March 25, 2020
I hope this essay finds you well and safe. I won’t say happy, because that is a difficult state for anyone to attain these days—anyone but the most determined, that is.
I continue to be saddened and alarmed at the number of people who persist in the belief that this pandemic is either not that serious, or worse—that it’s some sort of a trick or hoax perpetrated by members of “the other tribe”.
This is real. This is serious. In fact, it’s real serious. This Covid-19 is so contagious, and it is not airborne. It spreads by contact, as far as they know so far. What could be simpler, really than this: stay home, reduce or avoid contact with other people, in order to stay safe, and in so doing, you are saving lives!
You really, truly are. If you don’t come in contact with someone who has the virus, then you cannot contract it, and you cannot pass it on to someone else.
When a fire is burning in a forest, a common practice is to get ahead of it and remove the foliage in its path that it would use as fuel. Firefighters will set a controlled fire, to deny the raging wildfire more fuel. When the hungry flames find only burned fuel, the fire is on the road to going out.
If you have a fire in your frying pan, you don’t go nuts and toss water on it. You cover the pan, cutting off its oxygen (the fuel needed to sustain the fire). When it finds no more oxygen, it goes out.
If you, my friends, isolate yourselves in your homes, let no one in and no one out…you cannot catch this virus. You can’t! It’s common sense; it’s scientific fact, but it is not rocket science. And if everyone would just do that for a couple of weeks—the virus would have no “fuel” to continue raging on.
You’ve heard of the saying, “they also serve who only stand and wait”? You are doing a tremendous service to your fellow human beings by staying home. When you absolutely have to leave your house, protect yourself and others. Practice social distancing. Wear gloves!
Currently, there is no vaccine for this virus, and no medication that will suddenly “cure you”, no matter what the feeble minded may say. It’s just not there yet. It will be one day, but not yet. Have any of you read up on the last really devastating pandemic, the Spanish Influenza of 1918-1919? Here is a direct quote from the CDC website:
The 1918 influenza pandemic was the most severe pandemic in recent history. It was caused by an H1N1 virus with genes of avian origin. Although there is not universal consensus regarding where the virus originated, it spread worldwide during 1918-1919. In the United States, it was first identified in military personnel in spring 1918. It is estimated that about 500 million people or one-third of the world’s population became infected with this virus. The number of deaths was estimated to be at least 50 million worldwide with about 675,000 occurring in the United States.
Here is a link to that site: https://www.cdc.gov/flu/pandemic-resources/1918-pandemic-h1n1.html
One third of the world’s population at the time infected; millions dead. Don’t let this be our fate.
Even if your state or federal government doesn’t order you to “stay at home”, please, do it anyway. If you have elderly relatives, send them e-mails or texts or hell, even letters. Don’t visit them.
In my county, there are now 3 cases of the virus—and all three are tied to travel. So far, there is no community spread here, and I pray that will not change, although I know if very well might.
David and I continue to practice social distancing, and we’ve asked family not to visit. None of us know how long this danger will exist. But it seems to me, that the more we all do our part, then the sooner it will be over.
Until then, please stay safe.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
March 18, 2020
I have an announcement, one of great scientific import, so please pay attention (cue the throat clearing sounds).
Ladies and gentlemen, despite the rumors making the rounds every-fricking where, toilet paper does not prevent contracting Covid-19. I repeat, toilet paper does not prevent the virus, and owning enormous amounts of the commodity does not give you any superpowers.
Furthermore, diarrhea is not a symptom included on the list of symptoms for the coronavirus, that I have seen. The virus is primarily a respiratory infection. It is not a flu, nor like the flu as we generally think of that seasonal malaise.
Experts are at a loss to explain why the toilet paper has been disappearing off the store shelves. Along with dinner napkins and tissues and paper towels. Oh, and now, diapers too, apparently. Diapers? What are you planning to do there, Bubba and Muffy, cut the diapers into useable pieces? And lest anyone thinks this is only happening in your area, it is not; it’s international! Yes, even here in my little hometown in Canada, there is no TP!
