Judy Sunde Hanawalt

Things I'm Thinking About

Making Progress

The small steps are beginning to add up in my home. There is less plastic coming in, less going to the landfill, and less going into the recycling bin. Recycling has always seemed like a good solution to plastic waste, but it is only a stopgap; it’s become complicated. The old mantra of “reduce, reuse, recycle” is still applicable, but I’m moving toward dropping the “recycle” part of it, replacing it with “rot,” or composting, wherever I can.

This means avoiding plastic as much as possible and opting for compostable bags and containers. It’s become a game at the store: how can I get what I need with the least possible packaging? It feels like a luxury because the food and products that come in paper, glass or metal are often the more expensive brands. Plastic is cheap and prevalent, but it comes at a cost to the planet. I choose glass or metal because they break down eventually into their basic components, unlike plastic. Obviously, it’s impossible to live and eat without having an impact on the earth, but I am trying to tread a little more lightly.

I buy what I can in bulk in my reusable bags or paper bags. An example is buying bread that comes in paper bags, which also probably means it’s from a local bakery. The COVID19 crisis has made this more difficult; most stores have shut down their bulk aisles and don’t allow reusable bags. To get around taking plastic bags, I opt for paper if possible, or take the cart load of groceries out to the car and put them in my own bags there.

Farmers markets are still operating in my town, so that’s another option–though I have not ventured there yet. I pick up a CSA box of local produce weekly which keeps me supplied with veggies, but the farmers market also has bakery items and other pantry supplies that I could take home in my own bags. I found a place to order flour, beans and other dry goods called The Silo Pantry. They deliver in the Bay Area and package everything in paper bags. Most of their products are local, which is an added benefit.

In the laundry room and kitchen I’ve made some easy changes, too. Instead of endless jugs of laundry detergent, oxygen bleach and dishwasher detergent, I’ve changed to a subscription with Dropps. They send me little pods of all three products in cardboard packaging every eight months–the laundry detergent is a liquid and the oxygen bleach and dishwasher detergent are powdered, and all are encased in a clear casing that dissolves in water.

One pod goes in the washing machine or dishwasher for every load. So easy! It works well and smells good–I use the lavender-eucalyptus laundry liquid and the lemon dishwasher detergent. They are also available unscented. I have used some other products, like the Meloria laundry soap powder and oxygen brightener, which comes in a vintage-looking cardboard canister with a little scoop. It’s not as easy as tossing in a Dropp, but it is another good option.

I’ve also done away with plastic bottles of dishwashing liquid and all-purpose spray cleaner. I first tried a refill company called Fillaree. I liked the product and the concept; they send a jug of soap in a container to send back in the included return envelope for a refill when it is empty. I decided to stop using the service when I found similar products at my local refill store, but if you are on the East Coast or don’t have a refill store near you, they are a great option.

Lately I have started using a solid dishwashing bar from Meloria with a bamboo dish brush. It sits on a little cedar tray that drains water away, and it lathers up nicely. My all-purpose spray, also Meloria, comes as little rice-like grains of concentrate packaged in a cardboard canister. A tablespoon in a reusable glass spray bottle filled with water makes an effective cleaner for kitchen and bathroom surfaces–even mirrors. Also worth trying is their Gentle Home Cleaning Scrub for scouring with a walnut shell scour pads.

I’ve incorporated these products and habits into my routine, and I’m motivated to use them–and write about them–because I prefer them and am excited to share them.

Trying to keep plastic at bay is inconvenient though, and during stressful times, the added effort doesn’t seem worth it. There is so much plastic, new and old, and with the COVID19 pandemic, there’s even more: tons and tons of disposable health care products and PPE, as well as plastic packaging and products used as a precaution against spreading the virus. I felt like I was making progress before, but it almost seems ridiculous to try to reduce plastic now.

For now, I have relaxed my efforts. Disposable plastic produce bags have replaced my reusable mesh, and I’m buying bread, English muffins and various comfort foods in single use plastic bags. During the months of stay-at-home orders, easy and disposable just makes more sense. I needed to take a few steps back–but I’m holding out hope that when the anxiety of Coronavirus settles down, I can resume my quest to throw away less plastic.

