VALOIS, New York, USA - After crashing into bed last night - and watching the final episode of The Sopranos (more on that in another blog) - we awoke to the sound of the garbage man picking up stuff at the house this morning.
A good sound, except that I had neglected to pull out the two filled-to-overflowing cans last night, cans filled with substances so vile we risked an EPA sanction (or would have under former administrations).
So I was totally depressed when we heard him leaving, thinking that the reeking contents of the two cans would be with us for another week.
But I underestimated the service offered by Frank's Disposal, the Cayuta Lake company we hire every summer for 8-10 weeks to haul our basura.
When I went out into the driveway, the cans had been emptied, even though they were far from the corner of the lot where they were supposed to be.
No mas basura
For the past few summers, I usually trot out to have a good country jaw session with the fellow who drives the truck. We talk fishing, tractors, children and the weather. Religion, politics and gun control policies are not on the agenda. I'll be sure to thank him next week - and will set the alarm clock for his arrival.
The other nice surprise was getting in to see a physical therapist in Watkins Glen, a young woman who has great sympathy for old guys with frozen shoulders, but who also set out a regimen that she thinks will help me get more flexible.
Each time she twisted my arms during the exam, she apologized - then twisted even more.
Still, she seemed to know what was going on, what would help, and understood perfectly that like most patients, I would do about one-third of what she told me to.
But when I got her sheet of exercises to do - complete with her hand-drawn stick figures, I knew I had found the right person. Now I just need to get cracking on those exercises, at least some of them.
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