Monday, Monday

A Little Gratitude at the Curb

"Monday, Monday, so good to me..."

Remember that song by The Mamas & the Papas?

I've always liked Mondays. I know that's not a particularly popular opinion. For most people, Monday means the weekend is over and another workweek has begun. Back to schedules, responsibilities and the same old routine.

But I've always thought Mondays had something going for them. They offer a fresh start. It's a good day to begin something new, break an old habit, or simply approach the week with a different attitude.

And then there's my favorite reason for loving Mondays.

Garbage day.

Yep. Garbage day.

Now, before you decide I've completely lost my marbles, hear me out.

Every Monday morning, two big trucks make their way through my neighborhood. One collects the garbage, the other the recycling.

Think about it. All week long, I go about my life, tossing things I no longer need into a container. Food scraps, packaging, empty cartons, and whatever else has outlived its usefulness. Then, once a week, I roll that container to the curb. And someone comes right to my curb and takes it all away!

For just a few dollars a week.

No loading it into my car, no driving it to a disposal site, no figuring out what to do with it. I simply leave it at the curb, and before long, it’s gone.

Poof!

I realize this isn't exactly the sort of thing most people get excited about. But I think it's an amazing service.

Years ago, when Sam and I walked our neighborhood together, we often encountered the same garbage truck driver. He'd smile and wave as he passed, and we'd wave back. He'd been servicing our neighborhood for years and had become a familiar part of our Monday mornings.

And while I certainly valued the convenience of having my garbage hauled away, I appreciated the people who made that possible, too.

Behind the wheel of that truck was a person with a family, responsibilities, worries and hopes. His life continued long after his route was finished.

Over the years, our travels have given me an even greater appreciation for this simple service.

In 2018, while visiting Myanmar, I photographed a young boy drawing water from a well surrounded by discarded rubbish. I remember recognizing the significance of that scene immediately. We'd witnessed extreme poverty during our visit, and the contrast with the conveniences of home was impossible to ignore.

Myanmar, 2018

It wasn't the first time I'd seen garbage accumulating in streets or scattered through the countryside during our travels. But that image of the little boy, his blue dipper and the rubbish surrounding the well stayed with me long after I returned home.

Experiences like that remind me that the services I enjoy at home are not available everywhere. And they deepen my appreciation for the systems and the people that make everyday life a little easier.

It's easy to overlook the ordinary conveniences that make our lives better. We expect the lights to come on when we flip a switch, clean water to flow when we turn on the faucet and our garbage to disappear when we leave it at the curb.

What a remarkable thing it is to enjoy those conveniences, and yet give them so little thought.

Years have passed since I first found myself marveling at the garbage trucks rolling through our neighborhood. Much has changed since then, but my appreciation for that simple service has not.

Every Monday, the trucks still come.

And I still think that's pretty remarkable.