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Abundance Bargains Sept. 26

This is the entire program called Bargains from the broadcast of Abundance on Sept. 26.

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King Midas' Golden Touch by Jeanie Lang

Once upon a time the kingdom of Phrygia lacked a king, and in much perplexity, the people sought help from an oracle. The answer was very definite:

“The first man who enters your city riding in a car shall be your king.”

That day there came slowly jogging into the city in their heavy, wooden-wheeled wain, the peasant Gordias and his wife and son, whose destination was the marketplace, and whose business was to sell the produce of their little farm and vineyard—fowls, a goat or two, and a couple of skinsful of strong, purple-red wine. An eager crowd awaited their entry, and a loud shout of welcome greeted them. And their eyes grew round and their mouths fell open in amaze when they were hailed as King and Queen and Prince of Phrygia.

The gods had indeed bestowed upon Gordias, the low-born peasant, a surprising gift, but he showed his gratitude by dedicating his wagon to the deity of the oracle and tying it up in its place with the wiliest knot that his simple wisdom knew, pulled as tight as his brawny arms and strong rough hands could pull. Nor could anyone untie the famous Gordian knot, and therefore become, as the oracle promised, lord of all Asia, until centuries had passed, and Alexander the Great came to Phrygia and sliced through the knot with his all-conquering sword.

In time Midas, the son of Gordias, came to inherit the throne and crown of Phrygia. Like many another not born and bred to the purple, his honors sat heavily upon him. From the day that his father’s wain had entered the city amidst the acclamations of the people, he had learned the value of power, and therefore, from his boyhood onward, power, always more power, was what he coveted. Also his peasant father had taught him that gold could buy power, and so Midas ever longed for more gold, that could buy him a place in the world that no descendant of a long race of kings should be able to contest. And from Olympus the gods looked down and smiled, and vowed that Midas should have the chance of realising his heart’s desire.

Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting in the solemn state that Midas required, there rode into their midst, tipsily swaying on the back of a gentle full-fed old grey ass, ivy-crowned, jovial and foolish, the satyr Silenus, guardian of the young god Bacchus.

With all the deference due to the friend of a god Midas treated this disreputable old pedagogue, and for ten days and nights on end he feasted him royally. On the eleventh day Bacchus came in search of his preceptor, and in deep gratitude bade Midas demand of him what he would, because he had done Silenus honor when to dishonor him lay in his power.

Not even for a moment did Midas ponder.

“I would have gold,” he said hastily—“much gold. I would have that touch by which all common and valueless things become golden treasures.”

And Bacchus, knowing that here spoke the son of peasants who many times had gone empty to bed after a day of toilful striving on the rocky uplands of Phrygia, looked a little sadly in the eager face of Midas, and answered: “Be it as thou wilt. Thine shall be the golden touch.”

Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of singing revellers at their heels, and Midas quickly put to proof the words of Bacchus.

An olive tree grew near where he stood, and from it he picked a little twig decked with leaves of softest grey, and lo, it grew heavy as he held it, and glittered like a piece of his crown. He stooped to touch the green turf on which some fragrant violets grew, and turf grew into cloth of gold, and violets lost their fragrance and became hard, solid, golden things. He touched an apple whose cheek grew rosy in the sun, and at once it became like the golden fruit in the Garden of the Hesperides. The stone pillars of his palace as he brushed past them on entering, blazed like a sunset sky. The gods had not deceived him. Midas had the Golden Touch. Joyously he strode into the palace and commanded a feast to be prepared—a feast worthy of an occasion so magnificent.

But when Midas, with the healthy appetite of the peasant-born, would have eaten largely of the savory food that his cooks prepared, he found that his teeth only touched roast kid to turn it into a slab of gold, that garlic lost its flavor and became gritty as he chewed, that rice turned into golden grains, and curdled milk became a dower fit for a princess, entirely unnegotiable for the digestion of man. Baffled and miserable, Midas seized his cup of wine, but the red wine had become one with the golden vessel that held it; nor could he quench his thirst, for even the limpid water from the fountain was melted gold when it touched his dry lips. Only for a very few days was Midas able to bear the affliction of his wealth. There was nothing now for him to live for. He could buy the whole earth if he pleased, but even children shrank in terror from his touch, and hungry and thirsty and sick at heart he wearily dragged along his weighty robes of gold. Gold was power, he knew well, yet of what worth was gold while he starved? Gold could not buy him life and health and happiness.

