevy is about to celebrate its 20th birthday. Of course, I’d never turn my truck out, but I began hiking to places I’d always driven to before. Give the old truck a rest. I felt odd walking down the street, since we don’t have sidewalks. So, for safety’s sake, I loped along through fields and iceplant-clad hillsides. A few dogs chased me, and I scared one cat and five pigeons. Now they’re used to me. The dogs barely lift an ear as I go by, but the pigeons still resent me.
The last straw was when the kitchen sink drain wouldn’t function. The pioneer aliens had gone too far.
Nobody can live without a kitchen sink drain. I was busy dialing the plumber when I heard dire warnings on the radio about the California drought. In mournful tones, some guy was threatening that we’ll soon all dry up and blow away. Only selfish wretches would waste a drop of the rare and precious water we didn’t have enough of.
Suddenly, using a kitchen drain sounded as evil as spilling high-priced perfume or champagne down the drain. A wild and crazy scheme took root in my already addled brain. Having lived so long without a television set, a hot water heater and full use of my truck had radically changed my personality. I hastened down to the K mart for a monster-sized plastic bowl. Perfect for making sudsy water to wash dishes in. Ideal for rinsing veggies. Soon I was tripping around the yard, slaking the thirst of my thriving tomatoes and the shrubs with old veggie water. My sudsy water even gets along well with my trees. I felt positively heroic as I realized not a drop was being wasted.
It’s frightening to think what might go next, and how I will deal with it.
I’ve noticed that the bathtub drain is running slow. I thought, briefly, that I should get a plumber to check it out. And then I began laughing to myself. I will be looking at those old iron tubs on four little legs, I think--easier to reuse the water from those guys. Run the stuff right out to the trees, partner.
Not a bad way to keep the 20th anniversary of that first Earth Day. And I’ll be OK, God willin’ and the creeks don’t run dry altogether.