More Small Steps

When I began to move beyond plastic in my kitchen, I cast a critical eye around the rest of the house. There was much more to deal with: the bathroom soap, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, lotion and bubble bath; the laundry room detergents, sprays and cleaning supplies; and the rest of the kitchen plastics, including all the dishwashing paraphernalia.

First, the bathroom. There were five or six plastic bottles in our shower with shampoos, conditioners, and face and body scrubs. Most showers probably have a similar line-up of new and half-used bottles, including brands that have fallen out of favor or products for different family members. I hated the amount of plastic waste generated each month.

I decided to give bar shampoo and conditioner a try. I started with some samples from a New Zealand company, Ethique. They sell to US customers through Amazon. I ordered the hair sampler and the body sampler first, and they arrived in neat little slider boxes with heart-shaped bars of their most popular formulas. It was a lot to keep straight with no labeled containers, but I was excited to try them out.

The shampoo was better than I expected–it lathers up into nice suds easily and leaves my hair clean and soft. I ordered full-size bars of the shampoos and I liked: Sweet and Spicy and Pinkalicious. My husband tried the dandruff shampoo, Heali Kiwi, and it worked well controlling itching and flaking. Their Lime and Ginger Body Polish bar is nice too–a soap bar with gentle scrubby grit.

New Zealand is a long way away, and although I liked the Ethique products, I wanted shampoo bars made closer a little closer to home to limit the need for shipping. I found a company called Chagrin Valley Soap and Salve and I have been ordering and using their products for over a year.

My usuals are the Ayurvedic Herb and the Summer Sunshine bars, but I just ordered the Chamomile and Citrus for a change. My husband likes the Neem and Tea Tree and the Rosemary Mint–both for troubled scalps. The bars are large; I cut them in half for easy handling, and they last a good long time. They are pleasant to use, look nice in the shower on a little soap holder, and there is no plastic bottle to dispose of.

Another source of plastic in my bathroom was small but maddeningly unnecessary, it seemed: almost everything–toilet paper rolls, tissue boxes and cotton swabs–comes wrapped in thin plastic. I started looking for a plastic-free option. For toilet paper, I found a company called Who Gives a Crap.

They sell tree-free toilet paper, either 100% recycled paper or bamboo, and it comes in plastic free packaging. Every roll is wrapped in a brightly decorated paper wrapper and shipped in a cardboard box. I like the cheery prints instead of bare rolls stored in my bathroom. It is subscription based; I get 48 rolls every 4 months.

I also order tissue and paper towels from WGAC when I need them, and they are included in my scheduled shipment. This turned out to be a huge benefit when COVID19 hit and toilet paper became scarce. I got my delivery at my scheduled time and never had any shortage worries. (If you decide to order, use this link and we’ll both get $10.)

Instead of all the disposable tubes, bottles and pumps of face cream and cleanser, I now use essential oils and serums for my face. I buy them in glass containers. I love the Evan Healy line of products, especially the Rose items. For facial cleanser, I use a Shae Rose Clay complexion bar from Chagrin Valley. I just ordered the Sea Buckhorn and Tea Tree Soap and Sea Buckhorn Salve from Chagrin Valley for my husband to try for his rosacea.

Since the shelter-at-home order began in March, I have abandoned all make up. If I start using it when we venture out again, I want to try the Elate line. Their cosmetics come in metal trays that fit into pretty bamboo holders. By purchasing the holder once and then refilling it, there is far less waste.

Toothpaste tubes are plastic, and not easily recyclable. We now use toothpaste “bits,” little chewable tablets that foam up with the water on the toothbrush. It’s a little weird at first, but now that we’re used to them, the benefits are obvious. No messy cap rings on the counter or blobs of paste in the sink, and they are easy to take along for travel. There are a few chewable toothpastes on the market; we use the fresh mint bits from Bite. The refillable jar has a cute apothecary look, and everything is packaged and shipped in compostable film or paper. Bite is a subscription service, and I get my refills about every 3 months.

