Books are a wealth:
The musings of the eloquent
And sometimes wise,
Speaking beauty and profound
And observations shrewd
(If not reliably right,)
Into our hearts and minds;
To tear our eyes,
To smile our lips,
To alert us, wake us
Make us sensible of the world
Both inner and around;
To trace an essay of the truth
Or, lesser times, perspectives;
Maps, teaching us the roads
To reach our brothers' hands
Our sisters' hearts,
Rakes to gather up
The falling leaves of mortality.

Sometimes.

We live in Pittsgrove, so we recycle. We have no choice. We take our own trash to the dump where we sort it by paper, cardboard, cans and bottles (metal plastic and glass), and Ferrous metal. This is great, I don't mind recycling. I like doing it for the responsible reasons I'm supposed to do it.

Oddly though, these requirements are not the thing that makes me feel absurdly green. What makes me feel that way is dumping the water from my dehumidifier into the clothes washer. Sure, I'm abusing all kinds of green principles by doing this, including the perfectly natural damp environment that encourages the growth of very green molds, mildews and moisture loving bugs. Nevertheless, not dumping it down the drain makes me feel I'm doing, in my own absurd way, a small part.

Yeah, I know ...