The value of Letting Go
Hi. (Pause.) I admire each of you. (Silence.) It’s rare to come across a group of people so dedicated to staying alive. The oldest one of you is what, eighty-five? (Pause for rhetorical answer.) Wow. (Pause, wondering how to ask the next question.) Are you happy? As happy as you can be for not being with your remaining relations? I can’t imagine it being too easy. Or maybe it is. Time speeds up when everything else slows down. I can run and jump, but in here my soul is depressed. The thought of waffles and cats aren’t unimaginable, but pictured in a sad way- a consolation prize for being alone. Eating waffles because they are soft, off of trays that have served the men who do not grow older. Holding a kitten because you know the act is supposed to make you feel happy. What do you have left? The profound sadness that ebbs away your remaining energy inside. The uncontrollable swooping dizziness that causes your heart and head to grow physically heavy. Do the nurses come rushing to your side? Do your stiff, pale hands wave them away? How can you live? Who are you doing it for? Already dying, but killing yourself trying to stay alive. Forget the fading memories you have, easily, and let yourself slip away into unhappiness. It’s easier.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
WA 6 Final
Sunlight. I open my closet and read between the rows and rows of cashews. I wear loose (everything is loose), thin cotton. A white snowstorm begins to form on the peak of my nose, and only my fingers are cold. My hair, radiant red, devours the oxygen in my tiny room, blazing with the heat of the flames I can feel on my shoulders.
Outside, my body accidentally spins, stealing the eupnoea of others. Noxiously, I bask. I pass into Strawberry Fields. …nothing is real. Tripping over the unlikely light, I can inevitably see. Laughing up a million stairs, and zippered into the meals of a few small nations. My hands flap their frozen wings like feeding hummingbirds. Artificial amber light is forced through angry bulbs. Miniscule details float through the rays with uncaring concern. Time is unexpectedly stopped. A fleeting sensation, suddenly my heart is broken. A blind spot with rich glaring contrast. Contrast: I am enlightened. I stare into the eye of God. Omnipresent and all knowing. Unblinking. As a soaring ginger, I can convincibly masquerade as a windy dancer, immobile, begging, watch me move. I can dance- down the stairs wearing my only pair of black pants. I don’t wear a watch, but there is a silver spoon hanging from my neck. I am tiny again, a victim (of euphoria). A growing and shrinking Alice in a modern world. As I walk, translucent light solidifies, bouncing between mirrors and becoming trapped. Alive, I am in intense rapture. Men seem to pluck it out of the air before it reaches the people tilting their heads, and keep it in a paper bag.
My heart is not the only place that’s bleeding. Snowflakes engulf my visions, fluttering thier ballet innocently into my life. I can run wildly and never go anywhere. I see through the laws of an old camera, filled with memories of low steps and parakeets. Would you like a cup of tea? I once sat at that table. A rug on the floor. I flow like liquid through the streets, and call out over the heads of less happy people, what time is it? Someone from the corner of half a block a way calls back, four forty-eight. There is always time for dancing. A secret. Sometimes when I am alone, I can see my sister’s twin. Alone. And pumpkin pie reminds me of you.
A postcard of a surfing koala and my hair are the only verse in the white, white room.
Only when I pass the window can I see myself over the tiny shrubs, unmoving.
Outside, my body accidentally spins, stealing the eupnoea of others. Noxiously, I bask. I pass into Strawberry Fields. …nothing is real. Tripping over the unlikely light, I can inevitably see. Laughing up a million stairs, and zippered into the meals of a few small nations. My hands flap their frozen wings like feeding hummingbirds. Artificial amber light is forced through angry bulbs. Miniscule details float through the rays with uncaring concern. Time is unexpectedly stopped. A fleeting sensation, suddenly my heart is broken. A blind spot with rich glaring contrast. Contrast: I am enlightened. I stare into the eye of God. Omnipresent and all knowing. Unblinking. As a soaring ginger, I can convincibly masquerade as a windy dancer, immobile, begging, watch me move. I can dance- down the stairs wearing my only pair of black pants. I don’t wear a watch, but there is a silver spoon hanging from my neck. I am tiny again, a victim (of euphoria). A growing and shrinking Alice in a modern world. As I walk, translucent light solidifies, bouncing between mirrors and becoming trapped. Alive, I am in intense rapture. Men seem to pluck it out of the air before it reaches the people tilting their heads, and keep it in a paper bag.
