Skip to main content

Going with the flow

It's council pick-up in my area 

On lawns around the neighbourhood, piles of unwanted items have appeared.

There are shelves, chairs, tables and lounges.

Cups, glasses, plates and bowls.

Fridges, washing machines and dryers, dishwashers and microwaves.

Lawnmowers, pressure washers and other gardening equipment.

Televisions, stereo units and speakers, video and DVD players, computer screens, desktop computers and gaming units.

Packing boxes, cardboard boxes, crates and pallets.

I think you get the idea.

It's fascinating in many ways.

Firstly, a lot of the stuff is is good repair. A house could easily be furnished with the discarded items piled up for council pick-up.

Secondly, it attracts people who deal in second hand goods and scrap items. On the afternoons before the collection date, little trucks and cars roar up and down our quiet street, stacked high with items collected from roadside piles.

Thirdly, there are items that seem to appear each council pick-up. Neighbours have picked up something interesting, used it for a little while, and then discarded it. The cycle repeats itself several times and the item is shared around, and each time it is saved from oblivion by a roadside shopper.

Some people might think it's a negative thing, evidence that we have too much material wealth.

However, to me it means abundance. The fact that everyone is able to let go of things they don't need anymore, and release the old stuff to make way for new things. 

To go with the flow.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Handstands

I’m waiting for a coffee on a Saturday morning, standing next to the counter in a suburban shopping centre. Around the corner comes a Mum with three spirited children. The impact of the small family on the shopping centre energy is palpable. The children are full of life, and the mother has her hands full as the little troupe, aged five, four and three, I estimate, engage with everything with energetic gusto. ‘No running’, Mum says to Mr 4, as a four-year-old energetic boy goes tearing past me. Mum turns around to see the three-year-old walking slowly behind. ‘Come on’, she says to Mr 3, coaxing the littlest one to quicken his pace. Distracted from the older members of the troupe for a few short moments, Mum turns around and sees Mr 4 doing a cool breakdance style handstand in the middle of the shopping centre floor. ‘No handstands’, Mum says. She does not see the coolness in Mr 4’s handstand.  Mr 3, however, is visibly impressed and cannot resist the call of acr...

When days become years

The 2nd of March.  In a couple of weeks, I will commence another lap around the sun. So it brings with it a moment of reflection. Perhaps more than a moment.... How is my experience of the year that has been? Wins... New job New mindset, and stepping up. Awareness of my health and wellbeing, and action towards higher sense of health and wellbeing. Letting go of the little things Engaging the big things, the important things Getting to know the difference between little things and big things, realising them earlier and more consciously, and having the courage to take decisive action. Facing my personal history and family trauma Losses... Innocence of early fatherhood  Pretending to be nice (not really a loss) As I reflect on the year that is to come, I'm filled with excitement and enthusiasm. I feel I am in the right place, and the right time is 'getting ripe'. I trust that I will know the time and have the courage to step when the time and place are right.

Chapter 2

Not again, she thinks to herself. And then the stairwell begins to lose its composition. Damn she says. It's early.  She grips the balustrade, knowing that it's useless. In the realisation, grips harder and closes her eyes.  This, at least, is helpful. The visual experience was harrowing the first time. It still is, but at least this time it is somewhat expected and 'normal'. Remembers the first time, it must have been 3 months ago now. Was sitting at a cafe in her home town, the smell of fresh waffles thick in the morning air, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Ethiopian, she knows. Pip and Pup was a weird name, but the coffee was to die for. The light has been different, that morning, and she wonders how it might have been different if she had not needed to use the bathroom at Pip and Pups.  She had walked down the passage past the kitchen, and the passage seem to stretch out and bend to the right. Even though she had screamed loud, no one paid any attenti...