Life without Plastic

11 05 2013

For my last post for my Earth Day week, I had a bit of a hard time finding something I hadn’t already posted before. I thought I had written about Life without Plastic, but it turns out I haven’t, which is odd because LwP is amazing.

Even before I finished Slow Death by Rubber Duck and read about all the dangers of chemicals in our everyday products such as plastic, I was already very wary of using plastic products. I convinced my mom to throw out our plastic containers and got a new set of glass ones. I saved glass spaghetti sauce jars and re-used them for bulk food. But there are other items, I hadn’t even considered.

Life without Plastic is exactly what it is: a shop as well as a blog that provides information and products made without plastic. If Slow Death was the diagnosis, Life without Plastic is the prescription. There’s a ton of stuff on this wonderful site that I want to buy, like cellulose tape, many things which are exactly the kind of everyday things that we use. Sure, the price may be a bit more expensive (as expected), but I don’t think it’s too unreasonable. I also like that LwP is small, a Canadian company, when there are so many American and foreign companies out there that I’m not sure I can trust or not. Every now and then, they get new products, which make me quite excited (even if I don’t need them, like a new water bottle). I’m just excited at the possibilities and coolness of these new technologies.

Hope my Earth Week resources are some help to those looking for alternatives. And of course, if I find any other awesome things, I’ll be sure to share them here. In the meantime, have fun saving the earth!

The Glass Boat

17 09 2012

Today, I found myself thinking of you, of your smile, and I felt warm, which is foolish on my part because I don’t even know you.

But I know this feeling– this schoolgirl love, this not-so innocent dread of being on a rickety boat with a glass bottom.  You can see through it, down into the black depths of the ocean where the ship had once been sunk.  The boat floats along the surface of little pieces of ice, like unwanted, unused marble, dented and hacked away at.  The warmth does not last for long because I know, I am aware.  I am aware that it is you and me on this boat: me bound, immobile, staring helplessly up at you, waiting for you to make your move.  Step hard enough, and the glass–the sheer lens– lets in my death.  And while you can swim to safety or hop onto another waiting boat, I will feel the chill of the ice water, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Watching you leave before I close my eyes and succumb to my inevitable murky grave.

Please watch your step.  Fragile surface.