In despair, at length he cried to the god who had given him the gift that he hated.

“Save me, O Bacchus!” he said. “A witless one am I, and the folly of my desire has been my undoing. Take away from me the accursed Golden Touch, and faithfully and well shall I serve thee forever.”

Then Bacchus, very pitiful for him, told Midas to go to Sardis, the chief city of his worshippers, and to trace to its source the river upon which it was built. And in that pool, when he found it, he was to plunge his head, and so he would, for evermore, be freed from the Golden Touch.

It was a long journey that Midas then took, and a weary and a starving man was he when at length he reached the spring where the river Pactolus had its source. He crawled forward, and timidly plunged in his head and shoulders. Almost he expected to feel the harsh grit of golden water, but instead there was the joy he had known as a peasant boy when he laved his face and drank at a cool spring when his day’s toil was ended. And when he raised his face from the pool, he knew that his hateful power had passed from him, but under the water he saw grains of gold glittering in the sand, and from that time forth the river Pactolus was noted for its gold.

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This World is Not Conclusion by Emily Dickenson

This world is not conclusion;

A sequel stands beyond,

Invisible, as music,

But positive, as sound.

It beckons and it baffles;

Philosophies don't know,

And through a riddle, at the last,

Sagacity must go.

To guess it puzzles scholars;

To gain it, men have shown

Contempt of generations,

And crucifixion known.

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The Blind Men and The Elephant by John Godfrey Saxe

It was six men of Indostan

To learning much inclined,

Who went to see the Elephant

(Though all of them were blind),

That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,

And happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,

At once began to bawl:

"God bless me! but the Elephant

Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried, "Ho, what have we here,

So very round and smooth and sharp?

To me 'tis mighty clear

This wonder of an Elephant

Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal,

And happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,

Thus boldly up and spake:

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant

Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand,

And felt about the knee

"What most this wondrous beast is like

Is mighty plain," quoth he:

"'Tis clear enough the Elephant

Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,

Said: "E'en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an Elephant

Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun

About the beast to grope,

Than seizing on the swinging tail

That fell within his scope,

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant

Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right,

And all were in the wrong!

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A Happy Ending by Anton Chekhov

LYUBOV GRIGORYEVNA, a substantial, buxom lady of forty who undertook matchmaking and many other matters of which it is usual to speak only in whispers, had come to see Stytchkin, the head guard, on a day when he was off duty. Stytchkin, somewhat embarrassed, but, as always, grave, practical, and severe, was walking up and down the room, smoking a cigar and saying:

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Semyon Ivanovitch recommended you on the ground that you may be able to assist me in a delicate and very important matter affecting the happiness of my life. I have, Lyubov Grigoryevna, reached the age of fifty-two; that is a period of life at which very many have already grown-up children. My position is a secure one. Though my fortune is not large, yet I am in a position to support a beloved being and children at my side. I may tell you between ourselves that apart from my salary I have also money in the bank which my manner of living has enabled me to save. I am a practical and sober man, I lead a sensible and consistent life, so that I may hold myself up as an example to many. But one thing I lack--a domestic hearth of my own and a partner in life, and I live like a wandering Magyar, moving from place to place without any satisfaction. I have no one with whom to take counsel, and when I am ill no one to give me water, and so on. Apart from that, Lyubov Grigoryevna, a married man has always more weight in society than a bachelor. . . . I am a man of the educated class, with money, but if you look at me from a point of view, what am I? A man with no kith and kin, no better than some Polish priest. And therefore I should be very desirous to be united in the bonds of Hymen--that is, to enter into matrimony with some worthy person."

"An excellent thing," said the matchmaker, with a sigh.

"I am a solitary man and in this town I know no one. Where can I go, and to whom can I apply, since all the people here are strangers to me? That is why Semyon Ivanovitch advised me to address myself to a person who is a specialist in this line, and makes the arrangement of the happiness of others her profession. And therefore I most earnestly beg you, Lyubov Grigoryevna, to assist me in ordering my future. You know all the marriageable young ladies in the town, and it is easy for you to accommodate me."

"I can. . . ."

"A glass of wine, I beg you. . . ."

With an habitual gesture the matchmaker raised her glass to her mouth and tossed it off without winking.

"I can," she repeated. "And what sort of bride would you like, Nikolay Nikolayitch?"

