A Tale of Two Trashcans

When I moved into my new place I had a tidy and undamaged, hunter green, City of Charleston trashcan. It sat proudly to the right side of my off-white town home and just behind my stately blue recycling bin. I rolled that green trashcan out to the street every Thursday and I waited patiently for it to be emptied and then I would roll it back to its grassless plot and slowly fill it again.

Someone on my street is obsessed with the trashcans. As I roll my can out to the road, so do the other dwellers in shared town homes and we put our cans in a pod together and leave them there to mingle all day while we’re all at work. One Thursday evening, I forgot to bring my can back in. I looked out my window, noted that it was still there next to one other unclaimed can and I decided I’d grab it in the morning.

And so the next morning I walked to the end of the driveway and discovered that someone had taken my lovely green trashcan and left me with a filthy, green-brown trashcan with a missing lid, broken handle, and a hole in the bottom. I looked up at neighboring houses in outrage. “Who did this?” I wondered with scorn. I scanned all the visible cans in the area and I saw my can. I saw my gleaming clean can sitting beside a little pink house next to my building. You see, the cans make quite a racket rolling down the driveway. In my neurotic fashion, I feared the Can Snatcher hearing me approach their home with their awful trashcan. They would run down their front steps and wrap their body around my happy trashcan and refuse to give it up. So I decided to be the bigger person and I rolled that dirt-ball can up to my house and parked it in the dirt patch with a look of disdain and for the last five months I have used the broken can which has splintered and snapped even more since then.

Just a few weeks ago, on Thursday morning, a shiny white City of Charleston truck was following behind our neighborhood garbage truck. This truck was replacing worn- out trashcans with brand spanking new, never been used, still smell like the plastic factory, hunter green, city trashcans. I saluted my worn out trashcan as I pulled out of my driveway, delighted to find my fresh one in the Can Pod when I got home from work that day. Indeed, they took away the dirty can and left in it’s place a can better then my first can. A can that was now rightfully mine. And I rolled that shiny green can up to my house and I parked it with pride in front of my recycling bin. “Check out that can!” I said to no one, bobbing my head as I circled around it and I sashayed inside with glee, pleased to have a trashcan that accurately represented my cleanliness and overall look of organization and mindfulness. Yes, I read all of this from people’s trash cans.

And when I woke up the next morning I proudly looked out my window. Out and down at my new trashcan. My new trashcan was gone. My eyes darted to the Can Snatchers yard.  The Snatcher had three brand new cans corralled on the side of his house. My head jerked back in shock. I marched outside to take a better look and indeed, the Snatcher had prowled through the night, searching for the folks that received new trashcans and he gathered them and piled them up in his yard. He was however, polite enough to replace the stolen cans with other cans of satisfactory condition. My current trashcan is relative to my original can, clean and functional.

I saw the Trashcan Bandit this afternoon. I’d just gotten home from work and I heard the distinct sound of one of the cans rolling by. This sound was out of place as today is a Tuesday and there are no pick up services on Tuesdays. I held back my curtains with my index finger and peered out at the driveway. There was the Bandit, in broad daylight and he had his filthy paws on my neighbors recycling bin.

HouseSitting

This past week I stayed at Ari's parent's house while they were off galavanting somewhere tropical. I was on Scout duty as well as watering plants and keeping that cantankerous bird alive. I'd like to report that all of the aforementioned made it through the week unscathed except for one pretty green leaf in a large blue pot of other grandiose greenery. I suspect that this particular leaf died from natural causes and not because I neglected it or let its soil get too dry. Because I didn't.
This morning I tried to rip this big dead leaf out of the pot as it is an eye-sore and also the first big green leaf you see when you walk in. I thought, "This makes me look like a sorry House Sitter." and so I tried to cover my tracks but that big green leaf has a high quality root system down in that big blue bowl and I couldn't for the life of me pull it out. Ari's parents are going to see it and assume that I didn't water the plants like they told me to.

Anyways, in their note of house chores for me was "#3. SWIM", written in all caps just like that. So swim I did. Almost everyday in fact. Lots of us utilized our chance to swim but no one looked cooler than Buddy.

