A recent family outing to Heron Haven, a lovely local nature center, left me with a familiar feeling of disappointment. Familiar, and preventable. What should have been an enjoyable afternoon of walking the nature trail, spotting wildlife and taking pictures, was marred by the inconsiderate actions of a few humans. While enjoying the view of the wetlands, we noticed two soft drink bottles in the water. We found another on the trail.
Trash receptacles were provided, but some people chose to litter instead. I don't condone littering for any reason. It spoils the appearance of any locale, contaminates our waterways and breeds germs. I don't understand what makes litterers tick, but I can see how some people might think it is easier to toss trash out a car window or drop it on the ground rather than hold onto it until a trash receptacle becomes available. Again, I understand (kind of), but I don't agree with this reasoning.
However, it truly baffles me that people would go out of their way to visit a nature center, a place that exists to glorify nature, and deliberately spoil it by littering. Sure, one bottle doesn't seem like such a big deal, but when two or three or ten people think that way, it becomes a problem. And someone has to clean up that mess. We retrieved the bottle on the trail and disposed of it before we left, but the other bottles at the far side of the wetlands, in an area inaccessible to visitors (unless we were prepared to swim).
The idea that someone would visit a place that celebrates the wonders of nature, only to ruin its appearance and endanger the habitats, is counterintuitive. The place in question isn't very large; it wouldn't have been difficult to hang onto those bottles until the people left.
It's very hard to teach our children to respect the environment when others are so thoughtless. We try to use such experiences as teaching moments, but such behavior sends a negative message.
Folks, next time you want to enjoy the outdoors, do me a favor. Bring along a backpack, and take out what you bring in. As the hikers say, "Pack it in, pack it out." That way, we can continue to enjoy our outdoors recreation areas for many years to come.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Pack It In, Pack It Out
A recent family outing to Heron Haven, a lovely local nature center, left me with a familiar feeling of disappointment. Familiar, and preventable. What should have been an enjoyable afternoon of walking the nature trail, spotting wildlife and taking pictures, was marred by the inconsiderate actions of a few humans. While enjoying the view of the wetlands, we noticed two soft drink bottles in the water. We found another on the trail.
Trash receptacles were provided, but some people chose to litter instead. I don't condone littering for any reason. It spoils the appearance of any locale, contaminates our waterways and breeds germs. I don't understand what makes litterers tick, but I can see how some people might think it is easier to toss trash out a car window or drop it on the ground rather than hold onto it until a trash receptacle becomes available. Again, I understand (kind of), but I don't agree with this reasoning.
However, it truly baffles me that people would go out of their way to visit a nature center, a place that exists to glorify nature, and deliberately spoil it by littering. Sure, one bottle doesn't seem like such a big deal, but when two or three or ten people think that way, it becomes a problem. And someone has to clean up that mess. We retrieved the bottle on the trail and disposed of it before we left, but the other bottles at the far side of the wetlands, in an area inaccessible to visitors (unless we were prepared to swim).
The idea that someone would visit a place that celebrates the wonders of nature, only to ruin its appearance and endanger the habitats, is counterintuitive. The place in question isn't very large; it wouldn't have been difficult to hang onto those bottles until the people left.
It's very hard to teach our children to respect the environment when others are so thoughtless. We try to use such experiences as teaching moments, but such behavior sends a negative message.
Folks, next time you want to enjoy the outdoors, do me a favor. Bring along a backpack, and take out what you bring in. As the hikers say, "Pack it in, pack it out." That way, we can continue to enjoy our outdoors recreation areas for many years to come.
Trash receptacles were provided, but some people chose to litter instead. I don't condone littering for any reason. It spoils the appearance of any locale, contaminates our waterways and breeds germs. I don't understand what makes litterers tick, but I can see how some people might think it is easier to toss trash out a car window or drop it on the ground rather than hold onto it until a trash receptacle becomes available. Again, I understand (kind of), but I don't agree with this reasoning.
However, it truly baffles me that people would go out of their way to visit a nature center, a place that exists to glorify nature, and deliberately spoil it by littering. Sure, one bottle doesn't seem like such a big deal, but when two or three or ten people think that way, it becomes a problem. And someone has to clean up that mess. We retrieved the bottle on the trail and disposed of it before we left, but the other bottles at the far side of the wetlands, in an area inaccessible to visitors (unless we were prepared to swim).
