Dump, Hazardous, Police

I am just back from a waste-management run in the Kia Soul, part of my drive to clear out Catherine’s studio for a new tenant at the end of next week.

I started out dropping off a dozen bags of bits and bobs, of use to no one, at the waste disposal site in West Royalty. They have a smart new setup there that involves playing cards: you vehicle is weighed and you are handed a playing card on the way in; you unload, and then your vehicle is weighed and you hand your card back in on the way out, your card serving as your ID so that they can calculate the different in the weight of your vehicle and charge you (card: five of spades; cost: $6).

I zipped around the corner to the hazardous waste depot to drop of a few boxes of nail polish, spray paint and other hazards.

Next it was down to the police station, of all places, to dispose of a cache of Catherine’s medications, the dregs after an earlier springtime run (there’s a retired Canada Post mailbox just inside the front door of the station that accepts medications; I’m not sure why the police station is the right place for it, but I’m happy it’s there).

After a quick stop at Madame Vuong’s for a sandwich and a coffee, I rushed home to meet my friend Brenda, who’s graciously agreed to give a new home to Catherine’s larger Rubbermaid container labeled “dying” (as in fibre, not death).

There are still some amorphous buckets of nuts, bolts, paintbrushes, rope, etc. that need sorting, something only time will tell if I have the wherewithal for.

In the end, as hard as all this is, it turns out to be healing as well.