"Should I like? The bride fate sends me."

"Well, of course it depends on your fate, but everyone has his own taste, you know. One likes dark ladies, the other prefers fair ones."

"You see, Lyubov Grigoryevna," said Stytchkin, sighing sedately, "I am a practical man and a man of character; for me beauty and external appearance generally take a secondary place, for, as you know yourself, beauty is neither bowl nor platter, and a pretty wife involves a great deal of anxiety. The way I look at it is, what matters most in a woman is not what is external, but what lies within--that is, that she should have soul and all the qualities. A glass of wine, I beg. . . . Of course, it would be very agreeable that one's wife should be rather plump, but for mutual happiness it is not of great consequence; what matters is the mind. Properly speaking, a woman does not need mind either, for if she has brains she will have too high an opinion of herself, and take all sorts of ideas into her head. One cannot do without education nowadays, of course, but education is of different kinds. It would be pleasing for one's wife to know French and German, to speak various languages, very pleasing; but what's the use of that if she can't sew on one's buttons, perhaps? I am a man of the educated class: I am just as much at home, I may say, with Prince Kanitelin as I am with you here now. But my habits are simple, and I want a girl who is not too much a fine lady. Above all, she must have respect for me and feel that I have made her happiness."

"To be sure."

"Well, now as regards the essential. . . . I do not want a wealthy bride; I would never condescend to anything so low as to marry for money. I desire not to be kept by my wife, but to keep her, and that she may be sensible of it. But I do not want a poor girl either. Though I am a man of means, and am marrying not from mercenary motives, but from love, yet I cannot take a poor girl, for, as you know yourself, prices have gone up so, and there will be children."

"One might find one with a dowry," said the matchmaker.

"A glass of wine, I beg. . . ."

There was a pause of five minutes.

The matchmaker heaved a sigh, took a sidelong glance at the guard, and asked:

"Well, now, my good sir . . . do you want anything in the bachelor line? I have some fine bargains. One is a French girl and one is a Greek. Well worth the money."

The guard thought a moment and said:

"No, I thank you. In view of your favorable disposition, allow me to enquire now how much you ask for your exertions in regard to a bride?"

"I don't ask much. Give me twenty-five roubles and the stuff for a dress, as is usual, and I will say thank you . . . but for the dowry, that's a different account."

Stytchkin folded his arms over his chest and fell to pondering in silence. After some thought he heaved a sigh and said:

"That's dear. . . ."

"It's not at all dear, Nikolay Nikolayitch! In old days when there were lots of weddings one did do it cheaper, but nowadays what are our earnings? If you make fifty roubles in a month that is not a fast, you may be thankful. It's not on weddings we make our money, my good sir."

Stytchkin looked at the matchmaker in amazement and shrugged his shoulders.

"H'm! . . . Do you call fifty roubles little?" he asked.

"Of course it is little! In old days we sometimes made more than a hundred."

"H'm! I should never have thought it was possible to earn such a sum by these jobs. Fifty roubles! It is not every man that earns as much! Pray drink your wine. . . ."

The matchmaker drained her glass without winking. Stytchkin looked her over from head to foot in silence, then said:

"Fifty roubles. . . . Why, that is six hundred roubles a year. . . . Please take some more. . . With such dividends, you know, Lyubov Grigoryevna, you would have no difficulty in making a match for yourself. . . ."

"For myself," laughed the matchmaker, "I am an old woman."

"Not at all. . . . You have such a figure, and your face is plump and fair, and all the rest of it."

The matchmaker was embarrassed. Stytchkin was also embarrassed and sat down beside her.

"You are still very attractive," said he; "if you met with a practical, steady, careful husband, with his salary and your earnings you might even attract him very much, and you'd get on very well together. . . ."

"Goodness knows what you are saying, Nikolay Nikolayitch."

"Well, I meant no harm. . . ."

A silence followed. Stytchkin began loudly blowing his nose, while the matchmaker turned crimson, and looking bashfully at him, asked:

"And how much do you get, Nikolay Nikolayitch?"

"I? Seventy-five roubles, besides tips. . . . Apart from that we make something out of candles and hares."

"You go hunting, then?"

"No. Passengers who travel without tickets are called hares with us."

Another minute passed in silence. Stytchkin got up and walked about the room in excitement.

"I don't want a young wife," said he. "I am a middle-aged man, and I want someone who . . . as it might be like you . . . staid and settled and a figure something like yours. . . ."