My heart is not the only place that’s bleeding. Snowflakes engulf my visions, fluttering thier ballet innocently into my life. I can run wildly and never go anywhere. I see through the laws of an old camera, filled with memories of low steps and parakeets. Would you like a cup of tea? I once sat at that table. A rug on the floor. I flow like liquid through the streets, and call out over the heads of less happy people, what time is it? Someone from the corner of half a block a way calls back, four forty-eight. There is always time for dancing. A secret. Sometimes when I am alone, I can see my sister’s twin. Alone. And pumpkin pie reminds me of you.
A postcard of a surfing koala and my hair are the only verse in the white, white room.
Only when I pass the window can I see myself over the tiny shrubs, unmoving.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
WA 6 Rough Draft
I am a little girl who lives in a loft with a closet full of cashews. I am enlightened. I stare into the eye of God. Omni present and all knowing. Unblinking. As a towering ginger, I masquerade as a tiny dancer, frozen, begging, watch me move. I can dance- down the stairs wearing my only pair of black pants. I don’t wear a watch, but there is a silver spoon hanging from my neck. I am tiny again, a victim (of euphoria). A growing and shrinking Alice in a modern world. As I walk, translucent light solidifies, bouncing between mirrors and becoming trapped. Alive, I am in intense rapture. Men seem to pluck it out of the air before it reaches the people tilting their heads, and keep it in a paper bag. My heart is not the only place that’s bleeding. I can run wildly and never go anywhere. I see through the laws of an old camera, filled with memories of low steps and parakeets. Would you like a cup of tea? It doesn’t matter now that study doors are always closed. I flow like liquid through the streets, and call out over the heads of less happy people, what time is it? Someone from the corner of half a block a way calls back, four forty-eight. There is always time for dancing. A secret. Sometimes when I am alone, I can see my sister’s twin. Alone. And pumpkin pie reminds me of you.
A postcard of a surfing koala and my hair are the only verse in the white, white room.
Only when I pass the window can I see myself over the tiny shrubs, stationary.
A postcard of a surfing koala and my hair are the only verse in the white, white room.
Only when I pass the window can I see myself over the tiny shrubs, stationary.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
WA 5 Final
706 Words
Dear God, I am not a religious person. We aren’t even getting married in a church, for Christ’s sake. But this is not just a case of nerves, or the nicotine talking; this is an epiphany. The Groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle (the end of my life) is wrong. Dear Allah, please help me. I only let it get this far because I want to be married so badly.
Thankfully, I’ll never be in the position of a Bride. As beautiful as the concept of marriage is, the only soul I feel devoted to is my cat.
Lord, I want to be married. I am selfish. I know if I don’t do this, I will end up an old lady who lives with 10 cats. I will be the woman at the supermarket who has kibble in her hat, and mumbles to herself. When I go to pay for my bags of canned tuna, a kitten will pop its head out of my purse, and I’ll hiss at it, and then smile at the cashier like I’m not crazy and alone.
I caught a glimpse of the Bride putting out her cigarette before taking her fathers arm to walk down the aisle. She looks determined.
Deep breaths. I will take up yoga, and go on long retreats at far away resorts, if that’s what it takes. Oh God, this is so sad. I do love him, but for the rest of eternity? There is no way I am becoming a cat lady. When I go through with this, it’s good. My brothers are monks, and I refuse to be the child demonstrating unfaithfulness by getting a divorce. Oh, God. I’m fine. Where’s my “Dad? Let’s go.”
From the snippets of wedding ceremonies I’ve seen, this is the most unconventional. There are at least seven Buddhist monks in traditional garb, and a lady in a hat that has to be part of her religion.
One foot after another. Left, right, eyes straight ahead through the veil, I’m not ready. Look happy, look I can’t do this, left, right, Oh my God, what is Aunt Cathy wearing on her head? Count the feathers, I can do this, I can do this. Quail is not fashionable, yet it warrants my attention. Thank you Lord, for sending me a miracle!
Hand in hand with my Groom, I feel a wild laugh erupting from my lips. What are we running from? What we approach is the largest obstacle we have ever faced together. We are two separate souls bobbing like the rest of the world in an ocean of questions. Unlike the others, we seem to have answers upon which we float. My answers have slipped to the depths, and now I rely upon my strength to keep appearing buoyant. I need to get drunk.
To me, the cake is the symbol of the Bride and Groom’s love for each other. Our baker and decorating team presents them with a piece of art.
