Walk Not

It's been almost ten years now since I lived in the suburbs. And a lot has changed since then.

Upon visiting my old homestead, I realized that I actually lived quite close to a lot of amenities. My modest, but nicely maintained, street ran parallel to a major traffic artery. There was a Tim Hortons at one end of the street. (Back then I was a TH fiend - now, not so much...but that's a whole other story). My favourite grocery store was a mere 5 minute walk from my front step. Being an East Coaster originally, I used to frequent the Fish & Chips joint at the other end of the street - about 30 seconds away. Being employed as a freelancer, I had a couple of places nearby where I worked, both about one major street from my house.

But here's the weird part, I never walked. I never walked anywhere. Not even to the Fish & Chips spot at the corner. Not to the Tim Hortons at the other end. My places of employment would have taken 10 minutes by bike but I always drove. And I had a bike. In fact, I still use the same bike I brought 20 years ago when I lived in Toronto.

It wasn't as though I was uneducated in the ways of environmental care. I used to take copious amounts of time to sort my recyclables. I refused to buy tin foil and saran wrap. I kept my heat low in the winter and always turned off the lights. (I think the turning of the lights thing was programmed in at a young age by my mother, along with walking on the outer edge of the sidewalk "when you're with a lady.")

However, looking back, I think my aversion to walking was not an aversion at all. It just never occurred to me. Everybody had a car and everybody drove. There was no expectation that I would do anything else. And there were no visual cues either like people walking or ample sidewalks to walk on. Perhaps it was the wide roads of rushing traffic that suggested a simple walk to get groceries would not be a pleasant thing to do.

These days, taking the car is always my last option. If I can walk there, I do. If it's too far to walk, I bike or take public transit. In fact, I have actually biked to the vary same "work" building I used to live close to. It's now about a 45 minute bike ride but I've opted for that over public transit since that takes about an hour and a half.

I'm not saying that I am the new poster boy for the anti-auto lobby, I still use my car when life is going so fast that I don't have 2 hours to take a bus to and from my destination. When I transport my kids to and fro, public transition often proves to not be a feasible option. (Do I sense a future blog posting?)

But the difference between "me-10 years ago" and "me-now" is that I don't look to my car as a magical transporter that will take me everywhere I want to go. I live in a neighourhood where it's enjoyable to take a stroll down the street and get a great cappuccino at a Portuguese bakery, shop at the nearby farmer's market or work on my laptop at an organic cafe. And the neat thing is that I actually see people I know when I use my feet. The $27 I paid for my portable cart is one of the best purchases I've made and it makes it possible to shop and walk home.

I'm not saying the my former suburban world would have been transformed by my choice to walk. But at least I would have benefited from lower car costs and more exercise. Perhaps we sometimes assume we can't do something just because it's not what people do. Or like me, it's just not on the radar. But if everyone who lived in suburban areas, and urban areas for that matter, chose to walk to and shop at the places that are close to them, would we see a shift in the way our communities grow? Would we all feel a greater sense of pride and ownership in the public spaces that surround us?

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WWJD?

What would Jeff Do? Jeff Rubin that is. Last week, I went to hear this former CIBC senior economist talk about his predictions for the future. And let me tell you, unless your the agrarian type or one nostalgic for days gone by, you might not like what he has to say. In his new book, "Why Your World Is About to Get a Whole Lot Smaller," he claims we're headed for a significant shift in our standard of living and a major downscaling of our indulgent, energy-intensive lifestyles.

For those of you who know the scoop on peak oil, he hits all of the familiar chords. Bottom line: when oil is no longer cheap and plentiful, our systems that are fueled by this inexpensive energy source will no longer be viable. It's not that there will no longer be oil in the ground or in the tar sands or elsewhere, it's just that it'll be too costly to acquire.

This has profound implications. Rubin says to sell your house in the suburbs and move downtown because the suburban landscape will be plowed over and reclaimed for food production. With transportation no longer a cheap option, we'll need to produce our own food. That's right. We'll all be on the 100 mile diet. But he says there is an upside. Without the plentiful supply of cheap crude, the work gets a whole lot harder. (The good part is coming...) They're be lots of jobs for all of the unemployed Starbucks baristas (and probably the rest of us too).