"Goodness knows what you are saying . . ." giggled the matchmaker, hiding her crimson face in her kerchief.

"There is no need to be long thinking about it. You are after my own heart, and you suit me in your qualities. I am a practical, sober man, and if you like me . . . what could be better? Allow me to make you a proposal!"

The matchmaker dropped a tear, laughed, and, in token of her consent, clinked glasses with Stytchkin.

"Well," said the happy railway guard, "now allow me to explain to you the behaviour and manner of life I desire from you. . . . I am a strict, respectable, practical man. I take a gentlemanly view of everything. And I desire that my wife should be strict also, and should understand that to her I am a benefactor and the foremost person in the world."

He sat down, and, heaving a deep sigh, began expounding to his bride-elect his views on domestic life and a wife's duties.

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Reaching Conclusions

We can jump to conclusions. We can come to a conclusion. We can rush to conclusions. But mostly, I am just glad when some things are over. It usually means the beginning of something new, and that’s not always a bad thing. And especially if you are the ending of something grand, it’s a great time to look back and think about the journey.

Hopefully our education never ends, but there is day when our schooling ends. We really don’t want life to end, but that’s usually how it ends up. Especially when we are in the middle of something painful, it’s good to reach the end.

We all yearn to be done with our schooling. All through the years of seat work, worksheets and examinations, we want it all to be done. Some people never darken the halls of education again, and there are those who can’t stop getting more and more. Is there ever an end to it all? Strangely, when it is over, we glowingly remember “school days”, the good old golden rule days, and some people never stop living in that particular part of their past. But whatever your view of education and those halcyon days, I hope you aren’t done learning. I count it a great day when I have learned something new, and especially good if I have been able to unlearn something that wasn’t true. I sometimes complain that my brain is full, but all of the wonderful trivial facts floating around in my head make me happy.

I’ve tried to tell my students they may want to take better care of themselves, since our life expectancy keeps increasing. When you can grow a replacement ear on the back of a mouse, which scientists have done, how far away are replacement parts for any of yours which fail? But if you have seen the movie “Death Becomes Her”, I really don’t think I want to live in a future of Bondo, which is usually used on cars. Especially tragic is a young death, but we somehow do find some way to go on with our own lives. I admire so much those who have lost children and how they continue in what must be a terrible pain. Parents shouldn’t bury their children, but it does happen far too often.

But most conclusions seem to happen as T.S. Eliot put it. “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.” I guess I can admit it. My conclusion to my last St. George Marathon truly ended with a whimper-like moan. After struggling through the first 20 miles of the 26.2 mile race, my knees decided they had had enough, and the heat approached 90 degrees. I had to walk through most of the rest of the race. Most runners know enough to listen to their bodies, and when the body protests too much, it’s time to slow down. I have also had heat stroke before, and no one should have to go through that. I was determined to struggle to the end, and that’s what I did. It wasn’t pretty, but I finished.

It was my fourth marathon and my slowest ever, but then again I am older than I ever has been. Besides being no spring chicken, I am also much bigger than most of the runners in the race. There is what is called a “Clydesdale” division, but I don’t weigh enough to enter it. I really only have to gain a few pounds, like ten or fifteen, but then that kind of defeats the purpose of trying to get in shape.

I’ll walk funny for a few days, but my fourth marathon is another accomplishment I will always be proud of, no matter how long it took. Some of the people in the race were in their eighties, and I wouldn’t mind being able to still run marathons when I get that old. I would hope I was in better shape than now, but with the amount of Pepsi I drink, I think I won’t be running that long. Or if I do keep running, the races will take even longer.

Maybe I could take up biking. But really, I’m ready for another goal. The conclusion to this race means I can move on to something different. I don’t know what it will be, but I do have a feeling it will be some kind of public performance. But maybe with less stress and something that can be accomplished in fewer than seven hours.

But then that might be jumping to a conclusion, and the hasty decisions we make we usually regret. Give me a few days so I can stop walking funny, and after a bunch of Ibuprofen, things may look better. But right now, I’m just glad to be at the conclusion of another episode. Stay tuned.

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Abundance Bargains Sept. 26

The complete episode of Abundance from Sept. 26

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The Last Bargain by Rabindranath Tagore

The Last Bargain

by Rabindranath Tagore

"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved road.

Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.

He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."

But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot.

In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors.

I wandered along the crooked lane.

An old man came out with his bag of gold.

He pondered and said, "I will hire you with my money."

He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.

It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.

The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."

Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone into the dark.

The sun glistened on the sand, and the sea waves broke waywardly.

A child sat playing with shells.

He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said, "I hire you with nothing."

From thenceforward that bargain struck in child's play made me a free man.

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King Midas' Ears by Jeanie Lange

Midas had now no wish for golden riches, nor even for power. He wished to lead the simple life and to listen to the pipings of Pan along with the goat-herds on the mountains or the wild creatures in the woods. Thus it befell that he was present one day at a contest between Pan and Apollo himself. It was a day of merry-making for nymphs and fauns and dryads, and all those who lived in the lonely solitudes of Phrygia came to listen to the music of the god who ruled them. For as Pan sat in the shade of a forest one night and piped on his reeds until the very shadows danced, and the water of the stream by which he sat leapt high over the mossy stones it passed, and laughed aloud in its glee, the god had so gloried in his own power that he cried:

“Who speaks of Apollo and his lyre? Some of the gods may be well pleased with his music, and mayhap a bloodless man or two. But my music strikes to the heart of the earth itself. It stirs with rapture the very sap of the trees, and awakes to life and joy the innermost soul of all things mortal.”

Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.

“Oh, thou whose soul is the soul of the untilled ground!” he said, “wouldst thou place thy music, that is like the wind in the reeds, beside my music, which is as the music of the spheres?”

And Pan, splashing with his goat’s feet amongst the water-lilies of the stream on the bank of which he sat, laughed loudly and cried:

“Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee a match—thou on thy golden lyre—I on my reeds from the river.”

Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan matched against each other their music, and King Midas was one of the judges.

First of all Pan took his fragile reeds, and as he played, the leaves on the trees shivered, and the sleeping lilies raised their heads, and the birds ceased their song to listen and then flew straight to their mates. And all the beauty of the world grew more beautiful, and all its terror grew yet more grim, and still Pan piped on, and laughed to see the nymphs and the fauns first dance in joyousness and then tremble in fear, and the buds to blossom, and the stags to bellow in their lordship of the hills. When he ceased, it was as though a tensely-drawn string had broken, and all the earth lay breathless and mute. And Pan turned proudly to the golden-haired god who had listened as he had spoken through the hearts of reeds to the hearts of men.

“Canst, then, make music like unto my music, Apollo?” he said.

Then Apollo, his purple robes barely hiding the perfection of his limbs, a wreath of laurel crowning his yellow curls, looked down at Pan from his godlike height and smiled in silence. For a moment his hand silently played over the golden strings of his lyre, and then his finger-tips gently touched them. And every creature there who had a soul, felt that that soul had wings, and the wings sped them straight to Olympus. Far away from all earth-bound creatures they flew, and dwelt in magnificent serenity amongst the Immortals. No longer was there strife, or any dispeace. No more was there fierce warring between the actual and the unknown. The green fields and thick woods had faded into nothingness, and their creatures, and the fair nymphs and dryads, and the wild fauns and centaurs longed and fought no more, and man had ceased to desire the impossible. Throbbing nature and passionately desiring life faded into dust before the melody that Apollo called forth, and when his strings had ceased to quiver and only the faintly remembered echo of his music remained, it was as though the earth had passed away and all things had become new.

For the space of many seconds all was silence.

Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:

“Ye who listen—who is the victor?”

And earth and sea and sky, and all the creatures of earth and sky, and of the deep, replied as one:

“The victory is thine, Divine Apollo.”

Yet was there one dissentient voice.

Midas, sorely puzzled, utterly un-understanding, was relieved when the music of Apollo ceased. “If only Pan would play again,” he murmured to himself. “I wish to live, and Pan’s music gives me life. I love the woolly vine-buds and the fragrant pine-leaves, and the scent of the violets in the spring. The smell of the fresh-ploughed earth is dear to me, the breath of the kine that have grazed in the meadows of wild parsley and of asphodel. I want to drink red wine and to eat and love and fight and work and be joyous and sad, fierce and strong, and very weary, and to sleep the dead sleep of men who live only as weak mortals do.”

Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: “Pan’s music is sweeter and truer and greater than the music of Apollo. Pan is the victor, and I, King Midas, give him the victor’s crown!”

