Recycle and reuse, yes but reduce as well?

I’m a preservationist. Not so much when it comes to the environment and recycling which, in Oregon is serious business and something Linda points out I’m not fit for. “You can’t just go around throwing everything in the recycling bin, mister,” she’ll say.

“Why not?” I ask. “It’s made of plastic.” It’s a legitimate question that, in turn, Linda responds to with a little quiz.

“Do you see the recycling symbol somewhere on that?”

“Uh, no. But,” and she’ll cut me off.

“That’s because you can’t recycle plastic wrappers.”

Still, I try. It’s in my nature, which is why just the other day we had a similar conversation. I was unpacking my winter clothes from storage and re-packing summer weather items in their place when Linda mentioned her surprise at how many clothes I had. “I can’t believe you have so many clothes you actually have to keep half of them in the storage room,” she said.

“Not half.”

“Well pretty close to it. All my clothes fit in the closet all year round,” she pointed out. And while technically this is true, it might have something to do with the fact that Linda occupies three closets in our house while I have just the one. But the real reason for the packing and unpacking twice yearly is that I never get rid of any of my clothes. It’s a trait I inherited from my father. As kids growing up he regularly wore items from his college wardrobe then strutted around boasting. “Check out these babies,” he’d say referring to the most threadbare corduroys you’ve ever seen. “Not bad for 20 plus years, huh.”

This past weekend, while I was digging through a pair of large rubber made bins, I asked Linda for some advice on what to break out and what to save for another season. I had two piles going, one marked for the upcoming season and the other slated for long-term storage. This turned into a family activity and I soon found myself trying things on in front of five very vocal ladies. “Yeah, keep that dad,” or “I remember that, I love that,” they cried. And this is when things turned ugly. Working in the apparel industry gives me the chance to get a free sample here and there; mostly workout clothes or an occasional jacket. A few summers ago, though, I got my hands on a charcoal grey lambs wool sweater. It zips at the neck and has a black stripe across the chest but since it was July, I squirreled it away in one of my seasonal bins. I’ve never actually worn it and each year I contemplate breaking it out. It was this sweater I was trying on when Margaret came clean, “Uh, dad? That makes you look fat.”

“OK, shows over,” I announced, then I decided to turn over a new leaf and started a new pile marked Goodwill.