Chapter Four
Nov. 1st, 2014 11:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ljgeoffChapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter 4 -- 3230 words
It’s very tempting to “as if” my life away. With only one small shift in focus, I could easily act as if climate change isn't happening at all. Tons of people do this, most with a daily mantra of “la,la,la, I can’t hear you.” But there’s a small dedicated cadre of folk who actively and vehemently deny the reality of climate change, some whose psyche depends of believing that the scientific evidence of climate change is a hoax, some who are paid to put out that message, and some who have taken up denying as a hobby.
It’s hard for me not to wish all deniers a horrible death since that is what they, by their support of Business as Usual, are doing to billions of people on this planet. And it’s hard not to fall into the trap of thinking that people who have decided not to believe the thousands of peer reviewed papers outlining the ways that anthropomorphic global warming is affecting this planet are simply ignorant flat-earthers, and lump them together with the loons who think the moon landings were faked and who want to teach intelligent design in my grandkids’ science class.
It’s not that the people who ignore or deny that earth systems are in crisis are stupid or evil. The vast majority of people just can’t imagine it. Most people can’t imagine the world changing so drastically, can’t imagine their life savings going down the tubes, their cars being useless hunks of rusting metal and their phones, laptops and tvs to be cold and lifeless -- that there won’t be any water when they turn on the tap or food when they open a cupboard.
“You’re going off the deep end,” Mike suggested. We were walking the dog on a mid-December night. It was well above freezing and a light mist was falling.
I waved my hand through the air. “This should be snow.”
“Yep,” Mike nodded. “Give it a few more weeks.”
The warm weather had me in a funk. “It’s not that I like the cold. It’s just…” I lifted my face to feel the mist and licked it off my lips. “If we had warm years and cold years, I’d be loving this.”
We turned into the alley. The dog pulled hard on her leash and Mike yanked her back with a sharp, “Here!” A dark shape slunk under the rusted hulk of a car parked against a garage that was falling in on itself. Mike sent a look at me, eyebrows raised, “Last winter wasn't cold enough for you? You want another polar vortex?”
I ducked down, peering under the car, and yellow eyes blinked lazily at me. A cat. “Polar air flowing down onto the continents isn't … real.” I stood and tugged coat back around my hips. “I mean, it’s not a real cold winter. It’s like we borrowed it from somewhere else and now we have to pay it back.”
“And paybacks are a bitch?” Mike sighed. “Why not just enjoy not freezing our asses off?”
“I feel, I dunno .. I can feel it coming. Like a time bomb ticking off the minutes,” I shrugged. “It gives me the willies.”
Mike reached out, took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Is that what you call it?”
I grinned. “You’re only crazy if you’re terrified of things that aren't really happening.”
We walked for a bit, companionably quiet, turned the corner and began the walk home. “I heard something on the radio yesterday,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“Over the last four years, the city of Detroit has had to release hundreds of people suspected of child abuse, rape and even murder because they didn't have enough staff in their legal department to pursue the warrants.”
Mike’s stride slowed as he considered this. “That doesn't have anything to do with climate change.” He paused, thinking. “Has something like that ever happened before? I can’t think of it, except maybe in the Old West.”
“I've never heard of this happening anyplace else,” I said. “But I think it’ll happen more and more. As things fall apart.”
We walked the rest of the way home quietly, holding hands.
In December, thunderstorms lashed the California coast, causing mudslides and power outages. It was christened Hella Storm, or #hellastorm, and though it brought some relief from the historical California drought, drought specialists pronounced that another 11 trillion gallons more rain would need to fall before the drought could be considered over.
Climate change has become such a contentious topic that you only have to mention the weather and the denialist go into a posting frenzy. An article about the California storm brought: Ha, what do the climate change hoaxers have to say now? … It’s time for the climate change folks to realize that the earth is gonna do what the earth is gonna do, it’s impossible for humans to comprehend….the UN's IPCC are political hacks that are trying to use future climate forecasts which are bogus from the get go to scare people into reacting in a certain manner to shift wealth and resources to further their own agendas.
It drives me crazy.
We are on a path, all of us that are riding on this complex planet. It’s like the chaotic weaving of the Norns -- we are a great tapestry of seemingly unrelated threads, tied inseparably by our shared water, air and earth.