With scorn ineffable the sun-god turned upon Midas, his peasant’s face transfigured by his proud decision. For a little he gazed at him in silence, and his look might have turned a sunbeam to an icicle.

Then he spoke:

“The ears of an ass have heard my music,” he said. “Henceforth shall Midas have ass’s ears.”

And when Midas, in terror, clapped his hands to his crisp black hair, he found growing far beyond it, the long, pointed ears of an ass. Perhaps what hurt him most, as he fled away, was the shout of merriment that came from Pan. And fauns and nymphs and satyrs echoed that shout most joyously.

Willingly would he have hidden in the woods, but there he found no hiding-place. The trees and shrubs and flowering things seemed to shake in cruel mockery. Back to his court he went and sent for the court hairdresser, that he might bribe him to devise a covering for these long, peaked, hairy symbols of his folly. Gladly the hairdresser accepted many and many oboli, many and many golden gifts, and all Phrygia wondered, while it copied, the strange headdress of the king.

But although much gold had bought his silence, the court barber was unquiet of heart. All day and all through the night he was tormented by his weighty secret. And then, at length, silence was to him a torture too great to be borne; he sought a lonely place, there dug a deep hole, and, kneeling by it, softly whispered to the damp earth: “King Midas has ass’s ears.”

Greatly relieved, he hastened home, and was well content until, on the spot where his secret lay buried, rushes grew up. And when the winds blew through them, the rushes whispered for all those who passed by to hear: “King Midas has ass’s ears! King Midas has ass’s ears!” Those who listen very carefully to what the green rushes in marshy places whisper as the wind passes through them, may hear the same thing to this day. And those who hear the whisper of the rushes may, perhaps, give a pitying thought to Midas—the tragic comedian of mythology.

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Nice Suit

Rules of Engagement

NICE SUIT

I went to my agent one day and checked in to see if there were any acting jobs coming up. I was wearing a nice suit, and I asked my agent what she thought it was worth. I knew what I had paid, but I really didn’t know what it was worth. This is a lady who knows a fine suit when she sees one, and has been involved in the fashion industry for more than three decades. She looked at the material and the labels and told me it must have cost $1500.00. I was pleasantly surprised. I had paid only one hundred dollars for that suit on EBay. This may not be the kind of recycling you are used to hearing about, but I never felt better wearing a suit for which someone else had paid a bundle.

Today I want to persuade you to be a recycling genius. I’ll talk about what recycling is, where recycling can take place, and who should recycle.

First, let’s talk about what I mean when I say the word recycling. Many people are familiar with the standard types of recycling, where end consumers sort glass from plastic and then hope the recycling companies can use the fruits of their labor. I think this kind of recycling is great, but many communities in the world don’t offer recycling services. So the kind of recycling I would like to discuss is the kind all of us can do. I’ll describe three kinds of “locals only” recycling that anyone can do anywhere. We can all reuse, reduce and resell. This sounds like the official slogan of recycling, “Reduce, Reuse and Recycle”, but I have adapted it for places which don’t have recycling facilities.

Reduce is easy to understand. We live in a consumer society, which means we may have more than one television, computer or car. When something is replaced, is it necessary to replace it?

Or are we just buying the newest model so we can have all the new features? Less consumption means less use, and as we reduce our use, we also need to recycle less. Another version of reducing could be to take the things we no longer use and put them somewhere they will be used. We reduce our clutter, and the item gets new life.

This leads into reuse. As someone acquires our old item, it is reused. Often a minor repair is all that is needed to prevent an item from ending up as trash. I have repaired my car so many times I don’t think there is an original part left on the vehicle. Of course, there are old parts left, but I have been able to reuse the car every time it broke down, and I recently put another engine into it. Even the “new” engine was recycled, since it was a used engine with about 35,000 miles on it. Who knows when it will finally break down and not be useful anymore? Until then, I will continue to recycle new parts into the car, so it can be “reused.”

In the second part of this discussion, let’s talk about where you can recycle. I’ve tried to adapt my topic to discuss recycling we can do where we live since many communities have no “official” or local recycling programs. But recycling doesn’t have to be limited to places where governments or other companies support your recycling efforts. So this part of will give you some ideas you may not have considered, even if you do have recycling services in your local area. I’ll describe this idea as “Where can this be used?”

