Giving without guilt
When our president advised all Americans to go shopping, before the smoke had cleared from the destruction of 9/11, I knew he was seriously out of touch. As though new stuff could replace lost people. What was he thinking?
In my view, the country has long suffered from an overblown reliance on “growth,” as expressed in stock market averages, consumer spending and other economic indicators of our collective material wealth. Perhaps this keeps foreign countries investing in our misadventures overseas.
Do you and I feel better or live better because the value of Wal-Mart stock went up a few points, or because CEO salaries and benefits packages have risen to 350 times that of their employees? Probably not.
Even as retailers depend on Christmas spending to balance their books, many of us resist advertising pressure to spend, on credit if need be, just so our leaders can say the economy is fine, sub-prime mortgage borrowers to the contrary.
I recently read an account by a couple who signed the Compact, an agreement to buy nothing new except food and a few bare necessities for one year. They seemed pretty pleased with themselves, recounting creative ways to provide for their family without contributing to conspicuous consumerism.
Their children looked just fine, they said, in gently used clothes from a thrift shop while funding a charity that supports struggling families. Birthday gifts for other children were handmade dolls and recycled treasures. They even retrieved parts from wreckers to repair their car, and reduced their carbon footprint, not by buying a hybrid, but by driving less. The bonus: Their credit card debt disappeared.
I never actually signed the Compact, but there’s long been something in my genes that deplores waste. This certainly didn’t come from my parents, who lived high on the hog, never anticipating the reversal of fortune that would tarnish their golden years.
The family income dwindled before I and my younger sister went to college, but we never felt poor. We just experienced periods of sluggish cash flow. When times were good, I bought good quality things that would last through leaner times. Birkenstocks cost many times more than flip-flops made in China but they’ll be good decades after the cheap sandals decompose in the landfill.
When Al Gore received his Nobel Prize last week, I was thinking how global warming plays into this whole-waste-not-want-not thing. How big is our carbon footprint? My younger sister replaced her aging Volvo with a Prius and grins widely every month or so when she fills up. My all-wheel-drive Subaru (purchased slightly used, an executive lease trade-in) gets slightly less mileage than my all-manual Saturn but I’m driving it way less, consolidating errands and riding the senior van to concerts and such.
Christmas giving is another matter. In recent years, I’ve tried different strategies to foil the Wal-Marts of the world. One year I bought only locally made gifts. Another year I made donations to environmental organizations in the name of all giftees, except small children who might not understand. Turns out 5-year-old Amy totally gets it, loving the monthly magazine from Audubon and CD of birdcalls, which she plays as though it were a pop hit.
Last year I gave only books, partly to support the local independent bookstore.
This year, I’m favoring the gift of time, my time, since there’s more of it now. Piano lessons for my granddaughter and trips to the Museum of the Rockies, where I am now an official volunteer. Maybe one of Jack Horner’s books for my sister, a devoted fan of the noted paleontologist. And a copy of Webster’s New World for my grandson, who outgrew the youth dictionary I gave him a few years ago. He calls me long distance when he has a book report due, so I’ll offer to edit his papers. This would be a gift also for my daughter, who otherwise would have to help him.
I broke the Compact and ordered a set of heavy copper pots and pans from Crate & Barrel, on sale including two bonus pieces. This generated copious packing materials to be recycled. Still, I can’t resist a bargain. They’ll be divided among my daughters’ families. I’d give one to my son but he uses only cast iron and bluestone, the real cowboy stuff. Maybe I’ll give him my photo of cowboys hazing escaped bison back into Yellowstone.
And then there’s the dilemma of wrapping. It makes my skin crawl to see mountains of foil wrapping and ribbon ripped from packages, crumpled inside a cardboard carton.
Destination landfill. I’ve seen eyeballs roll when I was caught smoothing and folding paper for reuse.
So the few physical presents not already given will be wrapped in World Wildlife Federation’s recycled paper. For renewing my membership they sent me about a dozen beautifully printed sheets of various designs with matching to/from stickers.
Guilt-free giving with help from enlightened conservationists. I’m even tempted to send something to Al Gore.