Last nite was Garbage Eve. That's what My Daddy named the nite before the morning trash pick up. As in, "I'm fixin' to take the trash out...tonite's Garbage Eve."
Since Mr. Fairway's been holed up (Oops! Accidental pun!! Get it?) with his new knee, I've taken on all of the household chores. And no, I'm not complaining. But I get out and about a lot more when I'm doing things like the grocery shopping, fetching the mail and taking out the trash.
Ran into my neighbor, Annie, as we both drug our large green plastic Super Cans down to the street. We commiserated about teaching, about husbands, about household chores. And we stared up at the newly minted full moon for a good long while, juxtaposed in the early October sky with the planet Venus.
Crisp Fall air, pleasant company, a full moon on the rise. On nites such as this, I wish I took out the trash more often.
But I should stop reveling in my epiphany, or I'll still be taking out the trash, even after Mr. Fairway's new knee is old news. Am I right, or what?