Recycled

Recycled


The Blue Moon is waning, but is still in a well-rounded middle age. It gives off more light than this early morning is worth with the wind increasing and temperature decreasing. The rumble and crunch of the recycling bin over the frozen snow seems rather morbid, as if it carries the remains of the dead. In actuality, it merely carries the remains of Christmas boxes and toy casings, on their way to being disintegrated and reformed around next year's gifts. My offering to the recycle truck seems a guarantee that Santa will be generous again.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, with tennis shoes half-on, I am making it easy for the cold to pierce me, but this is a necessary operation – and thankfully, a quick one. A new bag of more ordinary recyclables – milk cartons and empty cans – are crowding the underbelly of my kitchen sink. Last year's resolution – use less, recycle more – made itself a habit, just like cloth grocery bags and turning down the heater.

I try to think of a new resolution, one that wouldn't require getting up early to wheel a large bin of trash to the curb.

When I race back into the house, it feels deliciously warm, and I wonder if my blanket had time to grow cold. I could resolve to take the bin to the curb the night before, and perhaps that too would become habit. As resolutions go, it is a minor one, but I pause on my way upstairs to write it on our office white board underneath “Eat Healthy” and “Run a Marathon.” They are resolution veterans, recycled each year. My husband has rewritten “Marathon” in green, but flakes of last year's red litter the sides of the white board.


Jan 2010
295 words