We went to the market this morning because Saturdays are getting incredibly crowded. We were surprised by how many people were there including the full range of vendors, though our favorite egg people weren’t there- we’ll see them on Saturday.

Shopping this way not only saves money and provides entertainment, it alerts you to what’s available locally and when. It’s still early but local asparagus is nearly over. There’s still plenty from New Jersey (The Garden State) which seems pretty local to me but Boo disagrees- she thinks there is a difference. 300 hundred miles of trucking I guess.

This past year we went almost every week, even in the dead of winter. The stalls morph into tents with propane heaters blasting and everyone has a chill somewhere. The local produce is things like cabbage, potatoes, apples-things that store well. You can still get nearly anything else from far off places. At least we’re thinking about the carbon cost when we pick up fruit from South America.

The food business in America amazes me. For low artificially low prices we can get virtually anything, anytime. When I was in Paris a few years ago we arrived early on a Saturday at the apartment we rented in Marais. Though lagged we wanted to wander and the first place we found was a weekly street market. I’d always heard about the quality of French fresh food but this was totally amazing. Perfect rows of glistening shrimp lovingly packed in ice, table after table of beautiful fruit and vegetables with literally dozens of varieties of each type. It was a cook’s paradise though I certainly was not planning on spending time cooking in the food capital of the Western world!

That night we had our first French meal in a restaurant in Place de Vosges, the amazing medieval plaza that fills an entire block. The highlight was incredible asparagus served with a lemony hollandaise. They were very thick and a pale green and melted in your mouth like no vegetable I’d eaten before. When Carol (my ex and still friend) bit into her order the expression on her face was priceless. Perhaps we’ll achieve that degree of subtlety and appreciation for our food in a few hundred years- though it may have taken a planetary crisis to force us down that path.

We live in a society where upgrading generally means paying more but also getting more, a logical path in capitalist societies. I am a believer in capitalism because we’ve seen over and over that without some kind of incentive people tend to under-perform- vis a vis the Soviet Union for example. This is not at odds with my stance on stuff because regardless of how idealistic I might be (not very, to be honest) I know that we’re unlikely to be happy living in a cave wrapped in a smelly bearskin.

The paradox is that quality of life is not in any way based on how much you pay, if you take the time to make good choices. As I’ve written about I recently made a move to save some money on housing costs. I looked at a lot of apartments and chose one of five I looked at in the same building. When I made that choice several weeks ago I probably spent all of five minutes in the apartment I picked. I really couldn’t remember a lot of details about it and was keeping my fingers crossed that I had not made a poor decision. Given that I was paying several hundred dollars less than my previous place I expected compromises when I actually saw the place after committing to it.

Long story short, it is much nicer than my last place. This got me thinking about choices when we acquire things. I shop every week at our Public Market on Saturday mornings. It is more than shopping, it’s like a village market day where you know the vendors, familiar faces are everywhere and sitting at one of the cafes means carrying on a steady stream of conversations. Don’t get me wrong- this is not some idyllic West Coast town. Our population is over a million, the market is large and filled with a lot of Chinese container junk in addition to the fruit, fish, flower and meat merchants and the neighborhood where it is located is riddled with boarded up houses- you’d avoid it on non-market days. However the shopping is far better than our local groceries (Wegmans) which are widely heralded as the best in the country, and far cheaper.

Examples abound. A small well-designed and built house can be a better place to live than a MacMansion knocked together by drunken contractors whose only quality criteria is how fast they can work. My 2008 Civic is a better car than my 2004 Accord which was a very good car- and the Civic was $5000 less and gets 6 miles more per gallon, saving me even more money.

Electronics are another example. I replaced a company-supplied top of the line MacBook Pro with the cheapest plastic MacBook when I left that job. I see very little difference except for the screen being smaller and the Macbook weighing a lot less. MacBook Pro= $2600, MacBook= $1300.

So housing, food, transportation and tools can all be had for much less, with zero sacrifice, if you change your perspective about how you make buying decisions. It’s not rocket science and it can be a lot more fun- when is the last time you looked forward to grocery shopping?

I am moving this weekend. I’m moving from a fairly luxurious 2 bedroom apartment to a smaller but very nice one bedroom in an Art Deco building in the same neighborhood. The move is going to save me $400/month in rent and utilities, enough to spend an extra weekend in NY every couple of months. I’m thrilled about it.

Downsizing means looking closely at all of your stuff and clearing out the things you don’t need. In my case 75% of my books were either donated to the library store or curbed because of being old. The curbed ones disappeared instantly. I also got rid of any clothing I have not worn in the past year and any kitchen stuff that I don’t ever use. The feeling you get when you let this stuff go is amazing.

The Buddhists know that desire for material things causes suffering. These days I literally feel weighed down by my stuff and there is very little that I feel any strong connection with, excepting personal things made by or given by friends and family. My father died last fall and I have a copper vessel he made on my coffee table. It is priceless to me. Not much else is.

The current recession is causing most of my friends to reevaluate the things we value vs. those we covet. I talked with my friend Danny who, when he downsized, got rid of boxes of old magazines and a lot of other stuff. His friends told him to sell it on Ebay but he recycled via the curb like I did- and said it was liberating.

This trend- and I believe a lot of people are onboard- is a sea change for American society. Our realization that we have been foolish in our endless need for more stuff is not reversible. I’ll never be buying a luxury car, a big house or a giant TV no matter what my financial situation is. I simply have no need for the ego boost these things represent.

I believe many of my fellow boomers are coming to the same conclusion. We’re a rebellious lot and we’re actively rebelling against excess. And you know what? Life is a lot simpler without all that crap.

Franke’s visual essays have been spreading virally over the past few years with mentions on major blog sites like Kottke and Treehugger. Now they are gathered together in a book, Bothered by My Green Conscience (New Society) and I think it gives us a very good reason to still value having a bound and printed object that we can share without peering into a screen.

Franke’s essays are illustrated guides to her process of changing internally and externally- we literally see into the conscious and unconscious thought process as she decides to take real action in dealing with the personal effects of climate change. Not content to simply change lightbulbs and stop drinking bottled water, Franke (with her husband) sells her SUV, rips up her driveway and plants a garden (battling a confused bureaucracy in the process) and writes a moving letter to her unborn grandchildren, a letter bemoaning in advance our pitiful lack of effort to improve a world we’re destroying. This essay, To My Future Grandkids in 2020, goes beyond the humor of the situational earlier essays and paints a poignant picture as Franke attempts to explain our collective failure to change things now when change is required- an explanation written for a generation yet to come.

The essays must be seen to be appreciated. Combining text, illustration and collage, they express the messiness of creativity and the beauty of action. This really is a book to give to your friends and family. Though we’ve never met in person, Franke and I are friends, separated by 80 miles of Lake Ontario water. We’ve been corresponding for several years now and I’ve had the pleasure of seeing these essays appear on her blog. When the book arrived in my mail I realized that they were deeper and more thought-provoking when revisited in this format.