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Be the Change #42: Why I Marched

Posted by on Jan 24th, 2018 in Blog | 0 comments

250,000 in Chicago.  600,000 in Los Angeles.  A total of more than 4 million world-wide.   Measured on volume, the 2018 Women’s Marches were a great success.  For those of us who participated, it was spirit-lifting to be surrounded by singing, chanting, sign-carrying men and women who care about many of the same things.  Civility.  Decency.  A return to a foreign policy based on careful diplomacy instead of impulsive, inflammatory tweets.   The right of all human beings, regardless of race or religion, to freedom and dignity.  The ideal of “liberty and justice for ALL.”

To be sure, many people marched mostly to protest the direction – and, for some, the very legitimacy – of the Trump presidency.  But, it’s not enough to be against something (or someone).  I think it’s important for the movement ignited by the 2016 election to be clear on what we are FOR.

For me personally the march was about protecting the basics of our democratic republic:  the First Amendment, voting rights, fair districts, and getting dark money out of politics.

Just as it’s not enough to be against something; it’s also not enough to be theoretically for something.  The “kumbaya” moment of the march was uplifting and inspiring, but it should be just a start.  That’s why I donate to the ACLU, and volunteer with the anti-gerrymandering group Fair Districts PA.  That’s why I’ll be involved in voter-registration efforts between now and the midterm elections in November.

Political involvement was not in my plans for my 60s.  My plan was to retire, do some more writing and gardening, travel with my husband, and enjoy my grandchildren.  But the 2016 election and the year that followed broke my heart, and I’m not willing to just sit and be broken.  Al and I want our children and grandchildren to enjoy the same freedoms that we and our parents did.  And that takes action.  Marching is fine and feels good.  It puts our current government on notice that there will be a price to be paid at the polls in November.  But we really make a difference with what we do after the march.

What will you do to help move our blessed and beloved country toward the vision of freedom, justice and dignity for all?

Be the Change #41: Do what the pope says

Posted by on Jan 7th, 2018 in Blog | 1 comment

When I was young, I assumed that I would live a big, exciting life, full of great achievements.  Instead, at 62, I look back on a life of patient devotion to purpose:  to my 35-year marriage, to raising our children, to building a career and some financial security.  I didn’t always feel patient, devoted or purposeful, by any means.  I often felt confused, or wildly angry and resentful, or just plain tired.  The siren song of “living your dreams” frequently beckoned, except I didn’t really have another dream. 

I wanted the life I had, just easier. 

I wanted my devotion to be immediately and consistently rewarded.  Instead, I had to persist in the face of obstacles, problems and my own repeated small failures. 

I wanted ego rewards, and instead had to learn to submit my ego to the needs of my family and the demands of my life.   

I don’t think I’m alone in this.  I think this is pretty much the life story of almost every decent human being on the planet.   

And I’ve just discovered a lovely phrase for it, courtesy of Pope Francis.  Here is what the Pope has to say about those of us who are deeply flawed, struggle against both our own wayward nature and the disappointments of life, and yet show up every day and do our best for our families and communities.  In his New Year’s Eve homily, the Pope said that he feels “sympathy and gratitude for all those persons who, every day, contribute with small but precious gestures to the common good, who seek to do their duty as well as possible.”  He calls these people “artisans of the common good.”

The theme of this blog for the past year has been Be The Change.  But, it’s easy to forget, when the world’s need is so great, that we don’t have to solve every problem.  Sometimes it is enough to do the work before you to the best of your energy and ability – and occasionally beyond the limits of your energy and ability, if needed.  Sometimes it is enough, as Mother Theresa said, to “do small things with great love.”

This week, be an artisan of the common good.  Maintain your devotion to your family, your community and the work that you do.  Be courteous and kind to the people God puts in front of you. 

But be compassionate to yourself, too.  Know when you are doing enough.   

NOTES:

I wasn’t able to find the full text of the Pope’s homily but here’s a LINK to a nice synopsis.

Also of interest is this DAVID BROOKS COLUMN that quoted the Pope and got me curious about the homily.  Brooks uses courteous driving as an example of being an artisan of the common good.

Be the Change #40: Dare to be Open

Posted by on Dec 31st, 2017 in Blog | 1 comment

Raising children sometimes feels like a 25-year emergency.  You’re in the eye of the hurricane all the time, from sleepless nights with babies, to constant chauffering with tweens, to the college and post-college years when they’re moving in an out of your house every few months, with their mystifying electronics and 35 pairs of sneakers. 