Look, I get it. We’re all scared. There’s a virus making the rounds, and the chances of contracting it are not really as low as we’d like to believe they are. Worse, there is no real treatment, and as yet no vaccine. We’ve all been reading up on what to do to protect ourselves. Hand washing, using hand sanitizer when washing isn’t an immediate option, social distancing, and, if we’re lucky, employing face masks.
I would add gloves to that list. We have a box of vinyl gloves in the car, and when we went grocery shopping on Saturday, we put them on before entering the store. I know there are most likely no virus molecules in my area at the moment because there are no cases of the disease in our county; but there will be. So David and I are trying to form good habits now, before it’s a serious matter of immediate concern.
As well, we are only going out for groceries. My next doctor’s appointment is not until May. Other than a weekly trek for supplies, we’re staying home. We’re both over 65 and we both have underlying health conditions. I sincerely hope that everyone who can, stays home.
I’ve been thinking about this a great deal, since it’s become obvious that this virus is invasive and persistent. Because there are no medical answers, no “shot” to go and get, we’re all forced to pay attention to the few common-sense things we can do to mitigate our vulnerability.
But this fear…this fear is more rampant than I ever remember experiencing or witnessing, certainly more prevalent than with any of the past outbreaks we’ve experienced as a modern society. The fear I am sensing is even greater than it was in the days post 9/11.
And it’s the fear that, I believe, is the most damaging side effect of this pandemic.
I have a theory about that. I believe that over the last few years, the population of North America has been living under unprecedented stress. No one can deny that in the United States, especially, anxiety has been high for an extended period of time. The source of this stress is, frankly, politics.
It’s the height of—is irony the right word?—that when so many had begun to have hope for a change in leadership, and an ending of that stress, when they were just so close to a kind of relief, that this virus has struck and for a lot of people, it’s just…too much.
I generally hate clichés, but I want to say that for so many people, the uncertainty and worry brought by Covid-19 are the “straw that broke the camel’s back”. People have lived under enormous stress over the last three years. Fear has been used as a tool, a political tool, and as far as I’m concerned that should be considered the eighth deadly sin. On top of the fear used by politicians, there is the fear that fear causes. Those who take on the manufactured fear are happy to turn around and terrorize others, causing more fear. Incidents of overt racism are up. In the words of my mother, “assholes abound”.
We all need to take a deep breath. We’ve got this. Stay home. If you have to go out, practice social distancing. Otherwise, just stay home. It will not only help to keep you safe, it will give your spirit a break. Stay home as often as you can and relax in the sanctuary of your own home. Tell family and friends that you’re ensuring that if you have the virus, you’re not passing it to them. If you can, see to it that you have 30 days of medications on hand, and at least two weeks of food.
Oh yes. And toilet paper. Don’t forget to get some toilet paper, if you can.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I have an announcement, one of great scientific import, so please pay attention (cue the throat clearing sounds).
Ladies and gentlemen, despite the rumors making the rounds every-fricking where, toilet paper does not prevent contracting Covid-19. I repeat, toilet paper does not prevent the virus, and owning enormous amounts of the commodity does not give you any superpowers.
Furthermore, diarrhea is not a symptom included on the list of symptoms for the coronavirus, that I have seen. The virus is primarily a respiratory infection. It is not a flu, nor like the flu as we generally think of that seasonal malaise.
Experts are at a loss to explain why the toilet paper has been disappearing off the store shelves. Along with dinner napkins and tissues and paper towels. Oh, and now, diapers too, apparently. Diapers? What are you planning to do there, Bubba and Muffy, cut the diapers into useable pieces? And lest anyone thinks this is only happening in your area, it is not; it’s international! Yes, even here in my little hometown in Canada, there is no TP!
