We survived. Five weeks on the road, twin two-year-olds, a small camper van, two shellshocked parents, and 4500-miles later…we are back in The Bubble. No, it’s not the hordes of students, clad in mirrored sunglasses, hoochie-mama miniskirts, and flat-billed ballcaps that let us know we’re back. Nor the perfect weather. The endless bike paths and courteous bike-commuters…nope.
This time around my reentry to the Republic was wholly confirmed by a trip to the dump. Well, no, not actually…we evolved Boulderites do not “dump” anything besides free-range, fair-trade, ethically harvested, shade-grown, artisan-crafted, Slow-Foodie poop–once a day, in low-flow, double-action toilets freshened with baking soda (never chemicals).
No, my time away came to a close as soon as I made a quick trip by the Center for Hard-to-Recycle Materials (CHARM). CHARM is one of the reasons living in Boulder is great…and a quick glimpse in the mirror, too.
I love CHARM and take as much stuff as I can by its yard, just off 47th, behind the Toyota dealership. They do great work, keeping tons and tons of stuff out of landfills, or at the least disposing of toxic materials (like electronics equipment) properly and safely.
You gotta pause, for a sec, and get a laugh out of it, too. Yoga mats. They freakin’ accept yoga mats for recycling. How many people are doing yoga in this town? Is there a CHARM bin for recycling those dumbass capris with the split calves, too? I mean, that’s a whole lot of enlightenment right there if we’re recycling yoga mats. Were I a motivated writer/blogger, I’d call CHARM and inquire about the volume of yoga mattage being recycled. And into what? Yoga props? Joking aside, I’m grateful the folks at CHARM offer their services, for yoga mats and beyond…but man, imagine showing that slide at the Republican National Convention. Yoga mats and bike parts. How cool…and totally white/liberal/over the top, too!
Meanwhile we’ve not moved back into our house, as it’s rented at the moment. Should I not state that publicly? I don’t know–the long arm of the city law might come down upon us. Anyway, we’re staying at an undisclosed location, with its own composting service–a local black bear who’s figured out how to unlatch my buddy’s garbage bins. Smart little Smoky the Bear. I’ll try to get a pic and post it…I heard him/her late last night, but sloth kept me from getting out of bed to photo the enterprising creature. We kept our compost indoors last night, so hopefully he didn’t get anything from our porch…but I’m pretty sure he snagged a sweaty yoga top from the house next door. Oh, excuse me–a locally produced, organic-cotton, yoga accompaniment designed to help one achieve enlightenment…and I bet it was delicious.
