Beatlemania and recyclemania

What a pleasure it’s been during the past three weeks to be able to plug my laptop into my home receiver and, for the first time in yearzzzzz, be able to hear my preferred news source, National Public Radio, fully and distinctly. If you’ve followed this blog, you know that nothing comes easily at altitude, and that includes radio waves which must bounce around granite monoliths and do back flips off the ionosphere in order to be “received” on “devices” such as television antennas. That’s how I used to “get” my radio reception back in the day, and even that was a tricky proposition at best.


Much to my absolute pleasure, and out of fear and necessity, I finally had the massive TV antenna that was installed on top of my roof removed several months ago. The winter of ’08 was a watershed (wait for it…explanation coming). We had winds raging at hurricane force speeds, and my TV antenna rocked and rolled on top of the house with enough force to scare the bejesus out of anyone. I really expected to see Dorothy and Toto standing in my front yard. Much as single drops of water carved out the Grand Canyon, the tripod into which the antenna was mounted actually carved a hole in my roof. That meant that during the ’09 spring meltdown and subsequent rainfall, H2O seeped into the structure of my house and found the path of least resistance down my livingroom wall. Water damage happens quickly, and it isn’t pretty. But roof and wall were eventually repaired, and I was able to move on.


But, as I’ve said in previous posts, I digress. My stream of consciousness isn't frozen yet despite our frigid dip in temps.


This AM, NPR carried a story about school children in England who are bucking up and taking their responsibilities as environmental stewards in a most serious fashion. They may not solve the dilemma of global warming, but they are dragging their folks – who are kicking and screaming, if Brits actually allow themselves the outlet of such self expression – into the drama by demanding reduction in personal carbon footprints. Remember this is the country that brought us Beatlemania.

The kids are coming up with some pretty innovative ideas for taking on environmental issues. Government, it seems, doesn’t have these students’ imaginations and vision. In reality, most governments could care less.


Well, an observation in the story was pretty on point. These young kids see things like recycling and energy consciousness as a part of their daily life. Us old farts, even those of us whose environmental consciousness dates back to the 60s, still make mental reminders like: “These [cans, glass containers, newspapers, pick your poison] are for recycling.”


We have the desire, and some of us have set up the personal infrastructure to be part of the solution. As I mentioned earlier, nothing comes easily on my side of the mountain and that includes recycling. It isn’t difficult because one engages in the “act” of recycling. Rather, it’s because the “process” of recycling is akin to climbing Mt. Everest.


Pashaw, you say! No joke, I respond. And here’s why:


Over the years, recycling centers in my mountain haven have come and gone. Even with nonprofits and the dogged determination of committed volunteers, you must understand there are those who take advantage of the system. These are the dolts who’ve decided it is their God-given right to recycle things like their flea infested mattresses or their household garbage. It’s not a matter of “times are tough.” It’s a matter of how high these people rate on the idiot meter.


The rest of us, of course, are washing out our containers and sorting them into the appropriate bins for future disposal. And yes, I do take my own bags to the grocery store when I shop…


Very recently, another attempt to recycle up here was shut down owing to this very phenomenon. As the saying goes, one bad apple spoils everything for the recycle bunch. I was pretty pissed, given that this particular place was 12 miles from my house, and I was already combining my recycling activities with other things such as grocery shopping. There was another much larger facility 25 miles from my house, down in the flatland, which just closed for the very same reason. Prior to the closure, I had willingly paced my recycling – meaning I “carpooled” all my chores and hit that recycling center once maybe every one or two weeks.


So, as the Brits would also say, I’m in one sticky wicket.


I try pretty hard to give my fellow species the benefit of the doubt. If only there was a place to recycle idiots and jugheads…