mission thwarted by presidents
Monday, February 15 2010
The other day Gretchen had made the observation that our garage looked like it belonged to a hoarder, and I'd agreed and sworm that I'd clean it up as soon as the weather got warmer. Evidently that wasn't going to be soon enough, and Gretchen had been awaiting a day warm enough for a run to the dump. Today was sunny and temperatures reached nearly 40, so by the low standards of a Catskill February, it qualified. So there we were, flattening boxes and collecting the detritus that we'd accumulated since our last dump run. My recent low-level jihad against laboratory entropy meant that I had a lot of junk plastic I was willing to throw out. Furthermore, in an effort to break some of my nascent hoarding habits, I decided to liquidate some of my least-promising collections, particularly one comprised of large clear bottles and another consisting of nothing more than plastic jar and bottle tops.
There was too much trash to fit into the Subaru, so we stuffed both our cars, leaving only enough room so we could each have a dog as a copilot. Then we convoyed north up Dug Hill Road to the dump. I was in the lead, and when I got there I was alarmed to find the gates locked. Had they changed their days of operation? Puzzled, I turned around headed back home, encountering Gretchen along the way. We stopped facing in different directions on Dug Hill Road, our windows rolled down so we could chat like hillbillies do on quiet country roads. Gretchen immediately diagnosed the problem. It was Presidents' Day. Later she rhetorically asked why it was that presidents need a special day. Isn't every day Presidents' day?
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