I Like 'Doing the Trash'

I think I like 'doing the trash'. Like all dwellers of the Locks abode,
(save Brianna, since she's only 16 months old), I have a few little
chores around the house. They include the occasional shoveling of snow
from the porches and front sidewalk, the mowing of the lawn, the
scouring, drying, putting away (and occasionally chipping) of the
dishes, the fixing of various this-es and that-s, the folding and
putting away of freshly washed clothes, and the appropriate storage and
disposal of the house trash and recycling. Granted, none of these tasks
are remotely grievous, but there is one I realized, just today, that I
really enjoy. I enjoy the taking out of the trash and recycling. (You
may be thinking 'Hey! Those are TWO tasks-trash and recycling.' Not in
my book, buddy. They are accomplished at the same time, and they are
kept in the same way-station under the sink, and moved to the same
general area of refuse along the side of the house. So, there).

Every Tuesday and Thursday evenings around 7:00, I conduct this task. I
gather up all the trash and recycling in the house, remembering that
little black trash can in the bathroom. To simplify the process for the
reader, I track it all into the correct containers. I place it all in
the other correct containers outside, along the side of the house. The
neighbor's flood light illumines the way. Then, I return with the
freshly-emptied trash and recycling containers, kick off my 'outside
shoes', and slide the back door shut. I open up the doors under the
sink and replace the containers, where they will dutifully wait until
the next morning, until my wife deposits the oatmeal box or the junk
mail from the post. It's not long until they are all full again.

Why do I enjoy this chore above the others, or at all? This, my
friend, is a microcosm of life, much overlooked for its rich metaphor.
I've realized that taking out the trash effects a comfortable sort of
closure, compartmentalization, and sense of accomplishment. The whole
of personal actualization is right there.

Closure, because I get to see the remnants of meals, mail, and
materials nefarious. It's the end of the edges of things. The
leftovers. And it's a good feeling to see them go. Away, things we
don't need! Be gone! Simply! No more potato peelings, King Sooper ads
or...whatever THAT thing is.

Compartmentalization. "A place for everthing and everything in its
place"-Ben Franklin (or Janet Jackson, I don't remember which). Anyway,
there are specific places under the sink for each type of recycling and
the general refuse. What a meditation it is, to gather and remove it,
piece by piece, category by category, to the correct bin outside.
"Order, above all. Sometimes."-me

Doing the trash also lends a sense of accomplishment to my life. After
I'm done, I take a deep breath, stand back and think "Wow. I've really
made a dent in this whole 'home ' thing. I'm quite the home dweller. My
wife and child must really feel safe and comfortable here because of
me! I deserve a beer." So I do.

There aren't many things in our existence that are sure things: the
proverbial death and taxes, the effect of human-produced greenhouse
gases and resulting rise in global temperatures, the inevitable return
of halter tops...and trash. To be able to squarely and confidently
negotiate such a universal and weighty issue...that's a pretty big
deal.

We get our bags at Costco. Sometimes I try to smush the kitchen trash
down so I can skip Tuesday nights. It usually works.