The idea that someone would visit a place that celebrates the wonders of nature, only to ruin its appearance and endanger the habitats, is counterintuitive. The place in question isn't very large; it wouldn't have been difficult to hang onto those bottles until the people left.
It's very hard to teach our children to respect the environment when others are so thoughtless. We try to use such experiences as teaching moments, but such behavior sends a negative message.
Folks, next time you want to enjoy the outdoors, do me a favor. Bring along a backpack, and take out what you bring in. As the hikers say, "Pack it in, pack it out." That way, we can continue to enjoy our outdoors recreation areas for many years to come.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Tribute to a Courageous Man
Today's post is dedicated to a man who, during our short acquaintance, impressed me with his courageous decision to learn to read. To protect his privacy, I will call him "Jim".
I met Jim in 1999, when I became a literacy tutor with my local literacy center. He was my first student, and I was his first tutor. He seemed as nervous as I felt.
I was eager to make a good impression on Jim. As a rather shy person, I worried about developing a rapport with and gaining the trust of this gentleman. Jim and I shook hands in the lobby, making small talk as we assessed one another. He was a bear of a man, tall and rotund. He had unkempt curly brown hair and a beard streaked with gray. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. His strong cologne seemed at odds with his casual appearance and his rough hands. He was polite and friendly. I liked him immediately. We proceeded to an available room, closing the door for privacy.
We spent the first fifteen minutes getting acquainted. Jim described his background, and what had led to his decision to contact the literacy center.
He was in his late thirties, had never married and had no children. He had some close relatives in town. He was especially fond of his niece and nephew. His warehouse job was dirty and physically demanding; it left him exhausted at night. He lived fairly close to the literacy center, which was fortunate, as his driver's license had been revoked due to multiple DUI convictions. He told me that after his license was finally pulled, he realized he had to change. When I met him, he had been sober for a couple of years. I was impressed by his honesty, and while I, as his tutor, didn't need to know his history, it helped to shed light on his character. His goal in coming to us was to eventually receive a promotion.
His literacy assessment showed him to be reading at a third grade level. His eyes lit up when I gave him his workbook. He promised to work very hard so that he would be able to read the advanced stories that interested him. As we eased into the lesson, we both began to relax. We were so absorbed in our lesson that we lost track of time. I quickly assigned some homework and we gathered our things to leave.
When we opened the door of our study room, the building was in darkness, and everyone else had left. I was horrified. I didn't even know where the light switches were. We felt our way along the walls, located the lights and then tried the front door. It was locked from the outside. We wandered around and eventually located two more doors, but they were securely locked as well. So gentle was Jim's manner that not once did I feel uncomfortable being alone in his presence in an unfamiliar locked building at night. Even though he continually tried to reassure me, I was so embarrassed, and I was sure he would request another tutor. I finally found a staff directory and called home numbers until I reached someone who could rescue us. I was sure I would be fired, and I apologized to Jim in advance. He advised me to relax and everything would work out. He said he was actually enjoying himself.
As it turned out, I didn't get fired. But every time Jim and I were introduced to other volunteers, we heard, "Oh, so you're the two who got locked in."
Jim and I laughed about that night often. He was a hard worker. His writing, as well as his reading, improved. I still have all his essays, which show him to have been a man capable of strong emotion and deep thought. His mind was sharp. I gained confidence in myself by continually devising new ways to challenge him. His favorite stories were the ones about Babe Ruth, baseball and animals.
Sometimes we met at the center, other times at the library, or at his home. I always drove if we met elsewhere. Our time together was never awkward. If I had a bad day at work, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Eventually I met some of his relatives, including his beloved niece and nephew. It was obvious how much they admired their uncle. At Christmas, Jim brought me his delicious homemade peanut brittle.
After about two years, Jim began to make excuses for not coming to class. When we did meet, he was often distracted. Frequently he failed to do his homework. He seemed to want to talk about what was wrong, but never said much. He told me that although the urge to drink was very strong, he hadn't given in, and I believed him. At the time, I was going through some personal issues of my own, and, I regret to say, felt relieved that we were meeting less. Eventually our meetings ceased altogether and we lost touch. I often thought about offering to tutor him privately, but I never made the call. I have never forgiven myself.