I've got to admit, Rubin's argument is compelling. I've read other "peak oil" books but somehow his predictions feel more imminent. Perhaps it's because Jeff Rubin himself has made some significant shifts in his own life. After working 20 years at CIBC as a senior economist and being named Canada’s top economist on 10 occasions, Rubin quit his job to jump on the peak oil bandwagon. He's taking this stuff seriously. Another difference is that he has not approached this topic from a geological perspective, as most have, but rather an economic one. In fact, he suggests that our current economic crisis has not been brought on by the sub-prime mortgage fiasco but rather that the price of oil reached $150 a barrel last summer. Who knows, maybe he's onto something?

In the meantime, I'm going to ponder the wisdom of Jeff Rubin and perhaps apply this scenario to my own life. In the future, will I have to stop "living the dream?" And does my happiness in life really rest on the flow of cheap and abundant oil?

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Butt out

Red light. I pull up next to a new black BMW. As its tinted window lowers, the driver casually flits out her cigarette butt onto the road. The window powers up. Green light. And she's gone.

How many times have you seen a smoker, out for a quick puff, discard his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk? All it takes is a walk down any street and you'll see hundreds of butts littering the landscape. It surprises me, that in this current climate of environmental awareness, this practice is allowed to continue... unchallenged.

I thought initially that it was just one of those downtown, badass, city things, but as I started to observe this closer, I saw this custom happening everywhere, spanning the divides of age, geography and socioeconomic status.

I remember, back in the day, being out for a Sunday afternoon drive with the family in our 8 cylinder boat of a car. I would be sitting in the backseat, without a seatbelt, watching as my dad would pull over to the side of a country road and dump his ashtray. He liked a clean car. As politically incorrect as many of these activities would be today, the ashtray dump is still happening. It may be one butt at a time but it's a numbers thing.

Now, I'm not saying that all smokers do this. And I'm not trying to pick on smokers. Some of the coolest people I know smoke... lots of different things. Who I am to deny someone the gratification that smoking brings? Maybe this is just the fallout of having exiled smokers from our buildings and restaurants and onto the street. Either way, it's our issue.

Does anyone care about this or do I just need to butt out?

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Soul in the City

It's everywhere. As I walk down my street, I see it on bridges, fences, sidewalks, mailboxes. I'm sure many of you can guess what I'm taking about... especially you urban dwellers. It's graffiti.

This may seem like an odd topic for a blog on "living green" but for me "green" is much more than just being environmentally responsible. Sure, it's about a healthy planet but it's also about healthy people living on that planet.

As I observe the tags, the colors, the attempts at more intricate designs, I see the faces behind them - faces of people who want to be seen, who want a voice. OK. I know graffiti can be ugly, promote other crimes and devalue a neighbourhood. But when you look at the human body,

it breaks out in hives or other nasty ailments as a sign that something is wrong. Could it be that graffiti is a cultural cry for help?

Does our desire for conformity and control cut us off from a sense of playfulness or the unexpected? I accidentally attended a neighborhood association meeting a few weeks back. Accidental as it was not my neighboorhood and it was promoted as a "film night." That aside, l was excited to see a group of 30+ people come together to discuss taking back their communities through guerilla gardening, creating murals in residential intersections and erecting public art. It seems not everyone is happy with the homogeneous style of urban planning. I fully trust that these upstanding citizens will follow through with their plans to "beautify" their community. Check out the video we watched that night, it's worth a look.

Guerilla gardening and graffiti both have one thing in common - they are illegal. But I think they have another commonality. They are both driven by emotion - from artistic passion to rage. One graffiti artist in Montreal continues to find himself embroiled in legal action as a consequence of his work. Check out these images. They bring a whole new dimension to the streetscape. They are playful and fun. And couldn't we all use a little more of that?

In Philadephia, back in the 80's, they reached out to the graffiti writers in an attempt to re-direct their destructive behavior. A long shot you might say, but it worked. Today's the Mural Arts Program is a success and the once vandalized buildings are now a canvass for beautiful murals that decorate the city. And these murals are more than just pretty pictures, they are a visual narrative of the city's history - its pain and its hope.

I know this is not a conventional solution... but it is a solution. Perhaps we need a little less uniformity in our cities and a little more soul.

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The Strip

My wife, Ruth, and I recently decided to go out to a local restaurant. It's great spot with lots of a character. As we enter, we're promptly greeted by an enthusiastic hostess who says... "I love my skirt. I wear it all the time."

I quickly process this information, trying to decipher the code. Living in a city's downtown core, I frequently have unusual conversations with people I don't know about personal issues. But this time, in this setting, something was different.