Look, I get it. We’re all scared. There’s a virus making the rounds, and the chances of contracting it are not really as low as we’d like to believe they are. Worse, there is no real treatment, and as yet no vaccine. We’ve all been reading up on what to do to protect ourselves. Hand washing, using hand sanitizer when washing isn’t an immediate option, social distancing, and, if we’re lucky, employing face masks.
I would add gloves to that list. We have a box of vinyl gloves in the car, and when we went grocery shopping on Saturday, we put them on before entering the store. I know there are most likely no virus molecules in my area at the moment because there are no cases of the disease in our county; but there will be. So David and I are trying to form good habits now, before it’s a serious matter of immediate concern.
As well, we are only going out for groceries. My next doctor’s appointment is not until May. Other than a weekly trek for supplies, we’re staying home. We’re both over 65 and we both have underlying health conditions. I sincerely hope that everyone who can, stays home.
I’ve been thinking about this a great deal, since it’s become obvious that this virus is invasive and persistent. Because there are no medical answers, no “shot” to go and get, we’re all forced to pay attention to the few common-sense things we can do to mitigate our vulnerability.
But this fear…this fear is more rampant than I ever remember experiencing or witnessing, certainly more prevalent than with any of the past outbreaks we’ve experienced as a modern society. The fear I am sensing is even greater than it was in the days post 9/11.
And it’s the fear that, I believe, is the most damaging side effect of this pandemic.
I have a theory about that. I believe that over the last few years, the population of North America has been living under unprecedented stress. No one can deny that in the United States, especially, anxiety has been high for an extended period of time. The source of this stress is, frankly, politics.
It’s the height of—is irony the right word?—that when so many had begun to have hope for a change in leadership, and an ending of that stress, when they were just so close to a kind of relief, that this virus has struck and for a lot of people, it’s just…too much.
I generally hate clichés, but I want to say that for so many people, the uncertainty and worry brought by Covid-19 are the “straw that broke the camel’s back”. People have lived under enormous stress over the last three years. Fear has been used as a tool, a political tool, and as far as I’m concerned that should be considered the eighth deadly sin. On top of the fear used by politicians, there is the fear that fear causes. Those who take on the manufactured fear are happy to turn around and terrorize others, causing more fear. Incidents of overt racism are up. In the words of my mother, “assholes abound”.
We all need to take a deep breath. We’ve got this. Stay home. If you have to go out, practice social distancing. Otherwise, just stay home. It will not only help to keep you safe, it will give your spirit a break. Stay home as often as you can and relax in the sanctuary of your own home. Tell family and friends that you’re ensuring that if you have the virus, you’re not passing it to them. If you can, see to it that you have 30 days of medications on hand, and at least two weeks of food.
Oh yes. And toilet paper. Don’t forget to get some toilet paper, if you can.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
March 11, 2020
Last week, after I posted Wednesday’s Words, I spent the rest of the morning trying to prepare myself for the day ahead. On February 29th, my brother, my only remaining sibling, passed away. Last Wednesday, March 4th , was the day of the “visitation”. There would be no funeral. There will be, later in the spring, a celebration of his life. But for this one day, there would be an afternoon and then an evening reception of family and friends.
Losing loved ones is the hardest thing we, as humans, have to endure. My entire life has been shaped by loss. When I was eight and a half years old, my father died. Until it happened, I don’t think I understood that the death of a parent was even a possibility. I had already been forced to be apart from my father, when he was in the hospital. He’d had a heart attack, and in those days—in the early 1960s—they didn’t allow children under the age of 12 in the hospital to visit. The best I got was to wave to him, from outside and several floors down.
That early loss shaped me, and the possibility of losing those I loved was like a silent, black cloud in the back of my psyche. Several months after my dad died, my mother had back spasms. This was something that I later learned happened to her from time to time, but it was something I’d never witnessed, something I hadn’t been aware of before. There was my mother, flat on her back on the sofa, in a great deal of pain.
I remember asking my big brother if she was going to die, too.