Dental floss containers are another little piece of plastic waste. I love this pretty, refillable glass container with silk floss, Dental Lace. Even though it’s glass, it seems to be safe in the bathroom for clumsy flossers–I have dropped mine on the tile a few times and it has survived so far.

For lotion and bath products, I found a store near me called Fillgood. They stock bulk and plastic-free products that shoppers take home in their own containers. I take an empty pump bottle for body lotion, and a jar for rose or lavender bath salts and fill them when I run out. I also get scented castile soap in a mason jar that I use for hand washing liquid when it is diluted and pumped out with a foamer lid.

The shop owner is careful to order products from companies that take back and refill their own large bulk containers so that plastic is virtually eliminated. This little shop has tripled its floor space in the last year as demand has grown. If you are not near Berkeley, they offer delivery in the Bay Area, and similar shops are popping up all over.

About subscription services: I hesitated to commit to them at first. I am accustomed to going out and getting what I need when I run out. Now that I’ve taken the plunge, I like it. I don’t worry about restocking, the ship dates are easily adjusted if I need the product sooner or later, and since I’m not in a rush to replace something I’m out of, the shipper can use established carrier routes–like the USPS, who delivers on my street every day– and minimize the negative effects of legions of delivery trucks on the road for rush orders. It also cuts down on my trips to the store.

Overall, it seems like setting up a regular schedule for household necessities makes sense for the earth as well as for my budget. Plastic is cheap, and it’s hard to compete with the convenience of it now that we are used to it in every nook and cranny of our lives. Natural products tend to be more expensive, but when I factor in the convenience of subscriptions and the reduced number of times I’m strolling the aisles at Target picking up items extra items–not to mention the peace of mind that comes from a full cupboard of toilet paper during the Coronavirus panic– the cost balances out.

At first, it feels like a big, hard step to move away from plastic. Now that I’ve taken a few steps away, though, I enjoy finding ways to eliminate it from my home. I actually prefer the products; they are good quality and value. Since many of the items come from small, creative companies, another benefit is that my dollars are supporting the businesses and people that are adding innovative, sustainable products to the marketplace. It makes the world feel a little more connected and personal.

Cabin Wedding

Our daughter chose to have her wedding at the cabin. We loved the idea–we pictured a homey and rustic event, flowing dresses and cowboy boots, champagne and chuck-wagon grub in the mountains. We imagined a blend of present and past, new chapters in our family story and old childhood memories. It would be perfect!

Bride’s vision was a little different, though. She wanted a celebration of family roots and new growth, but in the couple’s style: formal dresses and heels, dark suits and bow ties, a white tent with linens and china, and a very long bridal veil.

The summer before the wedding, the whole family worked together to clear a space for the ceremony, put up a pergola, and prepare extra rooms to house wedding guests. Spreading gravel and clearing pathways replaced our typical vacation activities, and Bride and Groom were enthusiastic about investing in their future with sweat equity.

The ceremony site was on a rise behind the cabin, where an overgrown logging road curved up to a clearing. Looking to the south towards Colorado, a raggedy patch of dead trees obscured the view of Bull Mountain and the Rawah Wilderness–a lovely vista that we had not noticed at that spot before. In a burst of bridal energy, my daughter started pushing a dead tree, rocking it until it fell. Encouraged, she tackled another one. Soon her fiance joined her, making good progress on the unsightly stand. More family members joined in, one with a chainsaw, and when we had pushed or cut as much as we could, we stood back and admired the view that we had opened up.

The day of the wedding, a white, four-peaked party tent filled the space in front of the cabin, outfitted with a long wooden head table covered by a sage-colored runner, round guest tables with white tablecloths, sage napkins and rangy, romantic bouquets in rose and burgundy, and a square parquet dance floor. Up at the wedding site, hay bales lined up in rows in front of the pergola, draped with colorful Mexican blankets Bride and Groom brought from Albuquerque.

The little log cabin, down the hill and off the to west side, was transformed into a bar, and down the path a little more to the east, the large front deck held cocktail tables, a photo station and a gift table. The big cabin, with the only real bathroom, became the Golden Club, reserved for guests over 45. Cafe lights crisscrossed the tent, the deck and the front of the log cabin. Rope lights marked the paths between them all.

