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Curses! …

My cursing is usually reserved for the morons who throw stuff down like so much, well, trash.

But this morning I also reviled the weather gods who dialed down nature’s thermostat to a frosty 26F. That temp isn’t what I signed on for to live in the Carolinas. And the weather gods kept piling on: The cold air cooled my coffee much faster than necessary.

Of course, no one can hear my yelping at 5:30 a.m. That’s when most sane folks are still curled up in their beds.

So I went about my business as usual; the major finds were a quickly deteriorating sheet of very thin polystyrene and a jumbo bottle of V8 Splash apple juice. Those were just the tip of the litter iceberg, however.

Given this morning's temps, it was a cold hands-warm heart kind of effort. Cold weather or not, it's still the best time of the week for me.

Given this morning’s temps, it was a cold hands-warm heart kind of effort. Cold weather or not, it’s still the best time of the week for me.

As you can see, there was no dirth of debris a scant 12 hours after covering the same stretch of concrete and asphalt. How does it accumulate so quickly? Beats the hell out of me.

On a side note, my four minutes of fame from last week’s WFAE interview have come and gone. My page hits spiked Saturday through Tuesday, but since have dwindled to normal levels (a handful each day). What it shows is that trash is hardly sexy and, as a friend told me, the subject isn’t at the top of anyone’s ‘ah ha’ list.

Actually, if it occupies any spot on their list for a few moments of anti-litter consciousness, that’s probably as much as the topic deserves.

——————

Also, if you capture photos of scenes of trash and debris that you find abhorrent, send them to me and I’ll post the shots and your narrative on the new ‘Your photos – here!‘ page. Send your photo(s) to david.bradley@yahoo.com.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

1 Comment on Curses! …

  1. John Cleghorn // November 15, 2014 at 8:16 pm // Reply

    We’re still with you, Dave!

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