I had a hectic morning. I woke up at 6:00 am enjoyed breakfast; I/2 a bagel with cheese slice took all my pills, threw the ball for the doggies. Then I retrieved the mail from the mailbox, checked email and Facebook, enjoyed a lovely lunch consisting of a turkey sandwich on rye and a dill pickle. After enduring all of that commotion and activity, now it’s time for my afternoon nap. I settled into my “Comfy Chair,” turned on the television, put on a Gunsmoke episode, turned the volume down low so I could fall asleep, pulled my comfy throw over my legs, and settled in for a delightful cruise to napland. Then I felt a tugging on my left shoulder; my wife told me its garbage day and that I had to take out the bag of trash from the kitchen trash can. As I reluctantly tried to bring myself mentally up to the level of physically moving, I fell fast asleep.
I began dreaming of days gone by. I dreamed I was in Royal Oak, and I was back in my teenage years. I came home from school, snacked on anything that was not moving or green in the refrigerator. Opening the fridge in those days was an adventure. Hunger would eliminate any thoughts of how old the food was and turned to satiate the hunger pangs. I learned by experimentation that everything would taste good with either ketchup or salsa on it. Leftover tuna noodle casserole was the exception to that rule.
The phone rang, and it was my mom reminding me to take out the garbage. Little did I know that taking out the trash was a lifelong chore that never goes away, like cooking and doing dishes. I thought that my Grandpa Harry had this under control. He and Grandma placed the trash in one of three receptacles. One was for paper & burnable items; one was for cans and other non-burnable items, and the other was for foodstuff. The burnable things he carried down once a week, and I enjoyed watching this event. He had a massive gas-fired heating unit and a magic box on the side of it marked “Incinerator” He would jam it packed full and pull the lever on to turn on the fire of “Hades.” It would burn up everything he had crammed in. then he would pull the lever back down and pull out the ashtray and dump it in the can-marked ashes. Once a month, he would take the ashcan out and dump it into the trash can. The non-burnable can would go out to the street, and the foodstuff can would go to the backyard and be dumped into the compost pile to be used for his rose garden.
Of course, he would say to me, “C’mon Joey, let’s take out the trash! Still dreaming, I heard the phone ring; mom again asked me if I took out the trash. Once again, I woke up to my wife sternly saying, “Joel did you take out the trash yet?” I grumbled about taking out the trash, and she piped up with,” Let’s make a deal, you do all the cooking and cleaning, and I will take out the trash!”
Very quickly, I jumped out and took out the trash. The next thing to work on is putting the seat down on the toilet thing every time!
“Remember, every day is a gift! Some are just a little more fun to open than others. – © Joel M. Vernier 03/21/2021 Author of: “The Guinea Pig In The Freezer.”
