Pretending I am Moving

I am still in the process of veganizing my surroundings. There are still shoes, purses, and a relic of a tub of honey body cream here, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. That said, there is also the relic of the ancient refrigerator in the living room. I’ve encountered a compassionate soul from St. Vincent de Paul Association and they have agreed to take the refrigerator even though normally they don’t accept nonworking appliances.

So I’ve sweetened the deal by going through the closets, drawers, and garage and I’ve gathered up boatloads of gently worn suits, some clothing with tags still on them (!!!) and many many many pairs of Stuart Weitzman, Coach, and Birkenstocks. They are also getting the many many many Coach purses and totes. MY theory is that to sell that stuff would cause me to be guilty of enriching myself at the expense of animals again, something that surely would not go into my karma account as a positive. And I am uber reluctant to mess with karma.

As a result of all the looking around, trying on clothing, sorting through stuff, I’ve also figured out that I can save even more electricity by moving my bedroom down to the guest room and closing off the whole top floor of the house. Why should I cool rooms that are not being used? So I’ve been clearing out the guest room to prepare for painting while I’m waiting for the charity truck, and thinking about how I’ve got, for example, a whole desk full of cosmetics I’ve not used in years. I’ve been thinking (still) about moving to Savannah, and how every time I pick something up that I don’t really need, use often, or love totally, that it should not be here to facilitate moving. With that thought, I’ve decided to paint the room, paint my great grandmother’s desk, and put my bed, the desk and the chiffarobe in that room and I’ll be set. As a bonus, I’ll be ten steps closer to Savannah.

Clearing Out The Clutter

In my growth as a human being, ie becoming more vegan with every passing day, I've faced conundrums like what to do with all the clothing, shoes, handbags, luggage, jewelry, cars, and other sundry items that have come to represent oppression, slavery, and worse for all sentient beings.

One of my Vegan Freak contemporaries signature says it all for me: I didn't stop eating meat because I didn't like the taste, I gave up meat because I couldn't stand the taste of suffering. This concept runs through my head every time I consider such small acts as drinking a cup of coffee. For me, a trip to Starbucks became symbolic of the oppression of the humans harvesting the beans, to their families who likely were malnourished, denied basic rights, and then presented to the world as being "the reason for starvation" because they are "not practicing birth control." To add insult to injury, my Starbux slave trade coffee would be topped off with cream. Cream stolen from a cow, who like millions of her sister cows, had been artificially inseminated only to have her baby ripped from her teat soon after birth. Baby was destined for a veal crate or a repetition of Mom's "life" of slavery, foreshortened by hormones designed to increase the speed with which her body was stripped of calcium so that *I* could "enjoy" the products of her lactation. All this "enjoyment" of a cup of coffee while wearing a diamond tennis bracelet mined by slaves, wearing shoes constructed of the skin of slaves, swathed in "beauty products" tested on slaves, with my perfectly manicured fingertips (the errant bit of polish cleared away with nail polish remover tested in the eyes of rabbits.... yup, nail polish remover still burns bunnies eyes after all these years!) *I* could stand there chatting up the new styles of Coach bags with my silk scarf tied oh so cleverly around my neck feeling ever so smug about finding an amazing bargain on a pair of gently worn Manolo Blahniks and not even think about the women and children who'd labored through 85 hour work weeks in a sweat shop to produce my Victoria's Secret lacy thong and matching bra beneath my Levi's from Cambodia, and my baby tee sporting a show dog portrait. And then I woke up.

So now - what to do with all those shoes, bags, clothes, etc.? Should I set up shop on eBay? Go the consignment route? Profit more? Create more market for these symbols that are now meaningless to me? I cannot, in good conscience. In a very feeble attempt at restitution, I've been donating them to charity. Let those who need it most get the last remaining vestiges of value from those things I should never have found any value in possessing. They were never really mine to take.

Yet Another Advantage to Going Vegan

The refrigerator is on its' last legs and the repair guy is as sharp as a bowling ball. I noticed the frozen foods were not so much frozen as just cold. I called the repair guy, and he sent his understudy, a big young man who proudly announced he'd recently consumed some McTrash of pork wrapped in fat, dipped in lard (I'd guess) and deep fried. Oh, and add a side of fat drenched potatoes on the side.

His assessment was that the defrost biz needed to be replaced. I should take all the food out, and let it defrost, and he'd have the part the next day. Well, I did what he suggested, and put the food in ice in a cooler. The next day another call produced new info that indeed - it would be Tuesday before the part was in, and I could safely put the food back in and all would be well now that it was defrosted.....

It wasn't. The good news is that although I lost some vegan sausages, patties, and a few dishes I'd made and frozen, nothing died in vain. I can only imagine how dreadful it would have been to throw away meat and dairy - to have another sentient being give up its' life only to be tossed in the trash because a refrigerator gave up the ghost.