A few months ago, in an attempt to make amends after all these years, I finally called Jim's mother to find out how to get in touch with him. She told me the sad news: Jim passed away suddenly last fall from a pulmonary embolism. He was only
47. His family never got the chance to say goodbye. I am still grieving. I am full of remorse for having failed that good man. I hope the courage he displayed, the courage to overcome the stigma of illiteracy, to improve himself and help his family, will inspire others to learn to read. I know he inspired me--his gentle encouragement gave me the confidence to try other volunteer opportunities over the years. This post is my way of memorializing him. It will never be enough, but it is all I have to give.
I met Jim in 1999, when I became a literacy tutor with my local literacy center. He was my first student, and I was his first tutor. He seemed as nervous as I felt.
I was eager to make a good impression on Jim. As a rather shy person, I worried about developing a rapport with and gaining the trust of this gentleman. Jim and I shook hands in the lobby, making small talk as we assessed one another. He was a bear of a man, tall and rotund. He had unkempt curly brown hair and a beard streaked with gray. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. His strong cologne seemed at odds with his casual appearance and his rough hands. He was polite and friendly. I liked him immediately. We proceeded to an available room, closing the door for privacy.
We spent the first fifteen minutes getting acquainted. Jim described his background, and what had led to his decision to contact the literacy center.
He was in his late thirties, had never married and had no children. He had some close relatives in town. He was especially fond of his niece and nephew. His warehouse job was dirty and physically demanding; it left him exhausted at night. He lived fairly close to the literacy center, which was fortunate, as his driver's license had been revoked due to multiple DUI convictions. He told me that after his license was finally pulled, he realized he had to change. When I met him, he had been sober for a couple of years. I was impressed by his honesty, and while I, as his tutor, didn't need to know his history, it helped to shed light on his character. His goal in coming to us was to eventually receive a promotion.
His literacy assessment showed him to be reading at a third grade level. His eyes lit up when I gave him his workbook. He promised to work very hard so that he would be able to read the advanced stories that interested him. As we eased into the lesson, we both began to relax. We were so absorbed in our lesson that we lost track of time. I quickly assigned some homework and we gathered our things to leave.
When we opened the door of our study room, the building was in darkness, and everyone else had left. I was horrified. I didn't even know where the light switches were. We felt our way along the walls, located the lights and then tried the front door. It was locked from the outside. We wandered around and eventually located two more doors, but they were securely locked as well. So gentle was Jim's manner that not once did I feel uncomfortable being alone in his presence in an unfamiliar locked building at night. Even though he continually tried to reassure me, I was so embarrassed, and I was sure he would request another tutor. I finally found a staff directory and called home numbers until I reached someone who could rescue us. I was sure I would be fired, and I apologized to Jim in advance. He advised me to relax and everything would work out. He said he was actually enjoying himself.
As it turned out, I didn't get fired. But every time Jim and I were introduced to other volunteers, we heard, "Oh, so you're the two who got locked in."
Jim and I laughed about that night often. He was a hard worker. His writing, as well as his reading, improved. I still have all his essays, which show him to have been a man capable of strong emotion and deep thought. His mind was sharp. I gained confidence in myself by continually devising new ways to challenge him. His favorite stories were the ones about Babe Ruth, baseball and animals.
Sometimes we met at the center, other times at the library, or at his home. I always drove if we met elsewhere. Our time together was never awkward. If I had a bad day at work, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Eventually I met some of his relatives, including his beloved niece and nephew. It was obvious how much they admired their uncle. At Christmas, Jim brought me his delicious homemade peanut brittle.
After about two years, Jim began to make excuses for not coming to class. When we did meet, he was often distracted. Frequently he failed to do his homework. He seemed to want to talk about what was wrong, but never said much. He told me that although the urge to drink was very strong, he hadn't given in, and I believed him. At the time, I was going through some personal issues of my own, and, I regret to say, felt relieved that we were meeting less. Eventually our meetings ceased altogether and we lost touch. I often thought about offering to tutor him privately, but I never made the call. I have never forgiven myself.
A few months ago, in an attempt to make amends after all these years, I finally called Jim's mother to find out how to get in touch with him. She told me the sad news: Jim passed away suddenly last fall from a pulmonary embolism. He was only
47. His family never got the chance to say goodbye. I am still grieving. I am full of remorse for having failed that good man. I hope the courage he displayed, the courage to overcome the stigma of illiteracy, to improve himself and help his family, will inspire others to learn to read. I know he inspired me--his gentle encouragement gave me the confidence to try other volunteer opportunities over the years. This post is my way of memorializing him. It will never be enough, but it is all I have to give.
