Starting out to the season and not looking forward to it. Hid from Halloween and avoided being fed by everyone for Thanksgiving. Turkey sandwich was fine and enough.
The weather is getting cold enough for another layer and the sky is lacking light. The roadways are slick with wet leaves. The joggers are now wearing puffy coats. The metal mobile machines are being plugged in. The construction is done for the year. Neighbors seem to be retiring inside for seasonal movies and gluttony.
The excitement of daily news has now turned into a rut of talking heads announcing the latest breaking event but it is unverified and not sure of the source being vetted. This is just gossip.
The Tummy Temple is settling down. The blue shirts that were hired to make the shelves higher than anyone can reach have thinned out and now there are new faces learning how to cut open cardboard boxes and placing the goods on the shelves to be scanned by a manager with a handheld to enter into a database so the automatic check-out machines can recognize the price without knowing who you are (welcome regular customer who comes here every day and buys the same stuff). Katy says there will be a ‘grand’ opening in December. That statement could not be verified.
The goal now is to retire inside and do something musical. The outside chores are somewhat done but now it will be cold and rainy and cloudy and yucky.
There will still be the daily ride to replenish hydration and actually speak verbally to another human. Best to keep the limited exercise and communication skills going as long as possible.
Without television the avoidance of annoying commercials (especially political) is refreshing. Online news sites are still flooding the eyes with nonsense of candidates banter even before they are chosen by their party and voted upon by the mass public. Will you choose a (D) or an ®?
As age creeps up, it is all too much.
Should kids have phones in the classroom? Should there be security at the grocery store? How much will the tickets cost to see 80-year-olds strut the stage? What do you tell your grand about what their new love is looking for? Should you visit the doctor to get a timeline on your funeral? Which flavor of religion is worth dying for? Electric or fossil fueled? Paper or plastic?
Tomorrow is Monday. Trash Day!
These are the highlights of geezer hood. When will the big truck roll down the alley to empty my waste and take it somewhere else where I cannot smell it or see it piled up, allowing me the pleasure to spend another week refilling the rubber flip top containers with I could not completely consume or remove with a flush.
The thrill of the day is hearing the monster truck roaring down the block, stopping every couple of feet so two guys (still guys?) in Day-Glo vest roll the official allotted containers, flip up the top, pull a crank and the process of dumping is all automated.
There was a time when this process of picking up someone’s trash out of a cylinder of aluminum and lifting it into the back of a container compression truck was manual. The contents were in paper bags leaking of all sorts of smelly stuff that had to be physically handled by strong men in overalls and railroad gloves. No mask. No water-proof aprons. Rain or shine.
In days of old, these rituals of waste removal, security protection, firefighting and dozens of other manual jobs with little pay or respect were expected but seldom appreciated unless they did not appear. Before that the piles of trash were burnt and everyone was responsible for self-preservation. They didn’t know your battery could run out on your phone.
I’ve filled my containers with cut timbers in hopes that they will be emptied tomorrow for another filling. I’ll watch from the window when I hear them come by and say, “thank you” though they cannot hear me.
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