For years afterward, while I was growing up, if my mother was late coming home, the fear that she’d been in an accident and killed would bubble up. I couldn’t control that. Then, when I was twenty-one, she died suddenly, as she was relaxing in her bedroom. My parents both died young. My father was 47 and my mother 57. And I was a twenty-one year old wife, and mother…and an orphan.
I remember in those early years of adulthood, my brother shared with me the belief that he might live to be fifty, if he was very lucky, but not much more than that. After all, our paternal grandfather died at an early age, too, in his thirties. It seemed the logical assumption, and my brother was nothing if not logical.
Losing loved ones does not get easier with time. My brother was seventy-five when he passed, five months ahead of his 76th birthday. His name was Charles. His wife, and friends would call him either Charlie or Chuck. Mom always called him Charles, and yes, I did, too. He was named for both of our grandfathers, as both had shared the same first name.
He had the family sense of humor, and in his early to teen years, I was his favorite foil. The parades on Canada Day, he had asserted, were for him, as that was his birthday too. I believed it when I was four or five, because he was my big brother. He played a few pranks on me, and got a bit of a comeuppance twice, that I recall: the day that he told me to stay outside until I caught a bird. I did, releasing it into the house about ten minutes before our parents were due home. And the time he fashioned a noose beside my swing, and I, being a stupid nine-year-old child, tried to use it, thinking it had to be a trick and wasn’t any danger to me at all. I don’t know what mother did to punish him, but she saw the whole thing, so I’m guessing it was fierce.
We had a bond, a closer one than I ever shared with my sister. He suffered a stroke last June. He never fully regained his strength from that, though he was walking with a walker, and talking, and his mind was still sharp as a tack. And then he had another on February 16th—which was also the 105th anniversary of our father’s birth. It was a devastating stroke, and he never regained consciousness, though he was slightly responsive in the first few days that followed. While visiting with him, I spoke to him, and I stroked his hand. He reached out and closed his hand over mine.
No, losing loved ones does not get easier with practice. But it does bring you to a sense of inevitability, and for me, it’s brought me to a place where I can achieve some perspective and some peace. My faith tells me this life is not all. It’s not even most. For the here and now, I tell you truly that we would never really know joy in our lives, if we did not first know sorrow.
And as long as I can keep the memories alive in my mind and in my heart, it really isn’t a case of goodbye forever.
It’s till we meet again.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Last week, after I posted Wednesday’s Words, I spent the rest of the morning trying to prepare myself for the day ahead. On February 29th, my brother, my only remaining sibling, passed away. Last Wednesday, March 4th , was the day of the “visitation”. There would be no funeral. There will be, later in the spring, a celebration of his life. But for this one day, there would be an afternoon and then an evening reception of family and friends.
Losing loved ones is the hardest thing we, as humans, have to endure. My entire life has been shaped by loss. When I was eight and a half years old, my father died. Until it happened, I don’t think I understood that the death of a parent was even a possibility. I had already been forced to be apart from my father, when he was in the hospital. He’d had a heart attack, and in those days—in the early 1960s—they didn’t allow children under the age of 12 in the hospital to visit. The best I got was to wave to him, from outside and several floors down.
That early loss shaped me, and the possibility of losing those I loved was like a silent, black cloud in the back of my psyche. Several months after my dad died, my mother had back spasms. This was something that I later learned happened to her from time to time, but it was something I’d never witnessed, something I hadn’t been aware of before. There was my mother, flat on her back on the sofa, in a great deal of pain.
I remember asking my big brother if she was going to die, too.
For years afterward, while I was growing up, if my mother was late coming home, the fear that she’d been in an accident and killed would bubble up. I couldn’t control that. Then, when I was twenty-one, she died suddenly, as she was relaxing in her bedroom. My parents both died young. My father was 47 and my mother 57. And I was a twenty-one year old wife, and mother…and an orphan.