 

Lupimaris

As a fun Greek tidbit, I came across something very exciting the other day.

Back in the days of "studying" in Greece, Mattie and I kicked up trouble into the wee hours of the morning, coming back to our apartments just to change for class. Ah the golden days. While our classmates were present in class, worked on assignments and went to bed at reasonable hours, Mattie and I were just setting off on our friendship love affair. We were late a lot and giggled too much in class and most of the time we went off on our own when our teacher led the group of us down a mountain trail or through a small town. It was the only time in my life that I behaved in an unruly fashion and though I felt guilty and avoided eye-contact with my teacher, I couldn't stop myself. I debated writing a charming letter explaining that I'm actually a good, punctual kid that makes A's and B's back in America. I also wanted him to know that I had respect for his ability to maintain a professional demeanor while Mattie and I disrupted the class. And I would like for you folks reading to know that Mattie is also no ner'do-well. We discussed this in depth actually as we were far more shy and withdrawn than our classmates both in Greece and at home but somehow we took the roles as class clowns and were the only ones open to climbing into unmarked vehicles with friendly locals. Something came over us we decided and we had way more fun than anyone else. Halfway through our stay, our classmates noticed that we had made friends all over town and we were able to recruit two more to our daring duo, creating a boisterous quartet that the locals adored.

Anyways, Im getting so far off topic. I mean to tell you about one particular day of class. In fact, it was the morning after the four of us gals were up late tending to disasters. One stepped on a sea urchin and the other suddenly discovered she was allergic to peanuts. Mattie and I split up. "You take Urchin. I'll take Peanut."
And so I took Peanut to the hospital. I knew right where it was because I had that 102˚ fever just the week before and Urchin consulted locals who said to soak her foot in olive oil and the needles would work their way out. We staggered into class that morning, all sleepy and uninterested. Our forgiving teacher loaded the twelve of us students into his 9-seater van and we rode just a few miles down the one main road in Paros. He took us to an art gallery and I recall thinking how tired I was and in no mood to look at "local art."
But by golly! We were all enchanted. It was a photographer from Austria who had been taking portraits of all the salty Paros fisherman. They all had such worn, wrinkled faces and their portraits were done in black and while. On the side of each portrait, he took an overhead, color photo of each one's fishing boat. Their colorful and adored livelihoods. It was just really something to look at.

Alright my point, I saw on CNN a few days ago, that news of this exhibit has finally made it stateside. Take a look at this.

I did some further research and found the real website for the project here and I'm just so excited about it. It was such a tiny little nothing exhibit on a tiny little nothing island but that means so much. It's Paros' fifteen minutes! The fun thing is that these photos really stuck with me for whatever reason. I'd say they come to my mind every six months or so and I try so hard to remember my favorites. I'm so happy to get to see them again. I wish I could have all these portraits. I just love them so much!

Honbons: And Other Maritime Misadventures

Just the other day, the Honbon’s came down for a visit. It was a short little tease if you ask me but I loved every minute of it. Laurie and Don came down on Thursday and Dad and I sat in the living room, just waiting on them. Laurie did not follow the rules and arrived with four pans of sweet rolls, a huge bag of M&Ms, and some tiny rug coasters. We had a Low Country Boil that first night and I taught them all about the girls I work with. The rising and furrowing of Don’s eyebrows followed the ups and downs of my tales. We all stayed up late eating sweets and playing Shanghai. 

I was reluctant to go to work the next day and I frantically made someone’s wedding day preparations with little concern. How could I focus on a metallic seating chart when the Hon’s were in town and Will was on the way? My day inched by slowly. I finally got off work to find them sitting on the porch, drinking sweet tea and discussing dinner plans. It was such a delightful thing to find somehow. They had visited the Yorktown earlier and Don amused them with concocted tales of the Muddy Water Army in Vietnam. We had a grand dinner and a few more rounds of Shanghai while we waited for Will to arrive. We waited and played. And waited. And finally we gave up and went to bed, or so they told me. Not ten minutes after driving home I got a text from Will asking why I wasn’t part of the Welcome Committee.