Then, suddenly, they’re out on their own for good.  The quiet settles like dust, and many parents wonder what they’re going to do with themselves now.  Some people take up golf or bicycling.  Some just settle in front of the TV and wait for grandchildren.  Many find satisfying volunteer work. 

My co-worker Rick and his wife Carol chose to work on their spiritual growth via connections with other human beings.

Rick and Carol have been committed Christians all their lives, and in recent years, as their 3 children matured and left home one by one, Rick talked a lot about planning the next phase of their lives, often speaking wistfully of friends who were overseas doing missionary work. 

As it turned out, they didn’t have to cross an ocean to find their mission.  They are gregarious people, and also enjoy being “problem solvers” as Rick puts it.  They love being a shoulder to cry on, and helping if they can, when a friend is having trouble:  divorce, death in the family, wayward children, illness, emotional upsets.  They recently doubled down on that when a friend’s daughter, who has a physical disability, needed a place to live.  Rick and Carol welcomed her into their home, where she stayed for several months until she was on her feet again. 

Their experience with Rachel inspired them to want to reach out more, and they decided that they wanted to put a special emphasis on making friends with people who are different from them.  Shortly after Rachel moved out, a young African-American man was going door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions while Carol was outside raking leaves.  Carol not only bought a subscription, but had a long chat with him and ended up inviting him into their house.  Over the course of one conversation with this young man, these two white Christian conservatives learned some things about racism, mass incarceration and the private prison system that they honestly hadn’t known before.  They were shocked and appalled, just as those of us on the left have been appalled by those same things for a long time.  But they truly hadn’t known – until it was made personal for them by a young man to whom they had the courage to open their hearts. 

There is so much to learn from their experience. 

First, there is no substitute for person-to-person connection.  I’ve felt that for a long time, and Rick’s story just reinforces it.  Now more than ever, we must connect with others, and, like Rick and Carol, I believe we must make a special effort to connect with people who are unlike us or might disagree with us.

Second, when we make those contacts, we have to be open to being changed.  I would go so far as to say that it isn’t really contact if you go into it thinking that you’re going to have an impact on the other person but they aren’t going to have any impact on you.  Because Rick and Carol were committed to spiritual growth – which inevitably implies change – their hearts and minds were opened.  Yes, that can happen – but only when we put the human connection ahead of our ideology. 

Chrstmas Present #3: I Have Forgiven You

Posted by on Dec 23rd, 2017 in Blog, Short Fiction | 1 comment

Here is the full text of my short story I Have Forgiven You, as published in the literary journal Metamorphosis a few years ago.  Merry Christmas and all the best for 2018!

 

Do you know that I’ve forgiven you?  I felt so unwelcome when I first came into your family.  Your house was overheated and aggressive with the smells of pine and boxwood, and everybody was talking at once, to everybody except me. My first mistake was getting engaged to your only son the same Christmas your oldest granddaughter got engaged.  Missy showed her ring and everyone whooped and hugged Joel and clapped him on the back and welcomed him into the family.  I showed mine and you nodded politely.  Well, I was 25 and already divorced.  And Tom and I had been living together for a year.  That didn’t go over with you in those days, when you were still vigorous enough to be judgmental.  Later, when your grandchildren cohabited, you learned to overlook it, but a mother-in-law is a more exacting judge of a daughter-in-law.

What hurt me the most was when your judgments extended to my kids.  They weren’t potty trained early enough to suit you.  They didn’t eat enough to suit you.  They made too much noise to suit you.  Whenever something got broken, my kids came under suspicion, never Missy’s.

I can’t claim to have forgotten, but I have forgiven.   Who could hold a grudge against you in this state:  gray and thin and loose-skinned like a baby bird, your hair a scrub of wild white tufts barely covering your scalp.

I patiently spoon lemon ice through your cracked lips.  You close your eyes with delight at each bite.  I’m glad to finally be able to please you in some way.  I hope you know that I’m glad to do this for you.

We don’t talk much.  You’re practically deaf now, although I suspect you don’t know it.  You never could understand half of what I said anyway.  You’d wince like I was hurting you and say, “PARDON me?” so impatiently.  I always talked too fast for you, in my New York way, but maybe, too, you weren’t interested enough to really pay attention.  It was only your own daughters, and their children, who were interesting to you.

