It's Monday now and I'm sitting in the
I’m not in sales, but I’m going to
Over the weekend, we found we’ll be having company to the house for dinner in a couple of weeks. As I’ve mentioned, our house has been under construction for five years. We decided we’ll need to assemble the dining room table and chairs we bought about three years ago.
To do that, I’d need to move the pile of lumber currently occupying most of the living room and part of the dining room. To do that, I’d need to get rid of the pile of now-refuse lumber in the basement; this is the old, crappy trimwork some underachiever installed ten years ago that I thought I might be able to reclaim. Nope. To do all of this, we’d need a hearty breakfast. So we went out for breakfast and read the weekly alternative papers.
After breakfast, though, we did get started. After about two hours of maneuvering crap up out of the basement, we wound up with a driveway full on Saturday, and the promise of a trip to the dump with the coming of the rosy-fingered dawn. I love the dump.
Sunday night was Maddy’s sixth birthday – so we all went to Red Robin to celebrate in style. Maddy is Lacey’s daughter. Lacey is Jude’s daughter. Whenever we go out, Lacey’s boy Mason and I are always sitting with the prettiest girls in the place. I have a picture of Jude from the evening, but she’ll hate it and I’m still in dutch over the s
hot of her making breakfast in her curlers so, sorry world.
3 comments:
No way!! I love the dump too!! Many a Saturday morning I have watched the dawn break and begin to illuminate the Atlanta city skyline from a mountaintop of dry, non-leachable trash. I like to take one of my dogs along with me in my truck, because that just seems like the proper companion for a trip to the dump. And we listen to country music. But my favorite part of visiting the dump is the gigantic equipment that pushes around and smashes the waste. They're awesome! Like machines from The Empire Strikes Back or something. And one last note, the funniest part of my trips to the dump is that even when I completely overload my truck with this huge pile of junk, it ends up looking like a teeny, tiny amount of litter when I toss it out onto the gargantuan mountain of waste that is the landfill. I can't wait for my next visit.
I used to love to take a bag of fetid waste out of the back of my truck and toss on the ground at the base of the mountain of trash. Then I would gingerly make my way back across the nails and broken glass, peel rubber and book it for home.
These days, they don't let us regular folk drive up to the trash mountain. Nowadays, we have to drive into a cement area that is gated and tell some loser who works at the gated cement area of a dump exactly what it is that we hope to discard.
"Please sir, my family have but a bundle of household waste that we are hoping you can summon enough kindness to accept."
It leaves me with an empty feeling that saps my will. I get misty just thinking about those days of twine and pinched noses. Heady days. Standing at the foot of all that refuge makes a man feel proud of his community; like we'd actually accomplished something.
I knew you'd get in trouble for that picture of Jude in curlers. I knew it.
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