I am too lazy to take down the kids' booster seats or organize the car in any sort of methodical fashion. Big sand digging toys are the night's first find? Welcome! And there they stay, under whatever follows; by the end of a run, huge Morrocan pillows sit atop folding chairs, which teeter on a reading lamp, which is thrust between the armrests of a folding double jogger. And then I can't shut the door, so I stand there--all six feet of sweating, stout Arab-American mama--muttering and snarling and pushing with all my might.
I have my line ready for the police officer: "But, Sir, I am turning Trash into Culture."
And it's true. It's like Fight Club, without the split personalities. I fix up and sell the cast-off "fat" of the Lower Hudson Valley back to itself, mainly through craigslist and yard sales. Sales from last June to this April funded a 16 day springtime trip for my family of four to Europe. Not bad.
If, as studies I hear on NPR pronounce, the United States is the most wasteful--and the most generous--country on earth, then Westchester, New York, is the most "American" of its counties.
When I meet up with folks who are putting things on the curb, I ask them, "What about Goodwill? What about calling The Salvation Army?"
The most common answer I get is, "Oh, I just can't be bothered." It's infuriating.
Still, after a year of picking and selling, I think there is actually an intended gesture of generosity involved in carefully displaying a leather dining room set, or a pair of Kettler tricycles, or a king-sized bed frame on the curb. It's a little like I'm a lobster who is grateful for the crap on the ocean's floor. But what else can I say? There's some damn good pickins in this corner of the ocean.
Copyright 2013, Tanya Monier
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