Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.
I came across this quote by Louis L'Amour and have thus decided to turn the faucet on today, if only to write about taking out the trash.....
Every week I experience a heart wrenching journey. I travel down our driveway with a full trash can. This is a task that I have longed for Ian to take over but after being gone for weeks on end and often forgetting, this fearful task, more frequently than not, falls on my shoulders.
It might sound petty but every week I have a on-going dialogue running through my head. It starts with an internal argument, shortly after I awake, today is Wednesday and I need to take the trash down but is there any reason I can forget to do it today? I am sure there is something else to keep me so busy all day that I would not be available to spare 5 min and take the trash down. After spending the better part of the morning arguing with myself I settle on the factual knowledge that it must once again be done. Might as well get it over with....
Walk around the house collecting the trash bags and stuffing them as far down into the already full can and take a firm hold onto the handle. Hawthorne dances around me as tho his enthusiasm will offer some sort of support. A deep breath overcomes me as I tilt the trash can back and realize once again that it far out weighs me. "Here we go" I mutter in the deeper part of my disgruntled being. I proceed with caution down the level part of the drive, where my car is. Finding my momentum and a little confidence which is immediately halted by a crack on the uneven drive. A crack that places the brakes on the trash can leaving me gazing down at the rest of the long, winding, steeper part of the drive way. Shimming the can over the crack, I am then thrust into full commitment to seeing the can to the bottom, whether I like it or not. I zig zag down the middle half of the drive. My body at, what feels like, a 90 degree angle to attempt to balance out the weight and gravitational pull of the trash can. My shoes, which I ensure are the ones with the best grip, providing the friction I need to keep from falling under the balancing act. The fear once again coursing through my mind and body that, my shoes will lose their friction and I will fall under the weight of the trash. Hitting my head and passing out under a huge pile of trash. Laying there between the half eaten food and diapers, unconscious until one of the kids desire something from me and come to find me.
I am proceeding down, feelings of hope that we are almost there starting to ease the tension and necessary fear streaming through my muscles. And then once again a crack in the drive has placed the brakes on the trash can, sending my shaking arms and wobbly legs into a halting motion to keep them from crashing into the trash can. Again I am forced to stop and gaze at the steepest part of the drive and the beautiful finish line, that is just a circular cul-de-sac. I allow myself to take a deep breath right before I shimmy the trash can over the crack and proceed to make tighter zig zags down the drive. My body, knowing that it is outweighed, leans even closer to the ground, attempting to balance the force of the full trash can, that longs to just careen down the final grade. The sun comes out, leaving dancing shadows on the wet ground, as tho to sing my impending fall. Taunting me with the hardship of finding the right place to put my feet, for the best friction. Am I there yet? I gaze around the can only to see that I am only 2/3 there. I decide to just go with the plunge and place the trash can facing forward, allowing gravity to spirit us both down the rest of the drive way. I made it!
Once again my fears of dying on our drive, while buried under our family's trash, did not come into reality. I can almost skip down the street to proudly place our trash can in the line. Gazing with envy at our neighbors' half filled cans and saddened that we have once again filled our can with so much waste. Feeling that I could have done more for our world by not having produced so much waste to be placed in a landfill. I do my weekly sigh as I send my apology, into the wind, knowing that such an apology does little for the state of mother earth.
I turn to return home. And thus begins the most grateful, weekly climb back to our warm living room. I don't know if it is just the adrenaline wearing off but my being feels alive with thoughts of gratitude. I gaze up at our home. The trees, the porch, even the windy, steep drive way, have me filled with gratitude for this little patch that we call ours. This little patch of the world, that my heart has been warmed by the laughter, the love of those that make my heart beat. It always amazes me how my weekly, heart-wrenching journey always leaves me so grateful. Grateful that I am privileged to spend my days in this home with the souls that I love and grateful that I did not die taking the trash can down.
I know that this is a silly post but I also know that everyone has their own weekly or daily heart-wrenching journey. That journey that sends fear coursing through your body and leaves gratitude in it's wake.
Although if Ian would take over the joyous task of taking down the trash I would gladly allow him to also receive that joyous privilege of having gratitude course through his being. And just cause it means so much to me, I would have gratitude coursing through my being too.....gratitude that he took down the trash.
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