I remember in those early years of adulthood, my brother shared with me the belief that he might live to be fifty, if he was very lucky, but not much more than that. After all, our paternal grandfather died at an early age, too, in his thirties. It seemed the logical assumption, and my brother was nothing if not logical.
Losing loved ones does not get easier with time. My brother was seventy-five when he passed, five months ahead of his 76th birthday. His name was Charles. His wife, and friends would call him either Charlie or Chuck. Mom always called him Charles, and yes, I did, too. He was named for both of our grandfathers, as both had shared the same first name.
He had the family sense of humor, and in his early to teen years, I was his favorite foil. The parades on Canada Day, he had asserted, were for him, as that was his birthday too. I believed it when I was four or five, because he was my big brother. He played a few pranks on me, and got a bit of a comeuppance twice, that I recall: the day that he told me to stay outside until I caught a bird. I did, releasing it into the house about ten minutes before our parents were due home. And the time he fashioned a noose beside my swing, and I, being a stupid nine-year-old child, tried to use it, thinking it had to be a trick and wasn’t any danger to me at all. I don’t know what mother did to punish him, but she saw the whole thing, so I’m guessing it was fierce.
We had a bond, a closer one than I ever shared with my sister. He suffered a stroke last June. He never fully regained his strength from that, though he was walking with a walker, and talking, and his mind was still sharp as a tack. And then he had another on February 16th—which was also the 105th anniversary of our father’s birth. It was a devastating stroke, and he never regained consciousness, though he was slightly responsive in the first few days that followed. While visiting with him, I spoke to him, and I stroked his hand. He reached out and closed his hand over mine.
No, losing loved ones does not get easier with practice. But it does bring you to a sense of inevitability, and for me, it’s brought me to a place where I can achieve some perspective and some peace. My faith tells me this life is not all. It’s not even most. For the here and now, I tell you truly that we would never really know joy in our lives, if we did not first know sorrow.
And as long as I can keep the memories alive in my mind and in my heart, it really isn’t a case of goodbye forever.
It’s till we meet again.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, March 4, 2020
March 4, 2020
Isn’t there some sort of a saying that maintains that the project of room remodeling is a case of the never-ending story? I ask, not for a friend, but because that seems to be the path that we’re on at the moment.
As you may recall, we began before Christmas, with David deciding the time had come to re-do the living room. Since this was something I’d been wanting for quite a while, I didn’t grumble about not being able to erect our Christmas tree this year; instead, I did all that I could to help.
This mostly consisted of my staying out of his way. He was pleased with my contribution and called it “no small thing”. Yes, I know a backhanded compliment when I hear one.
David did a wonderful job on the walls, finally covering the huge hole that, were it still there would be right above my mother’s china cabinet. But it is gone, not even a hint of it remaining. The walls look quite amazing. He had a little trouble with the laminate and took…. measures to ensure that the flooring, in the end, stayed down. That’s all I’m going to say about the flooring. It does look good.
I was daring and ordered burgundy drapes, that were advertised as blackout/thermal drapes. I imagined they’d make the room “pop”. Now, my skills in the visual arts are not really a thing at all. Those who know me best know I do not have an artistic “eye”. But those drapes work, so score one for me! Then the new furniture arrived, and finally, the new area rug and the artwork (a painting on wrapped canvas to hang on that big bare wall above the Television), and then the room was done. Right?
Well, not exactly. Our daughter brought down her deacon’s bench, because I was grumbling about the pillows and blankets we were using at night just layin’ around in the day time, making my living room resemble a flop house. The bench worked! Now, except when we’re using them, they’re out of sight. Perfect. Now the room was done.
Um…no. My husband pointed out that there are two chunks of bare wall on either side of our new sofa. And do you know what would look good on those walls, he asked? Maybe some matching art work, but tall and narrow, as opposed to narrow and long. Two pieces in the same style, and hues as the one we have? I went looking on the same site from where we purchased the artwork already on the wall. I did, in fact find two more, and the three, together, in a particular sequence would tell a story. So they, too, have been ordered, and now, we wait for it all to be complete. And before those two new paintings get here, I’m heading out this week to find some decorative pillows that we can use instead of bed-type pillows. And while we’re on that topic, maybe some throw blankets that match, too.
