The Kitchen Ziggurat

Each time I saunter in the kitchen, I enter its orbit. I correct myself.

I shouldn’t be so relaxed.

The mood has changed.

A presence austere and mysterious governs the room.

Amusement, skepticism, and disappointment have invaded, populated and

dominated the area of sustenance.

Consumption, limited. Wastefulness, prohibited. Attention, commanded.

The source? Something unexpected. Shy, timid, used to being used, abused

and tossed away.

Their first life is so brief, so fleeting, it makes the lakefly’s look like that of

wise, old sage.

I decided, with some reluctance, to give second life,

beyond usual expiration date.

Though its kind normally cannot voice thoughts, these are different.

Boogeymen. Nemeses. Truth-tellers.

Above all, reminders and clarifiers.

They repay kindness with critical decree.

One I deserve and refuse to challenge.

Stacked together, they appear as a white, rectangular ziggurat.

(Skyscraper would be more accurate, though far less poetic.)

Of Laziness. Of Convenience. Of Disposability. Of Waste.

Towering above plates, cups, knives and forks like

their ancient counterparts dwarfed the sand dunes

and all else around them.

It’s awe-inspiring, in the Biblical notion of the word.

At least, that’s the artist in me trying to find beauty in the situation.

And avoid divine judgment.

“What about the Earth?” they say, hybrid container-mouths

flapping open and shut.

“Waxing poetic about Mother Gaia…all forgotten-what did it take, a week?

Maybe two?”

I shrug. Eloquent words and passionate pleas discount not what my

disposable antagonists postulate.

“You can’t save us.”

Devoid of initial purpose, they gleefully relish their new life.

“You can’t reuse us. You merely delay the inevitable!”

I nod. “True….but each day I delay, I slow the process!”

I give in, pleading. “I help stem the tide!”

“Slow the process he says? So that’s environmentalism?

A few days of feeling bad, then back to normal?

Back to laziness, convenience, disposability and waste?”

The monument thunders, trash swirling around it in a haze of pollution.

I have no reply.

“Ten minutes of convenience….” the voices are smug, savoring my moment

most uncomfortable.

Their moment of triumph, of wisdom, of harsh truth, of life extended.

“So we can rot somewhere you’ll never see! Was the food delicious?”

Like an addict admitting he likes what’s killing him,

I confirm without words.

I slightly incline head, face reddening, refusing to look upon

my intervention.

“The irony sure is! Do you think Mother Gaia has room for us?

She has to-since you don’t!”

I bow in shame. “You speak truth…” I whisper, any indignation long

extinguished. Or so I thought.

“We will reach the sky. Whether you delay or not!” The tower cackles.

The haze around it becomes thicker.

I need a reprieve. Anger flashes in my mind. No, biblical wrath!

I could end it here.

Toss it away, whisk it off to a landfill or dump, never to be seen again.

I brought it into this world, and I will take it out!

No. I won’t take the easy way. Actions have consequences.

I must imprint them on my mind. Then, I will feel and see them.

Each time I prioritize laziness and convenience over Mother Gaia.

Leaving her to deal with waste which is only disposable for us.

Not for her. Not for plants, animals and all other life on this planet.

The next meetings are tense and awkward.

The usual pronouncements and criticisms.

Like a thief caught red-handed, I accept the rebukes. Sometimes, gratefully.

The mood alters, when I least expect it.

“Your seriousness appears real….”

They comment, container-flaps becoming raised eyebrows.

“How long will you gaze upon us?”

Though I haven’t earned the privilege of speaking yet, I clear my throat.

“Until a lesson is learned.”

The haze of pollution swirls around the Kitchen Ziggurat.

“We will teach you. If you want to learn, then listen.

We will transmit command once.”

I grab a napkin used solely once and prepare to inscribe what the Kitchen

Ziggurat dictates.

For Earth Day’s 50th anniversary last month, I reflected on how the current

coronavirus pandemic has affected the environment. Though certain

aspects of pollution have decreased, such as air pollution,

others have shot up, such as single use plastics used for takeout food.

With so much uncertainty about how restaurants and other food providers

will able to get back to some sort of normal as states ‘open up’,

it’s likely that the surge in take-out will continue to increase.

As I reported on Earth Day, ‘food delivery was 300% more popular in the

month of March than in February,’ per a YELP report.

My Kitchen Ziggurat is composed of polystyrene, labeled as PS on the

containers. It’s far more commonly known as Styrofoam. According to

HowStuffWorks, polystyrene “can’t be recycled locally but has to be

transported to a centralized plant, increasing costs to the recycler and

reducing incentive to recycle.” As you might expect, most PS isn’t recycled

for these reasons. About 12% is. Yikes. Of course, recycling PS is important

and should be encouraged, but reducing its use in the first place

will be a key part in reducing PS’s impact on Mother Gaia.

Last week, I found myself eating take-out twice in two days. As I watched

the containers pile up, I thought about how quickly they were used

and would be discarded. My minutes of convenience would be

dumped onto Mother Gaia, never fully degrading but rather

decomposing into little pieces over the course of many, many years.

I vowed to learn something from the containers before I got rid of them.

So, after a cleaning, they’ve sat in the kitchen for a few days, forming a

warning of the Biblical nature.

At least to me.

I firmly believe that more people would reduce their consumption of

materials like PS if they though about and witnessed how hard

it is to recycle properly and what it can do to the environment, sitting

in a landfill. Stacking the containers into “The Kitchen Ziggurat” is

my way of reminding myself that my actions, as small as ordering takeout,

have a real impact on the environment.

Multiply this behavior by the thousands and millions,

and you quickly see the problem.

You don’t have to be as weird as me and construct this masochistic, mystical

reminder of your waste. Though I do encourage it, if possible. At any rate, I

hope that this piece helps you to think about the environment in concrete

ways after Earth Day has subsided. I quoted Senator Gaylord Nelson’s

daughter Tia Nelson last month, and I will do so again:

“He (Senator Nelson) believed that we all have the right to clean air

and water, and to economic and environmental well-being.

And he believed in the power of everyday Americans

to make a difference.”

Everyday Americans have the right to a clean environment in all its aspects.

The question is, will we choose it?

The Kitchen Ziggurat wants to know.

It hungers for more layers in its quest to reach the sky.

Feed or deny it.

Make your choice.