OK. I'll admit it. I'm beginning to panic just the tiniest bit. Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. A week from Monday a friend arrives from Wales for a ten day visit. On top of the two jobs I already have, I am starting to get some caroling "gigs". And, as usual, I am less than a step ahead of the Board of Health when it comes to the house.
Now the good news is that our town has just instituted those huge trash bins for each home, one for trash, one for recycles. They sit in the garage for most of the week, and we fill them with the odd little bag here and there, then roll them out to the street where the massive trucks load and dump them mechanically. Our bins are almost empty, though, and for some reason this is bugging me.
Now the good news is that our town has just instituted those huge trash bins for each home, one for trash, one for recycles. They sit in the garage for most of the week, and we fill them with the odd little bag here and there, then roll them out to the street where the massive trucks load and dump them mechanically. Our bins are almost empty, though, and for some reason this is bugging me.
It is becoming a challenge to try to fill those babies more every week. Somehow, if I make this into a game it becomes easier to tidy up. My Saturday morning will be split between piles of leaves (they pick them up anytime after 7:00AM, so the game there is "How many bags can I fill before I hear the truck?") and how much can I fit into the new bins so it doesn't feel like a total waste of time for the poor sanitary engineers to lift them onto the truck.
It's amazing what you find you can live without. What I used to consider treasures I now look at, shrug, and pitch in total confusion. "Huh?" I say to myself, "Why did I hang onto THIS?" My hopes are high for the weekend. My only current problem is that buried somewhere in the landfill which is my home is the head of the vacuum cleaner, and that's going to slow me down until it floats to the top.
The older I get the less I want around me, although you would certainly never guess that if you saw the house. Himself says if we ever move, we are each allowed "one prayer mat, one saffron robe, and one rice bowl" and it sounds tempting. To each piece of memorabilia (a polite word for "junk") there is a memory attached with a steel cable. The monologue in my head goes like this: "God, that's ugly. But Mom gave it to me, so I can't throw it away." Every so often I manage to grapple with the idea that the "present" is not "Mom" so I actually CAN throw it away, although I might take a picture of it before I do. You get the idea. Multiplied by three hundred items at a conservative estimate, and I've got some work to do. The fun part is once in a while I unearth something I haven't seen or thought about in years, and it's like going shopping without spending any money (which is also how I viewed my bridal registry). So now it's off to work at both jobs before plunging head first into the piles tomorrow. I may not be seen again until spring.
It's amazing what you find you can live without. What I used to consider treasures I now look at, shrug, and pitch in total confusion. "Huh?" I say to myself, "Why did I hang onto THIS?" My hopes are high for the weekend. My only current problem is that buried somewhere in the landfill which is my home is the head of the vacuum cleaner, and that's going to slow me down until it floats to the top.
The older I get the less I want around me, although you would certainly never guess that if you saw the house. Himself says if we ever move, we are each allowed "one prayer mat, one saffron robe, and one rice bowl" and it sounds tempting. To each piece of memorabilia (a polite word for "junk") there is a memory attached with a steel cable. The monologue in my head goes like this: "God, that's ugly. But Mom gave it to me, so I can't throw it away." Every so often I manage to grapple with the idea that the "present" is not "Mom" so I actually CAN throw it away, although I might take a picture of it before I do. You get the idea. Multiplied by three hundred items at a conservative estimate, and I've got some work to do. The fun part is once in a while I unearth something I haven't seen or thought about in years, and it's like going shopping without spending any money (which is also how I viewed my bridal registry). So now it's off to work at both jobs before plunging head first into the piles tomorrow. I may not be seen again until spring.
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