When our new town dropped off our trash cans, The Bean and I took a moment to stand in front of them, just staring.
Green is for recycling. Brown is for yard waste. And the itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy, pocket-sized trash can is for regular trash.
It’s amazing how three different-sized trash cans can say so much without saying a single word.
After spending the appropriate amount of time gawking at the oversized yard waste bin and shaking our head at our new midget blue trash can, The Bean and I rolled up our sleeves and dived right into being green.
We read all the instructions on what Portland considers recyclable, carefully pondering every item we threw away. We spent the week learning everything we could about recycling, about composting, and about all the proper do’s and dont’s of sorting and storing recyclables. We got a second trash can for our house and set it up next to the first, and even went as far as crushing and cutting-up some of our trash in order to have it fit properly.
After a long week with a heavy learning curve, The Bean and I proudly dragged our trash bins to the corner.
We had a filled-to-the-brim green recycling trash can and a blue landfill trashcan with room to spare. We had done it! We had embraced our new, green lifestyle with enthusiasm. Viva la environment! Long live Mother Earth!
We stood there, heads held high, smiling proudly as we watched the trash truck pull up to our curb….
…..and watched it pick up both the recycling as well as the regular trash can, one after another, and dump them both in the same hole.
What the heck, Portland.
Remember, people, I am married to an accountant. Even the little boring things like trash service are run with the precision of a navy warship. Not only did The Bean call twice to double check all the details involved with trash pickup (recycling/regular occur weekly on the same day, and yard waste is every other week), but there’s a little color-coded chart hung in our kitchen with the trash pick-up schedule for the entire year.
It’s both creepy and sexy – creepy that someone’s brain actually works like that, and sexy, because I’m married to that brain and it means I never have to worry about stuff like that again, leaving me at least 15% more space in my brain to think about horses.