I don’t know a human who doesn't make decisions based on how things turned out in the past. The term path dependence was coined by economists in the 80’s to explain why certain technologies were picked up by the populace, or why industry developed in specific ways. Different societies will take one path or another, say, driving on the right or the left. The infrastructure of the society keeps that society moving along that path and after a while, any other mode or method seems wrong.
I homeschool my son Luke. I don’t think that I do that great of a job at it -- I work full time and he’s not particularly driven to work independently -- but he’s doing better at home than he did in the public school classroom.
We were sitting down in McDonald's, eating fries and working on math. “So,” I said, munching, “Carl, Sam and Luke have broken into their mom’s stash of mini-Reeses cups. Carl has three times as many as Sam. Luke has one more than Sam. There were twenty-one mini-Reeses in the bag. How many do Carl, Sam and and Luke have?”
“Not much of a stash,” Luke commented, and his eyes went unfocused for a moment. “Sam has four, I got five, and Carl has twelve, “ he said, blinking at me. “Carl must’ve got to the bag first, I grabbed it from him and Sam grabbed it from me.” He grinned. “Good thing Jake wasn't there. He would've taken ‘em all.”
I tapped the paper. “Show your work.”
“Ugh.” Luke is dyslexic and dysgraphic; writing anything is a chore. He picked up his pencil scrawled the numbers on the page.
I looked at what he was doing, wincing at the backward five. “Did you watch that TED talk I sent you?”
“The school-hack thing?” he finished the equation and circled the answer with a flourish. “Yeah. And that other one, about learning.”
“What did you think?” I tried to make my voice casual. It’s hard to get Luke to talk about anything that’s not gaming or game theory.
He nibbled on a french fry, thinking. “I don’t understand why the schools keep teaching like they do when we know that it’s the worst possible way to teach. Hours and hours of sitting and listening to a teacher talk and talk and talk..”
“It’s hard to change a huge system when you've been doing things a certain way for a long time. Our schools,” I searched for words that would let him feel the weight of the resistance to change “… you've got all those buildings, all those classrooms and desks and chairs. And the teachers! Years and years and tens of thousands of dollars for each teaching certificate. How much does one book cost?”
Luke shrugged. “Ten bucks?”
“Try sixty, seventy bucks, or more. Although I heard that a lot of schools are moving to digital books.”
“Which are still books,” Luke said.
“Yeah. But think about all the money that’s invested in all the stuff it takes to run a school. It makes us stuck doing things the way we’re doing because it just costs too much to change. And then you've got this great weight of “well, that’s how we've always done it!” There’s a name for it -- path dependence. It’s when you keep doing things a certain way because that’s the way you’re set up to do ‘em. And it’s your comfort zone; it’s familiar.”
We packed up and headed to the YMCA. In the weight room, we did warm up stretches. “So, path dependence,” I said. “What are some other examples?”
Luke placed the toes of his right foot against the wall, stretching his calf. “Gaming systems,” he said quickly. “Everyone knows how to use their PS or Xbox. If you want to develop a new system, I dunno,” he shook his head and switched feet. “New programming for the developers, trying to get people to use a new system…”
I nodded. “What else?”
He sent me a look and grinned. “Energy systems,” he said, grinning because he knew that it was what I wanted to hear. “We’re all set up for coal, oil, gasoline, natural gas -- and there’s all that political stuff, money to the politicians from the fossil fuel companies. That’s a big thing, too.”
For just a moment, reality flickered, the veil twitched and everything dimmed. No more YMCA, no more smugly happy and healthy kid. I saw Luke gaunt and haunted, his clothes old and threadbare.
This happens a lot, and it does make me worry about my mental health. I blinked and was back -- warm, plump and sitting comfortably in the well-lit gym, reaching for my toes.
“Yeah,” I said, finding a nod of approval. “Energy systems. That’s right.”
As the holiday season approached, I had a hard time getting in the mood for the coming festivities. Mike and I brought the grandkids, Trentyn, Zary and Sam and Kayla’s daughter Torrin, to pick out a tree from the You-Cut lot. Temperatures stayed well above freezing and we scuffed across brown grass. Still, tying the tree to the roof of the car, hauling it home and into the house, the smell of fresh pine and laughing as we strung the lights; it was good.
We cleaned the house, making it cozy and bright with decorations in the dark of the year.