On the table stands a 5 tier cake. The first two tiers are three layers of chocolate cake filled with a layer of raspberry filling and cream buttercream. The other three tiers are three layers of white cake filled with a layer of chocolate ganache, and a layer of mocha buttercream. The cake is covered in vanilla buttercream and finished with pale fondant. The lace pattern on the Bride’s dress was recreated with marzipan, and winds up the side of the cake, along with sugar paste Queen Anne’s Lace flowers. The cake is connected to another four satellite cakes by staircases adorned with more carefully crafted flowers, winding sugar honeysuckle, and a water fountain. Fresh flowers decorate the table, and a knife monogrammed with the couple’s initials invites them to destroy the masterpiece.
The connection of cakes is nice. We place our hands on the specialized knife, a souvenir from this night that will reside in a drawer somewhere forever, and cut into the one we assume to be Jupiter of this convectional solar system, together.
God help me. The first and last day of forever.
Imagine that; being able to celebrate monogamy happily. It must be nice to have a human soul mate.
Dear God, I am not a religious person. We aren’t even getting married in a church, for Christ’s sake. But this is not just a case of nerves, or the nicotine talking; this is an epiphany. The Groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle (the end of my life) is wrong. Dear Allah, please help me. I only let it get this far because I want to be married so badly.
Thankfully, I’ll never be in the position of a Bride. As beautiful as the concept of marriage is, the only soul I feel devoted to is my cat.
Lord, I want to be married. I am selfish. I know if I don’t do this, I will end up an old lady who lives with 10 cats. I will be the woman at the supermarket who has kibble in her hat, and mumbles to herself. When I go to pay for my bags of canned tuna, a kitten will pop its head out of my purse, and I’ll hiss at it, and then smile at the cashier like I’m not crazy and alone.
I caught a glimpse of the Bride putting out her cigarette before taking her fathers arm to walk down the aisle. She looks determined.
Deep breaths. I will take up yoga, and go on long retreats at far away resorts, if that’s what it takes. Oh God, this is so sad. I do love him, but for the rest of eternity? There is no way I am becoming a cat lady. When I go through with this, it’s good. My brothers are monks, and I refuse to be the child demonstrating unfaithfulness by getting a divorce. Oh, God. I’m fine. Where’s my “Dad? Let’s go.”
From the snippets of wedding ceremonies I’ve seen, this is the most unconventional. There are at least seven Buddhist monks in traditional garb, and a lady in a hat that has to be part of her religion.
One foot after another. Left, right, eyes straight ahead through the veil, I’m not ready. Look happy, look I can’t do this, left, right, Oh my God, what is Aunt Cathy wearing on her head? Count the feathers, I can do this, I can do this. Quail is not fashionable, yet it warrants my attention. Thank you Lord, for sending me a miracle!
Hand in hand with my Groom, I feel a wild laugh erupting from my lips. What are we running from? What we approach is the largest obstacle we have ever faced together. We are two separate souls bobbing like the rest of the world in an ocean of questions. Unlike the others, we seem to have answers upon which we float. My answers have slipped to the depths, and now I rely upon my strength to keep appearing buoyant. I need to get drunk.
To me, the cake is the symbol of the Bride and Groom’s love for each other. Our baker and decorating team presents them with a piece of art.
On the table stands a 5 tier cake. The first two tiers are three layers of chocolate cake filled with a layer of raspberry filling and cream buttercream. The other three tiers are three layers of white cake filled with a layer of chocolate ganache, and a layer of mocha buttercream. The cake is covered in vanilla buttercream and finished with pale fondant. The lace pattern on the Bride’s dress was recreated with marzipan, and winds up the side of the cake, along with sugar paste Queen Anne’s Lace flowers. The cake is connected to another four satellite cakes by staircases adorned with more carefully crafted flowers, winding sugar honeysuckle, and a water fountain. Fresh flowers decorate the table, and a knife monogrammed with the couple’s initials invites them to destroy the masterpiece.
The connection of cakes is nice. We place our hands on the specialized knife, a souvenir from this night that will reside in a drawer somewhere forever, and cut into the one we assume to be Jupiter of this convectional solar system, together.
God help me. The first and last day of forever.
Imagine that; being able to celebrate monogamy happily. It must be nice to have a human soul mate.
