Why Can’t We All Just Learn to Recycle?

You’re not seeing things—that’s a piano….sitting by a dumpster. It’s being thrown out. It wasn’t a particularly good piano (I couldn’t get it to make a sound), but you’d think its last owner could have found another home for it instead of simply tossing it out on the junk heap, wouldn’t you?

I discovered the piano the other night while out walking with the hubby. He honestly didn’t see it when I pointed it out to him, and he’s got better eyesight than I do. The reason he didn’t see it was probably because there are so many items being dumped in our neighborhood on a weekly basis that something the size of a piano doesn’t really make a mark on your conscious. We regularly spy sofas, overstuffed chairs, kitchen tables, end tables, mattresses, dressers, plastic cabinets, bookshelves, entertainment centers, televisions, lamps, urns, carpets, Christmas decorations, etc., being put out with the trash. A lot of these items we’ve put to good use, too.




And before you ask, yes, we do have mandatory recycling where we live. We have to sort our garbage out into bins for plastics, papers, metals and other recyclable materials. But for some unknown reason, you can’t make people pick up the phone and call Goodwill or the Salvation Army to take away these large items to sell and put the money to good use. Sad, isn’t it?

If you don’t want to garage sale your items, put them on Craig's List, or donate them to a charity shop, people like us will continue to put them to good use ourselves (if we can use and/or move the item—the piano was a bit out of our league). But wouldn’t it be nice if we could all come up with a better alternative to rid ourselves of old furniture items rather than sending them off to the landfill?

Moving out, moving up, moving on

I’m not sure what to write about for this blog so I guess I will simply tell you why I haven’t been doing much creative writing lately.

I’ve moved—myself and all my junk (and there’s plenty of it) about two miles southeast of my previous location. No, this really wasn’t my idea, but my lawyer seem to think it’s best I move out of the house since my soon-to-be-ex-spouse seems so attached to it that he’s pretty much trashed the place. By moving out and moving on with my life, it gives him one less thing to be nasty about come the final decree. But moving like this—with only a few weeks notice and all by myself essentially up until the day of the move—definitely was nothing I had foreseen several months ago.

The day that I moved the “big items”, i.e., the furniture, was sort of festive. I had several good friends come with their pick up trucks to come and pick up the big pieces and take them over to my new apartment… which happens to be on the second floor.

Uh-oh.

Yeah, it was a sweltering, hot sweaty day in late July. (Luckily, I moved before the real heat wave began—the high probably was only near 90 that day instead of the 106 degrees Fahrenheit they forecasted for today.) So, the added stress and heat of “moving up” certainly added to the stress I was already feeling. But, bless their hearts, they got everything up the twisty-turny staircase and into my new flat. I had been holding my breath that the dining table with the big pedestal base would make it up those steps and through the narrow front door, and, believe it or not, it did. It looks great in the kitchen area, too.

The only real furniture mishap was my computer desk—the cabinet that housed my printer and junk sort of went “whoosh” and toppled over into pieces like a house of cards falling over upon its removal from my previous abode. It hadn’t been put together very well obviously the first time, so it couldn’t take the front step without collapsing. Sigh! It sits in pieces around the living area of my new place. I’m looking for a handyman—or handywoman—to help me glue it back together. I think the screws are all stripped and some of the lovely particleboard panels have cracked, so it needs major surgery.

Other wonderful post-moving hassles have included the exploding washer drain hose from hell and learning to cope with living two and half stories up with a very narrow balcony to put my outdoor plants on… I finally got wise and decided to put my “rubber tree” (I have no idea what to call this plant my dad gave me about twelve years ago) down in the side patio area of the apartment building. The only problem it now has is that the wind tends to topple it over and I don’t see it’s fallen unless I peek out from behind my blinds (drawn to prevent the killer sun from further baking my apartment). Such is life in apartment city, as I call my new neighborhood.

I’ve had to deal with a lot of other issues, too, like looking for full-time work with health benefits (no luck there yet) and dealing with my daughters who don’t seem to want to talk to me anymore. So, this isn’t an excuse for not writing—it’s more of an explanation why my heart isn’t into as much at this point in history.

The high point of all this moving hell is my friends and family members who have been very supportive of me. I love them all.

Well, let’s end this blog on a high note and ask a discussion question you can comment upon and share your life wisdom with me. The discussion question: Tell me about a time when you were faced with a “move” in life that may have happened unexpectedly… How did you cope with your rapidly changing existence? What support groups or persons helped you out the most and why?

Thanking you in advance...