I was so caught up in all the details that I was still in shorts and a t-shirt when guests started to arrive. As my daughters helped me change into my dress, apply my makeup and curl my hair, I could see guests winding their way up the path to the ceremony site to take their seats on the blanket-covered hay bales. Crowded into an upstairs bedroom, we watched nervously as Sister-Bridesmaid pulled tiny loops over the long line of tiny buttons climbing up the back of the wedding dress.

Before I left the cabin, I wanted to give Bride a handkerchief to carry–her “something old.” It belonged to my Grandmother, the namesake for Bride’s middle name, and had a pink script “R” embroidered in one corner, surrounded by roses. Sitting on the daybed in the living room, our hearts were full, holding this moment along with all that came before–a momma and her baby girl, summers at the cabin, a dream wedding, and the beginning of a new family.

I crossed the deck to join the wedding party at the bottom of the path for the walk up to the ceremony site. My parents were in the UTV with Uncle to ride up the hill, Mom hanging on to Dad as they bumped up the path. We walked up then, skirts gathered in hands, on tip toes to keep heels from sinking into the dirt, giddy and excited. Bride and Father of the Bride stood by the cabin window, watching us make our way up the path. At the top, both Sons walked me down the aisle; I was floating. I was careful to take it all in: so many happy faces, sunshine peeking through cooling clouds, all the plans unfolding. It was perfect.

As soon as Bride appeared at the the top of the path, the first notes of Sunshine on My Shoulders played, and tears fell from almost everyone, even the famously stoic Father of the Groom. To symbolize the beginning of their life together, Bride and Groom planted a little spruce tree behind the pergola, with the four parents helping. The vows and exchange of rings was emotional and sweet, and then they were down the aisle, with dip in the middle for a kiss.

The bridal party lingered at the ceremony spot for pictures while the guests hiked back down to the deck and the tent to find their tables for dinner. I watched as Bride posed, her veil flying in the wind, mountains visible in the distance–the view she had so fiercely wrestled trees to clear a month before. 

As we ate and talked and enjoyed the first dances, the clouds cleared and the sun came out, slanting through the trees into the tent. The newlyweds and attendants hurried away with the photographer for sunset pictures. When they came back down the trail from the promontory, they looked like fairies flitting out of the forest, laughing and dreamy and pastel in the fading light.

The cake was cut, and I hurried to bring a slice to my Mom. She was standing outside the tent surrounded by Grandchildren, who were dancing and laughing with her. For this day, she recognized her family and she remembered where she was and what we were celebrating–a gift I relished.

After the sun set, it was dark in the trees. On a normal cabin evening, I would not have ventured off the deck after dark, fearing the critters that might be lurking out there, especially when I can hear the coyotes yipping through the woods. On this night, though, we were in a wonderland.

Lights twinkled in the big tent, over the bar and on the deck. Guests traveled the paths through the aspens to go between the dance floor, the cabin and the bar. They lingered between the deck and the tent, and music, laughter and chatter filled the air, chasing away lonely animal sounds. Fireworks, a gift for the couple from fun-loving friends, lit up the sky (and brought the volunteer Fire Chief around for a visit).

How different it felt that night, waltzing around in the moonlight, my long gown swishing past the sage, the dark woods transformed by the magic of the wedding.

In the following days, when the tent was packed up and hauled away and all the festivities were done, quiet returned to the woods. The space around the cabin shrunk down to its former size at night, keeping us close. The bouquets and flowers from the tables were jumbled together on top of the covered hot tub and the deck bar. I pulled them apart, hanging roses upside down to dry for Bride–now Newlywed–and setting succulents aside to root at home.

I made small bouquets from the still-lovely flowers to set on the memorial stones at the promontory,  telling that little group of loved ones that we missed them, and knew they were with us. The rest of the flowers I scattered around the wedding site, under the newly-planted spruce, and in the meadow where the tent had been, sowing memories into the soil, mixing these most recent joys into the rich family history already there.

