Toronto’s garbage strike is finally over. That sound you hear is thousands of Torontonians unpinching their noses and breathing in.
It will take a while to get the city back to its sparkling best … okay, we didn’t actually sparkle, but you get the gist … so I strapped on my litter collection gear (basically, a plastic bag) and hit the streets today to try and do my part.
I went for a walk around my pre-full-time-job route and got a little nostalgic. The same houses were there, but I’d missed so many little things. The townhouse that had steadfastly refused to fence in their backyard had installed a beautiful new patio. The barking-dog house and the piano-practice house were strangely silent.
The I-do-not-have-the-time-nor-the-energy-to-mow-my-lawn house was still as overgrown and wild as ever, I was comforted to see.
Just when I was thinking the street looked pretty tidy considering the strike has lingered on for weeks, I realized it was just that my eye needed to get back into litter-lady training.
Once I spotted one flattened water bottle, though, the rest of the litter came to life, as if someone had turned spotlights on each piece.
I filled a bag with the moist, soggy stuff (it rained buckets yesterday) and dropped it off at my local park, which must get private garbage pick-up because their bins were mysteriously only half full.
My little wobbly cedar tree, that I kept trying to prop up each time I walked by it through the winter and spring, was standing green and tall, I’m happy to report. Funny how sometimes you don’t know you’ve missed something until you see it again after a long while.
In fact, come garbage day, I might just run to the truck and give those peeps a big hug … or not …..
P.S. I know I included this song yesterday, but it’s awful good. Enjoy!