Tribute to a Courageous Man
Today's post is dedicated to a man who, during our short acquaintance, impressed me with his courageous decision to learn to read. To protect his privacy, I will call him "Jim".
I met Jim in 1999, when I became a literacy tutor with my local literacy center. He was my first student, and I was his first tutor. He seemed as nervous as I felt.
I was eager to make a good impression on Jim. As a rather shy person, I worried about developing a rapport with and gaining the trust of this gentleman. Jim and I shook hands in the lobby, making small talk as we assessed one another. He was a bear of a man, tall and rotund. He had unkempt curly brown hair and a beard streaked with gray. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. His strong cologne seemed at odds with his casual appearance and his rough hands. He was polite and friendly. I liked him immediately. We proceeded to an available room, closing the door for privacy.
We spent the first fifteen minutes getting acquainted. Jim described his background, and what had led to his decision to contact the literacy center.
He was in his late thirties, had never married and had no children. He had some close relatives in town. He was especially fond of his niece and nephew. His warehouse job was dirty and physically demanding; it left him exhausted at night. He lived fairly close to the literacy center, which was fortunate, as his driver's license had been revoked due to multiple DUI convictions. He told me that after his license was finally pulled, he realized he had to change. When I met him, he had been sober for a couple of years. I was impressed by his honesty, and while I, as his tutor, didn't need to know his history, it helped to shed light on his character. His goal in coming to us was to eventually receive a promotion.
His literacy assessment showed him to be reading at a third grade level. His eyes lit up when I gave him his workbook. He promised to work very hard so that he would be able to read the advanced stories that interested him. As we eased into the lesson, we both began to relax. We were so absorbed in our lesson that we lost track of time. I quickly assigned some homework and we gathered our things to leave.
When we opened the door of our study room, the building was in darkness, and everyone else had left. I was horrified. I didn't even know where the light switches were. We felt our way along the walls, located the lights and then tried the front door. It was locked from the outside. We wandered around and eventually located two more doors, but they were securely locked as well. So gentle was Jim's manner that not once did I feel uncomfortable being alone in his presence in an unfamiliar locked building at night. Even though he continually tried to reassure me, I was so embarrassed, and I was sure he would request another tutor. I finally found a staff directory and called home numbers until I reached someone who could rescue us. I was sure I would be fired, and I apologized to Jim in advance. He advised me to relax and everything would work out. He said he was actually enjoying himself.
As it turned out, I didn't get fired. But every time Jim and I were introduced to other volunteers, we heard, "Oh, so you're the two who got locked in."
Jim and I laughed about that night often. He was a hard worker. His writing, as well as his reading, improved. I still have all his essays, which show him to have been a man capable of strong emotion and deep thought. His mind was sharp. I gained confidence in myself by continually devising new ways to challenge him. His favorite stories were the ones about Babe Ruth, baseball and animals.
Sometimes we met at the center, other times at the library, or at his home. I always drove if we met elsewhere. Our time together was never awkward. If I had a bad day at work, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Eventually I met some of his relatives, including his beloved niece and nephew. It was obvious how much they admired their uncle. At Christmas, Jim brought me his delicious homemade peanut brittle.
After about two years, Jim began to make excuses for not coming to class. When we did meet, he was often distracted. Frequently he failed to do his homework. He seemed to want to talk about what was wrong, but never said much. He told me that although the urge to drink was very strong, he hadn't given in, and I believed him. At the time, I was going through some personal issues of my own, and, I regret to say, felt relieved that we were meeting less. Eventually our meetings ceased altogether and we lost touch. I often thought about offering to tutor him privately, but I never made the call. I have never forgiven myself.
A few months ago, in an attempt to make amends after all these years, I finally called Jim's mother to find out how to get in touch with him. She told me the sad news: Jim passed away suddenly last fall from a pulmonary embolism. He was only
47. His family never got the chance to say goodbye. I am still grieving. I am full of remorse for having failed that good man. I hope the courage he displayed, the courage to overcome the stigma of illiteracy, to improve himself and help his family, will inspire others to learn to read. I know he inspired me--his gentle encouragement gave me the confidence to try other volunteer opportunities over the years. This post is my way of memorializing him. It will never be enough, but it is all I have to give.