We always did leave a lot unsaid.  You come from that generation who kept things private and kept up appearances.  You grew up in a slower-paced era when people stayed put and had all the time in the world to get to know each other, so intimacy didn’t need to be hurried.  Your generation got to know people by the gradual accumulation of their actions and seemingly-inconsequential words over the years, not by gushed confessions on second meeting.

I finally came to know you that way, in your own slow time.  And, by the same method, you probably came to know me better than I thought. I came to suspect that you were more like me than I thought.  I recognized the unhappy child’s determination that her children will have the childhood of her dreams.  Over the years, Tom left me clues in what he told me about his own childhood:  the homemade ice cream, the nature walks, the winter afternoons that you spent playing children’s card games instead of paying bills or scrubbing floors.  I got a glimpse that maybe your youthful hope was the same as mine:  that our children would be happier and more secure than we had been.

You taught your son to recognize bird calls and to spot wildlife by scanning for movement.  Years later, he taught me.  I love that about him:  that he patiently taught this Brooklyn girl to step quietly through the woods, slowly enough to hear a robin’s pleading song or notice the squirrel frozen on a tree trunk five feet away.

I thought you were so hard on my kids, and yet they always loved you.  I thought you favored Missy’s kids so blatantly, but my kids never seemed to notice.  They were always happy to see you when they were little, and they visit you now willingly, as long as we aren’t staying too long, kissing your tissue-paper cheek and holding your frail, bony hand, not even wrinkling their noses at the odor of diapers and looming death.  Their vision was clearer than mine.  They saw through the judgment to the love.

I never told you that you hurt my feelings.  Later, I never told you that I forgave you.  Do you know?

The Italian ice is gone.  I ask if you want some of your Sprite and you nod.  I raise the straw to your lips.  You latch on like a baby to the nipple and turn your cloudy eyes to mine gratefully, just for an instant.

***

Do you know that I have forgiven you?  I know you don’t have to be here.  My own children have to be here, and they’re the kind who do what they should.   There’s comfort in that.   But you:  you never did what other people thought you should.  It  always seemed to me that you did exactly as you pleased.  I didn’t like that in you, but now I find a different kind of comfort in that, too.  You must be here because you want to be.

Well, God knows I can’t afford to be picky about who spoons mush past my lips.  I can’t feed myself any more, can’t get myself to the bathroom, can barely roll over without help.  I know my hearing’s going, and you all assume that my mind’s going, too.  Well, it isn’t.  It tires me to talk and it tires me even more to strain to hear what people say back.  But I can still think.

I understand less about people than I thought I did.  When I was your age, I thought I had a lot of things figured out.  I thought I could predict how stories would end.

I didn’t think much of you at first, I admit.  Tom had just had his heart broken by that smart-alecky first wife of his, and you looked to us like the same mistake about to be repeated, with your loud voice and your New York accent and all those black clothes.  And you were already divorced at 25, for the love of God.  What did you expect us to think of you?  Once he took up with you, we hardly saw Tom.  I felt like you’d put him under a spell and would just chew him up and spit him back out like that first girl.  I can’t even remember her name now.

I started to forgive you a little when you can us two more grandchildren.  I can tell you we were surprised.  You seemed like the type who was more interested in books than in kids.  But, then you had them and you hardly ever brought them around.  I confess I didn’t think much of you and Tom as parents at first.  No, I didn’t.  You made such a big deal about not spanking them.  You were always explaining things to them.  You left me long lists of instructions when I kept them, as if I hadn’t raised four kids and didn’t know how to take care of a baby.  I admit I thought you spoiled them and that they would break your hearts.  But, I am surprised to find that they are two fine young people.  I don’t know how that happened.  Maybe you two got lucky.  Maybe you were better parents than I thought you were.  Either way, the world isn’t the predictable place I once believed it to be, and I’m too tired to figure it out all over again.

Oh, that ice feels good in my mouth.  My tongue always feels fat and sticky.  I must have revolting breath.  I probably have that old-person smell, too, all musty and decayed, like something already dead.  I should care, but I don’t.  I’m too tired.