If you have a computer you no longer need, most recycling centers won’t bother with it. It has special recycling needs, and there are very few of this type of recycling centers. But if I ask the question “Where can this be used?” I’ll bet you have already thought of several before I can list them here. Schools, churches, community centers, senior citizen centers, boys and girls clubs, local organizations and charitable societies can all use an old computer. They may even have the connections to get the right kind of recycling done if they can’t use the computer. It’s a much better choice than sending it to the landfill – computers have parts which are toxic.

Another question to ask yourself has to do with the reselling for recycling we discussed earlier. Ask yourself, “Does this item have value to others?” If it does have value, then you can decide which is the best way to resell the item. Maybe this computer is just in the wrong part of the country. With EBay and other online auction sites, almost anything can be sold and shipped to anywhere in the world. Here’s an example of something I have actually sold and shipped on EBay.

We have a forty year old English walnut tree in my front yard, which means I have to gather hundreds of walnuts every fall unless I want walnut seedling sprouting in my lawn. After collecting the huge seeds for years, I thought it might be interesting to plant some in the garden and see if they would grow.

Of course they sprouted and soon I had dozens of walnut seedling, but what could I do with them? I decided to try to sell some of them on EBay, and since they hadn’t really cost me anything except my time and some water, I could charge a low price. A quick survey of other online gardening auctions and retailers, I decided to sell the 10 to 12 inch newly-sprouted trees for $4.99 each, and charge $2.99 for shipping.

Did it work? Did I recycle the walnuts I really wasn’t using? To make a long story short, every summer I dig walnut seedlings from my yard, add a bit of potting soil, wrap the roots and soil in a piece of newspaper, add a little water, squeeze out the excess, seal up the bag and send trees through the US postal service to places all over the United States. Every summer, I sell between two and three hundred seedlings, now charging about $6.99 per tree and $3.99 for shipping. For $10.98, my satisfied customers (over 3100 positive feedbacks on EBay so far) get a brand-new walnut tree ready to grow in their yard. If it dies or needs replaced, I package up another and send it to them. Even if I have to send them three trees, I have still made money.

If you think this is an isolated case, log on to EBay. You would be surprised at what some people sell, and other people buy.

So far I’ve told you “what” recycling is, and “where” we can recycle. Let’s now discuss

“who ” should recycle.

I know everyone can recycle, but most people don’t. Why not? They may not see the advantages clearly. So let’s try and decide who should recycle by examining the advantages of recycling.

Anyone who wants more money, a cleaner environment, less landfill, more parsimony , and finally a clearer conscience should recycle. It's like the George Carlin routine about leftovers. He says when you save leftover food, you feel good, because you are saving food. Then you get to feel good when you throw away the leftover food after it has gone moldy in the refrigerator, because you are saving your life.

But with recycling, we can find a good place for those no longer useful items.

Let’s look at how each advantage can apply to you. I once saw a fish finder at a local thrift store. Someone had donated it, and that made them feel good. When I saw the price, it made me feel better, because I knew I could resell it for more. It was like finding a rare painting at a yard sale. I paid the money to the thrift store, which made them happy because now they had money instead of a fish-finder. As the consummate EBay aficionado I am, I promptly listed the fish finder and sold it for six times what I paid, even after the fees, postage and packaging. Now someone else in the country was happy, because they had beat several people in the bidding, and now they had a fish finder. Even the people at EBay and Paypal felt good, since they had made money letting me use their websites for a modest fee.

This example also shows how it cleans our environment. The fish finder could have been sent to the dump. In a landfill, it doesn’t make anyone feel good. With recycling, at least four of us got to feel good about what we were doing.

Today I’ve discussed what recycling is, where we can recycle, and who should be recycling .

I hope it inspires you to reduce, reuse, recycle, and perhaps make some money. But at the very least, I hope it makes you feel good, too.

The day I bought a used suit on EBay, I didn’t know I was buying a $1500 suit. But when my agent told me how much it was worth, I was glad I had become part of the recycling age. It gave new life to a suit that might have just been thrown away. Somewhere, someone didn’t need that suit anymore – either it didn’t fit or they were dead – but I had a use for the suit. Someone out there showed the common sense to recycle my suit through EBay, and for one hundred dollars, I thought to myself, ‘I just might be able to recycle some of my stuff, too.’

Now it’s your turn. Reduce, reuse and recycle -- resell. You’ll feel good, and you may get a nice suit out of the deal.

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