Scooter riding day

I did stomp the trash and did some other stuff and then I hopped on the Honda Metropolitan and rode around the block. All the time I was thinking, “Remember, look where you want to go . . . because you will go where you are looking.” I don’t know remember that happening on a bicycle, put maybe that was because I was pedaling it instead of being along for the ride.

I thought that in big capital letters when I went around a corner because for a moment I glanced at a car at the stop sign.

White scooter, grey hair. Woo Hoo!!

Maybe I need to take Rose along next time, but perhaps her screaming would distract me. She’d look cute, though. I think I’ll get Der Bingle to take a picture of us when he comes.

I could strap a lot of Raggedy Anns to my legs and arms and body in general so they could all have a ride . . . and provide a little padding if needed. Oh, dear, thinking like that could get me in trouble. I guess I need to look where my thinking is taking me before I actually let some thoughts form.

Trash-Stomping Day begins

Today is Wednesday to most of the world; to me, it is the day before the trash is picked up early Thursday morning and that means we have to stomp it down so the trash lids will close. Why? Well, because a lot of our trash bags are, in a way, airbags, If I could drive comfortably with a bag of trash from our house on my lap, and if I had a wreck,  the air in the trash bag would probably totally cushion any collision I might have with the steering wheel.

I’m sorry I had that little visualization because it is sticking with me, just as the smashed, smelly trash would be in that situation. I had a Stomp the Bag Before Putting it in the Can program/campaign but it did not prove successful, and so now I do my best to round up a stomper – one who stands on top of the mound while I steady the can and ladder. Sometimes I have to be the stomper and that does not make me happy – although, with a nod to my personality, those are the times when I feel the job is done right.

Trash Stomping Day looms from early morning until the bins are actually out there, and in summer, that means until almost dark so people don’t have to skirt yucky stuff on evening walks. The cold of winter and early fall of night do have some benefits in dealing with this task, although ice can be tricky.

Enough of that. I haven’t decided what I am going to do today and it is already nine o’clock. I have managed to get some chicken breasts in the oven to bake for spicing up Shane’s lunch, so I am not hauling around that responsibility on my shoulders. I’m being serious here – really –  I mean I can’t just give the dog dog food. I can hand a kid a hot dog, but the dog, well, I actually cut up the chicken and blend it in with his dog food. And then I take it out to the porch and sit here while he eats. Otherwise, he might worry that I am off doing something he would be interested in, or, Heaven forbid, eating something really good.

In summer, though, I try to eat a lot of lettuce and vegetables; it doesn’t drive him too crazy and he will beg for carrots if there is dip on them.