WA Draft 2
530 Words
Dear God, I am not a religious person. We aren’t even getting married in a church, for Christ’s sake. But this is not just a case of nerves, or the nicotine talking, this is an epiphany. The Groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle (the end of my life) is wrong. Wrong for me, wrong for our future family, wrong for my immediate family. Dear Allah, please help me. I only let it get this far because I want to be married so badly. Lord, I want to be married. I am selfish. I know if I don’t do this, I will end up a weird old lady who lives with 10 cats which will be the bane of my existence. I will be the woman at the supermarket who has kibble in her hat, and mumbles to herself. When I go to pay for my bags of canned tuna, a kitten will pop its head out of my purse, and I’ll have to hiss at it, and then smile at the freaked out cashier like I’m not a barmy old codger.
Deep breaths. I will take up yoga, and go on long retreats at far away resorts, if that’s what it takes. Oh God, this is so sad. I do love him, but for the rest of eternity? There is no way I am becoming a cat lady. When I go through with this, it’s good. No divorces to accentuate my failure to parents. My brothers are monks, and I refuse to be the child demonstrating unfaithfulness by getting a divorce. Oh, God. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine, where’s my “Dad? I’m fine (excited smile to make him think I’m more than fine), let’s go.”
One foot after another. Left, right, eyes straight ahead through the veil, I’m not ready. Good lord, I’m just getting married, not walking to my execution. Look happy, look I can’t do this, left, right, Oh my God, what is Aunt Cathy wearing on her head? Count the feathers, I can do this, I can do this. Quail is not fashionable, yet it warrants my attention. Thank you Lord, for sending me a miracle!
Scampering out of clearing being pelted with rice with my Groom unhinges my mind for a bit. I feel a wild laugh about to erupt from my lips. What are we running from? What we approach is the largest obstacle / monster under the bed together we have ever faced. We are two separate souls bobbing like the rest of the world in an ocean of questions. Unlike the others, we seem to have answers upon which we float. My answers have slipped to the depths, and now I rely upon my strength to keep appearing buoyant. I need to get drunk.
The connection of cakes is nice. We place our hands on the specialized knife, a souvenir from this night that will reside in a drawer somewhere forever, and cut into the one we assume to be Jupiter of this convectional solar system, together.
The animal I felt earlier resurfaces as I look at him. God help me. The first and last day of forever.
Dear God, I am not a religious person. We aren’t even getting married in a church, for Christ’s sake. But this is not just a case of nerves, or the nicotine talking, this is an epiphany. The Groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle (the end of my life) is wrong. Wrong for me, wrong for our future family, wrong for my immediate family. Dear Allah, please help me. I only let it get this far because I want to be married so badly. Lord, I want to be married. I am selfish. I know if I don’t do this, I will end up a weird old lady who lives with 10 cats which will be the bane of my existence. I will be the woman at the supermarket who has kibble in her hat, and mumbles to herself. When I go to pay for my bags of canned tuna, a kitten will pop its head out of my purse, and I’ll have to hiss at it, and then smile at the freaked out cashier like I’m not a barmy old codger.
Deep breaths. I will take up yoga, and go on long retreats at far away resorts, if that’s what it takes. Oh God, this is so sad. I do love him, but for the rest of eternity? There is no way I am becoming a cat lady. When I go through with this, it’s good. No divorces to accentuate my failure to parents. My brothers are monks, and I refuse to be the child demonstrating unfaithfulness by getting a divorce. Oh, God. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine, where’s my “Dad? I’m fine (excited smile to make him think I’m more than fine), let’s go.”
One foot after another. Left, right, eyes straight ahead through the veil, I’m not ready. Good lord, I’m just getting married, not walking to my execution. Look happy, look I can’t do this, left, right, Oh my God, what is Aunt Cathy wearing on her head? Count the feathers, I can do this, I can do this. Quail is not fashionable, yet it warrants my attention. Thank you Lord, for sending me a miracle!
Scampering out of clearing being pelted with rice with my Groom unhinges my mind for a bit. I feel a wild laugh about to erupt from my lips. What are we running from? What we approach is the largest obstacle / monster under the bed together we have ever faced. We are two separate souls bobbing like the rest of the world in an ocean of questions. Unlike the others, we seem to have answers upon which we float. My answers have slipped to the depths, and now I rely upon my strength to keep appearing buoyant. I need to get drunk.
