My Year of Water

It all started with a bucket…100_2175

Since I was a young gal, I had always lived in homes where it took at least a full minute for the water to warm sufficiently to wash my face or hands.  And since I was little, I always felt ill at ease knowing that the water, which was in such need as evidenced by all of those third world country commercials especially rampant in the 80s and 90s, was going literally down the drain.  So, now that I’m a big girl, I figured I can do what I want and left a glass next to the bathroom sink and a bucket in the bathtub.  Whenever I turned 100_2182on the water, I poured the cold water, glass by glass, into the bucket in the bathtub until the desired warmth. Gradually, this evolved to pouring the glasses of water spoiled by my cats’ spit (because GOD FORBID they actually drink out of their own bowl), the water in the shower, and the water left over after blanching vegetables and cooking pasta.

The aforementioned experiment in good will began towards the end of 2011, and left me in100_2180 wonder of how much water I was actually saving (what was done with the water in the bucket to follow shortly).  Given the perfect timing, I set out on a year-long quest to pour, document, conserve and, lastly, calculate (resulting in some arguments with my spouse and the cats along the way).  My study 100_2186begins on the first of the year in 2012, through New Year’s Eve. My bucket holds six liters, and I marked how many liters per day via a calendar hung on the wall in the bathroom.  Some days yielded only one liter, and other days, fifteen liters.  Different months yielded differing results, i.e. the stay-cation when showers were a rare occurrence for the week, hence no water from the shower. Or, trips back from the farmers’ market when lots of greens were blanched, leaving pots and pots of green liquid that further fed my indoor and container plants on the porch.

The results below reflect that of a household containing two adults and two full-grown cats.

Here are my 2012 results:

612 liters of water saved, or

306 2 liter bottles, or

Pool

Just over 159 gallons

If only 9 people did this in one year, we could fill up a pool this size ————————————>

The most water gathered was from heating up the water before the shower, and after the shower.  (You know, after you’re down showering, when you turn off the water, that little button-like device that turns the shower water into the faucet water pops down and a lot of extra water comes out at the end after it’s off.)  Just before I knew I was going to turn the water off, I’d stick the bucket under and almost a full liter would come out each time.

You may be wondering, what does one do with all of that water throughout the year, especially during the colder months?100_2178 It was used in a number of ways.  As previously mentioned, watering my indoor plants, plants on the porches during the warmer months, and the Christmas tree during December, but mostly, it was used to flush the toilet, which is a little wonderful secret that remains elusive to many people.  If your toilet is full of (liquid) waste, you can pour the bucket of water down and it will not only flush, but refill some of the way.  It’s really quite 100_2176amazing if you’ve never tried it before.  Our household is also a “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” one, so the times that the toilet is actually flushed each day is minimal.

At this point, I’d like to think that you’re wowed and awed by the findings.  But, I’d like to drive the point home a little more, if I may.  Let’s face it, in the U.S., we live in a patriarchal, capitalist society, based on consumption, aggression and power.  Meaning, we’ve aggressively tried to exercise our power over the environment by consuming mass amounts of our natural resources, and in turn dumping our excess into landfills and the air.  Therefore, saving water, composting, recycling, et al may seem counterintuitive considering the constant intake of advertising telling us to consume, consume, consume.  In short, wasting water seems normal to us because it’s completely acceptable, if not encouraged in other, more subtle queues in our daily lives.

Now that it’s 2013, the bucket has become a permanent fixture in the bathtub. Some have responded to my bucket with resistance, including disgusted facial expressions and my personal favorite, “My husband would never let me do that” (I’ll keep my response to that one to myself).  The biggest hurdle is accepting responsibility and making that commitment.  Saying that you’re going to “go green” is great, but our planet doesn’t really care about your empty promises.  I am by no means “there” yet–I don’t ride my bike everywhere, I occasionally forget my coffee mug at the coffee shop, and I still put a lot of crap into the landfill.  But, day by day, the attempt is made to do what’s right and accept accountability for how I treat the earth.  It suffices to say that my six liter pink-handled bucket is now a part of our family; hopefully it will become a part of yours.

Below: my bucket today, catching water from a leaky faucet.

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2014 Update: The faucet has been fixed, but water is still being saved in other creative ways-water from blanching chard, water left over from canning, et al.

Poetry Month Pick: “Brilliance” by Mark Doty

I fell in love with poet and author Mark Doty when I read his memoir “Heaven’s Coast,” about the relationship and illness of then mark-dotypartner Wally, who succumbed to AIDS related complications.  Through his memoir and poetry, Doty offers a universal view on romantic relationships that transcends sex, gender, economic status, race and sexual orientation.  His observations express emotions inherit to struggle and love, and he has the amazing ability to put feelings of the gut into words, which reach out from the pages into us as readers.

I chose Doty in honor of not only National Poetry Month, but also to recognize that gay rights are human rights and in hope of a day where there will be a level playing field for all.

Brilliance by Mark Doty

Maggie’s taking care of a man
who’s dying; he’s attended to everything,
said goodbye to his parents,

paid off his credit card.
She says Why don’t you just
run it up to the limit?

but he wants everything
squared away, no balance owed,
though he misses the pets

he’s already found a home for
-he can’t be around dogs or cats,
too much risk. He says,

I can’t have anything.
She says, A bowl of goldfish?
He says he doesn’t want to start

with anything and then describes
the kind he’d maybe like,
how their tails would fan

to a gold flaring. They talk
about hot jewel tones,
gold lacquer, say maybe

they’ll go pick some out
though he can’t go much of anywhere and then
abruptly he says I can’t love

anything I can’t finish.
He says it like he’s had enough
of the whole scintillant world,

though what he means is
he’ll never be satisfied and therefore
has established this discipline,

a kind of sever rehearsal.
That’s where they leave it,
him looking out the window,

her knitting as she does because
she needs to do something.
Later he leaves a message:

Yes to the bowl of goldfish.
Meaning: let me go, if I have to,
in brilliance. In a story I read,

a Zen master who’d perfected
his detachment from the things of the world
remembered, at the moment of dying,

a deer he used to feed in the park
and wondered who might care for it,
and at that instant was reborn

in the stunned flesh of a fawn.
So, Maggie’s friend-
is he going out

into the last loved object
of his attention?
Fanning the veined translucence

of an opulent tail,
undulant in some uncapturable curve,
is he bronze chrysanthemums,

copper leaf, hurried darting,
doubloons, icon-colored fins
troubling the water?