I’m grateful that you still love Tom after all these years.  I think I finally forgave you for taking him away when you stayed with him when he was out of work for a whole year.  A year!  I respected how you went out and found work and supported the family.  I loved how you still loved my boy, really loved him, I could see that.  You stayed willingly, not bitterly.  None of my own three daughters could manage to stay married.  My oldest granddaughter couldn’t stay married.  But you and Tom did.  Another reminder that I don’t know what I thought I knew:  I didn’t think you had that in you.

Do you know?  I’m not much of a one for displays of affection.  I don’t like the way people your age are always hugging each other.  They even do it in church.  In my day, there were 100 people in the congregation and we all knew each other.  We dropped off casseroles when someone was sick or had a baby, and we went to the funeral home when someone died, but we never dreamed of hugging each other.  But, Lord, now there are 600 members and they hardly know each other’s names but they’re always wrapping their arms around each other like movie stars.

Oh, you can have this world, you young people.  I’m ready to go.  Maybe I’m just too old and tired to hold a grudge, but I wish that I had come to love you sooner, and I hope you know that I have forgiven you.

Christmas Present #2: Merry Go Round

Posted by on Dec 16th, 2017 in Blog, Short Fiction | 1 comment

Here is the full text of my short story, Merry Go Round, published several years ago in the literary journal Metamorphosis.

MERRY-GO-ROUND

You are a skinny little girl, but you have a big round belly like a starving child.  “Barrel belly” your family calls you affectionately.

You watch the world from the safety of your mother’s body, peering out with longing eyes from behind her legs.  Your sister touches bugs, runs races with boy cousins, and chips her teeth riding too fast on her bicycle and falling off.  She has black grit under her ragged fingernails, and her hair is always messy.  When your mother brushes your silky, fawn-colored hair, you are careful to keep it as neat as she made it.

You are at a park today, and your sister has ridden all of the rides.  You are holding her hand.

Your father squats to speak to you.  “Wouldn’t you even like to ride the merry-go-round?  We’re getting ready to go home.”

“Don’t force her, Ken,” your mother cautions.

Your sister pumps your arm up and down. “Ride the merry-go-round!   Ride the merry-go-round!  Pleeeeease!”

You raise your  pale, round face to it.  The legs of the horses are at the level of your eyes.  They are brown, black, milk-colored.  They wear bright necklaces of flowers.  Some are still.  Some churn up and down as the platform spins.  Some rear their heads and show square white teeth.  Children laugh above the tinny, gay music.

Your hearts squirms like a minnow in terror and desire.

“Ride the merry-go-round! Please!” Your sister pleads again.

You remove your hand from her sticky, grimy one.  The ride has stopped.  Another group of noisy children teems toward it.

“Would you like to ride?” your mother asks.

You nod.

“Well, all right, then,” your father shouts, swooping you up and depositing you on a black horse.

“A white one,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I want a white one.  One that doesn’t go up and down.”

He lifts you and plops you onto one of the milky-white horses, one that doesn’t churn. “Okay?” he asks.

You nod again.

Your father backs away.  The platform starts spinning and the music begins its skipping tune.

Your mother stands smiling.  Your father has raised the video camera to his eye, his cigarette dangling forgotten between  his slabs of lip.  Your sister bounces on her horse and waves wildly each time she passes them. 

You sit straight, both small hands wrapped around the metal pole.  You gaze straight ahead, unsmiling, in solemn dignity. 

 

Christmas Present #1

Posted by on Dec 10th, 2017 in Blog, Short Fiction | 0 comments

Over the next few weeks, I will be offering some of my short fiction to my readers.  Here’s your first present:  my short story Infamy, recently published in the December issue of PIF Magazine.  You can read it for free HERE or order for your KIndle (for only 99 cents!) HERE.

Enjoy!!!

Be the Change #39: Revive Civility

Posted by on Dec 3rd, 2017 in Blog | 0 comments

Are you worried that the talk will turn to the dreaded topic of politics at your holiday events?  So are a lot of other people.  A recent poll found that 75% of Americans feel that civil discourse has reached a dangerous low in the United States.  Count me in that 75%.  But, I don’t think we should be afraid to talk about issues that are important to our nation and, ultimately, our own individual lives and the lives of our children and grandchildren.  And neither does the National Institute for Civil Discourse. The Institute includes on its Board two former Presidents:  Republican George H. W. Bush and Democrat Bill Clinton, as well as two former Secretaries of State, two former Senators and several prominent journalists.

