Out With the Old

(or How the Hermit Saved New Year's)

I was just dropping off to sleep for my sunrise power nap when the unmistakable rumble of the garbage truck broke through my music-filled ear buds. Realizing that I had forgotten to put the garbage out at the end of 2014, I ran outside to the carport, grabbed the dumpster and rolled it to the dark and curbless street edge, its wheels clattering on the paving stone courtyard so much that I was afraid it would wake my daughter and her husband who were staying in our apartment over the holiday.  The recycling bin, with a clatter voice all its own, followed soon thereafter. Then, thinking only of my family and completely forgetting myself, I went back into our home through the front door and somehow managed to retrieve a stranded bag from the kitchen - the floor of which was covered completely with cold blue tile.

Setting the barely-bursting bag beside the others, I realized that it was now drizzling rain. Thinking quickly, as though I had already had my morning coffee, I deduced that the garbage men, fearful of the dreaded “black ice” that had been extensively pre-reported on yesterday’s evening news, had started their rounds at least an hour earlier than normal. (I do not want to assume the worst; but there are suspicions that by starting its trash run very early or on an irregular schedule, the garbage truck intends to catch folks unawares and thereby lighten its load and shorten its shift on this, the most precious of football-watching holidays.) A brief glance to left and right told me what I already knew. Many of my neighbors had failed, like I had, but for their own pathetic reasons, to put out their garbage. 

We have not been the best of neighbors over the years. Ours is the yard with grass not green, carport cluttered, and driveway overflowing. Ours is the house with gutters always full and siding still disintegrating. Ours are the kids that scream, doors that slam, dogs that bark, leaves that pile, and chimney that smokes. After our youngest left, we even retreated from the front lines of our little community; desperately hiding in hope that our covered psychological wounds would heal; having to force ourselves to venture out even to wrangle colorful but eggless chickens and to bounce on the “jump-o-line” with our precious grand-girls. No, we no longer boost the band, sit in the stands, stand in the cold, or poke pro and con signs in our yard. We no longer attend city council sessions to fight for the principle that water should be allowed to drain downhill, that all roads should be drivable (even ours), and that such principles are inherently related by common sense, for heaven’s sake.  No, we have not been the best of neighbors.

So, standing there in the dark and nearly-frozen drizzle, my mind reeled at the thought of all my failures. And although righteous conviction had already begun its efficient and ruthless attack on my conscience, my mind began to fill with the limitless hope that comes with a new day and a new year. So I girded my loins and set about to change things - to turn things around and to set things right with my neighbors. But time was short. I knew I had only one shot at this. I could now clearly make out the familiar squeal of the worn-out brakes on the garbage truck as it worked its way down the street next over from ours.

Moving as quickly as my foam slippers would allow, I ran from home to home, door to door, sounding the vital alarm. At each house I stopped only long enough to ring the doorbell, pound on the storm door or an available bedroom window and cry as loud as I could, “Out with the old! In with the new! Though it be New Year’s Day, this is still our day, people! Yes, it is Thursday and the garbage truck is coming!” 

I must admit that I was inspired, in no small way, by the thought of how lucky I was to play even this small part in the life of my friends.  How fortunate was Paul Revere! How blessed were the prophets of old! And these warm thoughts – though burning within my soul now so as to forge within me a will of stone – near spoiled my plan; my eyes being half blinded and my voice choked by the emotions they produced.

I cannot convey to you the power and sincerity of the collective neighborhood response. May our neighborhood be filled with such gratitude, perhaps even more so, for the rest of 2015 and for many years to come! Now, truth be told, I didn’t actually wait around to see the garbage pails rolled to the street or to hear what I was sure would be praise to the point of embarrassment – humility forbade it. Besides, at some point I remembered, which is quite unlike me and thus further evidence of my transformation, that I had left a cup of 2014 coffee heating in the microwave and that, by now, there would be a bell ringing that my wife could surely hear and appreciate.

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for my family and friends on New Year's Day