Christmas eve, Mike and I hid out in the basement, wrapping the last of the presents. It was late, near midnight, and we were both tired and a little crabby, being carefully polite as we passed tape and scissors back and forth, gifts propped on the chest freezer, washing machine and woodworking bench.
“So, how’s it working for you,” I murmured, “the “as if” thing?”
“You really want to do this now?” Mike sighed, and then, hand out, “Tape.”
“We’re both here, we’re both awake and alone,” I shrugged. “Looks like as good a time as any.”
He was quiet and my heart squeezed, driving my breath out in a long, slow exhale. I cut the brightly colored paper and bent my head over the package, folding the ends. “Still nothing, then?”
“It’s …” he put a wrapped gift on the workbench and picked up a stocking stuffer, a harmonica for Luke. “It’s better,” he said and then nodded to himself. “I feel better about everything. We’re being easier on each other.”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn't say but I notice that you don’t say ‘I've realized that I really am in love with you!’ We were quiet while I struggled with it, struggled with the knowledge that he loved me, cared for my very much, but wasn't in love with me.
That he might never be in love with me ever again.
“It’s a predicament,” I blurted out.
Mike blinked at me. “What?”
“That you aren't in love with me. It’s not a problem.” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “It’s a predicament.”
He put the wrapped harmonica in the pile and reached for a four-pack of Hot Wheel cars. “What’s the difference?”
“Well,” I handed him the tape, “a problem has a solution. Like, if your car breaks down, if it needs a new fuel pump, that’s a problem. You get a new fuel pump, put it in and the problem is solved. Fixed.”
A cat jumped up onto the workbench and sniffed at the presents. I skritched the top of her head. “A predicament though, that doesn't have a solution. It just is, and you have to figure out how you’re going to cope with it.”
He gave me a questioning look and I grinned, “A predicament is like -- you left the car window open and a cat got in there and sprayed the seats and carpet. No matter what you do, you’re never gonna get that smell out. You may think that it’s not so bad, but here’s gonna be a day, a hot summer day when you've had the windows rolled up - you’re gonna open the car door and be hit smack in the face.”
“Comparing our relationship to cat piss is …” Mike grinned, “unflattering, don’t you think?”
The amount of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere isn't a problem, it’s a predicament. There are theoretical solutions to pulling carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere, but there’s no social will to relegate the resources to to develop the technology. There’s also no social will to decrease our output of CO2. Yet the physics of increasing atmospheric CO2 doesn't care about social will. Physics doesn't care about us at all.
Path dependency is what makes climate change a predicament, and not a problem. But climate change isn't happening just because of infrastructure and habit. It’s the money. Lots and lots of money.
Since the 1950’s, USians have been encouraged to consume. Encouraged mightily. The sale charts must always show upward movement. The factories must put out more cars, more TVs, more knick-knacks and do-dads.
We need bigger homes, a car for every driver, closets and closets full of clothes, and overflowing toy boxes. We've been told that we need these things, that our children need these things, and that if we don’t have these things there is something wrong with us. Our psyche requires these things to feel normal.
We are eating our own bodies, ripping at our own flanks to feed unnatural desires. Worse, we are eating our grandchildren. The level of plastics, metal, fabric and food that we are consuming is not sustainable. We are taking not only our own share, but our children’s and our grandchildren. There will be little left for them.
How could anyone talk us into this? It wasn't very difficult.
People are hard-wired to desire good things. It’s a subjective desire, of course, based on what the individual deems “good,” but every human works this way. We receive a jolt of endorphins when we obtain our desire. It feels really good. That’s what the manufacturers of goods play on, what they hire their advertising companies to play on -- we are hardwired to acquire.
The Sunday after Christmas, I went out to finish the greenhouse. I had the frame up and some of the windows in place. But the rafters weren't quite right.
“Can you help me make these cuts in my rafters?” I pointed out what I needed.
“Won’t do any good,” Mike shook his head. “This thing is gonna fall over. You need to take it apart and start over again.”
“What! It’s just a little greenhouse! It’s not gonna bear any weight.” It was leaning a bit, but the thought of tearing it apart and starting over was ridiculous. It was good just the way it was.
“Look,” Mike pointed, “this bottom plate needs to run under the studs. The way you have it along side like that, the force is perpendicular.” He shook his head. “Come on, you know better than that.” He pointed to the studs against the wall of the house. “You've got the whole load on just the ends of these studs, and they’re not even plumb.”
