Just Say "No" to Black Friday and "Yes" to Relaxing!

I spent my formative years working in retail. From the age of 16 - 28 I worked in several different department stores, and then spent another 12 working in retail headquarters in one capacity or another (advertising and Visual Merchandising).

By the age of 21 I pretty much hated Christmas. I even despised holiday music, which used to be my favorite part of the season - something about having it thrumming in the background for two months was more than I could bear. And that was back in the days when "Christmas" didn't start until the middle of November.

 

"Oooooooohhhh! Let's get up early so that we can push and shove for cheap crap made in China!" she says, just a bit sarcastically...

The day we all hated the most was the day after Thanksgiving, that hallowed day that retailers lust and drool after. Even when I no longer worked in a store but worked at corporate headquarters I was still required to spend the morning of Black Friday in whichever store was closest. Ugh. I'd get up at 6:00 a.m., put on respectable business attire (instead of the elastic-waist sweatpants that were infinitely more appealing!) and haul my bad-attitude self off to the mall to sling junk at sales prices.


No more.

Now that I have my own store, I get to do things my way. The Milkweed Mercantile is closed on "Black Friday" (ewww - I abhor that name!), and I refuse to send out emails and newsletters promoting sales before Thanksgiving. While it may not be the most prudent way to make zillions of dollars, it feels better. I don't go shopping, either.

I encourage you to do the same! Or at least relax on Friday. The Center for a New American Dream has lots of ways to help. Their Simplify the Holidays program is a great place to start!

Some of the things I might be doing on Friday (instead of buying or selling stuff):

• Staying home.
• Relaxing.
• Putting my feet up and reading a good book, or even a bad book. Heck, maybe even a naughty book!
• Challenge Kurt to a game of cards, pente, or parcheesi. Or invite a group of friends over to do join us.
• Put together that list for my mp3 that I've been composing in my head.And learn how to load the music onto that thing (note to self: find a 12-year old to help me).
• Go for a walk. Perhaps I'll take a cute dog for company.

Miss Moneypenny Carleton, who is always available for adventuring!

• Bake some cookies, and bring a few to a neighbor.
• Practice singing the harmony part to "Close Your Eyes" (James Taylor/Carly Simon version)
• Begin to crochet a scarf and pretend that I'll finish it in time to give as a Christmas gift.
• Make a sandwich using every single part of Thursdays meal in between two pieces of bread and Hellman's mayo - including the stuffing and the cranberry sauce. Perhaps I'll get fancy and run them through  with little plastic swords.

Thanks to Will Cook For Smiles for the use of the photo.

• Watch Season 1 of Nurse Jackie that just arrived in the mail while I sit on the couch in front of a blazing fire with the cat.
• Check out what the local kids are up to. The last couple of days it's been looking at all of the cool ice formations everywhere, and checking out the cool things frozen into the pond ice.
• Call my 84-year old Aunt Melba and tell her that I'm thankful for her.
• Think up new ideas for Kurt's annual Gift Certificates (see below).

And lets talk about gifts for just a minute. It's really easy to get sucked into the scarcity brainwashing that permeates advertising at this time of year. It's also tremendously easy to get guilted into spending money you don't have on things that people don't really need. Don't buy into it, literally or figuratively.

Some of my favorite Christmas gifts arrived in a big fat tube the year that my three nieces and I exchanged art. I made them quilted pillows in their choice of colors, and they sent me art that they had made. Those pictures make me smile, big time, every time I walk by them.

I also really enjoy giving (and receiving!) gift certificates for service and food. They don't even have to be fancy. I tried to take a photo of some of the ones that I gave to Kurt last Christmas (see below) but the cat decided that the middle of the stack was the perfect place to lounge. Sigh. Anyway, as you can see, they're just scrap paper and scribbling, but were made (and received) with love. Things like "one favorite dinner whenever you want (24 hours notice appreciated)," "one foot rub (15 minutes on each foot)" and "I'll do your firewood chores for one day" come in handy when Kurt feels like pampering himself.

Fionn MacCool - destroyer of all things orderly.

That's it for now. I wish you a happy, calm holiday. Eat good stuff, but not too much. Be kind to yourself. 

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Alline

Shop Locally, Save Your Community

This post is an entry in the November APLS (Affluent People Living Sustainably) Carnival hosted by Green Phone Booth. This month's theme is "Buying Local." There are some fantastic posts there - check it out! But first, here's mine:

Until June of 1999, I lived in Berkeley, California. It was a pretty blissful existence – my husband (who I met in 1993 while leading a Sierra Club backpacking trip) and I sold our car in 1995. From then on, we did everything by bike. Equipped with a BOB Trailer . We did all of our shopping, and even took our voluminous laundry to the laundromat. In Berkeley it was all so easy – it was (geographically) pretty flat, and there was an abundant variety of stores from which to choose. Monterey Market, a mere four blocks from our house, always had the first organic strawberries of the season. Next door was a bakery and a fish market. Further a field were other stores and farmer’s markets, and BART was usually bike accessible (although not particularly bike friendly).

