we had no idea that
Portland Composts!
That's right.
Portland composts.
With an exclamation point. !
There's even a bucket given to encourage composting. !
In fact,
Portland Recycles!, too.
And trash?
Barely...
every other week.
Right.
Our trash is only taken every other week.
!
It does feel good to be doing something that's good for our earth
(although I doubt the many diapers we throw away in a two week period is any better for the earth than had they been taken every week).
Still, sometimes it just feels like more work.
Not to mention all the icky yucky ridiculously gross winged gnatty type bugs that fly out of the compost can outside when we dump our bucket every day.
So we compost and recycle and try to be careful of the trash we throw away because we don't want to fill our can too quickly and then I watch what I send down the disposal because most of it could be put into the compost bin and now I wash out the bucket and set it to dry but the stink of rotten fruit and coffee grounds never really leaves. All the food we've eaten and the drinks we've swallowed and the stuff we've wasted and the lives we've littered lie lingering in a can waiting to be opened and dumped.
So,
composting takes time.
And work.
And bugs.
And space.
And it smells.
It sits.
In it's special space.
It's stirred.
Water is added.
And stirred again.
And more sitting.
More space.
Decomposition.
Before it can be used.
The other night
I was dreaming dreams
of things I was anxious about.
And then I couldn't fall back to sleep.
For hours.
And finally,
I prayed.
Why can't I fall back to sleep? I asked.
And why do I keep going over the same dream again and again?
Calm my anxious heart.
And I heard:
You need space.
A place to sit.
And stir.
And wait.
And decompose a little.
Decompress
all that has happened and been and was and will be,
To be made usable.
Composting.
Portland Composts!
I slept then,
feeling the grace
of a space and a place
where what has been used
can be used again.
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