My shoulders bunched up around my ears and for a moment I lost the power of speech. “Fine!” I finally burst out, “fine! Don’t help me then! I’ll do it myself!”
Mike shook his head. “There’s no talking to you when you get like this.” Muttering, he turned and went back into the house. After a minute, while I stared at the leaning greenhouse frame, I head the car start up and head down the street.
I kicked the side of the frame and the whole thing began to tip. Eyes wide, I stepped out of the way and watched it pick up steam, sliding, sliding down the wall of the house and landing with a two-by-four twangy crash at my feet. As it fell, it knocked over one of the windows and a tinkling of broken glass finished off the percussion set.
Well, shit.
I stomped into the house, poured myself a cup of coffee and sipped on it, looking out the kitchen window at the pile of boards and broken glass. Trentyn, Zary and Torrin came in and I gave them some oranges and graham crackers. One of the cats jumped onto the window sill and looked out. I gave it a scratch and sighed.
Outside, I picked up the glass and stacked the broken window against the shed, picked up a loose two-by-four and started banging the nails out. After pulling the nails from a couple of boards, I went back into the house and called Luke down.
“Get your coat and boots on, and come help me haul these boards down into the basement, heh?”
Luke clumped downstairs and followed me out the back door. “What happened?”
I sighed. “Lets talk about the physics of load.”
One by one, we pulled the boards loose, pounded the nails and pulled them out, and hauled the boards down into the basement. I stacked them next to the garden starter pots, bags of cement and various scrap wood in my corner of the basement.
When we were done, I stood outside for a while surveying my greenhouse-lessness. With a sigh, I relaxed the muscles in my neck, rolling my head on my shoulders, shook out my arms and bent my knees a few times, lifted my feet and circled my ankles.
The sky was overcast, a pearly grey. Like an unwritten page, I thought. Alrighty then. I looked at the back of the house, seeing the completed greenhouse. With a slow turn, I took in the rest of the space, seeing the new garden bed I’d dig this spring, lush with tomatoes. Broccoli over there. I took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let it out slowly. Alrighty.
Mike came home an hour later and never said a word.
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter 4 -- 3230 words
It’s very tempting to “as if” my life away. With only one small shift in focus, I could easily act as if climate change isn't happening at all. Tons of people do this, most with a daily mantra of “la,la,la, I can’t hear you.” But there’s a small dedicated cadre of folk who actively and vehemently deny the reality of climate change, some whose psyche depends of believing that the scientific evidence of climate change is a hoax, some who are paid to put out that message, and some who have taken up denying as a hobby.
It’s hard for me not to wish all deniers a horrible death since that is what they, by their support of Business as Usual, are doing to billions of people on this planet. And it’s hard not to fall into the trap of thinking that people who have decided not to believe the thousands of peer reviewed papers outlining the ways that anthropomorphic global warming is affecting this planet are simply ignorant flat-earthers, and lump them together with the loons who think the moon landings were faked and who want to teach intelligent design in my grandkids’ science class.
It’s not that the people who ignore or deny that earth systems are in crisis are stupid or evil. The vast majority of people just can’t imagine it. Most people can’t imagine the world changing so drastically, can’t imagine their life savings going down the tubes, their cars being useless hunks of rusting metal and their phones, laptops and tvs to be cold and lifeless -- that there won’t be any water when they turn on the tap or food when they open a cupboard.
“You’re going off the deep end,” Mike suggested. We were walking the dog on a mid-December night. It was well above freezing and a light mist was falling.
I waved my hand through the air. “This should be snow.”
“Yep,” Mike nodded. “Give it a few more weeks.”
The warm weather had me in a funk. “It’s not that I like the cold. It’s just…” I lifted my face to feel the mist and licked it off my lips. “If we had warm years and cold years, I’d be loving this.”
We turned into the alley. The dog pulled hard on her leash and Mike yanked her back with a sharp, “Here!” A dark shape slunk under the rusted hulk of a car parked against a garage that was falling in on itself. Mike sent a look at me, eyebrows raised, “Last winter wasn't cold enough for you? You want another polar vortex?”
