The local Recycling Barn is one of my Saturday destinations. This morning, bag in hand, I was gathering items to bring along: newspapers, glass and plastic, books, the wine glass I won at a Pampered Chef party, random beaded necklaces, etc. I picked up a pair of neon green sunglasses from my dresser and considered.
Last summer these were handed out at the Color Run 5K. It was a beautiful day, perfect for running, and my first race with my 19-year-old daughter. Warm memories. The glasses were a cute keepsake, but they’d been gathering dust since last summer. Did I really need to keep these? I hesitated.
A memory stirred, from a recent discussion in my first-grade classroom. After reading Ezra Jack Keats’ classic “Peter’s Chair,” I asked my students if Peter had learned something in this story. A small hand shot into the air. “I think Peter learned he doesn’t need to keep things, like his blue chair, to keep his memories of being a baby.” Out of the mouths of babes. I tossed the sunglasses into the bag.
At the Recycling Barn, I unloaded and emptied the recycling into the designated wooden containers. Then I wandered over to the “shopping” area to drop off the neon green glasses and other items. I placed them on the shelves, setting the glasses next to someone else’s discarded vase. I love seeing the ever-changing mixture of items here and imagining who will take each item home.
Over the years I’ve brought home mugs, games, an electric kettle, bakeware and always books, books, books. There is a large book swap/library area, and I never know what I’ll find. Today I was hurrying, and after a cursory exploration, I grabbed only one book and headed out.
At the exit I paused to make way for two men moving a gigantic plaid couch out of the building. The men stopped beside a small, four-door car, back seats already brimming with plaid cushions. I paused to watch, wondering how this was going to work. The two men aligned the couch with the car, then paused.
After a brief conversation, they hoisted it upward, grunting, flipping it onto the roof, the face of the older man turning bright red with effort. After a tense moment, with a bit of jostling, the sofa settled upside-down atop the car with ends extending beyond the length of the roof. The men smiled, appearing well pleased with themselves, and the older man’s face resumed a healthier color.
I placed my book and leftover bags in the back of my car and prepared to drive off. As I left, two more people emerged from the long, low building – a father and his 6- or 7-year-old son. The boy was wearing a ball cap and a winter coat, and on his face, in addition to a big grin, he was sporting a neon green pair of sunglasses.
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