Word: compostion
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...that we have a house with a backyard, Cassandra has decided we need a compost heap. Apparently she has very warm memories of her childhood compost. What these are I find hard to imagine. Sledding down the compost pile? Building compost castles? Making compost angels? Playing Batman, Robin and the Case of the Maggot-Ridden Tofu...
...first our compost system consisted of a Tupperware container that I put eggshells and banana peels in. I was supposed to put a lot of other stuff in there too, but there was also stuff I was absolutely not supposed to put in, so I simplified it down to the things she would notice if I threw them away in the regular garbage...
When the Tupperware container disappeared, I was greatly relieved. This was foolish. A week later, Cassandra decorated our kitchen with a large green compost bin--which, I may point out, is clearly made of plastic--and told me to throw all kinds of stuff in there. This stuff would then sit in our kitchen. Rotting. I was starting to understand that there are reasons besides shunning deodorant that hippies smell...
Then the UPS guy delivered a coil of bamboo fencing so large I could barely lift it. This would demark the compost area in our yard. That way, we could enjoy rotting things both inside and outside our house. And denude a small part of Vietnamese jungle...
...that way. She wanted the thrill of watching food decompose. I wondered if we could do something else for the planet instead: save trees by ordering fewer fashion magazines, protect cows by massively reducing our purchases of boots and handbags, conserve energy by not watching Gossip Girl. But the compost isn't going anywhere...