If my Saturday were greenly perfect, this is what it would look like:
In the morning, I’d get up and ride my bike to the Nelson Community Market (opens at 9am in the Rockfish Valley Community Center off Rt. 151). There I would partake of community pancakes, then buy a pair of earrings for my mom from the nice lady who makes earrings, and a jar of local honey for my dad.
Then I’d drive my electric car to the Habitat Store, get my picture taken with Santa (9am-noon), whisper in his ear my wish for about six more sets of glass tupperware, and make a donation so the store can keep salvaging perfectly good construction materials in 2009.
Readers: This here is, as bloggers say, the "break." Feel free, at this point, to scroll on down to "comments" and put forth your own ideal-green-Saturday ideas. Or just keep on readin’.
Then I’d take the bus out to the Waldorf School for their holiday bazaar (9am-2pm), where I’d learn to make my own wreath so I don’t have to buy one at The Wal-Mart of Evil, and then pick up a sewed-by-a-real-person handbag for my sister-in-law. Then I’d take the long walk to the holiday farmer’s market at Forest Lakes (10am-3pm in the North Recreational Poolhouse and Pavilion) where I’d buy as many jars of local jam as I could comfortably stuff in my backpack—at least six, one for each of my aunts.
Then I’d collapse into a virtuous but exhausted huddle, rejuvenate by eating the most calorie-rich thing I could find on the menu at Rev Soup, and rouse myself for one final stop: the Innisfree Village holiday open house (10am-5pm), reached via a helicopter that runs on native grasses, where I would buy some pottery and weavings for my brothers, who do not like such things, but should learn to be grateful for what they are given.
Back at home (donkey power!), I would experience a moment of regret that I had forgotten to take the trolley to the Holiday City Market on the Downtown Mall (10am-5pm), but then I’d remember that it’ll still be happening next week, and every week until Christmas.
And then I’d help myself to a big glass of Virginia Viognier and fall asleep with visions of sugarplums—local sugarplums, which I wonder if I could get at IY—dancing in my head.
What’d I forget, reader-elves?