Bits And Pieces

That Junk Pile Again

     We've a new suburban status symbol these days.  It's whether your trash at your curb left for collection in the spring clean-up gets the selective eye and goes piece by piece with individual pick-up faster than your neighbors.  I've seen mountains of rummage disappear like magic over the first night it's left at the curb.

     These weeks which have the town resembling a street market, has even the most dignified matron eyeing her neighbor's trash.

     Bet too, Mom, you've been trading a bit of your brand of trash for your neighbor's the last few weeks, especially if you have young scavengers in your family.

     Announcement is made of a rummage pick-up and I decide now is the time to rid the house from basement to attic of an accumulation of rubbish but I could use some help--so I make the first mistake by enlisting Son no. 2.  This energetic and active twelve year old declares an urgent need for everything I pile into the boxes marked "throw out." 

     "That's my best puzzle" or "Those are all good comic books, Mom" or "I use all those paints for my models" and "Gosh, Mom, those are army men and those wheels I'm saving for that car I'm going to build."

     Somehow the hording instinct has a renewed burst of strength when there is any threat to a boy's possession.  The small amount of old toys and miscellany I manage to extricate from his grasp is somehow more than evened up and often surpassed by the amount of plunder he brings in from neighbor's rubble left curb side for pick up.

     The large pile I'd collected shrinks suddenly to a few broken toy pieces, some discarded clothing, torn plastic baskets, miscellaneous tools, torn books and a couple of fishing hats.

     Pop removes the hats and the tools.  "That's my good fishing hat," he declares and naturally the tools aren't to go.  It's only a matter of tightening handles and sharpening and they'd be good as new.  Why don't I clean all the old books, magazines and crockery and leave his perfectly good things alone.

     Son no. 1 rescues a couple of science books with weak covers and blurred print.  He might need those at college.  And if I do plan on tossing out those old blue jeans and summer shorts of his he won't have a thing to put on when the weather gets warmer.

     Daughter adds a couple of purses she had pulled out of the discard last year and never used.  "But don't throw out that straw bag; it will be perfect to carry bathing suits to the beach this summer."

     Before the trash even leaves the basement floor it changes hands several times, and gets carried to the rooms upstairs temporarily where I can pick it up and finally take back to the basement to await next year's trash collection.

     This time the things that do manage to make it outside to await collection are a three legged chair, a few burned out pots and pans, games with missing pieces, baskets with torn handles and a discarded slipcover.  Things no self respecting rummage sale would be interested in trying to revive and sell.

     But the first day out, the chair, pots and pans go into assorted cars and station wagons.

     "I found the prettiest bottles up the street" said one woman as she dumped torn magazines and books out of a one handled laundry basket and stowed it into her Buick convertible.  "It's lots of fun just looking to see what you can find even if you don't know exactly what you'll do with it," she declared as I watched her go through the books.

     So you see you can't blame the younger family members when they return home from school with assorted items.  I've a friend who told her son he could only bring home things he could carry in his pockets.  This probably has saved her another year of picking up assorted wheels and insides to radio and TV sets.  You see we got those this year as she'd put them out in her rummage stockpile and Son no. 2 brought them home.

     "I have no problem getting the youngsters to school when it's clean up week and all that stuff is out in front of the houses," said a neighbor.  "My only problem is waiting for them to get home after school.  Stopping everyplace where there is trash outside takes time."

     It's like a treasure hunt and chances are there won't be much left in front of your house by the time the trash collectors actually do arrive.  At least your junk can now littler somebody else's basement floor; while you fall over your neighbor's discards on your own.

     I've an idea.  I think instead of clean-up this period could be called neighborhood reciprocal trade agreement week.

Written May 7, 1964

     Arlington Heights, and probably other suburbs, had spring clean up week when anything--and pretty much everything--could be set curb side for trash pick up.  I loved it!  My bicycle had two rear baskets that could hold a lot and school was blocks away from home.  Sure it was junk--but it was neat junk!  And yes, most of my collection ended at the curb the following year.  But I did enjoy playing with a big old Chevy steering wheel!