 

Another Mask Pattern

During a Zoom meeting recently, the light and angle were just right and I could see droplets spraying out of a meeting participant’s mouth when he was simply talking. It made me realize how critical it is to have a mouth covering to stop the spray from your own mouth and also to block others’ droplet shower from landing on your face. 

The mask patterns and tutorials I found online were fabric copies of regular medical masks, with elastic around the ears. Soon, elastic became impossible to find, and reports began to come in that people’s ears were sore from the elastic loops chafing their skin–I then began to see patterns for little pads to put on the elastic to relieve the irritation. These first fabric masks were intended to help battle the severe shortage of personal protective equipment (thanks to the pandemic, we all know what PPE means!) in hospitals.

The face coverings we have been asked to wear by our local health departments are a little different–they are intended to be fabric barriers primarily to limit the amount of droplets flying when we are out and about, still using social distancing but forced to come closer than 6 feet in some instances. We are not in constant, close contact with infected people like health care providers in a hospital setting; we are taking precautions for our community. 

My aim was to make a mouth and nose covering that is relatively comfortable and doesn’t make breathing too hot or restricted. It needs to be a new-normal accessory that I don’t mind wearing and is washable and durable. Combining ideas from mask patterns I found on the internet, I made this version. It uses a single cloth tie, looped around the neck, to gather three layers of cotton fabric into “pleats” that are adjustable and fit closely around the side of the face while leaving a little ease around the mouth and nose.

Since they don’t need to be medical-grade or incorporate filters to comply with the local requirements, I did not put a filter pocket in my masks. Any of the details can be easily changed to suit your preferences, like looping elastic through the casings instead of cloth ties, or leaving an opening for a coffee filter or other non-woven liner. 

My Mask: Step One

Cut one 8” x 11” piece for the mask front, and two pieces 8” x 7.5” for the lining, one of plain muslin if desired.

This is quilting cotton and plain muslin. I am having fun mixing patterns to make unique masks.

Step Two

Place the front and lining pieces right sides together, centering the narrower lining pieces on the front piece, and sew ½ inch seam along top and bottom. Press seams flat, turn and press. 

Getting back into sewing after a long slump, I felt like a newbie. At least twice I sewed wrong sides together and had to find my trusty seam ripper.

Step Three

Press a ½ inch fold into short ends of the mask where there is only a single layer of fabric, then fold again to cover the edge of the lining and create a casing for the tie (or elastic ear loops if you choose). Repeat on the other side.

My high school sewing teacher wouldn’t be pleased, but no, I don’t use pins for this.

Step Four

Sew long edges on top and bottom of the mask, keeping the presser foot even with the edge, catching the ironed-in folds. Turn mask and stitch along edge of casing to close it.

Step Five

Make a tie by ripping a strip from the width of your fabric (44-45 inches). Make a little snip 1½ inches from the edge of the fabric and tear it all the way (you may need to tear a straight edge first if your fabric isn’t cut straight).

Lay the strip flat on an ironing board, right side down. Hold one end firmly, and then gently pull the fabric, holding it approximately 8 inches from the other side. (I’m right handed, so I hold with my right and pull with my left). Both edges will curl toward the center. Use your fingers to make edges meet in the middle and press. Pull and press for the length of the strip. Then, fold the strip in half again and sew the length of it down the middle. 

This is the fun part! Rip from selvage edge to selvage edge.
This is my real ironing board cover. I’m not proud.

Note: This is my shortcut method for making bias tape. It’s not actually on the bias, but it seems to be just as stretchy and works fine. By pulling and ironing you get a nice tape without the extreme frustration and burnt fingers of folding both sides to the middle and pressing. You can also buy bias tape pre-folded, but that seems to be hard to find now too. 

Attach a safety pin to one end, feed the tie up through one casing and then down through the other side. Knot both ends. 

If using elastic for ear loops, cut two 10 inch pieces of ¼ or ½ inch elastic. Feed 1 piece through each casing and sew ends together, back stitching several times to make sure it holds. 

The finished mask!

