Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Alley.
One of my new favorite things to do is to put stuff in or around the trash cans in the back alley and watch people slow down to inspect. Today I watched a man in a van take away a broken fan and a busted trash can. (This is beginning to sound like Dr. Seuss.) I have no idea who he is or what he does with the stuff. Scrap metal? Resale? Does he fix it up and give it to the underprivileged? I guess I don't really care, so long as it finds a good use.
No need to call Bulk Pickup in my neighborhood, or even place a curb alert on Craigslist.
It's all very fascinating. And I love it.
One of my new favorite things to do is to put stuff in or around the trash cans in the back alley and watch people slow down to inspect. Today I watched a man in a van take away a broken fan and a busted trash can. (This is beginning to sound like Dr. Seuss.) I have no idea who he is or what he does with the stuff. Scrap metal? Resale? Does he fix it up and give it to the underprivileged? I guess I don't really care, so long as it finds a good use.
No need to call Bulk Pickup in my neighborhood, or even place a curb alert on Craigslist.
It's all very fascinating. And I love it.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Food And Life.
[But] either-or is a construction more deeply woven into our culture than into nature, where even antagonists depend on one another and the liveliest places are the edges, the in-betweens or both-ands.
Michael Pollan, in his book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, writes this in reference to the complexity of natural farming. Simply put, everything within and surrounding a farm has the ability to create a positive effect on the productivity of the land, creating a cycle of relationships that benefit all involved, from grass to trees to chickens to cows to flies to human.
A brilliant book, inspiring and challenging, The Omnivore's Dilemma, I believe, if only in the one aforementioned passage, has the ability to break through the genre of food writing and into something much bigger and more poignant.
Either-or. It's a concept that both crowds and oversimplifies the mind, feeds insecurities, creates anxiety, pride, structure. Our society adores this concept. Not in the same way as it adores freedom or sexuality or choice, but in a more subtle way.
As a fourth grader, I could choose basketball or girl scouts. Either-or. As a homeowner, I can be put together and organized or negligent and messy, but not both. In terms of spirituality or warfare, one can paraphrase both the President and the Bible: Either you're with us or against us. You can be for God or against him; you can be for the war or against it. But to be a sort-of Christian, or a sort-of patriot is considered weak. Imagine the idea of being in-between in a marriage. Either someone is married or she is not. There is no either-or.
On a lighter note, I have a friend who is compiling a list of the traits of a "Tool" versus the traits of a "Douchebag." A man could be one or the other, but, categorically speaking, not both. (Though one might find both in similar watering holes.)
I've struggled with this concept for most of my life. Either-or has a few close cousins: black-or-white and all-or-nothing. These are the thought patterns that create the most anxiety, pain and complication in my life. And although he is no psychologist, Pollan suggests that Either-or is a construct of our culture, rather than one that exists naturally. In a healthy ecosystem, animals, birds and insects are both predator and prey. Even we humans, with our opposable thumbs and our cognitive thinking skills, high and mighty at the top of the food chain, are destined to be, at one point, fertilizer for the earth.
In nature, grass feeds the forest and the forest feeds the grass. In human relationships, as well, this happens. It is difficult to give love, attention, friendship, consolation, appreciation, inspiration, without also receiving these attributes in one form or another. It's a cycle and it's natural. It's both-and, it's in-between.
And so I think that I'm the most comfortable, grateful, humble and stable when I celebrate the both-and and the in-between that is in me and those around me. These ideas leave more room for error, for inconsistencies, for failure and for laughter. They help make life interesting. I can enjoy both free-range chicken and Taco Bell. I can promote walking to save gas while celebrating the Great American Road Trip. And in relating with people, I can recognize that being garrulous has its place, as does being quiet; guarding your heart has its place, as does opening it up with reckless abandon. None of these traits is distinctively good or bad.
In short, living on the edges, promoting the in-betweens and the both-ands is an ingredient of the recipe for contentment, perhaps the only food that doesn't need to be digested in moderation.
[But] either-or is a construction more deeply woven into our culture than into nature, where even antagonists depend on one another and the liveliest places are the edges, the in-betweens or both-ands.
Michael Pollan, in his book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, writes this in reference to the complexity of natural farming. Simply put, everything within and surrounding a farm has the ability to create a positive effect on the productivity of the land, creating a cycle of relationships that benefit all involved, from grass to trees to chickens to cows to flies to human.
A brilliant book, inspiring and challenging, The Omnivore's Dilemma, I believe, if only in the one aforementioned passage, has the ability to break through the genre of food writing and into something much bigger and more poignant.
Either-or. It's a concept that both crowds and oversimplifies the mind, feeds insecurities, creates anxiety, pride, structure. Our society adores this concept. Not in the same way as it adores freedom or sexuality or choice, but in a more subtle way.
As a fourth grader, I could choose basketball or girl scouts. Either-or. As a homeowner, I can be put together and organized or negligent and messy, but not both. In terms of spirituality or warfare, one can paraphrase both the President and the Bible: Either you're with us or against us. You can be for God or against him; you can be for the war or against it. But to be a sort-of Christian, or a sort-of patriot is considered weak. Imagine the idea of being in-between in a marriage. Either someone is married or she is not. There is no either-or.
On a lighter note, I have a friend who is compiling a list of the traits of a "Tool" versus the traits of a "Douchebag." A man could be one or the other, but, categorically speaking, not both. (Though one might find both in similar watering holes.)
I've struggled with this concept for most of my life. Either-or has a few close cousins: black-or-white and all-or-nothing. These are the thought patterns that create the most anxiety, pain and complication in my life. And although he is no psychologist, Pollan suggests that Either-or is a construct of our culture, rather than one that exists naturally. In a healthy ecosystem, animals, birds and insects are both predator and prey. Even we humans, with our opposable thumbs and our cognitive thinking skills, high and mighty at the top of the food chain, are destined to be, at one point, fertilizer for the earth.
In nature, grass feeds the forest and the forest feeds the grass. In human relationships, as well, this happens. It is difficult to give love, attention, friendship, consolation, appreciation, inspiration, without also receiving these attributes in one form or another. It's a cycle and it's natural. It's both-and, it's in-between.
And so I think that I'm the most comfortable, grateful, humble and stable when I celebrate the both-and and the in-between that is in me and those around me. These ideas leave more room for error, for inconsistencies, for failure and for laughter. They help make life interesting. I can enjoy both free-range chicken and Taco Bell. I can promote walking to save gas while celebrating the Great American Road Trip. And in relating with people, I can recognize that being garrulous has its place, as does being quiet; guarding your heart has its place, as does opening it up with reckless abandon. None of these traits is distinctively good or bad.
In short, living on the edges, promoting the in-betweens and the both-ands is an ingredient of the recipe for contentment, perhaps the only food that doesn't need to be digested in moderation.
