OtherHalf and I went on excursion to feed the ducks. There’s a lake about ten minutes walk away so we trod down the lanes at the back of houses en route to the lake. Even though this was not officially a litter pickup exercise, I still kept an eye out for abandoned treasure. Sure enough just off the main street on the sidewalk, there was a child’s buggy, new and unused. It made me sad. I can’t imagine why anyone would dump this. We passed a bus stop. An open suitcase lay on the bench. OtherHalf steered me down a nearby back alley as I was just about to leap off to investigate.
Armed with some left over bread we headed down to the lake. Bread isn’t good news for ducks but this was a special loaf stuffed with olives and pumpkin seed. I figured it would give them some nutrients. The ducks started congregating as we approached. They seemed to be expecting us. Maybe they posted look out ducks on our route. Oh – oh seagulls too. Flinging bread to a gaggle of ducks is one thing, but doing it with seagulls around often puts in the ducks in danger. The seagulls are brutal. They dive bomb the ducks in an effort to take the food. It’s a feeding frenzy.
Anyway today we tried to feed only the ducks. It was such an enjoyable experience. Ducks flapped their wings and quacked everywhere. Some got cheeky, climbed on the boardwalk and tried to take the bread right out of the bag. We did not condone that behaviour so they got none. One duck grabbed its booty and flew off with it, chased by six seagulls. Round and round the lake the duck flew, weaving in and out, trying to shake off the bandits. No such luck. Eventually the duck returned and splash landed near us, exhausted and minus a mouthful of food.
After all the bread was gone, we set off home again. We went past the Blogtrain and I caught sight of one missing high heeled black shoes I’d seen a couple of days back. Darn it and I was hoping the one legged disco dancer was out having a blast on the dance floor with it. We trundled up beside the railway line and spotted a green and white bathroom weigh scale on the side of the path. It seemed to be in perfect working order. I resisted the impulse to climb aboard and check my stats as to be honest I’m feeling bloated from the cranberry sauce, turkey, mint chocolate and many glasses of Chardonnay. If its there next week, maybe I’ll give it a whirl. However the scale looks far too valuable. You can bet your bottom dollar it will be gone tomorrow. I’m not surprised by anything I see along the path these days. I’m expecting to find the kitchen sink any minute. With a matching tile unit of course.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
The Best Things in Life are Purple
Excellent news. I wandered back to the spot where I left the shoes and the tins of purple stuff. If you haven't a clue what I am talking about, mosey on back and read the previous entry. The purple playdo was gone. The high heeled shoes and the runners were no longer there too. Well almost. Further down the path there was a patch of grass to the right, and the white shoes were strewn there, looking distinctly forlorn. And one of the black high heeled shoes was lying there too, discarded. What happened to the other black shoe? Maybe picked up by a one legged disco dancer? Perhaps not, I suspect it had been thrown into someone’s backyard or on to the rail tracks. I decided that no one really wanted the shoes, now that they were soaked and dirty, so I dropped them into my black garbage bag.
I walked down the lane past Party House. The house is in disrepair, rented out and the occupants have parties most weekends. We’ve had no trouble from them. Occasionally we're awakened at around 2am by the steady base beat of unidentifiable music. This morning there was a beer bottle out front. Only one. Well there’s five cents for my troubles. A better class of beer this time though, a real pale ale. Party House rose in my estimation. In the middle of the road there was a broken car aerial. I added it to the collection in the garbage bag. All the paper I'd picked up today was soaked so the bag was getting pretty darn heavy this morning.
Just then another neighbour Blonde Olivia, called down to say hello from her deck, where she was smoking in a rather fetching purple housecoat, which matched the colour of the playdo quite nicely. We commiserated over the vast quantities of food and drink we’d consumed over Christmas. And that now were we paying for it. O picks up litter too. Recently she’d found two syringes right on the steps to her garden. Charming. She has two little boys who play round there all the time. I’m thinking I have a partner in crime in Olivia, maybe we can get together a litter posse in the spring and make serious inroads in to the more litter ridden areas round the BlogTrain.
I walked past Hedgerow House opposite the station. Yesterday instead of clothes strewn the hedge, there was what looked like a golf cart. As I mentioned in the previous diary, I think Hedgerow Neighbour finds this loot in his front yard and it’s his way of getting rid of it. OtherHalf agreed this time that this was not an art student project. Clearly the cart was too good to pass up as it was gone. I was disappointed not to see at least a pair of purple underpants strewn on the hedge today. The world has gone to hell in a hand basket, I’m telling you.
