Jack Johnson sings for us to sing along and learn how it is we should act in a global community. I love recyling. The whole process is about organization of junk, like catagorizing the weeds in one's garden, lining them up for execution. When I have a garden, I compost the weeds. When I reside near a recycling center, I recycle my trash.
A great whale of a box is beached upon our back porch. I can't lift it; Eric's not here; the box is falling apart anyway. It must be repackaged to be stowed in the car. The street dumpster is only a few steps away from our backdoor--and a wicked thought crossed my mind this afternoon: who would ever know if I simply loaded all those thousands of half-read Caller Times pages into the garbage bin? What exactly would be wasted? I would be reducing (the trash heap on my porch and in my laundry closet). One principle out of three would have been fulfilled. But Eric would have saved them all for nothing. And that I cannot let go to waste.
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