Green– the Color of Peace and Harmony

As a newcomer to the country of Germany, during my second month, my mother believing I would be cold sent me a blanket to stay bundled. Since she had grown up in an underdeveloped nation she held the credence that the United States was a super-power and therefore no other nation could match or surpass the American level of comfort. Although it was a sweet gesture; she was not aware that Germany exports textiles and their well-made blankets, made locally, are expensive and made to last.

I was in for many twists and turns partaking in my new life. After making my bed with my blanket, I took the gift box and casually threw it into the dumpster, went back inside the apartment and within minutes there was a furious rapt on my door. A neighbor from the floor below spoke in a fast pace, never pausing to inhale, the nerve alongside his temple bulging, and although it was late morning, I began to notice the dank smell of alcohol on his breath. I had no idea what he was saying and shrugged my shoulders, saying, “ich kann nicht verstehen.” He looked at me sternly, and pointed toward the dumpster, “you mussen recycle!”

In Germany, Umweltsünden (Environmental Sins) are so rare that when a person commits one it often makes the local news. As a foreigner I made several small sins during my first year in the country– although none big enough to hit the press. The thought of my petty offense reminded me of being a youngster playing hiding-go-seek, I laid under my parents bed on the box spring was a warning tag that read if removed, the crime was punishable by law. Being a rebel, I ripped it off with an ear shattering tear waiting for the swarms of police to come knocking.

Germans have an almost religious zeal when it comes to recycling. Eventually, I learned how to sort rubbish. Boxes had to be broken down and I had multiple colored trash bins; one for cartons and paper, a second for plastics and metals, another for glass, such as olive oil or broken China and a fourth bin was for biodegradable items often used as a compost heap. Juice and water were bottled and purchased at a specialty beverage store, with a deposit fee or Pfand, that was added to their cost, when returned, it was refunded.

As I separated my items, I began to assimilate the importance of being aware of the atmosphere and its relationship to nature. I started to view throwing something away that otherwise might be recycled as ignorance. By integrating environmentally friendly values I bought recycled paper, took my own shopping bag to the grocery store; including my own egg carton to reuse, rode my bike, and ate local grown foods.

Twenty years have lapsed since that time and in the States some of these ideas are beginning to catch-on. Last week I was given a canvas shopping bag at Fresh and Easy; a start, but there is still a long way to go.

Some of the short-sighted environmental errors I see are a part of the American landscape, because we live in a time where thinking about the future and individuality are dying concepts.

Personally, I do not agree with Starbucks for being a major culprit of waste by using double cups and placing a lid on a drink. If I had my way, I'd ban SUV's for being gas guzzlers. And RV's would be stationary, converted into housing or shelters. Public lights should be on timers, not on 24/7. I could go on, citing infractions, but if more Americans thought of the environment as a moral and spiritual challenge, and did their part in becoming conscious to decrease waste disposed in landfills and incinerators we reduce greenhouse gas emissions, prevent waste, and by recycling we expand reuse and move the country in the direction of greater climate stability.  
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WxgeYXCjM8 

Dog Days of Summer

Here at the edge of the Las Vegas Valley, you get to understand, and feel occasional snow flurries in the winter, the torrential autumn winds, and the rhythm of the fires in summer–it's like placing your head in a 450 degree oven for ten minutes and you'll get the idea.

As I drive from place to place, I recall part of the theme song, “…land spreading out so far and wide. Fresh air, town square, you are my wife, goodbye city life…” The city was like a ghost town, on Sunday afternoon I was driving home from the grocery store before the scorching peak of the heat hit, as I entered the gate, I spotted a Maltese-Poodle running down the street. He stopped, turned around, looked at me then turned his head from side to side as if he were lost. Instead of making a left, I drove slowly down the street looking at each house to see if a front door or side gate was open. Although I couldn’t imagine keeping a dog outdoors in the 110 degree heat, I called out to him and immediately he ran into my arms, looking bashful, wagging his tail. With rapid, frantic panting, I carried him to the car, poured cool bottled water into the palm of my hand and he slurped. Without tags or a collar we went from door to door trying to find his owner.

In the land of the lone cowboy, the only sign of life was the hum of A/C units. When a young woman drove by I called out with a burst of a bombshell, “Did you lose your dog?” “No, but I got a puppy a few weeks ago.” Michelle pulled over and after hearing the story asked if she could help. “A little food would be nice, since I was coming home from the grocery store.”

Rather than risk him getting heat stroke and my groceries melting I put him in the back seat. He kept looking in the same direction which indicated a familiar turf. But since no one had answered their doors, I took him home with me where he could cool off in comfort. “We have a visitor,” I announced. Steven who was in the kitchen stopped whatever he was fussing with and said, “Hey little fella.” I gave the dog a bowl of food and water and he drank looking at me as if the clouds parted and the gloom lifted. That’s when the choice of a name came to me. “I’m going to call him Lucky, because he’s lucky to be at our house.” Steven quickly surmised, “I think somebody’s going to miss him.” “He lives on the next street over, I’ll take him back later, for now he’s got a temporary sanctuary.” While I put away the groceries Lucky eyed me. Eating my lunch that Steven had prepared, the grizzled tiny blonde lay curled and pressed at my feet. I could understand why dogs have been heralded as man’s best friend. As I cleared the table, and washed the dishes with every step I took Lucky followed me.

I played fetch and chase with Lucky and noticed he dived in head first and everything he did was with flare, with spring in his step. I rubbed his tummy saying, “He’s a boy all right, though he’s calm and sweet, I think he’s older, since he hasn’t barked once.” “Wait until someone comes to the door” said Steven. I examined his teeth to gauge his age, measured and weighed him. Steven took his picture and he was startled by the flash, I held him to relieve any anxiety and wanted to brush, comb and bathe him since he was in dire need of grooming, but ruled it out since I didn’t know what products to use. His pink tongue was busy at my hand. After having a bad week and going through a rough patch, a gap was filled with an extraordinary little hairy faced creature that was only 16 inches long. I knew the way he looked at me that something was happening and thanked my lucky stars. As I sat at my computer writing his description he lay inches away from me, I could see how a small dog creates a good deal of emotional attachment.

Later, on my way to post fliers of Lucky’s description and photo, I saw a bright flier hanging from the main gate, that Michelle had written. In the distance where two women chatting, with two children, a boy between them and a little girl who was walking ahead preoccupied. When I asked the girl if she lost her dog, a big sigh of relief came over her. On the walk to my house to be reunited with their dog Einstein they told me he most likely had slipped out when their Dad left that day. I told them I had given their dog the name of Lucky. The little girl gave me a great big smile, “That’s the name I wanted to give him! We too found him in the street. But I lost the bet.”

Two hours later the kids and their Mom reappeared at my door with a yummy banana bundt cake glazed with walnuts. They reported that Einstein was happy to be back home with his furry companions–their other two dogs.

I called Michelle to tell her the news. She told me how kids that she had never met knocked on her door asking for eggs to bake a cake. I hung up thinking about the day; how each successive discovery was a joy and how very different individuals lives intersected through the mutual love of a dog.