I met Jim in 1999, when I became a literacy tutor with my local literacy center. He was my first student, and I was his first tutor. He seemed as nervous as I felt.
I was eager to make a good impression on Jim. As a rather shy person, I worried about developing a rapport with and gaining the trust of this gentleman. Jim and I shook hands in the lobby, making small talk as we assessed one another. He was a bear of a man, tall and rotund. He had unkempt curly brown hair and a beard streaked with gray. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. His strong cologne seemed at odds with his casual appearance and his rough hands. He was polite and friendly. I liked him immediately. We proceeded to an available room, closing the door for privacy.
We spent the first fifteen minutes getting acquainted. Jim described his background, and what had led to his decision to contact the literacy center.
He was in his late thirties, had never married and had no children. He had some close relatives in town. He was especially fond of his niece and nephew. His warehouse job was dirty and physically demanding; it left him exhausted at night. He lived fairly close to the literacy center, which was fortunate, as his driver's license had been revoked due to multiple DUI convictions. He told me that after his license was finally pulled, he realized he had to change. When I met him, he had been sober for a couple of years. I was impressed by his honesty, and while I, as his tutor, didn't need to know his history, it helped to shed light on his character. His goal in coming to us was to eventually receive a promotion.
His literacy assessment showed him to be reading at a third grade level. His eyes lit up when I gave him his workbook. He promised to work very hard so that he would be able to read the advanced stories that interested him. As we eased into the lesson, we both began to relax. We were so absorbed in our lesson that we lost track of time. I quickly assigned some homework and we gathered our things to leave.
When we opened the door of our study room, the building was in darkness, and everyone else had left. I was horrified. I didn't even know where the light switches were. We felt our way along the walls, located the lights and then tried the front door. It was locked from the outside. We wandered around and eventually located two more doors, but they were securely locked as well. So gentle was Jim's manner that not once did I feel uncomfortable being alone in his presence in an unfamiliar locked building at night. Even though he continually tried to reassure me, I was so embarrassed, and I was sure he would request another tutor. I finally found a staff directory and called home numbers until I reached someone who could rescue us. I was sure I would be fired, and I apologized to Jim in advance. He advised me to relax and everything would work out. He said he was actually enjoying himself.
As it turned out, I didn't get fired. But every time Jim and I were introduced to other volunteers, we heard, "Oh, so you're the two who got locked in."
Jim and I laughed about that night often. He was a hard worker. His writing, as well as his reading, improved. I still have all his essays, which show him to have been a man capable of strong emotion and deep thought. His mind was sharp. I gained confidence in myself by continually devising new ways to challenge him. His favorite stories were the ones about Babe Ruth, baseball and animals.
Sometimes we met at the center, other times at the library, or at his home. I always drove if we met elsewhere. Our time together was never awkward. If I had a bad day at work, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Eventually I met some of his relatives, including his beloved niece and nephew. It was obvious how much they admired their uncle. At Christmas, Jim brought me his delicious homemade peanut brittle.
After about two years, Jim began to make excuses for not coming to class. When we did meet, he was often distracted. Frequently he failed to do his homework. He seemed to want to talk about what was wrong, but never said much. He told me that although the urge to drink was very strong, he hadn't given in, and I believed him. At the time, I was going through some personal issues of my own, and, I regret to say, felt relieved that we were meeting less. Eventually our meetings ceased altogether and we lost touch. I often thought about offering to tutor him privately, but I never made the call. I have never forgiven myself.
A few months ago, in an attempt to make amends after all these years, I finally called Jim's mother to find out how to get in touch with him. She told me the sad news: Jim passed away suddenly last fall from a pulmonary embolism. He was only
47. His family never got the chance to say goodbye. I am still grieving. I am full of remorse for having failed that good man. I hope the courage he displayed, the courage to overcome the stigma of illiteracy, to improve himself and help his family, will inspire others to learn to read. I know he inspired me--his gentle encouragement gave me the confidence to try other volunteer opportunities over the years. This post is my way of memorializing him. It will never be enough, but it is all I have to give.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
So you walk to raise cash, but walk away from trash
Recently I participated in a 5K walk/run to raise money for a worthy cause. After the event, the sponsors generously provided the partcipants with a lot of great food and drink. People grabbed the few available tables or sat on the ground, enjoying refreshments and socializing. As more people completed the course, they joined the crowd, until the field was filled with several hundred bodies. Soon the trash cans nearest the food tents were full, and the volunteers were kept busy emptying them.
