Time had warped in front of our eyes, wrapping us up, twisting us around, and around, around, around. Wednesday. The first time in weeks neither of us were subject to morning commitments and we could embrace a slow-paced, mid-morning meal.
The eggs sizzled underneath the clear glass lid, yolks resisting the urge to cook. The fragrant smell of baked sweet potatoes and rosemary filled the basement suite. A Sunday breakfast was soon to be ready. Although, as said before, it was Wednesday.
Coffee sat in the french press, yet to be plunged, there were two minutes left to steep. Accompanying the coffee were two glasses, apple juice, forks, and an arrangement of cacti. My wife sat at the table, patiently waiting while conjuring thoughts of productivity that would surely consume the day.
Our assortment of cacti and succulents.
Eggs were laid upon a sweet potato base with a final addition of crumbled feta. Bon Appétit. A moment we had, unbeknownst to us, been waiting for. Casual conversation covered topics including, but not limited to, plants, cars, bikes, houses, jobs, chores, gardens, podcasts, woodworking, sewing, and tea.
The “chores” conversation most relevant to the day ahead, resurfaced like a buoy in a maddening storm.
“We should probably….”
Back to the depths with yee!
“I want to clean…”
Oh no you don’t!
“Let’s make a list of to-dos”
Ooo, a list? Okay.
The list, like a beanstalk, grew and grew! Oh my, how tall the list became, it felt as if I was climbing it with my eyes! Soon our 3x5 page in the notebook was nearing capacity, I feared that the day would last forever with such a boundless list.
But! With the two of us, we surely can complete all these tasks!
Far from quickening our joyous pace of breakfast, we resumed our casual conversations and dropped the tasks of the day. Then, without the slightest warning, the garbage truck scooped up our neighbor's bin and dumped it with horrifying shaking and thrashing.
“At least our bin is safe under the stairs” we telepathically gloated…
SHIT!
Our can is under the stairs!
Glass recycling, garbage, recycling, deposit cans, non-deposit cans - under the stairs.
It had been a couple weeks since our last garbage day and there was no more jumping in the bin that would allow for further household disposal. It was, in the full sense of the word, glutted.
With the speed and agility of a starved leopard, I lept to my feet and towards the mess of shoes coagulated at the front door. My feet, lacking the usual socks, could not quickly slip into any proper shoes. In addition to the lack of socks, who could spare the time to lace up shoes?!
The garbage truck passed by our house. The neighbors’ bin to the east now suffered the same fate. A ruthless inverted shaking saved for only the most vile of bins.
Suddenly, my eyes looked upon the choice pair of shoes. Crocs. Light, airy, easy-on, and, in case you were wondering, Four-Wheel Drive. I flipped back the four-wheel drive mode and knew that I was in for the race of a lifetime. As I burst through the door I heard my fretting wife say “There’s three weeks of garbage in there! It’s too heavy, you’ll never make it!” Stopped in my tracks, I turned “I’ve got to try!”.
Four-wheel Drive crocs.
The way I handled the bin, spun it around, and began to push made me feel like a country swing-dancing star, as if all my disorderly dancing had led up to this point. With the bin in front of me, I sprinted down the middle of the neighborhood street, hoping that the driver of the garbage truck would spot me and, out of sympathy, stop.
The universe had aligned! The intermittent dumpster that was fed the household bins was full and needed to be purged into the rear of the massive reeking vehicle. The garbage truck stood still, as did time. Swerving, breathing heavily in my unscripted, breakfast-interrupting sprint, I pulled up beside the operator of the vehicle. “May I?” I wheezed. A silent, but reassuring nod gave me the go-ahead. I wheeled the bin to the side of the road and stood back. The hydraulic arm clutched the bin, inverted it, and shook madly as if garbage had been packed down over a period of time….The empty bin returned to the pavement, unscathed.
I stood by my loyal garbage bin as the garbage truck passed by and continued gorging on neighborhood bins. Grabbing the bin by a handle, I casually strolled back towards breakfast. My head held high, chest puffed out (most likely a recovery tactic), and triumphant as ever I returned the bin under the stairs.
I entered the house to resume, what had been, a lovely breakfast. I slipped off my crocs and returned them to their casual walking mode, making sure to appreciate their diverse uses. “If it hadn’t been for crocs and four-wheel drive, I’m not sure I would’ve made it” My wife rolled her eyes, her disgust for my shoes not quite hidden. “Come have a seat” she sighed.
That’s exactly what I did.
Emptied out and back home.