One's Trash, Another's Treasure

I just watched a woman, who didn't look as if she was someone accustomed to "dumpster diving," drive up to our house in her sedan, stop, and load one of our badly damaged dining room chairs into her passenger seat. I then watched her examine the other items left out for the trash people to pick up, opening up metal file cabinet drawers, looking at the computer desk.

Watching a stranger pick through my trash made me reflect on that old saying about what one views as dispensable, someone else may view with renewed, appreciative eyes. I thought how this applies to not just inanimate objects, but also people. Let's face it, we all go through a lifetime discarding not just objects, but people that we had thought worthy enough to call a friend. And how quickly our opinion of them from affection to disaffection can turn them into a pariah, or worse, simply no longer existing. This is the most apparent in divorced men and women, who become the object of someone else's ardor, their shortcomings, all well documented and commented on by their former spouse, becomes muted, a mirage, making him or her suspect that their former spouse was really deranged. And not the other way around.

So, in this time of downsizing, I'm realizing how few people one needs in life to keep you sane. I don't know if I am intentionally withdrawing or it is as much a mutually agreed upon withdrawal. All I can say is that my email box is not as full and the phone a bit quieter. I think this new quiet is as much my doing. I realize how much easier it is to make my departure without drama or fanfare. Therefore, this new distance, metaphorical and real, will set a new direction for each relationship. And how long that relationship may or may not endure.

After a punishing day of sorting, chucking, and general crankiness--the only break coming when my friend showed up to lend a hand--I fell into bed ready to stop my head from spinning. And like everyone else in the country, I turned on the television to watch the finals of "American Idol." Yes, the young girl who won is lovely, lovely voice, pretty face. Right, right. But the part that got my attention was when the grating host--no man should bleach his hair--announced that 76 million people voted for this finale. 76 million, which is more than President Bush received in the 2004 election. And certainly more than what John Kerry received in that same election. So, if "American Idol" were based on candidates ability to discuss foreign policy initiatives, discuss economic policies and solutions, and other issues that plague our country, we could have a beautiful, 17 year old as Madame President. Or rather, Mademoiselle President. I just found those numbers staggering, really. Who are all these people who actually phone in to vote on a talent show--we know we've hit a new low in cultural legitimacy if we are borrowing shows from the UK and Europe--that is barely a step above the gong show. The one thing this show has done is to display the vastness of our country, in terms of geography, but also tastes and the range of talented people hidden in those small towns where no one ever seems to leave, and if they do, usually for the wrong reasons.

My friend, who came over and helped, also sat with me as we drank a cup of coffee in the middle of the day, which I view as so decadent, in light of my insomnia. We also shared a piece of the coffee cake I had just baked. There was something a bit 1950's housewife-like about us sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee out of mugs, and daintily biting into my coffee cake. But for me, it was hugely reassuring to have her there, to share in the details of her life, such a far cry from the disarray evident in every room of my house. After loading up her car with things I no longer needed--again, such a good friend--I didn't watch her drive off, but rushed back into the chaos that is my house. This extended 'adieu' is worse for me than anyone can realize.