Send Me to Glory in a Glad Bag@

     I despise trash.
     There is more trash generated in a day by this family than there is usable material that came inside it.
     On any given day, I fill at least one enormous black trash bag and haul it to the barrel outdoors. Most of the time there are two, but to be fair, sometimes I do put another half day in between gathering up all of it into disposable containers.
     Now, I know this is something my readers are not likely to be happy to find out but it is just one of those things: we still BURN!
     I know!
     I'll admit I'm a firm believer in re-cycling and I'm as concerned about the environment as the next one but until I live alone again (or at least just myself and my better half) I've given up. Burning is still allowed in our county and I am blessed to be able to do it. There is something soooooo satisfying about standing and watching those piles and piles and piles of trash turn into a thin column of black smoke, and then disappearing forever. It is almost addictive.
     I do manage to save all the newspapers and magazines and catalogs (what I can bring myself to give up) and donate them to the local re-cycling station in town. But I got sick and tired of digging through nine small and two large trash containers on a regular basis just in order to separate sticky nasty cola cans and plastic milk cartons.
     In this house, peace is kept by my refusing to become a small (!) dictator. So I just do my job the best way I can. In this case it means getting rid of all the garbage and trash in the most efficient manner I can manage.
     When the wonderful day ever comes that I can unwrap a package of something . . . anything . . . without removing sixteen layers of plastic hard enough to build a barn from perhaps I can rest. Wouldn't it be great to come home and put things away, knowing there was only one thin barrier between you and whatever  it is you are planning to use?
     But no . . . you never know. I might slink into the large discount store with my trusty little scissors or tiny pocket knife and make off with something val-u-a-ble, so I'm stuck with dealing with trying to remove tons of armour from whatever I've bought.
     Then I have to dispose of it too.
     Ergo: Bright burning, all-consuming Fire. . . until something better comes along.
     Oh, yeah. The title. I stole it from a friend of mine who wrote a wonderful funny song with that name. Didn't have a key on the computer with a copyright symbol so I just substituted the @ sign. Ain't I clever?