Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Garbage Day & Reasons for my random thoughts



These days, my husband and I put the trash out on Thursday morning, just before the kids and I leave for our college classes.  It’s a flurry, shouting upstairs, reminding everyone trash has to go out before we leave, and of course we are always running behind.  The over-sized, dark green plastic trash bin on wheels clunks loudly down the four concrete stairs from the kitchen to the front gate.  Smells waft out the lid from the past week’s dinners, cleaning out the fridge and emptying the cat box, all mingling together making me wish I had a mask to cover my nose.  The cats scurry about hearing the metal clank of the latch on the front gate, knowing when it’s opened they can rush inside the house for the morning feeding frenzy. 

But it’s nothing compared to growing up, when my dad would do his husbandly chores and put all the garbage out the night before.  I could hear the men of the neighborhood shouting out their respective hello’s as each one carried the old metal trash cans out to the curb and sat them down for the next day’s pick up.  They would catch up on the news of the week, the local sports scores and what the weather would bring for mowing and other things needed to be done around the house.  Then after a few minutes, wives would stick their heads out the front screen doors announcing dinner was ready or the news was about to come on the television.  Life was simpler as a child the night before garbage pickup.  I didn’t have the responsibilities of being the adult I have now.


Now to explain this ... random post.  I used to write all the time, thoughts in a journal, memories, words to what might become a new song or poem, beginnings of stories, dreams from the restless night before.

But then I stopped.  Life got busy, my mind forgot about the random thoughts, other things took its place.  I almost forgot how to put a few words together that made any sense to anyone besides me.

I went back to school in 2012 and had to take English Composition I & II.  Professor K was my teacher and so glad I "randomly" picked him for both courses.  The man walked in the first day with long, blond hair, tied neatly behind in a ponytail holder, horn-rimmed glasses, somewhat baggy clothes, and one of those quirky smiles that made you wonder what he was up to.  His accent told me his was originally from up north somewhere and he told us he hailed from Minnesota. He explained his syllabus, told us he would be there to help with whatever we needed, and that teaching English was a passion for him.  I found out why and took pride in what I learned from him.

As the weeks went on for class and we wrote papers on different subjects, my love of writing came flooding back.  The words came effortlessly across the screen as I typed as fast as my brain could think and I realized I hadn't forgotten how, I just needed a push in the right direction.  I passed both his classes with an A and at the end of the two semesters, I was ready to write again.

And so the random thoughts began once again ... rambling writings ... memories from childhood ... or whatever happens to come out that day.  And you, the readers that choose to follow this blog, reading what my mind and heart have to offer.

Happy New Year and Peace Out,
P.

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