ove me, love my recycling bins. No, it's not easy being friends with a serial recycler. I gasp when guests toss recyclables into the trash -- even if it's into other people's trash. I drag bottles and cans around in my car until I get them back home to my recycling bin. I gaze covetously at organic garbage I could toss onto my compost heap. I cannot even fully define what trash is, because I recycle just about everything I can think of. I'm the King of Recycling. Master of the Reusable Universe. Ruler of Reducing Waste. Dictator of Disposable Items. Sorry, I'm getting carried away.
Blue bin recycling is what most "progressive" American communities have -- a curbside system that collects newspapers, #1 and #2 plastics (which are marked on the recycling symbol, and are the most commonly accepted plastics at municipal recycling centers), green, clear and brown glass bottles and jars, and empty steel and aluminum cans (see symbols at right). Some communities even collect corrugated cardboard and mixed paper. I go beyond that, into some other areas that require a little more work on my part, but that result in throwing out an inconceivably small amount of "trash."
Duffy Franco has a little fun while recycling.
Photo by E. Warner.
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My kitchen is a warren of confusing bins, boxes and bags. I have a box for what I call "blue-bin recyclables" -- the stuff they collect curbside. I have two other bags for plastics -- plastic shapes and plastic film. I have a bag for scrap metal. I have a stack for old newspapers. There is a bag in which I collect junk mail, magazines and any scrap paper -- what is known in the recycling trade as "mixed paper." I have boxes of "deposit" bottles and cans (we have a five cent deposit on carbonated beverage containers here in Connecticut). And I have an old tin pot by my sink for compost material. Oh yeah, I have a bag for garbage, too.
With the blue bin, I have it down to a system. When I've finished with the contents of something, I rinse the container and toss it into the blue bin -- but not without some preliminary steps. With tin cans, I remove both ends, and squash them flat, so I can fit more into my bin. Deep in my heart I envision my neighbors, nay, my entire city doing the same space-saving exercise, allowing the recycling truck to increase its capacity. Jars? Rinsed, and the jar itself goes into the blue bin, while the metal lid goes into the scrap metal box. Newspapers get read (reduced to the police blotter and the comics if I'm too busy) and tossed onto the newspaper pile. This will continue to grow until it becomes a swaying behemoth, which I then separate into smaller bundles and tie.
I recycle a great deal of plastic. Not just the #1 and #2 plastics I mentioned earlier, but anything plastic. Anything.
I am very fortunate to live very close to a company that makes park benches, compost bins, railroad ties, fencing and a plethora of other items out of 100 percent post-consumer plastic. They accept all types of plastic, divided into two categories: film and shapes. Plastic film means any kind of sheet plastic. When I get around to cleaning up from last week's poker party (or was it last month's?), I'll take the half-eaten bag of licorice, toss the candy into the trash, and put the bag into my plastic film bag. All plastic shopping bags go in there, too. I even tear the plastic windows out of macaroni boxes and put them in there. I'm insane.
Plastic shapes are even more encompassing. Anything that is completely plastic can go into the plastic shapes box. If you think about it, that's a lot of stuff: plastic take-out food containers, plastic cookie trays from store-bought cookies, strawberry pint baskets, those bizarre, extruded plastic shapes that Christmas tree lights come packed on, plastic caps from jars and bottles, plastic cups, forks and spoons (if you don't reuse them). Toothbrushes. Ball point pens. Even the lids and straws from fast food soda cups. The list is endless.
Organic garbage has a place, too: my composting bin. It sits in the backyard, behind the garage, and in it goes all of my organic garbage. I keep an old tin pot I bought at a yard sale next to my sink. Onion skins, celery ends, orange rinds, eggshells, tea bags, anything organic goes into the pot, and I empty it every few days into the bin out back. You can put just about anything organic into a composting bin except for animal products and fat or oils -- so no leftover salad.
Somehow I even manage to do all this on the road. When I'm at shows, I collect all the various handouts that come into my booth, and all the food containers, bottles, etc., and cart them all back home. Perhaps it's overkill, but it is too strange to be throwing the stuff out.
So, I've mentioned my blue bin, my plastics, my newspaper, my scrap metal, my composting ... by now you must be wondering what items I actually toss out as garbage. Well, not much. I'll tell you what's in my garbage right now: A waxy take-out food container from an Indian restaurant, one of those fibrous, padded envelopes, lots of paperboard (the stuff cereal boxes are made from -- still haven't figured out how to recycle those), and used tissues. I produce about a bag of garbage every two or three weeks.
My birthday was a few days ago. At the last minute, I decided to go to my mom's house. Since she wasn't expecting me, she didn't have time to buy a cake. "Wait," she said, "there is still some of your brother's ice cream cake in the freezer." So I blew 37 candles out on a used birthday cake. That's what you call a serial recycler.
Duffy Franco is an art teacher at Norwalk High School, in Norwalk, Conn. He still makes jewelry in his spare time. His e-mail address isstubby4B@aol.com.