I ducked down, peering under the car, and yellow eyes blinked lazily at me. A cat. “Polar air flowing down onto the continents isn't … real.” I stood and tugged coat back around my hips. “I mean, it’s not a real cold winter. It’s like we borrowed it from somewhere else and now we have to pay it back.”
“And paybacks are a bitch?” Mike sighed. “Why not just enjoy not freezing our asses off?”
“I feel, I dunno .. I can feel it coming. Like a time bomb ticking off the minutes,” I shrugged. “It gives me the willies.”
Mike reached out, took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Is that what you call it?”
I grinned. “You’re only crazy if you’re terrified of things that aren't really happening.”
We walked for a bit, companionably quiet, turned the corner and began the walk home. “I heard something on the radio yesterday,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“Over the last four years, the city of Detroit has had to release hundreds of people suspected of child abuse, rape and even murder because they didn't have enough staff in their legal department to pursue the warrants.”
Mike’s stride slowed as he considered this. “That doesn't have anything to do with climate change.” He paused, thinking. “Has something like that ever happened before? I can’t think of it, except maybe in the Old West.”
“I've never heard of this happening anyplace else,” I said. “But I think it’ll happen more and more. As things fall apart.”
We walked the rest of the way home quietly, holding hands.
In December, thunderstorms lashed the California coast, causing mudslides and power outages. It was christened Hella Storm, or #hellastorm, and though it brought some relief from the historical California drought, drought specialists pronounced that another 11 trillion gallons more rain would need to fall before the drought could be considered over.
Climate change has become such a contentious topic that you only have to mention the weather and the denialist go into a posting frenzy. An article about the California storm brought: Ha, what do the climate change hoaxers have to say now? … It’s time for the climate change folks to realize that the earth is gonna do what the earth is gonna do, it’s impossible for humans to comprehend….the UN's IPCC are political hacks that are trying to use future climate forecasts which are bogus from the get go to scare people into reacting in a certain manner to shift wealth and resources to further their own agendas.
It drives me crazy.
We are on a path, all of us that are riding on this complex planet. It’s like the chaotic weaving of the Norns -- we are a great tapestry of seemingly unrelated threads, tied inseparably by our shared water, air and earth.
I don’t know a human who doesn't make decisions based on how things turned out in the past. The term path dependence was coined by economists in the 80’s to explain why certain technologies were picked up by the populace, or why industry developed in specific ways. Different societies will take one path or another, say, driving on the right or the left. The infrastructure of the society keeps that society moving along that path and after a while, any other mode or method seems wrong.
I homeschool my son Luke. I don’t think that I do that great of a job at it -- I work full time and he’s not particularly driven to work independently -- but he’s doing better at home than he did in the public school classroom.
We were sitting down in McDonald's, eating fries and working on math. “So,” I said, munching, “Carl, Sam and Luke have broken into their mom’s stash of mini-Reeses cups. Carl has three times as many as Sam. Luke has one more than Sam. There were twenty-one mini-Reeses in the bag. How many do Carl, Sam and and Luke have?”
“Not much of a stash,” Luke commented, and his eyes went unfocused for a moment. “Sam has four, I got five, and Carl has twelve, “ he said, blinking at me. “Carl must’ve got to the bag first, I grabbed it from him and Sam grabbed it from me.” He grinned. “Good thing Jake wasn't there. He would've taken ‘em all.”
I tapped the paper. “Show your work.”
“Ugh.” Luke is dyslexic and dysgraphic; writing anything is a chore. He picked up his pencil scrawled the numbers on the page.
I looked at what he was doing, wincing at the backward five. “Did you watch that TED talk I sent you?”
“The school-hack thing?” he finished the equation and circled the answer with a flourish. “Yeah. And that other one, about learning.”
“What did you think?” I tried to make my voice casual. It’s hard to get Luke to talk about anything that’s not gaming or game theory.
He nibbled on a french fry, thinking. “I don’t understand why the schools keep teaching like they do when we know that it’s the worst possible way to teach. Hours and hours of sitting and listening to a teacher talk and talk and talk..”
“It’s hard to change a huge system when you've been doing things a certain way for a long time. Our schools,” I searched for words that would let him feel the weight of the resistance to change “… you've got all those buildings, all those classrooms and desks and chairs. And the teachers! Years and years and tens of thousands of dollars for each teaching certificate. How much does one book cost?”
Luke shrugged. “Ten bucks?”
