Trash

Long ago, I saved the covers from the TV Guide. Why? It was there? Something about a Very Special Issue, maybe. My mother always bought the Guide, and I'd read through it on Sunday afternoon, planning my week. That crossword was the only puzzle my mother would do, and I'd join in.

At a certain point, cleaning my room, I took down all the ones taped to the slanting wall and threw every one away. Saved a few for a week, then tossed them as well. It all seemed cheesy, tatty, and more than a little pointless.

Never had trouble sorting through and discarding.

Had a sort of boyfriend in junior high, and when he still hadn't tried to kiss me after many months, I ended it in exasperation and ennui. Threw away everything I associated with him and stopped myself thinking about him. A decision I never regretted, pick off the scab and be done.

In innumerable moves(22,to enumerate) I have discarded more than I have at any moment possessed. Lost things have rarely wanted me back.

Even when I left the ex, with one car load and not much else, the only item regrets were the wine glasses from my friend that he smashed, a few lost recipes, and a record of Carmina Burana by a French group on historical instruments without the Orffisms. I'd love to have that recording again, but it's in my head anyway, really.

When we left Boston I discarded the Raggedy Ann my brothers had given me as a small girl. She was deteriorating badly, and I'd not been in contact with either brother for many years. D questioned this, made sure I meant it, and said no more. Over the past couple of years, after the attempt to re-approach family, I'm quite sure leaving behind the stuffing and tearing fabric was right.

Taking time this weekend to thin some of the accumulation, a bit at a time. Not to the point of a yard sale, sadly. Mostly just garbage not worth taking to a thrift store. Recycle the plastic and paper, discard the rest. When we moved in, sorting seemed too daunting, so we moved it all with the intention of weeding later. Not knowing what might or might not be useful.

It's not that more needs to be done, it's that this is a constant, endemic to life. Remember learning that the Ambassador Bridge was constantly being painted, finish one end, start again at the other. As a kid, this seemed worse than washing dishes, never done. Now, I find this reassuring, every part of life takes in, and needs cleaning and repair.

Our new neighbors are gone for a week, and I have been eying their weeds. She isn't interested in gardening, and he is a surgical resident (not ortho, I won't be working with him), so their lovely xeriscaped garden is looking unkempt. I attacked it this morning, and pulled the spurge and spiky weed. Hope they don't mind, I won't admit to doing it. Well, not precisely admit, as such. If asked, "... I may have done..." I felt sad for a lovely bit of landscaping, and fearful of spread. No blame, just, a need to do what I can. Filled their yard waste bin. But I can take that out to the curb before they get back. D will have to bring it in Monday afternoon, but he's agreed.

Food in, shit out. Good stuff in, garbage out. Everything wears out, erodes, washes away. My life as well, in due course. I find this rather reassuring, won't be cluttering up the place beyond my time. Hope to be food for something, then.