Mondays and Holy Thursdays

I wish I could say that I was less confused.

The garbage collection people sent me a notice to change the dates of collection from Wednesday and Saturday to Monday and Thursday. I’d like to set the record straight. In the age of euphemism starting sometime in the 1980’s, I understand that I might refer to them as “sanitary engineers.” However, on the postcard, to avoid confusion, they stated simply, “We are changing your garbage collection days.” They went on to describe their working towards improved efficiency. So you are wondering, why am I confused?

For more than 10 years, the days have been stable. I could count on them. Even when I didn’t make it out to the curb with the cans, the steady rumbling of the truck down the street and the banging of trash and cans brought me a sense of peace, even in the panic to figure out if there was enough time to get the cans out to the curb. Where so much has changed in my life, I honestly felt at least the garbage days were solid fixtures that I could count on… Something to arrange my weeks by, like the scaffold that holds a piece of art together. I am in no way implying that my life is art, since that only happens on weekends, and today is Friday.

By the way, Friday used to be the day that I would keep a lingering thought in my head. Clear the fridge, take out the recycle, walk the cans out so that they get picked up early in the morning when the truck comes. Don’t forget to do that this evening. The space in my head is still there; however, now it is filled with this message. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! They’ve moved the date. The scaffolding around which you’ve built the last 10 years is gone! Gone! Gone!

In the small recesses of my brain, I find solace in the fact that, while I was growing up, my new garbage days were my old garbage days. As a child, I remember putting the trash out early in the morning before school on Mondays and Thursdays. While I would often dread the start of the week, every Thursday growing up was sacred time. It was Holy Thursday. My mom was off from work on Thursdays. She would be home when I rushed out with the garbage cans in the morning before school. She would rest that day, run errands, and be there when I got home. She let it be known at her work that she would rather not trade her days, so people didn’t bother to ask unless it was really important. She got Thursdays and every other weekend off. That was the scaffolding that I built my childhood around.

When I moved away to new garbage collection dates, I recognized that I was the one that moved. I knew that I had to settle into this new scaffolding… Wednesdays and Saturdays.

It has been less than a month with Mondays and Thursdays, but I still long for those things that I can count on. I’m now trying to figure out if the garbage trucks come early or late in the day. Do I have time in the morning to put out the trash? or should I do it in the evening? So much in life keeps disappearing and changing. I miss the time, not long ago, when I could count on the garbage collection days staying the same.

Now I know the truth, everything … everything … everything is subject to change.

My mother is gone now, but Mondays and Holy Thursdays have returned.