Check out the Institute’s website here:  REVIVECIVILITY.ORG

The site includes guidance about how to have a civil political discussion 1:1 or in a small group (hint:  it involved a lot more listening than lecturing).  It also offers the opportunity to pledge yourself to civility, and a discussion guide specific to those uncomfortable political discussions that come up at holiday parties.

The worst thing we can do it yell at each other and call each other names.  But the second worst thing we can do is not talk about politics at all, and leave it all to the worst people, the ones who don’t mind yelling and calling names.  Be brave.  Take a small step towards bringing back civil discourse in your own circle of family and friends this holiday season and into the new years.

#38: What NOT to Change

Posted by on Nov 25th, 2017 in Blog | 0 comments

I’ve been blogging for over a year now about being the change you wish to see.  But today I’m writing about something the I hope never changes.

When I was a little girl, the whole family gathered at my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving.  And I do mean the WHOLE family:  Grandma, Grandpap, their 4 children, 3-children-in-law, 7 grandchildren, Grandma’s sister and brother-in-law and their 3 daughters (until all 3 of them entered the convent), and often a random fellow Teaching Assistant that Uncle Fred brought home from Duquesne University.  As many as 22 people in one 1920s foursquare bungalow. 

The aromas of cooling pumpkin, apple, chess and mincemeat pies mixed with the singed-wool smell of the electric heater in the butler’s pantry.  The kitchen was a sweaty hive of whirring mixer and chattering women.  Steam radiators burped and clanged and clouded the windows.  Bored cousins slid down the stairs on our butts while the dads smoked in the living room in front of a football game on a black-and-white TV. 

Then, finally, the meal was ready: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, whole and jellied cranberry sauce, crescent rolls, little dishes of pickles and olives.  And all that pie!  Sometimes Uncle Fred went all bohemian on us and bought a couple bottles of wine for the grownups.  The adults crammed elbow-to elbow around the dining room table.  The children sat at card tables in the living room, where our less-than-perfect manners could be ignored. 

After dinner, the moms continued their chatter in the kitchen while they washed dishes (1960s! No dishwasher!).  The dads smoked some more in the living room.  The kids alternated between annoying our mothers in the kitchen and sliding down the steps on our butts some more.

It was pure joy.

As I created my own Thanksgiving dinner this year, I couldn’t help but remember those 1960s Thanksgivings at 1124 Wayne Avenue in McKees Rocks.  We were expecting 16 for dinner, and our house is even smaller than my grandparents’ was.  Pumpkin pies were chilling in the fridge, the carving knife buzzed, the microwave beeped that the mashed potatoes were finished reheating.   Al was busy setting up the folding table in the living room, while Ben ran back and forth with a pitcher filling water glasses, and Chuck and Dan fetched beers from the back deck.

It was perfect chaos, just like my grandmother’s house, and in the midst of that whirlwind I experienced a moment of deep peace and joy.  I felt exactly as my grandmother must have felt, surrounded by the people she loved most in the world, capable of bringing them together and abundantly feeding them.  And I felt proud to have been carrying on her tradition for the past 32 years. 

In these dark times, when Americans are so divided and it seems that everything that we thought we could count on is crumbling, family traditions are one of the things that unite and sustain us.  Women are most often the keepers of those traditions, and the providers of the feasts.  This doesn’t feel like a burden to me at all, but instead a sacred charge that it is my privilege to fulfill. 

Some things should never change.

Be the Change #37 – Examine your prejudices

Posted by on Nov 19th, 2017 in Blog | 2 comments

I live in what I would consider a nice middle-class neighborhood.  The houses are older, but well-kept, and the residents are small business owners and a mix of blue and white-collar workers.  Most of our kids go to college, and crime is almost unheard of. 

Many years ago, when I was a young mother, I learned that not everyone saw us the way we see ourselves, and the experience started me on a journey to examine my own prejudices.

My daughter was a member of a Camp Fire Girls troop in our community, and we were spending an overnight in a cabin with another troop from a more upper-middle class community.  I didn’t see myself as different from them in any significant way.  They doubtless had bigger houses and more expensive cars than mine, but in terms of values, morals and education, I felt myself to be their equal.

