So there I was on Sharon View Road at 5:35 a.m., ready to say Thanks for letting me do this messy job … blah, blah, blah in a silent, self-congratulatory tone when a plastic shopping bag comes into view. It’s got something in it.
The bag is neatly tied with a loose knot. Inside was a box of condoms. It was an empty Trojan Platinum Pack, an assortment of 10 guaranteed to please prophylactics. I’ll admit to a moment of envy (10?) (but there was also a moment of thanks that it didn’t hold anything else, if you catch my drift).
Not 20 feet away in the middle of the street was an intact clear water bottle which contained a brown substance. I knew instantly this was the liquidy residue of someone’s dip habit. I pour it out and stowed the bottle. What seconds ago was a self-righteous attempt to give thanks instead gave way to utter disgust, not an uncommon feeling on so many similar mornings.
The around-the-block trudge continued per routine. Nearby owls hooted and a lone deer loped across Colony Road headed from one point to another. The feeling of thanks returned, tempered by a little more humility. There are a lot of things to be thankful for, and this is among them. I’ll be thankful tomorrow, too, for the recurring enthusiasm to do this all over again.