Trash day

As a kid, trash day was a slog. It meant we had to take trash cans down our driveway, which measured a few hundred feet. Well, joke’s on me now as our trash has to be taken down to the “main” road (or about three times farther than that childhood trek). It’s every other Tuesday and, ordinarily, a non-event. Honestly, the biggest hurdle lately has been the cow pies scattered on the median of our grassy lane. Today, though, we’re graced with a torrential rainstorm and wind gusts up to 45 km/hr. Fun. Time with a new baby is a fluid concept, and it was only while out on a run that I realized today was Tuesday. The thought occurred to me somewhere between the rain soaking my inner ear and the wind pushing me sideways. Not ideal. Thankfully I was able to time it for a (minor) break in the storm. Still rainy. Still windy. But more of the, “I am now soaked.” variety than the, “I should seek shelter.” That said, the cows in the adjacent field (whom we’ve chosen to name Marshall and Mathers)…