But buying locally came easy. There was a long established local hardware store and a lumber yard, both within cycling distance. I was thrilled when my employer, Clif Bar, moved two blocks away from where we were living. Kurt worked up at Lawrence Berkeley Labs, which was up in the hills. He had amazing thighs from his commute.

But Utopia it was not, at least for us. Yearning for a life that was a bit less crazy (we still had those serious jobs, after all - paying rent in the Bay Area is no joke!) we began to look for other options. We loved the idea of cohousing - we really wanted to know our neighbors, to be involved, and be part of a community. But it came down to real estate – we had found a lovely place to live, but would have to leave it all day in order to pay for it. Not the solution for us.

When Kurt found Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage on the web, I was rather skeptical. For one thing, I was a California-born snob, and really didn’t know where Missouri even was. But we came to visit in the freezing cold February of 1999 and fell in love. Not with the physical landscape – there wasn’t much here then, just an old beater farm, with two barely-begun strawbale buildings. But we loved the idea, and the thoughtfulness and integrity with which the community had been designed. We went home, had a few yard sales, informed my (horrified) parents, and moved to the rural Midwest.

Having only been here the one time, I fully expected to find the mythical farmland I had seen on TV and in movies. You know: chickens in the yard, mom inside baking bread, a family cow to be milked twice a day, healthy food straight from the garden. Cute small towns around a town square, July 4th parades, hokey events and tractor pulls. Was I in for a surprise!

Mom was working full-time in town, so there were no chickens, or cows, or gardens. Dad was often driving a truck when he wasn’t farming corn or soy beans, in order to make ends meet. And every single small town was dying. Every. Single. One. All around the Midwest once-thriving town squares were filled with boarded up shops and restaurants. Many people did not shop locally – they preferred to drive an hour to go to WalMart and Home Depot, where they “could save some money.” And without this local support, small local stores continued to struggle.

I'll bet you don't have tractors in YOUR local parades!

I became intensely aware of how important my few dollars were. We began patronizing Hopkins Lumber, the local lumberyard. It has proven to be an absolute delight. Aaron and Bekka go out of their way to provide stellar customer service – drive supplies out here when we’re in a rush, and even share their favorite recipes. Jack and Darlene, their parents, are equally supportive. We’ve found that if they don’t carry something, they can usually order it. And while it is not always the cheapest option, we would be devastated if they were to close. So we do our part to support them, and they support us in turn. The local butcher (not many of those left!) is a great resource. And we can get HUGE bags of bones for the dogs for a mere 50 cents.

Three miles away, Zimmerman’s, a Mennonite-run general store, lets members of Dancing Rabbit order through the Natural Foods Wholesaler that they use. They charge us only an additional 5% (above wholesale), which is a fantastic deal. It has been wonderful to get to know this previously impenetrable community – there is a lot of mutual affection and respect between us, and we have found that we have more in common than we ever suspected.

The ladies who work in the local “men’s store” have been there for at least 30 years. They can tell you your jeans size better then you can, and lead you around by the hand as you shop. They write the sales tickets out by hand – no fancy schmancy computers here – and remember what project you’re working on, what boots you bought last year, and what kind of tomatoes you planted. There’s really something special going on.

Deny Clatt, who was just elected to local office, his daughter Abby (who takes fiddle lessons at DR from Tamar) and Danette, who runs the local florist shop, and is Aunt to Aaron and Bekka at Hopkins Lumber. Tiny world, eh?

Long story short: shop locally. Let me say that again: shop locally. Big box stores don’t care about you. They may talk a good game, but they’re not going to come to your son’s baseball game, or extend you credit when you get laid off. They don’t know your dog’s name, and don’t care if your community survives or not. The local banker, clothing store, grocery store and butcher are all invested in the success of YOU, and of your community. This is what we were searching for in Berkeley – a sense of belonging, of being able to make a difference. It is one of the things we cherish most about being here.

I am not suggesting that you move to the rural Midwest (in fact, those of you in cities: please go have a really good Indian or Chinese meal and know that I'll be drooling in absentia), or an ecovillage. I just wanted to share my experience, and to let you know that where ever you live you CAN make a difference. I encourage you to find your own locally owned businesses and patronize them. I promise you will receive extraordinary service, and that your lives will be richer for the experience!