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View Larger + Dr. Ed Iannuccilli, contributor PHOTO: file Last week, I wrote of the chore of downsizing as we move to a smaller home. Fortunately, we found the home we wanted; thrilled enough to continue to live in Bristol. But what to do with the stuff? When you downsize, you need a place where you can throw stuff away, forever. And I found the place.
Dr. Ed Iannuccilli, contributor PHOTO: file
In the past few weeks, I have become more intimate with our landfill, something very different from what I remember. When I was a kid, we went to the dump. In our dump was a pile of mess, simply dumped over the hill (no attendant on duty) and there to remain. No one took it away. Not only was the dump a place where everything was mixed ecumenically. . . empty Spam and Moxie cans, baby carriages, withering Christmas trees, etc., but it was also the place where we played in its adjacent hills . . . commandos, cowboys, capture the flag, war. And it was where we rolled an old tire down the hill to the valley below. No longer.
Our dump is called The Landfill, aka The Transfer Station ( how very chic) where today’s stuff is separated, even cataloged, and carted away in designated dumpsters. No longer are things tossed down a hill. Our station is a carefully laid out property that requires a sticker for entry and a scale to weigh you in and out. And charges you for the decal and the ‘in and out’ net weight.
Rubbish and recyclables are processed prior to being moved. There is a cap of two tons (Gad!) per household per permit year. Yes, there is a necessary smell of waste. But nearby is the compost bin which smells of a garden and mitigates the garbage odor.
It is an experience to go to the station. “I have an old grille, a bookcase, a metal plant stand, corkboard, and other stuff.”
“OK, Buddy. Past the crane . . .there and there and ….”
How very neat, and exciting, to pull up to your spot, open the hatch and begin the unloading process. First off, the old grill. I lifted it out, looked around, raised it over my head like Hulk Hogan about to body slam his opponent, flexed my arms, tightened my abs, bent my legs, and with a push, urghhh, arghhh, I launched it. I stood back for the booming crash, “Yes!” I looked around. Nobody cared. There were flexed abs and crashes all over the place.
There was something satisfying about the thud when it hit the other stuff. Even better was to launch something into an empty bin, one you possessed, with no impediments. The joy of hearing that reverberated ring when it hit the bare bottom of the dumpster was unique and was mine alone.
The Landfill became a destination. To unload, there was a cleansing. The dump is an essential part of discovery. You discover that you enjoy discarding your stuff. I kinda like going to the dump, err, landfill.
Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.” NOW, he has written his fourth book "A Whole Bunch of 500 Word Stories."
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