Great Garbage Can Debacle of 2019

Ep 52 Author Mary Laura Philpott Ep 53 SavvyAuntie.com Founder Melanie...

Great Garbage Can Debacle of 2019

When my dad passed away in 2016, there was a visual someone described to help me think about the way that grief would present itself over time. (Sorry, I was so addled I don’t remember who – raise your hand for credit if it was you!)

The way grief works, I was told, is like you are standing in the shallow water on an ocean beach, with the waves lapping at your calves. Sometimes the water gets a little higher, but for the most part you can keep your footing, carry on a conversation, feel the sun on your face. Then BAM! Out of nowhere, a big wave surprises you and knocks you down, so you’re sputtering for air and scrabbling to get back to your feet. That’s when you’ll look up and down the beach and realize that there are lots of people on the beach, everyone in their own phase of exactly the same process – hanging in ok, until for a few moments, they’re not.

The visual helped me. When the grief wave comes out of the blue, when I miss my dad with a sudden fierceness that is physical, I don’t fight it too hard, and I recognize that eventually I’ll get back on my feet. I try to remember that people around me are all grieving something in their own way, too.

But what I have noticed lately is that when these giant waves of missing my dad arrive, they don’t necessarily make me cry. Sometimes they make me laugh.

And that is my long preamble to the story of the Great Garbage Can Debacle of 2019.

See, my parents lived in a townhome before Dad died and Mom moved into senior housing, and my siblings and I haven’t gotten around to selling it yet. It’s pretty much no-maintenance, a good place for out-of-towners to stay, and it’s been nice to clean it out one room at a time, on our schedule. So in the division of labor that exists between my brother, my sister, and me, I handle emails from the townhouse homeowner’s association. And I have received approximately 243 of those email in the past ten days, all related to changing, changing back, and changing back again the garbage company that services the townhouse complex.

Please put your cans out on Tuesday! Ok, we heard from the company that they’re actually coming Wednesday! We’ve had complaints that the new garbage cans are unwieldy so please leave those out on Wednesday, wait make that Friday, so you can get the old ones back! The old ones weren’t returned – we’ve decided to switch back to the first company! Don’t forget, now the recyclables go into the same bin! No, not the garbage bin, sorry if we were unclear about that, there’s a separate recyclables bin!

And that’s just Monday’s batch. I picture a young woman writing these emails on behalf of the association board (the community is mostly older folks, so I’m guessing she’s got a hepped-up batch of 75-year olds milling around her) just crumpling under her desk from the strain. Seriously? I have to send another email about separating the recyclables?

And here’s why I’ve been thinking about my dad. This is the kind of logistical, analytical, common-sense problem he could tackle with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. Whatever my father did, he made sure it was done properly. He was a measure twice, cut once guy in every area of his life. He did it for thirty-five years at Kodak, he did it for the fire department and camp where he volunteered, he did it for the townhome association board when he was a member of it.

He especially tried to do it for his family. Exhibit A: the “easy to use” chart he created for converting microwave times and affixed to a kitchen cabinet so we could all nuke our food properly when we were at his house. Can I just take it out after 90 seconds and see if it’s warm? No. Consult the chart.

So every time another one of these town home association emails comes in that makes it clear that someone didn’t ask the right questions before hiring the garbage company, someone fell down on the job communicating the change to residents, someone at a garbage company made a hash of their new contract – all stuff Dad would have anticipated and fixed three miles off, boy howdy – I miss my dad and I laugh and think the same thing.

If he weren’t already dead, the Great Garbage Can Debacle of 2019 woulda killed him.

***

I introduced Dad to the Avett Brothers and he liked them a lot. This song comes from “May It Last,” the documentary about the Avetts that is on HBO. So worth the watch.

Hey! Fun news: I’ve been invited to do a live episode of the Midlife Mixtape Podcast at the Betabrand store in San Francisco on Thursday, May 30th! Every Thursday night Betabrand, purveyor of super cool and comfy clothes in the Mission neighborhood, turns its retail space into a live podcast theater seating 60-80 people. We’ll have live music, audience participation games, and my guest is Joe Garofoli, senior political writer at the San Francisco Chronicle. (“Hi Joe, how has writing about politics since 2016 aged you? Hahhahahahha sob sob sob.”)

You do have to get a ticket, but they’re free, so make sure to register ASAP –more details and ticket info here!

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