Earthtones

Day 86: Humans have a profound capacity for self-delusion. We continually trip ourselves up with belief in permanence; that which is shall always be. We do not learn from abundant experience to the contrary. I'm sure some of you will remember when vinyl records disappeared from store shelves seemingly overnight, to be replaced by shiny silver CDs and devices on which to play them. That particular event took me entirely by surprise, having had no inkling that a changeover was in the works. That may have been one of the more dramatic lessons given in the schoolhouse of disappearing products because it happened so abruptly, unlike tube radios and televisions gradually giving way to advanced technology. However, the major changes in availability bother me less than the small ones. They seem less personal when they affect a larger segment of society. The small ones seem aimed at me personally, to wit, the recent discontinuance of my favourite sock yarn. I was blissfully unaware that it had occurred until I decided to pick out a colour for a new pair of tootsie-warmers. None of my usual suppliers carried it, nor any other yarn marketed under the same brand name. Frustrated and not a little perturbed, I soon discovered that the product I wanted is no longer being manufactured. I did not want to purchase a yarn with which I had never physically handled, so I retired to my chair in a fit of pique. No new socks for me! Or so I thought. On Christmas morning, I opened a gift which had been direct-shipped from an artisanal fiber-works, and there did my wondering eyes behold two skeins of soft superwash Merino fingering weight, hand-dyed in the most luscious autumn colours. Thank you, Di!

In Memoriam

Day 136: "Planned obsolescence." That's what we used to call it when companies deliberately manufactured items to a lower standard so that they would wear out and need to be replaced. Consumerism was only beginning the meteoric phase of its rise when I purchased this mixer in the late 70s, and most people expected products to last them a lifetime (or at least close). In fact, many of us were using tools and equipment which had been handed down to us from our parents or in some cases, grandparents. However, the philosophy of consumerism was viewed as being "good for the economy," and products became less dependable.

Little Presto LN01-A lived a long and active life. His 50-year service was not diminished by his quirky, funky handle and, although his rich avocado hue had faded somewhat with the years, he could beat an eggwhite with the best of them up until two weeks ago. Perhaps affected by a yet-unidentified strain of mixer virus, he began to cough. His memory for speed settings faltered, but he struggled on valiantly when asked to assist with tapioca-making. It struck me that he was probably in the terminal phase, so I set about finding a replacement, and the decision was timely. Today, he spoke his last words while bringing eggwhites to stiff peaks, and died without meeting his successor.

The Fourth Doctor

Day 159: For all of the fact that I deplore both commercialism and plastics, occasionally some "must-have" object crosses my radar and my resolve collapses. As my readers know, I am a huge fan of Star Trek (particularly the Next Generation) and during my less anti-plastic years purchased as many action figures as my budget would permit. For the most part, they now live in a large computer-paper box and only come out for special occasions like photo shoots. That said, I am also a Doctor Who fan and have watched almost every episode of the original series, and naturally have found my favourite Doctors. I bought a Tardis and a Dalek early on and added Doctor #10 to bring substance to the scenario playing out on top of my dresser, but was recently tempted to add Doctor #4 in person of Tom Baker who truly defined the role for all time. What surprised me when I purchased these four toys was the quality when compared to the tacky figures marketed with the Star Trek logo. They resemble the characters with much greater accuracy and are proportionally correct, without the outsized hands designed to hold cumbersome and poorly executed tools seen in the Trek action figures. The joints are designed better and are less obvious as well. If mass-marketing can be done this well, why do things on American shelves have to be so sleazy? The answer, I think, is that these are made to be cherished and handed down to the next generation of Who fans, not discarded upon inevitable breakage. We should take a hint and cultivate a culture which embraces durability rather than planned obsolence. Then perhaps plastics wouldn't be such a bad thing.