An old boyfriend once told me, point-blank:
“You think too much.”
The statement effectively hammered the Relationship Death Gong because, in addition to highlighting our gross incompatibility and the fact that for me there is no bigger turnoff than a person who doesn’t want to ponder the thematic implications of Dead Poets Society with me EVERY SINGLE TIME I WATCH IT EVERY SINGLE CHRISTMAS, it afforded me a vital moment of existential clarity. I realized that a) yes, I do indeed think too much and b) I’m never, ever going to stop so yeah, later, buddy. Don’t let your motorbike fall over on your way off the driveway. Thinking is awesome. Let’s do it some more now.
Consider, for a moment, the word consumption. What does it conjure? An elderly man reaching for a box of bran cereal in the grocery store? A mother of three standing in the aisle at Payless, pondering a pair of winter boots for her youngest? A couple of guys freezing in an outdoor Boxing Day queue?
We typically imagine consumption to mean the act of purchasing a product. But consumption as we’ve come to understand it isn’t necessarily true consumption. I know this because I am a vocabulary-obsessed egghead and I looked it up. Beyond its typical usage as a term for buying something, consumption has some evocative synonyms– to deplete, to wear and tear, to use up.
Our baby had croup and we had to go to Wal-Mart on New Year’s Day to buy a humidifier. After we left and I recovered from my fury-induced lockjaw, my husband and I were able to converse freely again. He observed that one of the products first visible upon entering the store were Rubbermaid bins. Lots of them.
“Interesting symbolism, huh?” he remarked this morning over breakfast.
Incidentally, this is one of the reasons I am happily boiling water for his peppermint tea right now and not riding on the back of a crotch rocket.
This is not to shame Rubbermaid bin users– our crawlspace looks like the blue plastic fallout from an unsuccessful Tetris session. Sure, we purchased this useless cache of ephemera. But to claim that we have consumed the items housed under the stairs would be a falsehood. We didn’t consume them. We bought them, we used them (maybe) and then we stored them. January strikes and we try whittling this collection down to seasonal ‘essentials’– camping gear, Christmas ornaments and the like– but as we all know, the pruning back of unconsumable consumables is not for the faint of heart. I haven’t seen the back of the furnace room since we moved in.*
My only resolution this year will be to stop buying unconsumable product. If it’s going to bring me daily utility and value, fine. If it’s just going to sit and smirk at me from the back of my pantry, I don’t want it.
I have devised a consumption taxonomy to ensure my future purchases don’t contribute to the Rubbermaid wasteland. The pixelation is a testament to my fine Paintbrush skills.
I suppose one could argue that ethical sourcing should be the basis of any purchase, and not utility, but I ask you– if you aren’t going to use it, why purchase it at all? Fair trade coffee is a staple in my cupboard, but I’d rather donate to an NGO that reflects my values than slap a fair trade doily on my toilet.**
I encountered a few products over Christmas that fulfill my little triangle.
~ONE~
1, 2 This is my old burgundy leather wallet, which was looking pretty sad after only five-ish years of use.
3 My replacement is a serious quality upgrade from
Saddleback Leather, complete with a 100-year warranty. Yes, One hundred. This wallet will be smirking over my grave.
~TWO~
My sister-in-law made some awesome homemade body butter.
It’s light, it’s rich, and best of all, it comes in a reusable glass jar. When I’m finished moisturizing myself, I can prevent my bobby pins from getting lost (maybe).
~THREE~
Following our family’s Flu Faceoff of 2014, I passed on making supper and picked up a rotisserie chicken. Once they’ve furnished forth your meal, these bad boys produce exceptional homemade chicken stock:
Even after I made a huge pot of chicken noodle soup laden with meat, there was still enough chicken left over to make sandwiches for our road trip the next day.
~FOUR~
This story begins six and a half blissful years ago, when the lady performing my pedicure during my honeymoon in BC remarked,
“Are you from Alberta? You have Alberta heels.”
NO TIP. Just kidding. But I do find my heels cracking most winters and, up until this year, had been using Merle Norman Super Lube, an effective but chemical-laden product packaged in non-recyclable plastic.
No longer. Behold:
Lemony Flutter is technically a cuticle cream, but it’s closer in texture and smell to a luscious citrus dessert than to a salve. Think meringue. Marmalade. Turkish delight. Words fail me utterly to describe the multisensory wonder of this delicious spread. Additionally, Lush has a super recycling program; all their packaging is made from post-consumer material and they offer a free face mask to anyone who returns 5 of their little reusable black pots.
To conclude:
Consumption. Good if you’re using things you need until they’re all used up. Bad if you’re playing Oregon Trail.
*Except once to make sure a bad guy wasn’t squatting there after I realized I’d left the deck door unlocked overnight.
** I’ve never actually seen a fair trade doily. Presumably the good people over at Ten Thousand Villages wish to spare us from ourselves.
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