Once a week everyone in our neighborhood wheels their big black cans to the street, filled with unwanted stuff. We take it for granted that the big trucks with the electronic arms will rumble by and empty our trash. On holidays the truck is often a day late so our cans are overflowing. Our household has shrunk so sometimes we only fill one can. I'm thankful for the men who drive the trucks and perform this service because our lives would get messy without them. When we lived in Tunisia thirty years ago, this service was simpler. A man knocked on our door and offered to pick up the trash for a small fee. We agreed and he came by every week as faithfully as the trucks. I'm amazed our trash for three people including a baby fit in a small can. Today our lives are more complicated. We consume more and make more trash; yet I'm not sure this consumption means more happiness.