“Try sixty, seventy bucks, or more. Although I heard that a lot of schools are moving to digital books.”
“Which are still books,” Luke said.
“Yeah. But think about all the money that’s invested in all the stuff it takes to run a school. It makes us stuck doing things the way we’re doing because it just costs too much to change. And then you've got this great weight of “well, that’s how we've always done it!” There’s a name for it -- path dependence. It’s when you keep doing things a certain way because that’s the way you’re set up to do ‘em. And it’s your comfort zone; it’s familiar.”
We packed up and headed to the YMCA. In the weight room, we did warm up stretches. “So, path dependence,” I said. “What are some other examples?”
Luke placed the toes of his right foot against the wall, stretching his calf. “Gaming systems,” he said quickly. “Everyone knows how to use their PS or Xbox. If you want to develop a new system, I dunno,” he shook his head and switched feet. “New programming for the developers, trying to get people to use a new system…”
I nodded. “What else?”
He sent me a look and grinned. “Energy systems,” he said, grinning because he knew that it was what I wanted to hear. “We’re all set up for coal, oil, gasoline, natural gas -- and there’s all that political stuff, money to the politicians from the fossil fuel companies. That’s a big thing, too.”
For just a moment, reality flickered, the veil twitched and everything dimmed. No more YMCA, no more smugly happy and healthy kid. I saw Luke gaunt and haunted, his clothes old and threadbare.
This happens a lot, and it does make me worry about my mental health. I blinked and was back -- warm, plump and sitting comfortably in the well-lit gym, reaching for my toes.
“Yeah,” I said, finding a nod of approval. “Energy systems. That’s right.”
As the holiday season approached, I had a hard time getting in the mood for the coming festivities. Mike and I brought the grandkids, Trentyn, Zary and Sam and Kayla’s daughter Torrin, to pick out a tree from the You-Cut lot. Temperatures stayed well above freezing and we scuffed across brown grass. Still, tying the tree to the roof of the car, hauling it home and into the house, the smell of fresh pine and laughing as we strung the lights; it was good.
We cleaned the house, making it cozy and bright with decorations in the dark of the year.
Christmas eve, Mike and I hid out in the basement, wrapping the last of the presents. It was late, near midnight, and we were both tired and a little crabby, being carefully polite as we passed tape and scissors back and forth, gifts propped on the chest freezer, washing machine and woodworking bench.
“So, how’s it working for you,” I murmured, “the “as if” thing?”
“You really want to do this now?” Mike sighed, and then, hand out, “Tape.”
“We’re both here, we’re both awake and alone,” I shrugged. “Looks like as good a time as any.”
He was quiet and my heart squeezed, driving my breath out in a long, slow exhale. I cut the brightly colored paper and bent my head over the package, folding the ends. “Still nothing, then?”
“It’s …” he put a wrapped gift on the workbench and picked up a stocking stuffer, a harmonica for Luke. “It’s better,” he said and then nodded to himself. “I feel better about everything. We’re being easier on each other.”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn't say but I notice that you don’t say ‘I've realized that I really am in love with you!’ We were quiet while I struggled with it, struggled with the knowledge that he loved me, cared for my very much, but wasn't in love with me.
That he might never be in love with me ever again.
“It’s a predicament,” I blurted out.
Mike blinked at me. “What?”
“That you aren't in love with me. It’s not a problem.” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “It’s a predicament.”
He put the wrapped harmonica in the pile and reached for a four-pack of Hot Wheel cars. “What’s the difference?”
“Well,” I handed him the tape, “a problem has a solution. Like, if your car breaks down, if it needs a new fuel pump, that’s a problem. You get a new fuel pump, put it in and the problem is solved. Fixed.”
A cat jumped up onto the workbench and sniffed at the presents. I skritched the top of her head. “A predicament though, that doesn't have a solution. It just is, and you have to figure out how you’re going to cope with it.”
He gave me a questioning look and I grinned, “A predicament is like -- you left the car window open and a cat got in there and sprayed the seats and carpet. No matter what you do, you’re never gonna get that smell out. You may think that it’s not so bad, but here’s gonna be a day, a hot summer day when you've had the windows rolled up - you’re gonna open the car door and be hit smack in the face.”
“Comparing our relationship to cat piss is …” Mike grinned, “unflattering, don’t you think?”