The connection of cakes is nice. We place our hands on the specialized knife, a souvenir from this night that will reside in a drawer somewhere forever, and cut into the one we assume to be Jupiter of this convectional solar system, together.
The animal I felt earlier resurfaces as I look at him. God help me. The first and last day of forever.
WA Draft 1
532 Words
Lovely lovely blooming day. Pot stickers and cucumber salad. Mmmm. Usually I don’t get to watch the ceremony- too busy prepping the food. Interesting choices, and the couple isn’t even Asian. I found this out early, when I went to unload some more canapés from the van. I caught a glimpse of the Bride putting out her cigarette before taking her fathers arm to walk down the aisle. One of the perks of a backyard wedding, I guess…that, and the saved costs allowing the services of the most expensive catering service in the city to accommodate your wedding. From the snippets of wedding ceremonies I’ve seen, this is the most unconventional. There are at least seven Buddhist monks in traditional garb, and a lady in a hat that has to be part of her religion.
The Bride looks determined. Thankfully, I’ll never be in her position. As beautiful as the concept of marriage is, the only soul I feel devoted to is my cat. My therapist says the love I feel for Tanta Elsa mirrors the love I don’t feel for myself. But if I don’t love myself, how should I love others? I came into this industry simply to cater and supply for other peoples love. If I am assisting the gift of love, why do I, personally, need it?
To me, the cake is the symbol of the Bride and Groom’s love for each other. The cake we crafted for the occasion we were given no limitations on: there were no special requests or guidelines for it, and the families were willing to spend an excess of, well, a lot. Our baker and decorating team were ecstatic, and embraced this cake as a way to prove to the company how good they actually were. It was not a cake that ended up being made, but a piece of art. The creation that stands alone on a table underneath the big tent is worthy of a magazine cover; the wedding cake of every little girls wildest dreams.
On the table stands a 5 tier cake. The first two tiers are three layers of chocolate cake filled with a layer of raspberry filling and cream buttercream. The other three tiers are three layers of white cake filled with a layer of chocolate ganache, and a layer of mocha butter cream. The cake is covered in vanilla butter cream and finished with pale fondant. The lace pattern on the Bride’s dress was recreated with marzipan, and winds up the side of the cake, along with sugar paste Queen Anne’s Lace flowers. The cake is connected to another four satellite cakes by staircases adorned with more carefully crafted flowers, winding sugar honeysuckle, and a water fountain. Fresh flowers decorate the table, and a knife monogrammed with the couple’s initials invites them to destroy the masterpiece.
None of us in the kitchen can watch as they cut into the cake. I open my eyes to see the Groom attempt to manfully swallow the piece of cake being shoved down his throat by his mock-aggressive Bride.
Imagine that; being able to celebrate monogamy happily. It must be nice to have a human soul mate.
Lovely lovely blooming day. Pot stickers and cucumber salad. Mmmm. Usually I don’t get to watch the ceremony- too busy prepping the food. Interesting choices, and the couple isn’t even Asian. I found this out early, when I went to unload some more canapés from the van. I caught a glimpse of the Bride putting out her cigarette before taking her fathers arm to walk down the aisle. One of the perks of a backyard wedding, I guess…that, and the saved costs allowing the services of the most expensive catering service in the city to accommodate your wedding. From the snippets of wedding ceremonies I’ve seen, this is the most unconventional. There are at least seven Buddhist monks in traditional garb, and a lady in a hat that has to be part of her religion.
The Bride looks determined. Thankfully, I’ll never be in her position. As beautiful as the concept of marriage is, the only soul I feel devoted to is my cat. My therapist says the love I feel for Tanta Elsa mirrors the love I don’t feel for myself. But if I don’t love myself, how should I love others? I came into this industry simply to cater and supply for other peoples love. If I am assisting the gift of love, why do I, personally, need it?
To me, the cake is the symbol of the Bride and Groom’s love for each other. The cake we crafted for the occasion we were given no limitations on: there were no special requests or guidelines for it, and the families were willing to spend an excess of, well, a lot. Our baker and decorating team were ecstatic, and embraced this cake as a way to prove to the company how good they actually were. It was not a cake that ended up being made, but a piece of art. The creation that stands alone on a table underneath the big tent is worthy of a magazine cover; the wedding cake of every little girls wildest dreams.