One more thing I’d like to share with you, because the clean up is a part of the job too. Remember how our new reclining sofa was to be delivered, and how the delivery people would not take our old one away but would, if the pieces were wrapped in mattress bags, take them to the curb? And remember, too, that I contacted the county and arranged for them to remove these no longer usable (Goodwill turned them down because we have pets) pieces?
Well, we’ve had an interesting experience with our local government in that regard, let me tell you! It used to be that, twice a year, there would be a special day designated where you could put out irregular or large items. When those “spring pick-up” and “fall pick-up” days happened, so did the miracle of recycling. Folks would drive around and help themselves to items others didn’t want. It was like a giant garage sale where everything was free! Our greatest acquisition in those days was a wicker and cherry-wood rocking chair that only needed to have the screws in the bottom of the rockers tightened. I loved that chair, and we enjoyed it for more than two decades before it finally died.
They don’t have those special days anymore. Instead, as a specific service, one may call the appropriate office at county headquarters and arrange for a separate pick-up. For the price of 25 dollars each time, twice a year you can put out up to 5 large items.
That was background. Now, as I said, the delivery men took out our items and put them beside where our garbage gets put out each week, as we were told the large items had to be.
Collection day came and went, and those pieces remained. I called the county office and asked why. The call came back: because the items were frozen to the ground. It had snowed the night before, so David went out to check—this would have been about twenty minutes after rest of the garbage had been collected.
Not only were those pieces not stuck, there were no footprints indicating that anyone had tried to move them. So, the day before the next week’s collection, we ensured that nothing was stuck and, once more…no pick-up of those three large items. I immediately called and asked why. The return call stated that there was only one truck on our route today and they would get those items last. Yeah, that didn’t happen, either. I got a second call that the supervisor went out and inspected and told us that the items were on the side street, not in front of the house. Well, the side street is from where out garbage items are always collected (at the end of our driveway). Also, the supervisor thought that the items being on a bit of a hill, represented a health and safety risk to his men.
Fair enough, and by enough, I really mean enough. So on Monday evening, my husband went out and rolled those damned pieces down to the sidewalk, and left them there, on the corner, on the sidewalk, clustered around the stop sign.
So finally yesterday, the third time was the charm, as they say, and those items were collected.
You need to know I only watched long enough to see them lift the first item into the back of the truck. Those pieces of furniture never did anything to anyone and did not deserve such a fate as they received. But such is life.
Once I knew they were definitely taking those pieces, I turned away. I didn’t have it in me to witness the murder as the great garbage truck crushed the poor, disrespected bodies of loyal furniture that had previously been a huge part of our lives.
The comfy furniture is dead. Long live the new comfy furniture.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Isn’t there some sort of a saying that maintains that the project of room remodeling is a case of the never-ending story? I ask, not for a friend, but because that seems to be the path that we’re on at the moment.
As you may recall, we began before Christmas, with David deciding the time had come to re-do the living room. Since this was something I’d been wanting for quite a while, I didn’t grumble about not being able to erect our Christmas tree this year; instead, I did all that I could to help.
This mostly consisted of my staying out of his way. He was pleased with my contribution and called it “no small thing”. Yes, I know a backhanded compliment when I hear one.
David did a wonderful job on the walls, finally covering the huge hole that, were it still there would be right above my mother’s china cabinet. But it is gone, not even a hint of it remaining. The walls look quite amazing. He had a little trouble with the laminate and took…. measures to ensure that the flooring, in the end, stayed down. That’s all I’m going to say about the flooring. It does look good.