One the perimeter of the field, I also spotted no fewer than three fifty-five gallon drums that very few people were using. These cans were in plain sight of the tables and the shade trees where people were sitting. They were perhaps twenty feet away from the central knot of people, whereas the closer cans were perhaps five to ten feet away.
Most people (the ones who didn't take advantage of the less-used cans in the first place) approached the centrally located cans, and noticing they were overflowing, added their trash to the top anyway, causing it to fall on the ground. The more conscientious of these picked up the trash and looked around for another receptacle that was less full. Most, however, left the trash on the ground, creating more work for the volunteers. (There was yet another category of people: those who left their trash on the tables or the ground where they had sat, not even attempting to dispose of it at all. But that's a whole other story.)
So, those of you at the walk/run who littered, let me get this straight. You finished a 5k walk/run, yet you were too lazy to walk a further twenty feet to dispose of your trash. Really? Hmmm. I think we need a walk/run to raise awareness about littering. Can we count you in?
One the perimeter of the field, I also spotted no fewer than three fifty-five gallon drums that very few people were using. These cans were in plain sight of the tables and the shade trees where people were sitting. They were perhaps twenty feet away from the central knot of people, whereas the closer cans were perhaps five to ten feet away.
Most people (the ones who didn't take advantage of the less-used cans in the first place) approached the centrally located cans, and noticing they were overflowing, added their trash to the top anyway, causing it to fall on the ground. The more conscientious of these picked up the trash and looked around for another receptacle that was less full. Most, however, left the trash on the ground, creating more work for the volunteers. (There was yet another category of people: those who left their trash on the tables or the ground where they had sat, not even attempting to dispose of it at all. But that's a whole other story.)
So, those of you at the walk/run who littered, let me get this straight. You finished a 5k walk/run, yet you were too lazy to walk a further twenty feet to dispose of your trash. Really? Hmmm. I think we need a walk/run to raise awareness about littering. Can we count you in?
So you walk to raise cash, but walk away from trash
Recently I participated in a 5K walk/run to raise money for a worthy cause. After the event, the sponsors generously provided the partcipants with a lot of great food and drink. People grabbed the few available tables or sat on the ground, enjoying refreshments and socializing. As more people completed the course, they joined the crowd, until the field was filled with several hundred bodies. Soon the trash cans nearest the food tents were full, and the volunteers were kept busy emptying them.
One the perimeter of the field, I also spotted no fewer than three fifty-five gallon drums that very few people were using. These cans were in plain sight of the tables and the shade trees where people were sitting. They were perhaps twenty feet away from the central knot of people, whereas the closer cans were perhaps five to ten feet away.
Most people (the ones who didn't take advantage of the less-used cans in the first place) approached the centrally located cans, and noticing they were overflowing, added their trash to the top anyway, causing it to fall on the ground. The more conscientious of these picked up the trash and looked around for another receptacle that was less full. Most, however, left the trash on the ground, creating more work for the volunteers. (There was yet another category of people: those who left their trash on the tables or the ground where they had sat, not even attempting to dispose of it at all. But that's a whole other story.)
So, those of you at the walk/run who littered, let me get this straight. You finished a 5k walk/run, yet you were too lazy to walk a further twenty feet to dispose of your trash. Really? Hmmm. I think we need a walk/run to raise awareness about littering. Can we count you in?
One the perimeter of the field, I also spotted no fewer than three fifty-five gallon drums that very few people were using. These cans were in plain sight of the tables and the shade trees where people were sitting. They were perhaps twenty feet away from the central knot of people, whereas the closer cans were perhaps five to ten feet away.
Most people (the ones who didn't take advantage of the less-used cans in the first place) approached the centrally located cans, and noticing they were overflowing, added their trash to the top anyway, causing it to fall on the ground. The more conscientious of these picked up the trash and looked around for another receptacle that was less full. Most, however, left the trash on the ground, creating more work for the volunteers. (There was yet another category of people: those who left their trash on the tables or the ground where they had sat, not even attempting to dispose of it at all. But that's a whole other story.)
