Page 13 - S35.Summer 2019
P. 13

  this were a weekly chore. They discarded with ease and abandon.
As the attendant approached to scan my stick- er, panic again struck. Everyone had BACKED THEIR VEHICLES into the parking spots in front of the hop- pers! It was my turn and there was one open spot left in front of the middle hopper.
BOOP. “Whadaya got today?” the friendly gent asked. I listed each item, becoming more and more nervous that I’d screw up this simple task. I was, at least, dressed appropriately.
I tried to listen carefully. “Okay!” He ticked off the list of what goes where. “Metal in the first dump- ster, plastic in the second, and anything burnable in the third dumpster.”
Huh? “Okay,” I dutifully replied. My throat was dry. “How’s that again?” Jeez. I should have written it all down. Retention is not my strong suit.
He repeated the procedure. nodded (fairly clue- less), pulled around and prepared to back into the lone parking spot. I got lucky. A nice gentleman stopped unloading his trash and guided me into the parking spot. As if I were backing in a jet plane with great precision. Perfect. I relaxed — a little.
I quickly surveyed the contents of each dump- ster. (Heyyyy. . . that’s a good chair in there! I can refinish that! Okay —NOT why I’m here.) I opened the hatch. First out was the unwieldy trel- lis. “Need help with that?” It was the guy who guided me onto the tarmac. Not wait- ing for my response, he yanked it out and tossed it in the metal dumpster and drove off as I shouted
“Thank you!”
There’s no time for dilly-dallying down at the transfer station. Do your biz and get the heck out. I managed to sort and discard to the appropriate dumpsters. (Wondering, of course, if anyone really checks to make sure the plastic items aren’t mixed in with the metal items.)
And there, in my car, sat the lonely clay swan. Is terra cotta burnable? I’d have to walk behind several cars to dispose of her. I certainly didn’t want to com- mit a faux pas down
here at the transfer
station. I grabbed her
by the neck, then let
her go. Ah, this boo-
merang will have to
spend yet another
summer at home. I
took her back and
filled her with purple
petunias. She’s sit-
ting pretty in the sun-
shine, minding her
own business.
Garden notes to self — chalk ‘em before I forget!
Since my side of
the shed is now tidy,
I moved in a good-sized work bench which holds pots, hooks, tools, gloves, etc., at the ready. Still try- ing to get the husband to hammer in some nails on his side to actual hang the camp chairs and cano- pies that clutter the floor on his side.
On a whim, I covered the inside of my shed door with black chalkboard paint. Not sure where I saw this, but it’s so fun! I leave garden notes to myself, plus the dates that I Miracle-Gro the vegetable gar- den, so I don’t over-fertilize. Now that it’s neat and clean, I no longer fear the cobwebs and creepy- crawlies that once graced the shed’s interior.
Plus, if my husband still refuses to clean out his side, I can always leave him a lovely note inside the shed door.
  A reprieve! Here is Swanny in all her summer glory.

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