I was daring and ordered burgundy drapes, that were advertised as blackout/thermal drapes. I imagined they’d make the room “pop”. Now, my skills in the visual arts are not really a thing at all. Those who know me best know I do not have an artistic “eye”. But those drapes work, so score one for me! Then the new furniture arrived, and finally, the new area rug and the artwork (a painting on wrapped canvas to hang on that big bare wall above the Television), and then the room was done. Right?
Well, not exactly. Our daughter brought down her deacon’s bench, because I was grumbling about the pillows and blankets we were using at night just layin’ around in the day time, making my living room resemble a flop house. The bench worked! Now, except when we’re using them, they’re out of sight. Perfect. Now the room was done.
Um…no. My husband pointed out that there are two chunks of bare wall on either side of our new sofa. And do you know what would look good on those walls, he asked? Maybe some matching art work, but tall and narrow, as opposed to narrow and long. Two pieces in the same style, and hues as the one we have? I went looking on the same site from where we purchased the artwork already on the wall. I did, in fact find two more, and the three, together, in a particular sequence would tell a story. So they, too, have been ordered, and now, we wait for it all to be complete. And before those two new paintings get here, I’m heading out this week to find some decorative pillows that we can use instead of bed-type pillows. And while we’re on that topic, maybe some throw blankets that match, too.
One more thing I’d like to share with you, because the clean up is a part of the job too. Remember how our new reclining sofa was to be delivered, and how the delivery people would not take our old one away but would, if the pieces were wrapped in mattress bags, take them to the curb? And remember, too, that I contacted the county and arranged for them to remove these no longer usable (Goodwill turned them down because we have pets) pieces?
Well, we’ve had an interesting experience with our local government in that regard, let me tell you! It used to be that, twice a year, there would be a special day designated where you could put out irregular or large items. When those “spring pick-up” and “fall pick-up” days happened, so did the miracle of recycling. Folks would drive around and help themselves to items others didn’t want. It was like a giant garage sale where everything was free! Our greatest acquisition in those days was a wicker and cherry-wood rocking chair that only needed to have the screws in the bottom of the rockers tightened. I loved that chair, and we enjoyed it for more than two decades before it finally died.
They don’t have those special days anymore. Instead, as a specific service, one may call the appropriate office at county headquarters and arrange for a separate pick-up. For the price of 25 dollars each time, twice a year you can put out up to 5 large items.
That was background. Now, as I said, the delivery men took out our items and put them beside where our garbage gets put out each week, as we were told the large items had to be.
Collection day came and went, and those pieces remained. I called the county office and asked why. The call came back: because the items were frozen to the ground. It had snowed the night before, so David went out to check—this would have been about twenty minutes after rest of the garbage had been collected.
Not only were those pieces not stuck, there were no footprints indicating that anyone had tried to move them. So, the day before the next week’s collection, we ensured that nothing was stuck and, once more…no pick-up of those three large items. I immediately called and asked why. The return call stated that there was only one truck on our route today and they would get those items last. Yeah, that didn’t happen, either. I got a second call that the supervisor went out and inspected and told us that the items were on the side street, not in front of the house. Well, the side street is from where out garbage items are always collected (at the end of our driveway). Also, the supervisor thought that the items being on a bit of a hill, represented a health and safety risk to his men.
Fair enough, and by enough, I really mean enough. So on Monday evening, my husband went out and rolled those damned pieces down to the sidewalk, and left them there, on the corner, on the sidewalk, clustered around the stop sign.
So finally yesterday, the third time was the charm, as they say, and those items were collected.
You need to know I only watched long enough to see them lift the first item into the back of the truck. Those pieces of furniture never did anything to anyone and did not deserve such a fate as they received. But such is life.
Once I knew they were definitely taking those pieces, I turned away. I didn’t have it in me to witness the murder as the great garbage truck crushed the poor, disrespected bodies of loyal furniture that had previously been a huge part of our lives.
The comfy furniture is dead. Long live the new comfy furniture.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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