After a brief moment of silence, Ruth (loosing her slightly perplexed expression) returns the seemingly odd comment with delight and affirmation. Then the picture comes into focus for me. The hostess is referring to clothing she recently purchased from the thrift store that my wife runs. I say, "That's great" - not knowing for certain if she's referring to the skirt she's actually wearing at the moment or not. Either way, I know it's not cool to stare.

Then I realize that I'm wearing "previous-loved" clothing as well. My shoes. My jeans. My shirt. So I contribute this information to the conversation. And that's what I love about where I live. In this world of high style and pretense, in my community, it's OK to openly declare you shop at a thrift store without fear of judgment or ridicule.

I'm not much of a shopper. I guess this puts me in the stereotypical male category - minus any metrosexuals in the room. But somehow, now with Ruth's new reign as the "North End Queen of Thrift," a new window has opened for me into this world of eclectic treasure. The thing that makes me HATE the whole modern shopping experience ie. Walmart and any number of soulless, sterile, degraded (I'll stop here because my list is quite long) is that nothing there is special. In big box stores, you can look down an aisle and see neatly conforming sections of the same mass-produced stuff organized in tight rows - not unlike the view of a suburban landscape.

For me, in my new found frontier, there are surprises lurking around every corner. And no one is making aesthetic judgments on what I might find beautiful or meaningful -- even though someone else may think it the most hideous garment or trashy trinket ever conceived. Does that matter?

There's such a great freedom in escaping "the strip." (And I don't mean the gaudy pink and black gentlemen's club around the corner) For me, the strip is the tightly controlled stream of products offered to us under the guise of choice. Go to any strip or shopping district, in any town, in Canada, in the US, and you'll find the same mothership of cloned box stores, food chains and movie theatres has landed to suck the unsuspecting locals of their individuality.

I'm not asking anyone to downgrade their appearance or standard of living. If you haven't darkened the door of a thrift store, you might be surprised at the quality of goods that people castoff. It really supports the cliche of "one (wo)man's garbage is another (wo)man's treasure." And no, this is not a paid endorsement by the Thrift Industry. Believe me, now that I have the freedom of my own blog, I don't say if if I don't live it.

What I am saying is, we have options. Not everyone's going to jump on the "green happy wagon." If we could encourage a culture of purging rather than hoarding, there'd be enough stuff for all of us - for those who need brand new and for those who don't. It's a great way of stimulating the local economy and curbing the production of more stuff.

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Must Have More

I don't get it. I know we're in the middle of an economic crisis, global recession, depression - whatever you want to call it. And like many, I have a basic understanding of what's gone down. Everyday, I read and watch the experts hashing it out, throwing out theories and predictions for what the future may hold. A few greener-types are the only ones that ever question the core assumption of the our current economic model.

The global financial system is predicated on the need for perpetual growth. Companies often lay off employees, not because they're losing money, but because they haven't made "more" money. But growth requires more and more resources and, in turn, more people to purchase more products. But why is it that no one in the mainstream talks about the fact that we live on a finite planet with finite resources? It doesn't take an economics degree to determine that this high speed train is eventually going to derail. We will eventually run out of non-renewable resources. In this century? In the next? Whenever that is, it's inevitable.

But do we really need more? The "fulfillment curve" suggests that after we obtain a few luxuries, fulfillment is achieved. And the more we consume, the less fulfillment we will have. Our bodies also attest to this simple theory. If I overeat, I will gain weight. The food consumed on a full stomach never quite tastes as delectable as those first few bites.

Will the great minds that hold our economic fate in their hands consider our planet's limitations? When you look at The Big Three auto makers, you can see that this is not the first time "those in charge" have failed to see the broken track in front of them. For the last decade, I've wondered how the North American auto industry could be so slow to respond to the obvious direction our society and culture are headed. But obviously, my "obvious" and their "obvious" were two separate things. While they were making Hummers and vehicles built for more power, I was at the Toyota dealership, getting my corolla, complete with $1000 green cash back from the feds.

So why is it then that there is no mainstream dialogue on the issue of Earth and its fixed assets? Is it simply human nature to avoid questioning the status quo? Is it greed? Shortsightedness? Or simply, a lack of courage? I think only thing we do need "more" of right now is conversation on the subject.

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The Switch

It's late at night. The air is still. The street is quiet. A flickering light dances in the windows of homes, as their tired occupants tune into their window on the world. The drone of street lamps blends into the harmony of distant car horns and city night chatter. A typical night until...