On the table stands a 5 tier cake. The first two tiers are three layers of chocolate cake filled with a layer of raspberry filling and cream buttercream. The other three tiers are three layers of white cake filled with a layer of chocolate ganache, and a layer of mocha butter cream. The cake is covered in vanilla butter cream and finished with pale fondant. The lace pattern on the Bride’s dress was recreated with marzipan, and winds up the side of the cake, along with sugar paste Queen Anne’s Lace flowers. The cake is connected to another four satellite cakes by staircases adorned with more carefully crafted flowers, winding sugar honeysuckle, and a water fountain. Fresh flowers decorate the table, and a knife monogrammed with the couple’s initials invites them to destroy the masterpiece.
None of us in the kitchen can watch as they cut into the cake. I open my eyes to see the Groom attempt to manfully swallow the piece of cake being shoved down his throat by his mock-aggressive Bride.
Imagine that; being able to celebrate monogamy happily. It must be nice to have a human soul mate.
Monday, February 2, 2009
WA 4 Final Draft
Dear Mr. Obama,
Congratulations on a historic victory. I am a 16 year old student in Charlottesville, Virginia. I am writing to you to express my concerns about environmental issues, such as clean air, clean water, and the effects of global warming. These concerns are not only significant for our generation, but also help us ensure healthy conditions for our children. What will it be like in 10 to 15 years if we don’t make any changes?
As you brought up in your campaign for presidency, oil abuse and air quality come hand in hand. Cars are the major source of air pollution in most urban areas. However, their carbon footprint can be in many simple ways, such as making sure the tires are air tight. By issuing a decree on tire fullness, Americans would get better mileage, in addition to saving up to 300,000 tons of carbon emission. These tips, in addition to the promotion of city transit systems could really improve air quality.
The struggle of keeping water clean is also an issue that needs to be recognized.
Our world is awash in chemicals and pollutants that pose health risks to our families, our communities and our environment. As a result of their manufacture, use and disposal, pollutants such as perchlorate (a chemical used in rocket fuel) are being discovered in soil, groundwater, drinking water, and irrigation water around the country. There are many ways to protect America’s waters.
We can dramatically reduce our current reliance on fossil fuel based energy sources.
By making the switch to renewable energy sources for electricity, such as wind and solar, we can reduce energy consumption. Clean water should not be a luxury, but it is treated as one. To ensure our water resources for the future, its essential that we protect them today.
Having refused to recognize that global warming posed any risk at all over the past eight years, the US now had to take a lead as the world's greatest carbon emitter and the planet's largest economy. With so much propagated information “out there” (California becoming the next Atlantis, Earths sporadic combustion due to smog); it’s hard to know what to take seriously and what to believe. One thing is for certain: Although it’s a long term process, if change isn’t initiated soon, it will never happen.
Sincerely,
Madi Heim
Congratulations on a historic victory. I am a 16 year old student in Charlottesville, Virginia. I am writing to you to express my concerns about environmental issues, such as clean air, clean water, and the effects of global warming. These concerns are not only significant for our generation, but also help us ensure healthy conditions for our children. What will it be like in 10 to 15 years if we don’t make any changes?
As you brought up in your campaign for presidency, oil abuse and air quality come hand in hand. Cars are the major source of air pollution in most urban areas. However, their carbon footprint can be in many simple ways, such as making sure the tires are air tight. By issuing a decree on tire fullness, Americans would get better mileage, in addition to saving up to 300,000 tons of carbon emission. These tips, in addition to the promotion of city transit systems could really improve air quality.
The struggle of keeping water clean is also an issue that needs to be recognized.
Our world is awash in chemicals and pollutants that pose health risks to our families, our communities and our environment. As a result of their manufacture, use and disposal, pollutants such as perchlorate (a chemical used in rocket fuel) are being discovered in soil, groundwater, drinking water, and irrigation water around the country. There are many ways to protect America’s waters.
We can dramatically reduce our current reliance on fossil fuel based energy sources.
By making the switch to renewable energy sources for electricity, such as wind and solar, we can reduce energy consumption. Clean water should not be a luxury, but it is treated as one. To ensure our water resources for the future, its essential that we protect them today.
Having refused to recognize that global warming posed any risk at all over the past eight years, the US now had to take a lead as the world's greatest carbon emitter and the planet's largest economy. With so much propagated information “out there” (California becoming the next Atlantis, Earths sporadic combustion due to smog); it’s hard to know what to take seriously and what to believe. One thing is for certain: Although it’s a long term process, if change isn’t initiated soon, it will never happen.
Sincerely,
Madi Heim
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