The amount of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere isn't a problem, it’s a predicament. There are theoretical solutions to pulling carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere, but there’s no social will to relegate the resources to to develop the technology. There’s also no social will to decrease our output of CO2. Yet the physics of increasing atmospheric CO2 doesn't care about social will. Physics doesn't care about us at all.
Path dependency is what makes climate change a predicament, and not a problem. But climate change isn't happening just because of infrastructure and habit. It’s the money. Lots and lots of money.
Since the 1950’s, USians have been encouraged to consume. Encouraged mightily. The sale charts must always show upward movement. The factories must put out more cars, more TVs, more knick-knacks and do-dads.
We need bigger homes, a car for every driver, closets and closets full of clothes, and overflowing toy boxes. We've been told that we need these things, that our children need these things, and that if we don’t have these things there is something wrong with us. Our psyche requires these things to feel normal.
We are eating our own bodies, ripping at our own flanks to feed unnatural desires. Worse, we are eating our grandchildren. The level of plastics, metal, fabric and food that we are consuming is not sustainable. We are taking not only our own share, but our children’s and our grandchildren. There will be little left for them.
How could anyone talk us into this? It wasn't very difficult.
People are hard-wired to desire good things. It’s a subjective desire, of course, based on what the individual deems “good,” but every human works this way. We receive a jolt of endorphins when we obtain our desire. It feels really good. That’s what the manufacturers of goods play on, what they hire their advertising companies to play on -- we are hardwired to acquire.
The Sunday after Christmas, I went out to finish the greenhouse. I had the frame up and some of the windows in place. But the rafters weren't quite right.
“Can you help me make these cuts in my rafters?” I pointed out what I needed.
“Won’t do any good,” Mike shook his head. “This thing is gonna fall over. You need to take it apart and start over again.”
“What! It’s just a little greenhouse! It’s not gonna bear any weight.” It was leaning a bit, but the thought of tearing it apart and starting over was ridiculous. It was good just the way it was.
“Look,” Mike pointed, “this bottom plate needs to run under the studs. The way you have it along side like that, the force is perpendicular.” He shook his head. “Come on, you know better than that.” He pointed to the studs against the wall of the house. “You've got the whole load on just the ends of these studs, and they’re not even plumb.”
My shoulders bunched up around my ears and for a moment I lost the power of speech. “Fine!” I finally burst out, “fine! Don’t help me then! I’ll do it myself!”
Mike shook his head. “There’s no talking to you when you get like this.” Muttering, he turned and went back into the house. After a minute, while I stared at the leaning greenhouse frame, I head the car start up and head down the street.
I kicked the side of the frame and the whole thing began to tip. Eyes wide, I stepped out of the way and watched it pick up steam, sliding, sliding down the wall of the house and landing with a two-by-four twangy crash at my feet. As it fell, it knocked over one of the windows and a tinkling of broken glass finished off the percussion set.
Well, shit.
I stomped into the house, poured myself a cup of coffee and sipped on it, looking out the kitchen window at the pile of boards and broken glass. Trentyn, Zary and Torrin came in and I gave them some oranges and graham crackers. One of the cats jumped onto the window sill and looked out. I gave it a scratch and sighed.
Outside, I picked up the glass and stacked the broken window against the shed, picked up a loose two-by-four and started banging the nails out. After pulling the nails from a couple of boards, I went back into the house and called Luke down.
“Get your coat and boots on, and come help me haul these boards down into the basement, heh?”
Luke clumped downstairs and followed me out the back door. “What happened?”
I sighed. “Lets talk about the physics of load.”
One by one, we pulled the boards loose, pounded the nails and pulled them out, and hauled the boards down into the basement. I stacked them next to the garden starter pots, bags of cement and various scrap wood in my corner of the basement.
When we were done, I stood outside for a while surveying my greenhouse-lessness. With a sigh, I relaxed the muscles in my neck, rolling my head on my shoulders, shook out my arms and bent my knees a few times, lifted my feet and circled my ankles.
The sky was overcast, a pearly grey. Like an unwritten page, I thought. Alrighty then. I looked at the back of the house, seeing the completed greenhouse. With a slow turn, I took in the rest of the space, seeing the new garden bed I’d dig this spring, lush with tomatoes. Broccoli over there. I took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let it out slowly. Alrighty.
Mike came home an hour later and never said a word.