BLACKOUT. The power's off. Tall office buildings no longer cast their rays to the streets below, as the full moon regains centre-stage. An unfamiliar silence surrounds, one devoid of static and hum.

But where are you in this scene? At which intersection might you find yourself? Do you wind down your evenings alone or perhaps elsewhere with friends. Inside or out? Does the thought of darkness strike fear in your soul? Or does the darkness ignite visions of escape and adventure. Is the darkness a disruption ...or an opportunity?

The "blackout of 2003" lacked in this sort of melodrama, as it was a hot mid-August afternoon. With daylight broad, one might not notice the absence of charge, that is until they came upon an intersection. Yet in this setting of chaos and commotion, the most amazing, yet mundane, stories shine. We see the spark in the eye of a interviewee as they retell and refine their stories of communal resilience - creating a new mythology for modern times. Yet, a century prior, these tales of service and sacrifice would not have been news at all, but rather, the expected response.

Is there longing that lurks in the hearts of us all, to be rescued from this evolved dystopia? Do we long to be "Lost" or marooned on "Gillian's Island" so we too can tame the wilderness and soothe our tribal longings? Do we suffocate the human spirit when we remove the daily toil from the labour that brings us sustenance and life - making our days more ordinary?

Electricity is the currency that sustains our modern age. And granted, science and technology, have vastly improved the quality of life for many. But at what point do we have too much of a good thing? Trivializing our daily tasks, sends us off looking for new adventures. Is running on a treadmill better than that just walking more and driving less? Can time with good company be better spent without the distractions of modern media? Would a slow home-prepared meal be a better setting to encourage relationships with one another?

When the 2003 Blackout was over, I felt a tinge of loss. My 24 hour adventure with candles, conversation and a gas BBQ were over. But one thing is true. I have the power to flip the switch whenever I want and return to a life less ordinary.

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It ain't easy traveling green

This year my family and I decided to spend March break in beautiful Old Montreal. My wife found us one of those "older" grand hotels. You know, the ones which still attempt to cling onto their former glory days. But which have long ago been dumped for the sexier, newer hotels with sleek new hottubs and real WIFI access. Yet these old dames, they hang on, masquerading as upscale luxury ...but at Motel 6 prices.

So the plan was set. The "Hotel 6" sat directly over Montreal's RESO - French for "network." An underground cavern of tunnels and passages that connect the city's businesses, shopping centres and condos to the subway and each other. It's reminiscent of the 70's movie "Logan's Run" where the protagonists attempt escape from their domed world through an endless underground labyrinth. A perfect setup for a family longing for an urban adventure. And to complete this picture, the VIA rail station was directly across the street from our hotel. But I as soon discovered, our green family adventure was not to be.

When I enquired about booking train tickets from Toronto to Montreal, I discovered a return trip would cost around $700+ for a family of 4. My heart sank. The plan was so perfect. We didn't want to have a car in Montreal. There was clearly no need. Yet, this time we couldn't afford to take the higher track, finances did not allow it. In the end, we took our Corolla to Montreal and saved more than $500, after gas and parking.

The point I'm trying to make is that there is clearly something wrong with our national transit systems when people, like myself, who want to take public transit, cannot. People who are willing to endure the long cues, train transfers and the lugging of suitcases in order to take the greener path. As long as the easier way is the cheaper way, can I blame people for not always putting the environment first?

One could argue that a 5 speed Corolla loaded up with two adults, two kids and a lotta luggage, isn't so bad for the environment. And you could also say that a higher principled person could have opted for an alternative plan. But to what degree do we limit our activity? The Amish live light on the earth, as they buggy down Main Street, in a milieu of methane. But do you want to be Amish? (no offense to any Amish currently reading this blog).

The truth is that we need to move on as a society, "move" being the operative word. An analogy I heard in Montreal, from the "Solar House Guy" at the Biosphere, was this. If you live in the USA and you want to get to Canada, heading south towards Mexico will not get you there. Even if you slow down to half speed or a quarter, you still will not get to Canada. Could this be true... that our new and improved environmental policies and initiatives are just taking us on a slower trip to our eventual annihilation? (Melodrama intended) Perhaps, as a society, we need to consider heading in a radically new direction. If all of the subsides that we currently offer up to the auto sector and petroleum companies were shifted to support a national public transit system, would could that look like?

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