While we gobbled up sweet rolls the next morning, Mom told those Hon’s all about Captain Chris’ Multiple Maritime Mishaps. She told them about fierce storms, dead engines, and even falling overboard. “No problem.” Capt. Chris always said amid chaos. All this in mind, we decided to go boating under Captain Chris’ command and as we arrived at the marina Will jokingly asked if we had gas in the boat and Dad gasped, shouted “Oh no!” and then laughed maniacally. “I forgot about gas!” he wailed. So instead, we rode down to the gas station, all five of us smashed into one car, and waited patiently for Dad and Don to fill’er up.

We had a rough rockin’ ride once out on the harbor. There were white caps and swells and lots of other boaters churning up trouble. Buddy, Will and I rode in the front of the boat, enduring chilly ocean spray and forging the waters. We had to hold on to Ole Budd’s who would nearly slip and slide overboard, insisting on riding on the nose of the boat. We had a pleasant little ride through the creek but once back out on the harbor, we discovered that the water had gotten choppier. It took one cold wave breaking over the boat to turn us around. We parked at Granddaddy Bob’s house and then made him drive us home. We spent our afternoon snacking and lounging on the dock while Dad and Don made small repairs around the house. Mom ran over the mailbox with the boat trailer that morning but those two fellas had it upright again in no time.

That night we ventured out towards Kiawah to sit in some grass and listen to music. Again we all piled into one car like the Clampetts and rode the thirty minutes out to Freshfields Village for music in the park. We had a grocery store dinner, gathering “plunder in piles” and taking it back to our grassy patch. Will and I explored a nearby field and found turkeys and deer and as we rejoined the party, we found Don dancing wildly behind an oblivious fella we’d been laughing at all night.

Sunday afternoon was another lazy day of snacking and dock time. Laurie laughed and laughed at Buddy chasing birds and barking while he swam. Will, Buddy and I went for a lovely kayak ride, calmly gliding through the creeks with Buddy jumping out to swim on occasion but the tide had turned on our way back home and we accidentally beached ourselves on an oyster bed. I tried to push us off with my paddle and when that didn’t work Will began bucking wildly. Forwards and backwards, scratching the bottom of the kayak in half inch intervals. He was laughing and jerking his body around and I got so tickled I couldn’t help him at all. I sat and laughed and watched Buddy casually stroll past us on foot. We had a pulled pork dinner out on the patio and played cards and ate sweets while telling stowries and laughing like simpletons. 

On our last day together we decided to reattempt our boat outing. The water looked calmer than it had on Saturday so we loaded up and set out. It turned out to be quite rough. More so than before and within ten minutes Will and I were soaked. Waves crashed casually against the tip of the boat sending a cold rush of water under our fannies, past Capt Chris, and down to the other end, sloshing at Mom and Laurie's feet. It was terribly cold. We rode around near the port to look at the cruise ships and then around to the battery. Here, as the Coast Guard patrolled the marina, Dad admitted that his tags were expired so we turned around and acted nonchalantly until we cleared the patrol area. We all huddled in the back of the boat wrapped in towels and shivering. Even Buddy turned down riding in the front and sat down by our feet. 

We sent Will off sometime around five that afternoon. He had to work in the morning. We gave him a bag of chicken and some candy and hugged him goodbye. I hated to see that kid go.

We sat in a lethargic slump until dinnertime. We lazed silently in the living room watching the news and dozing off. We poison ourselves you see, with sugar and late nights. We always start out so lively and by the end it takes everything just to stay awake. I felt like I was in a stupor all through our last patio dinner that night. I hated knowing it was my last night with the Hons. I hated that I'll stop hearing about how awful it is to get old and how everything hurts when you wake up in the morning. And then the low rumbling hum of Don's commentary disappears and then goes Laurie's good tunes and luminous smile and suddenly I have no reason to wake up in the morning. 

"Well, it's been a good day." I mumble before bed each night now and think of Laurie chuckling at Dad's goodnight phrase.

   Were sending you Hons lots of love from your favorite people.

           -Sandy, Candy, Bobbie, Debbie, Connie, Bonnie... and Jay