The community mental health agency for which I work has finally gone green. I am thrilled with this change. While the agency has always contracted with an authorized document shredder company, now all paper can be recycled. In addition to the usual stuff for recycling -- cans and plastic containers with the appropriate recycle number -- the company chosen by the agency to pick up our stuff for future roads and books and more soda cans will even recycle Styrofoam containers. To celebrate this departure from business as usual which usually involved putting whatever wasn't protected by federal privacy laws right into the trash, the agency gave every employee a cup for coffee, tea, soup, oatmeal -- you know all that goes into work place cups -- and stopped providing plastic forks or spoons or knives and, yes, Styrofoam cups. Since I had been one of the driving forces behind this change, I truly had no complains about any part of the new way of doing things.
That's why today I ate my Jello with a fork.
Next time I put Jello in my lunch box I will try to remember that it's not finger food.
But, then, that's what change is all about -- trying to remember to forget the old ways of doing things or of being. It's just that sometimes change means that we eat Jello with a fork.