I mentioned the City Council meeting two weeks ago, but I didn’t share the results yet. The Council voted in favor of the perceived majority, the emotional and noisy latecomers to the issues. In the elevator after the meeting, a neighbor turned to Chuck and asked his advice on what to do with the signs they’d made.
Good man that he is, he suggested compost.
Readers, they meant well. They made these lovely protest signs and attached them to a small branch, er, stick.
So what’s the problem, Daisy? Recycle the paper top, and compost the stick, right? Almost. I insist, though; I must have my moment. I have to get persnickety.
The sticks were stuck to the treetops with two industrial strength staples from a staple gun. After seeing the neighbors and their recruits waving the signs around, I know they made dozens. Will they really take the time to pull out and recycle the staples? Doubtful.
Masking tape would have been the biodegradable, environmental choice. Of course they didn’t ask me. Snicker. I’m only Daisy, the composter mom. What do I know? And the neighbors are too busy to read my blog.
They don’t know what they’re missing. Really.