It is not our fault.

 

                                                           America in the 1950s

Do not argue or mess with this lady. She will lecture you to death. Or grab you by the ear and haul you out to do laundry with a wringer washer.

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the much older lady that she should bring her own grocery bags, because plastic bags are not good for the environment,.

The woman apologized to the young girl and explained, "We didn't have this 'green thing' back in my earlier days."

The young clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

The older lady said that she was right our generation didn't have the "green thing" in its day.

The older lady went on to explain: "Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the "green thing" back in our day. Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags that we reused for numerous things. Most memorable besides household garbage bags was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our school books. This was to ensure that public property (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribblings. Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags.

But, too bad we didn't do the "green thing" back then. We walked up stairs because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn't have the "green thing" in our day.

Back then we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts. Wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days.

Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right; we didn't have the "green thing" back in our day.

Back then we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

In the kitchen we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power.

We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right; we didn't have the "green thing" back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blade in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn't have the "green thing" back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service in the family's $45,000 SUV or van, which cost what a whole house did before the "green thing."

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the "green thing" back then?"

Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart ass young person. We don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to piss us off... Especially from a tattooed, multiple pierced smartass who can't make change without the cash register telling them how much. Karen Karli Webb America in the 1950s

The caption on the photo shows the originating post in 2020.

Amen.

Sorry about the length of this post. Didn't know what to edit out.

Being Trashy is not a fashion statement.

garbage irks motorists

We talk about recycling. All need to talk about it. But the real question is if we do the talk, do we do the walk?

Recycling is absolutely a necessity now even more than before. Probably all of us bloggers have seen the massive islands of trash floating in the Pacific, Atlantic, and is moving into waterways.  It is its own island in many ways, only it is toxic.

size of France?

What happens when we recycle and it is collected? What is done to it?

preparing piles of recycling for sorting

What is next?

What plastics can be recycled?


This what China does.

Europe has be proactive for many years in recycling. 

America has as well, but not everyone has recognized how utterly vital recycling is.

On our farm, we handled garbage in several ways. Edibles were dumped 

in the hog lots. They loved it. 

We burned papers and paper waste.  

What about tin cans, etc? 

Some townspeople dumped that 

in the local creek that fed into the 

Mississippi. We took this trash to 

unfarmable empty land and dumped it.

                                                   It was the times, 1950s. 

What to do with plastic straws?

"Some examples of type 5 plastic containers that straws can be placed into include plastic take-out containers, microwavable plastic containers, and margarine tubs or other similar containers. Straws, damn them. Go to this site above.

To check if your container is the proper type, just check for the recycling label. Type 5 plastic (polypropylene) will be marked with a number 5 inside the recycling symbol. The image below illustrates this symbol:"

  

Medicine bottles are perfect.

Straws, damn them. Go to this site: Straws

 The paper straw option shown above can be found here: readily available in Target and other stores

Vegas, Baby!

We were going to Las Vegas.

We were on the road the day after school ended.  For months we had talked about this.  I had been reading about the great shows we could see, while my husband was calculating the expense.  By the time the day arrived, he had turned in months of soda cans and bottles for recycling, coming home with $100.  Vegas, baby.

Excalibur Hotel was brand new, and we were in awe, like the true tourists we were.  I went to the nickel slots; soon lights were flashing and ringing.  I made $40.  My husband took to the quarter slots, and broke even.

courtesy of Bing.com

Exhausted after a four hour drive and hitting jackpots, we went up to the room to change and go see a show. I had three great ones circled with the ticket cost.  It was going to take all my nickel winnings, and cut into the recycling money, but hey…Vegas!  I showed the paper to my beloved, hoping to make a great choice.

He's an original.

I searched his face, and realized that he wasn’t interested in seeing a live show.  He turned the paper to another page where “Terminator” was showing in a movie theater off the Strip. 

We came to Vegas, and he wanted to see “Terminator”. 

I caved and went on the drive off the bright flashy streets to some dimly lit, grungy theater.   It was easy to find.  It was between cruddy bars, with a pawn store across the street, and liquor store next to that.  The streets were lined with big motorcycles and prostitutes.  We, a modest grade school teacher and geeky high school algebra teacher, were like two fireflies in a sky filled with bug-eating bats. 

The show started in a theater filled with bikers and biker chicks, pimps and prostitutes, drug dealers and users, and two school teachers.  As the plot developed, the theater roared its approval with colorful metaphors and heartfelt profanity.  Swearing wasn’t unexpected, but never with such sincerity and verve.  As the movie came to a rip roaring conclusion, the guttural howls nearly ripped the grime off the floor.

1959

We walked out toward our car very aware of our vulnerability.  A few steps ahead were a pimp with two of his girls.  Oh, it was very clear who and what, because the car was a white decked out Cadillac, and he was wearing a white suit, with white fur cape, and gold jewelry on every digit.  The girls were also dressed for their profession.  We kept close to them, figuring no one would mug two stupid school teachers within close proximity of the Cadillac.  The pimp wouldn’t want blood on his car, right?

We were parked behind him in our little Toyota Tercel.  We took off with all the speed it could give us.  I didn’t talk to my husband for the entire trip back to the hotel.  When we were in our room, we looked at each other, waiting.  First there was one giggle, and then a chuckle.  Then we burst into relief-filled laughter, amazed that we had done such a thing, and nothing happened to us.

To this day, when we consider Las Vegas and its lights, all we think about is that one night, that one movie, and that white Cadillac.  Vegas can never beat any of that.