Yesterday’s sermon was all about stewardship.  You know, of the earth.  The pastor, despite being exactly the sort of person you’d expect to buy into elaborate right wing conspiracies, doesn’t.  His argument was that it doesn’t matter where you fall on the political spectrum or what you believe about global warming: we have a duty to take care of the earth because it is God’s and we are God’s.  It was one of his better sermons, and I was enjoying it.  Recycle, he says.  Our local recycling center takes three kinds of plastic, cardboard, paper, junk mail, tin cans, aluminum cans and phone books he says.

Our local recycling center doesn’t take glass, he says.  But if you bring your glass by the church, he says, churchrat will take it to a recycling center 45 minutes away.

What?

Now, it’s only fair at this point to mention that  I have taken church trash to Distant Recycling Center.  I have also, when asked politely, been willing to take the pastor’s glass to the recycling center.  I do go to Distant Recycling Center every couple of months with my parents’ glass and my own empty beer bottles.   I like to recycle, sure, but mostly because I’d have a problem getting rid of my empties without such an errand.  As you may recall from earlier posts, nice middle class people here in the rural middle west don’t drink much.   It’s a habit they leave to people who build meth labs and draw public assistance, and they generally believe the former causes the latter.  And, of course, sometimes it does.    But, really, a six pack of a so-so microbrewery IPA drunk over two weeks?  Not exactly the slippery slope to becoming a truck stop hooker.

The slippery slope here is the one that leads to doing every damn thing around here for everyone who has the face to ask.  So.  I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do with any glass people happen to bring by for me to cart off.  Perhaps I’ll tell the pastor it’s his problem.  Or go decidedly un-green by tipping the mess into the dumpster.

Once an elderly church lady asked me if I’d mind to swing by her house on the way to the local recycling center and pick up a couple of bags of aluminum cans.  I pictured two kitchen-sized trashbags when I said yes.   When I got there, I discovered that she had four 50 gallon trash bags stuffed with crushed cans and covered in spiders and grass clippings.  Apparently she and her husband hadn’t taken their diet Pepsi cans to recycle in the past two years.  Waiting for some well-meaning sucker, they’d been keeping them in their pole barn.  The bags wouldn’t fit in the trunk of my small car, so the husband helpfully loaded them into my back seat.

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