When I was a little girl, I got to go to the grocery store with my mom. And it was great! Not because my sister and I got treats, or even that we’d get to pick out our own cereal. But because I was the youngest, and my mom would scoop me up, and place me into the perch of the shopping cart. And I’d get to ride!
The four small wheels of the cart would hurriedly spin along in attempt to keep up with the comparatively large vessel. We meandered through the warehouse-sized store—gliding along bounties of fresh and shiny and perfectly red apples, through the brightly lit bakery where the aroma of fresh baked bread entranced one’s nostrils, and then up and down each isle as we checked off my mom’s list, which, of course, was expertly crafted to match the layout and design of the superstore for the greatest of expediency. As my sister and I got older, we were able to help out more with the weekly errand. My mom began to teach us things like not just to look at the sticker prices, but also to read the small print where one could compare the price per ounce and the total number of ounces per item. She also instilled in us that you could get twice as much “Kix” or “Fruity Pebbles” if they were packaged in a bag at the bottom shelf as opposed to the flashy name-brand box, which was, conveniently, within arm’s reach of the average kiddo. The lessons didn’t cease once we left the grocery store. In her perfectly unique and charming ways, my mom taught us the tangible meaning behind the proverb, ‘Waste not, want not’. Now, since I had inherited my father’s allergic reaction to ‘ragweed’, I was rather accustomed to carrying an ample supply of tissue with me all through the months of August and September. I remember, one day, my mom brusquely halting me as I blew my nose into a tissue and proceeded to throw it away. “Use the whole thing before you throw it in the garbage!” she proclaimed. Apparently, there were three other corners of that same tissue that were perfectly viable! Fast forward to today. 2017. As I wrestle with the art—often a messy and tangled process—of extracting the thoughts and ideas out of my head and into the computer, I hear a distant but familiar sound that leaches into the background of NPR I have streaming on the radio. To locate the approaching ruckus, I pull back the curtain from the window—the window that overlooks the alley to my dwelling. This is a dwelling, by the way, that edges along the historic Baker neighborhood of Denver—an area known for its well-preserved, charming 100+ year-old homes and a rich history dating back to the mid-1860s, when a man named Thomas Skerritt literally paved the way for the first “Broad Way” by dragging a large log behind his wagon! Being positioned at the edge of this neighborhood presents a merging of the wonderfully rich history of Denver, and the glaringly oppositional ‘modernity’ of 1970s and 80s architecture—buildings that were swiftly built, but without a scotch of charm or flavor. At first glance, I quickly identify the sound emerging from outside the window. For it is, none other, than the shopping cart. Now, however, it is not navigating the smooth linoleum flooring of a massive shopping center. This time, the vessel is being pushed over gritty, uneven asphalt. Displaced from its home, the shopping cart, and its four wheels, face some added resistance. Although significantly augmented, the resulting sound is still the same, familiar gearing, grinding screech that I always remembered. The driver of the out of place shopping cart is not a young and ambitious mother teaching her children how to wisely and economically shop for key household items, and then conserve their utility to the max. Instead, I observe a middle-aged, scruffy-looking, heavily dressed man who is thrusting the cart along the alleyway. The cart appears as if it is overflowing with items—unidentifiable and innumerable. I quickly surmise that the man must be homeless. Witnessing a homeless person as he or she traipses through my alleyway, or up and down any number of streets in Denver, is certainly not uncommon. The acoustics of a displaced shopping cart in the middle of the city are also no surprise. Rather, the incredulity of it all, I think, is how we’ve become so numb to this. Numb, that is, because it has become rather normal—a norm in our modern day, city-dwelling culture. It’s funny how culture is shaped. The changes are often so slow, quiet, incremental and imperceptible that the process is just… rather mysterious. But the truth to the matter is that, in comparison to 100 years ago, things are pretty different. Did the shopping cart even exist 100 years ago? Will it cease to exist in another 100? Is it as ephemeral as the latest fashion trends? Or will the vessel’s essential purpose simply transform? The original purpose of the shopping cart was, of course, to pack, purchase and transport a significant amount of goods for a single family or individual. Perhaps, as we enter a new culture—maybe one with greater care and consideration for our earth and taking care of it for future generations—perhaps we’ll move away from this need. Maybe such an obnoxiously large cart will seem outlandishly excessive. So the cart, instead, will primarily be used for what? The homeless? What if this were the case? What if this was our future? What if we could learn and grow together as a community to buy and use only what we need—what our bodies and minds and souls really need? With all the money and leftover time, perhaps we could address some of our community’s other needs, like homelessness. Think! Could we retire the notions of “consumerism” and “materialism” and replace them with ideals of community and global health. Maybe we could pick back up on Mr. Skerritt’s creation of a “broad way” that led all the way through the city of Denver, and expand upon it for the next frontier. I close my eyes and see a city of green dashed with natural color; where one can breathe deep and take in the scents of lavender, clovers and wild mint; where it is easy to walk and bike to one’s destination, and the journey along the way is actually pleasant! A city where all life is trumpeted. Where we talk about homelessness as a thing of the past. While immobile and when neatly tucked in line with dozens others, the shopping cart can seem completely in place—in regimented, straight-line order precisely in suit with its compatriots. But there’s also the opposite. A shopping cart on its own—strayed from its familiar counterparts and dislodged from its concrete home—is rather unfitting, perhaps even uncomfortable. A lone cart left alongside a city highway or an overgrown part of town is a visceral retaking of the wild that was once dominant and will dominate one day again. Let us take note of the slow, quiet, incremental and imperceptible changes that are taking place all around us. And let us think, feel and act in the pursuit of purpose and in recognition of all that this Earth has gifted. --- “If you listen closely you will hear the spirits sigh a lesson lost on humans; an enchanting lullaby: Mercy lies in nature’s hands and bound to it we grow. Of the earth we came to be and of the earth we’ll go.” ― Nicoline Evans, Hall of Mosses
2 Comments
Mom
1/17/2017 07:11:23 pm
Aaaaahhhh...very very thoughtful article. It brought back memories of shopping with you guys. I was a super serious shopper mom. 😊 perhaps your story will inspire others to think past their own everyday existence and understand what community really means, much like the relationship between all nature's living organisms.
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Leah Schoenecker
1/17/2017 10:12:52 pm
Very wise words from a very young women with a very old soul. If everyone could just chip in a little, give a little effort it would literally mean a change! That's really all it takes. Thank you for the wonderful memories of our childhood sister! Ps I'm constantly reminding Gia that use only a square of toilet paper per pee;)...little things really do count!
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AuthorVanessa Ann, a writer and environmentalist. She possesses a Master of Applied Science in Environmental Policy & Management from the University of Denver. Her writing, at times, can be... a little sarcastic with just a dash of snarky. Archives
June 2019
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Vanessa is also a long-time contributing author (and former President) for the Sustainability Alliance of the University of Denver. Check out her published newsletters here: Some Say the Debate is Over. Yet the Heat Won’t Seem to Go Away, November 2016 Corn. It’s In Everything & It’s No Bueno for the Environment, February 2016 The Pursuit of Sustainability, August 2015 |