Throwing anything away is getting complicated. After dinner I put the tomato sauce jars in the recycling can but the pasta bags go in the trash. The Parmesan canister might be recyclable if I wrangle off the lid. The leftover noodles will make the chickens happy but the onion skins and squash tops go in the compost. Unless the compost container
is full and it's raining too much for me to brave the elements to empty it in which case the skins get chewed up in the garbage disposal.
It takes more effort than it did twenty years ago when everything got chucked in the same bin headed for the landfill. But it is more responsible.
Interchanges with others can get tossed in different directions too. Some are not worth hanging on to and should be forgotten. If a friend had a rough day, there is
no need to memorize a brusque comment. Yesterday someone mentioned that an acquaintance recounted complaints about a neighbor that were eight years old. Definitely should have been chucked long ago. Holding on to bad memories leaves no room for fresh ones, kind of like a refrigerator overstuffed with brown lettuce.
Others, are material for self awareness, and can be recycled. Recently a woman was telling me about an injury, and her struggle with both pain and immobility. I listened as if I needed to remember, if only to be grateful for every day that my body still takes me where I want to go, but also to ramp up empathy for people who are limited before they choose.
Still other conversations get broken down into material that can make me grow. When a woman I trust told me that she believed Benjamin had autism, I was angry. But the conversation began the tumultuous process that has
helped me be a better mother. It was no prettier than a compost pile but it has been the fuel for beautiful things.
I suppose there was a time when I pitched everything I did not want to hear. Sifting through it is more work. It is also more responsible.