To wear, put the loop over your head with the outside of the mask against you, lining facing out. Pull the mask up over your mouth and nose, tightening the tie on both sides evenly until it’s snug against the back of your neck and sides of your face. Tie behind your head. Adjust the gathers around your nose and mouth so it’s comfortable and hopefully doesn’t steam up your glasses too much.

Normal for Now

This week, the normal for us is Zoom and FaceTime meetings almost every day, shopping for as much as possible online, leaving home rarely, and wearing a face mask when we do go out. This is the new normal because of COVID19. In my family, we have students taking online classes, laid-off workers receiving unemployment checks, teachers learning to distance-teach, essential workers keeping the infrastructure going, medical professionals caring for patients in hospital, workers-from-home consuming neighborhood bandwidth at record rates, and retired folks mastering video chatting. We’re physically distanced and we’re missing our old normal. 

You are probably overloaded with news and speculations, like I am. We are taking in a lot of information and trying to cope. At first, the newness and the sense of danger had me in high gear: taking inventory, stocking up, finding new supply channels, cooking and baking in earnest, and lining up the projects I wanted to take a deep dive into. Unfortunately, deep cleaning never entered into the picture.

Being asked to stay home wasn’t a hardship for me; I am a homebody and relish being told I must do what I always want to do anyway–cancel everything and stay home. It felt good to be doing what I could to fight this threat and keep my community safe by hunkering down. 

As the weeks blurred by, though, projects were started and abandoned, meals were sometimes amazing and often not, books went unfinished and a general sense of anxious fidgeting became my normal state. A few weeks ago my son sent me a picture of masks he made by cutting up his pillowcase. I started thinking about making some too. He sent me the pattern he used, and a quick google search for more patterns made it obvious that many, many others were thinking about this too.

I dug my dusty box of fabric out from the storage area, sorted through the scraps and yardage from long-forgotten projects, and started sewing. Whole days went by with me at my machine and ironing board. I mailed out the first batch, and started on another. Yesterday, I discovered that the Joann fabric store near me is an essential business and is open–crafters rejoice!–and I was able to get more fabric for another round. That was the first project that held my attention for more than a few hours (unless you count marching through five seasons of Poldark on Masterpiece).

People began putting teddy bears in their windows to encourage walkers and connect with neighbors. Households with young children at home can turn a walk into an adventure when searching for stuffies in neighbors’ windows. I started seeing rainbows in windows too, a symbol of the hope that we will all get through this together. I found a big, stuffed bear in the back of a closet and put him in a front window. I wanted to put a rainbow up too, and the idea of knitting one appealed to me. I had put my needles down in January and didn’t feel like picking them up until then.

I found a pattern, ordered the yarn online and started knitting. I just bought more yarn to keep sharing them with my family, little bright reminders of hope. After the rainbows got me out of my slump, I finished up some other pieces that I had left half-finished on the needles, and a few more projects are pushing to the front of the line in my mind. 

My houseplants and garden caught my attention, too. I am an inattentive plant person; I forget to water until I see the leaves withering, and I look past weeds and bushes that need pruning. Puttering around the house, I noticed my plants and started watering. I found some plant food out in the back and blessed some of the slow-growers with a healthy drench. I cleared out weeds, and took the trimmers to a hedge.

I even repotted a root-bound Christmas cactus that has looked half-dead for a couple of years. It was alive, but dull. A few days ago, I noticed that the cactus was growing new, bright green branches, and they were reaching up and away from the old faded, bending branches. Blooms were bursting out, and even the flowers looked bigger and more energetic than usual. Taking it out of its old, cracked plastic pot and giving it more room and fresh potting soil gave it new life. Motivated, I replanted some succulents and geraniums outside. 

COVID19, with all the pain it has caused and the changes it has forced us to make, has given new perspective. The slowed pace of this normal-for-now has quieted the clanging of busyness. For me, the nagging feeling that I should account for every minute and prove my productivity has lost its urgency. I have let the voices telling me what I should be accomplishing fade, and started listening to the whispers of what I want to do.

Like my cactus, I feel like I’ve been repotted. I’m letting go of what is unnecessary, sitting with what is, and taking up what has been quietly tapping at the edges of me to be let in. I can feel the new growth of creativity. 

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