Late in the evening, as we were cleaning up, I was looking for the bag that a dish of candy had come from, with the idea of dumping the candy back in the bag.  I walked the perimeter of the room, glancing into totes, looking for the candy bag. 

“Are you looking for YOUR bag?” someone said from behind me. 

“Oh, no,” I replied, at first not even turning around to look at her, “I’m looking for where this candy belongs.”

Then, something in the emphasis on the word “YOUR” caught my attention and I turned to see the very suspicious face of a Camp Fire mom from the better neighborhood.  In the same instant, I remembered noticing an expensive-looking camera in the most recent tote I’d glanced into. 

It was one of those moments of instantaneous, wordless communication.  All in a fraction of a second, I realized with horror that she’d thought I was poking around the bags looking for something to steal, and that she thought it because we came from a neighborhood where she thought people did that.  And in the same second, she registered the shock on my face and realized that she’d made a wrong assumption. 

I don’t remember how we disengaged, but I remember not being able to sleep that night.  I felt so humiliated that anyone would assume that I was a thief, and that they would make that assumption based on my living in a neighborhood that I thought was perfectly respectable.  What’s more, even though I’d done nothing wrong, I FELT wrong: dirty and unworthy in some way.  And, for some reason, it hit me:  the way that woman treated me is the way white people treat black people.  

Admit it:  if you’re sitting in traffic and a couple of African-American boys saunters down the street, you lock your car doors.  If you work retail, you watch your black browsers more carefully than your white browsers.  It’s certainly well-known that black drivers are stopped by the police more than white drivers.  White people make negative assumptions about black people all the time, often unconsciously. 

Do you think they don’t know this?

How do you think it feels?

The experience that I had on that sleepover started me on a journey to acknowledge my own biases.  Before that, I wouldn’t have called myself prejudiced.  I didn’t think African-Americans were inherently  inferior to European-Americans in any way.  I felt that we were all entitled to the same rights. I would no sooner have used the N-word than the F-word.  But, like many white people, I thought we lived in a society where we all had the same opportunities and everyone had the same chance to get ahead in life as long as they worked hard and stayed out of trouble.  The epiphany that I had that night didn’t change me by the next morning.  But it opened my eyes,  and I started paying more attention to big issues like unequal treatment under the law – and small issues like the hurtful impact of my own preconceived notions. 

The first step to getting along better is to acknowledge our biases.  It took being on the wrong end of a bias to inspire me to do that. 

This week, think about some negative assumptions that you have about a gender , ethnic or economic group different from your own, and how hurtful they might be to the objects of your prejudices. 

Be the Change #36 – Green Energy for the Miser

Posted by on Nov 11th, 2017 in Blog | 1 comment

I am what is politely called “careful with money.”  I live by the old Depression-era maxim “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”  I love keeping our cost of living down.  So, even though I am very concerned about climate change, and I could easily afford to put my money where my mouth is, we still drive gasoline-powered cars and I kept postponing signing up for the green energy provider.  I kept telling myself I wanted to research it, and understand how much our bill would go up.  But I never did anything about it until a couple of Sundays ago. 

Al and I are members of the Phipps.  We never miss a flower show and, being who I am, I ran the numbers and realized that we would spend less on an annual membership than we were spending on individual flower show admissions.  During our visit to the fall flower show a couple of weeks ago, they were running a promotion with Green Mountain Energy: 6-month membership extension for anyone who signed up for Green Mountain.  We talked to the young man at the Green Mountain table, and I started to say (again), “We’ll think about it.”  Then, I had a moment of honesty with myself.  I’d been thinking about it for years.  We can afford a higher electric bill.  What more is there to think about?  And then, of course, there’s the 6-month membership extension.  That $45 appeal to my thrifty little heart finally sold me.  We signed up for the 100% wind plan. 

Then I went home and ran the numbers.

We just reduced our carbon footprint by 20,000 pounds per year.

And here’s the joke on me:  By not doing that research that I always promised myself I would do, I was throwing money away.  Turns out Duquesne Light had us signed up with a high-cost carbon-based fuel provider.  By switching to wind, we’ll SAVE about $17 a month!

The moral of the story is this:  Don’t put off looking into green energy.  It could end up saving you money.  And even if the dollars don’t work out for you the way they did for us, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that you’re helping to save the planet. 

Copyright 2014 Kathryn Bashaar | Design by | Adapted from PureType