So, those of you at the walk/run who littered, let me get this straight. You finished a 5k walk/run, yet you were too lazy to walk a further twenty feet to dispose of your trash. Really? Hmmm. I think we need a walk/run to raise awareness about littering. Can we count you in?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Let's Call a Truck a Truck
I recently became the proud owner of a minivan. I had no choice but to get a new vehicle because my other one finally died. We were putting more money into it than it was worth, and, as my husband will agree, we were getting tired of sharing a ride every day.
I love this minivan. It has all the desirable features I could ever want, and it's so spacious. There's plenty of room to haul the whole family, thus avoiding the issue of which kid gets to ride with which parent. Our son's friends can now join us for dinner at a restaurant without our having to take two cars. No longer do I need to decide between bringing the stroller or the bicycle. In short, it's heaven.
But about a week after we purchased it, I discovered a downside to my new mode of transportation. We were getting ready to go somewhere, and my husband hollered out, "I'm going to load up the truck." "Wait," I said, "I thought we were taking the van." "We are," he replied with a perplexed expression on his face.
With a great sigh of resignation, I saw my future. We now had two "trucks," not one. You see, my husband also refers to his Ford Explorer as his "truck." He can't understand my frustration when I ask him to call it "the Explorer" or the "SUV." I have tried to let this go, I have attempted to focus on more important issues. But just ask him, I have trouble keeping my opinions to myself.
In a way, I understand his need to do this. A few years ago he had a pickup truck. He used it to lug furniture, to take trash to the dump and to carry stuff home from the home improvement store, among other things. When the time came to replace it, we weighed our options: Should we buy a truck or an SUV? We decided that an SUV would be more useful, since it could do most of the things a pickup could if you folded down the back seats. But it was more practical than a pickup for transporting our family. (I'm bothered by the environmental impact, but that's another whole issue.)
For the most part, I think he is at peace with his decision. The thing that troubles him, I think, is the subconscious belief that a pickup is somehow more masculine than an SUV. After all, a lot of women drive SUVs, but the majority of pickups probably are driven by men. I'm curious what other men think about my macho theory. By calling his Explorer a truck, perhaps he feels more in touch with his tough-guy side, the hunter rather than the nurturer.
Okay, I get that. I can deal with it. In fact, from now on, I vow to keep quiet when he refers to the Explorer as his "truck." That said, I think I'll go for a spin in my van.
I love this minivan. It has all the desirable features I could ever want, and it's so spacious. There's plenty of room to haul the whole family, thus avoiding the issue of which kid gets to ride with which parent. Our son's friends can now join us for dinner at a restaurant without our having to take two cars. No longer do I need to decide between bringing the stroller or the bicycle. In short, it's heaven.
But about a week after we purchased it, I discovered a downside to my new mode of transportation. We were getting ready to go somewhere, and my husband hollered out, "I'm going to load up the truck." "Wait," I said, "I thought we were taking the van." "We are," he replied with a perplexed expression on his face.
With a great sigh of resignation, I saw my future. We now had two "trucks," not one. You see, my husband also refers to his Ford Explorer as his "truck." He can't understand my frustration when I ask him to call it "the Explorer" or the "SUV." I have tried to let this go, I have attempted to focus on more important issues. But just ask him, I have trouble keeping my opinions to myself.
In a way, I understand his need to do this. A few years ago he had a pickup truck. He used it to lug furniture, to take trash to the dump and to carry stuff home from the home improvement store, among other things. When the time came to replace it, we weighed our options: Should we buy a truck or an SUV? We decided that an SUV would be more useful, since it could do most of the things a pickup could if you folded down the back seats. But it was more practical than a pickup for transporting our family. (I'm bothered by the environmental impact, but that's another whole issue.)
For the most part, I think he is at peace with his decision. The thing that troubles him, I think, is the subconscious belief that a pickup is somehow more masculine than an SUV. After all, a lot of women drive SUVs, but the majority of pickups probably are driven by men. I'm curious what other men think about my macho theory. By calling his Explorer a truck, perhaps he feels more in touch with his tough-guy side, the hunter rather than the nurturer.
Okay, I get that. I can deal with it. In fact, from now on, I vow to keep quiet when he refers to the Explorer as his "truck." That said, I think I'll go for a spin in my van.
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