Locavore

Our garage floor is covered in cinders, crushed red cinders which fall off the wheels of the car. I sweep the mess out to the driveway and then into the grass and flower beds. (Every year my house is buried just a little deeper in lava.)

When snow falls hard and fast the city pours cinders onto the roads. When the snow melts, as it has done these last few weeks, the cinders remain. Rolling tires push the cinders aside, they mound beside the curbs. All our paved roads are turning to dirt.

The other day my son rode his scooter in socks -- why, I have no idea; didn't it hurt? wasn't he cold? -- which I discovered only after the hardwood floors and the leather couch and even the coffee table had been covered in those fine grains.

One of these days I'll take a microscope to my carpets. Cinders, ponderosa and juniper pollen, some food crumbs -- and, no doubt, the crushed remains of plastic children's toys.

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For the curious: One of my neighbor's and I have decided to carpool. It completely relieves my need to leave the house before 10am on Thursdays and Fridays -- and on those days I never have to get in a car at all. I can walk anywhere I need to go. It is glorious.