Everything old, everything new; and when we can make a game of it why not? As the weeks of quarantine go on, the cleaning bug seems to have checked in, well, that is, for some of us.
Note: If I didn't clean out the closet without a fire on my rear and a really good reason such as painting and carpet being laid, I'm not going to do it now because I'm bored. Besides the things one finds when you haven't cleaned the shelves (I swear I didn't know they were there) for 30 years are either ruined, unfashionable, surprising and sometimes appalling.
I mentioned in an earlier post of my finding a tiny box with my Mother's hand-writing and just my name. Before opening I was trembling with anticipation of what could be so lovingly preserved all these years; notes of wisdom, jewelry, pictures. I opened it with all the angst of a teen-ager still believing in magic and mystery to find....HAIR from my first haircut apparently. Thanks Mom.
Among the "treasures" (many are tossed and few are chosen) I also found one of the early versions of instant photo cameras that created those itty bitty pictures that fade every time you pull them out into the light of day. Also shoes, shoes and more shoes. Why are there so many shoes and in pristine condition I might add. Ok, my secret passion is buying cute shoes. I mean I wore those horrendous moon shoes in the '70's that sloped upwards. Ugly as sin, but actually quite comfortable. When did this fascination with cute high-heeled numbers happen? I think my tastes changed when I realized: 1) I am short; and, 2) I can walk miles in spike heels and platform sandals! Now there are few occasions to practice my art, but I still have the collection pieces. I also had a mad collection of steel-toed work boots.
I digress. As a safety guru I perfected the changing of clothes and shoes while driving to an accident scene. Those high steppers won't do so well on most worksites and it usually impacts credibility. However there was one episode when I got a frantic call of a possible fatality at a construction site close to the office. I raced out dressed in 3 inch heels and fancy duds to the scene. I remember pacing back and forth at the metal fence until a workman on the scene motioned for me to "gracefully" leap over the fence and he caught me. I was on my own and slogged through the mud, the blood and the beer. After CPR successfully revived the victim, I accompanied the ambulance to the hospital where I tried to explain I represented the company while sporting a pair of mud-caked patent leathers. Fortunately I was pushy, though messy.
Back to trash. As the weeks wear on, we are all highly entertained by anything going on outside our windows, nose pressed to glass if you will. Why does that one house have NINE cars around it? Are they running a small manufacturing company? Who is that dude walking by 4 times a day in a stocking cap - neighbor or interloper? Who is sneaky with their dog poo and who is conscientious about clean-up, though clean-ups are more the norm as "everybody's watching" . They're getting a delivery across the street, but I can't quite see what they're unloading. We're all on a first name basis with UPS, FEDEX and Amazon Prime folks but binoculars are now part of the front room furnishings.
But the best show is trash day.
Three different companies ply their trade on our street with a different day for each. We suffered with one company that was cheaper but erratic in both appearance and billing for a few years before cutting the cord. "But he's such a nice guy" when one ventured onto social media to ask has anyone seen so-and-so? You would be verbally pummeled by casting any shade his way. One guy, one truck-you do the math. Yes he was hardworking as he picked up at 10 pm sometimes, or 3 days late, and billing was six months to a year behind, but he's such a nice guy. I have to admit it's rather boring now that we have contracted with the standard big kahuna haulers. Always Wednesday between 9 and 10 am, every week, billing online. Where is the adventure, the romance, and the cussing when your lone can sits out there for days and you take abuse when you call for an update. I miss that.
However, checking how much trash and the nature of it is the big whoop for the day as you surreptitiously scope out the neighbors' offerings. Families and the very organized usually have a bulging giant can with a few plastic orphans hanging on, one hand on the can so to speak, to show they really belong and are worthy of pickup.
Recycle is a whole other thing however. My cans, bottles, newspapers and cardboard have taken up residence in 1/3 of the garage spilling merrily over the sides of the giant recycle bins that now have no where to go but plenty to wear. However I am loathe to just put it in the trash. Recycle is too ingrained and I am too cheap to buy the extra recycle service. My fervent hope is the quarantine ends before the recycle totally takes over.
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