got to admit it's getting better
I frequently work late into the night. I've usually already washed
the dinner dishes (unless we were fearful that our hot water would
run out before everybody would finish showering) but it's only late
at night that I'll take out the garbage, and at the same time take
the dog for a walk before putting him out for the night. It was
as I prepared myself to perform that very regular chore one night
of this month that a highly out of the ordinary event took place.
As I took the garbage from the sink I noticed that Tzippi had taken
the garbage pail from under the sink and placed it on the floor
in front of the sink - a clear sign that I was supposed to throw
it out as well.
Earlier that day Tzippi had done a great deal of cleaning, and inside
the pail I noticed an electric massager which we've had for almost
fifteen years. I had no idea if it still worked. What was clear
was that it hadn't been used in about ten. It ran on 120V electricity,
meaning that we'd need a transformer for it, and though we've got
lots of those all around the house, only the
original power pack was attached to it. Clearly, Tzippi intended
for me to throw these out.
She is, of course, well aware of my reticence toward throwing things
out. It's a good guess that the reason she placed the massager in
the trash was because she guessed that had she asked me, I would have
said no. Yet she didn't hide it - she left it quite visible.
But that wasn't the out of the ordinary event. What was out of the
ordinary was the fact that, knowing full well that I was about to
throw something out, I still took the approximately 50 meter trek
to the trash, and actually performed the deed.
It was a strange feeling. There, I'd done it. I'd hardly hesitated.
I simply went to the trash and threw it out. It was only later, in
the shower, that second thoughts started to consume me: Had it really
been that simple? Didn't I want to at least photograph what I'd thrown
The next morning, before driving off to work, I surreptitiously crept
up to the trash bin. Finding what I'd thrown out was easy, and didn't
entail getting dirty. At work I photographed the massager, and then
(yes, even then) with only a bit of trepidation, put it in
the trash. I'd proven that I really am capable of throwing something
out ... even if I have to tell about it in order to actually do the