This is my yard at the old house on Superior Street. It is sunset in this photooo. That house is the neighbor’s to the north. Lemme think who lived there. There was a stream of folks. Harshbargers were there for a while and for some reason, I thought that the phrase “Harshbarger’s nose” was absolutely roll on the floor laughing hilarious. I have no idea why. I don’t remember what a Harshbarger looked like. And there were the Propsveldts (y’all, I do NOT know how to spell any of these names) later on, who had kids just a bit younger than me. I’m sure I teased them. There was a toilet in the basement of that house that sometimes flushed itself and once the mom of the house (I don’t remember that family’s name) was home alone at night with her five kids or whatever it was and she took a baseball bat downstairs. I am in the Courtois family now and I have learned that a toilet is not normally something to panic about. Back behind that house you can see the Malette’s house whose daughter Connie was one of our long-suffering baby-sitters. I do not think The Engineer and I were very well behaved kids with most baby-sitters, even the ones we liked, and Connie was one of those. I guess she did it for the money. That big smokestack in the background belongs to Lincoln School. I red-queened over there every morning until I decided (alas) that I was too cool for red-queening.

You can’t see our little white house in the photooo. And the garden is just to the left of that person in the summer pajamas and probably a diaper. A nice, wet cloth one, no doubt. I remember wearing summer pajamas similar to those when I was a little older, five maybe. I’m sure I had survived the throes of toilet training by then but one hot spring night, I kept asking for Fizzies (who remembers those) over and over and over again. More Fizzies! The Commander finally said, “You are going to wet your bed if you drink any more Fizzies.” “Oh, no, I’m not.” Roight. I can still remember getting up in the morning in rather damp pajamas.

The title? Well. Welcome to the world of Garbage Woman on a day when our handy dandy A2 Garbage Cart stinks absolutely to high heaven. I swear, when my work friend Cynthia visits friends in the neighborhood this weekend, she will be able to find my own personal Landfill by the smell. I need to clean that thing out. I can’t find a decent high-pressure nozzle anywhere around here. I know there is one somewhere. Since I don’t know where, I’m gonna buy myself a new one tomorrow morning. That is all.

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