Put it in the trash!

What compels people to leave a trail behind them of refuse, rejected purchases or last-minute mind changes when they shop? Is there no place anymore where someone won't randomly dump his or her Tim Horton's coffee cup, empty or otherwise? I just find it rude and messy, not to mention the height of laziness, whether I am browsing the cereal aisle at Superstore, the lawn implements at Home Hardware, or the toothpaste at the pharmacy, to see the brown-plastic lidded cups abandoned willy nilly instead of being placed into the appropriate receptacle somewhere nearby. Oh sure, now and then you see the odd water bottle or slushie cup, but by far the majority of vessels discarded are from the coffee chain. It's become a daily occurrence.
For years there has occasionally risen a hue and cry about Tim Horton's cups as highway litter in league with fast food containers and wrappers, and someone will write a letter to the editor about something needing to be done to make Tim's a better corporate environmental citizen. Their website says they are trying to improve: "We put anti-litter messages on all of our packaging items, including a "Do Not Litter" message on all of our take-out cups"; "Many Tim Hortons restaurants sponsor local clean up events ad activities in their communities"; "Tim Hortons is one of the few quick service restaurants to offer china mugs, plates and bowls to guests eating in our restaurants. This helps to reduce paper waste being created in the first place" and "All Tim Hortons restaurants sell reusable Tim Mugs with the incentive for purchasing a Tim Mug is that the first coffee is free (coupon included inside the Tim Travel Mug) and each refill gets a 10 cent discount (hot beverage discount applies to any travel mug fill)."

So, it seems that Tim's is doing something to keep the paper cups from appearing as cast off garbage everywhere. So it comes down to the people who find this coffee and other beverages from there so irresistible. Truthfully, the coffee is not very good, in my opinion. I will drink it when there is absolutely nothing else available. To me, it always tastes burned. No amount of doctoring it makes it truly palatable. Sorry, it's me, not you. I can be a coffee snob, preferring expensive free-trade, small batch roasted, fresh-ground beans, but I'd still opt for an Irving Circle-K brew before Tim Horton's.


How hard can it be to walk to a trash bin to throw away your cup? Must you leave it on the shelf with the housewares or sheets at Winners? Don't tell me you put it down and forgot it with the frozen peas. I don't want to see it on the edge of a display of bestsellers at Coles, either. 


Pick up and dispose of those darn cups!!!!

You'll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just . . .

Since I was very young, I have had an intrinsic understanding of the power of a smile. As babies, we humans react through our tiny eyes' blurry first vision to the eyes and smiles of our adoring parents. Experiments have shown "an infant is able to recognize smile faces, then he or she could know that despite differences in amount of teeth showing, how crinkly the eyes are, or the extent of upturned lips, a smile is still a smile, and it projects happiness (Bornstein & Arterberry, 2003)."

My mom was a smiler. Her face in its resting state had a pleasantness about it, unless maybe she was frowning in concentration over a recipe or a crossword puzzle clue! Otherwise, she smiled and others responded in kind. 

Baby and childhood pictures show that I was not as free with my smile with portrait photographers who did such absurd things to coax a grin -- making quacking noises, waving stuffed toys, whistling -- and more than a few poses in the proofs show me looking quizzically off towards my waiting parent for reassurance. 

I started school smiling. I could not wait to be there, in school, where there were other kids, books, toys and something new everyday. Miss Lovelace, my primary teacher, was a kind young woman who greeted us each day with a smile that I realized years later belied saintly patience with 23 five-year olds, not all of whom relished the kindergarten experience as much as I did. My crayoned artwork showed beatific expressions on kittens, birds and Mr. Sun in the sky as well as on the stick figures I crafted to represent myself and my family and friends.

I smiled as I sang in the music festival, took part in the school plays, and went off to summer camp for two weeks every summer. I used a warm beaming countenance very genuinely for most encounters with everyone unless I was under some threat of danger or too sad or disappointed to produce even a fake one. My grandfather, always singing, serenaded me with "Let A Smile Be Your Umbrella", "Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag (and Smile, Smile, Smile!)" and the First World War song that went:

Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu 
When the clouds roll by I'll come to you. 
Then the skies will seem more blue, 
Down in Lover's Lane, my dearie.

Wedding bells will ring so merrily 
Ev'ry tear will be a memory. 
So wait and pray each night for me 
Till we meet again. . .

and later became the closing theme song of Don Messer's Jubilee

on Saturday nights on CBC.

Then along came the late sixties and the goofy yellow happy face "smiley" that lives on in the form of an internet icon. I had a huge pin-on button that I carried pinned to my enormous handbag like a beacon. One older guy who played in a band, lit up every time he saw me and nicknamed me "Smiley". He probably thought I was constantly high, but that was just my natural demeanour.

For thirty plus years teaching high school I smiled at new class after  class as we got to know each other, tried each other out, coaxed reluctant learners to "just try". Sure, there were times when my smile had to be more subdued in order to convey my seriousness and that I was not going to brook any insurrection, but it was easy to smile more often than not. It was work I did with such love and passion. 

In my final few years of teaching, one of my students with high-functioning autism said something profound to me. Facial expressions can be a hard read for someone with autism, but a smile is taught to be a very concrete indication of pleasure or happiness. "Miss Smith, you are not happy or pleased with me." "Why do you think I'm not, Devin?" "Because your smile is very small today." He was genuinely worried that the degree of smile was the measure of how well he was behaving.

I look around so much more at people's faces than I once did. How many of them go through their own days with serious faces, or worse, ones with near grimaces of worry, pain, disappointment or anger. How has it happened that they seem so consumed, troubled and sad? When was the last time they felt liked smiling? Some might think me an idiot, but if I can catch his eye, I give a big smile. Some avert their gaze. Some immediately look away. But a few, genuinely surprised, smile back. I don't care if I look like a fool, I will never underestimate the power of a smile.

Update

First things first. 


My new medication, eating regime and activity has resulted in very encouraging progress. Since my last post, I have lost 12 pounds and my blood sugar has come down to normal values. I feel energized and well, and would encourage anyone who is struggling with the progression of Type 2 diabetes to ask their family physician if Victoza might be an appropriate option for their care.


Life's too short to feel unwell!