I walked down the lane past Party House. The house is in disrepair, rented out and the occupants have parties most weekends. We’ve had no trouble from them. Occasionally we're awakened at around 2am by the steady base beat of unidentifiable music. This morning there was a beer bottle out front. Only one. Well there’s five cents for my troubles. A better class of beer this time though, a real pale ale. Party House rose in my estimation. In the middle of the road there was a broken car aerial. I added it to the collection in the garbage bag. All the paper I'd picked up today was soaked so the bag was getting pretty darn heavy this morning.
Just then another neighbour Blonde Olivia, called down to say hello from her deck, where she was smoking in a rather fetching purple housecoat, which matched the colour of the playdo quite nicely. We commiserated over the vast quantities of food and drink we’d consumed over Christmas. And that now were we paying for it. O picks up litter too. Recently she’d found two syringes right on the steps to her garden. Charming. She has two little boys who play round there all the time. I’m thinking I have a partner in crime in Olivia, maybe we can get together a litter posse in the spring and make serious inroads in to the more litter ridden areas round the BlogTrain.
I walked past Hedgerow House opposite the station. Yesterday instead of clothes strewn the hedge, there was what looked like a golf cart. As I mentioned in the previous diary, I think Hedgerow Neighbour finds this loot in his front yard and it’s his way of getting rid of it. OtherHalf agreed this time that this was not an art student project. Clearly the cart was too good to pass up as it was gone. I was disappointed not to see at least a pair of purple underpants strewn on the hedge today. The world has gone to hell in a hand basket, I’m telling you.
Monday, December 27, 2004
High Heels, Syringes and Weird Purple Stuff
I was out on a jaunt to pick up litter this morning. The most common items I collect are transit tickets, fast food wrappers and coffee cups. Honest to God, if Starbucks, McDonalds and Subway paid you five cents for every used paper coffee cup or wrapper you returned to their moneymaking stores, they would get kudos and goodwill and there’d be a lot less litter on the street and in my backyard.
I usually stick to the block round the house but today, feeling a little more adventurous, I wandered down the street towards the BlogTrain (our trusty light rail system, not without problems, but that’s a story for another day). Today’s haul, besides copious amounts of paper litter: two rather menacing looking used syringes, one Sleeman’s beer bottle, three pairs of brand new shoes and three little round silver tins with what looked like purple plasticine packed inside. In this age of terror, thoughts of plastic explosive came to mind - yes, I've been watching too many Bruce Willis movies - but closer inspection of the label indicated it was playdo. And yes, I wear gloves to pick up this dubious collection.
The shoes were dumped behind a tree. A pair of black high heels, a pair of white court shoes and some rather snazzy running shoes. The BlogTrain line connects with a shopping centre a few stops away so I assume they were stolen from there. So what’s the deal – you steal stuff, decide what you can fence then dump the rest? The shoes were not in boxes and there was no store identification so not exactly something I could report to the police. They've also been exposed to the pouring rain we've been having for the last few days. I put them out neatly in a row in the hopes that someone would pick them up and take them home. Granted they need to be dried out and thoroughly cleaned. But surely someone could give those sexy black heels a run for their money on the dance floor at the All Night Jazz Club?
As I laid them out by the hedgerow beside the station, a light bulb went on. There’s a house opposite the station with a low hedge. Every so often I’ve seen clothes strewn on the hedge, sometimes for days, and I’ve wondered what that was all about. OtherHalf suggested it was some kind of art project with attitude. Yes, thankyou, next suggestion? But now I reckon that folks dump stolen property in the front yard, and that’s his way of getting people to take it away. Stolen goods –on the hedge - free to good home.
OK, a quick summary of where I stand on litter. I pick it up. It’s also a good way to get to know my neighbours and talk to people. I’m also a believer in the broken window syndrome. The people who have tendency to commit crime usually need something tip the balance between committing and not committing the crime. They see a broken window, they think rule and order has gone the way of the dodo, so it’s ok to break windows, and worse. So it goes for litter. Litter on the ground begets litter. Malcolm Gladwell, quoting various academics, has written quite extensively about this in his book called The Tipping Point.
So next time I go on the neighbourhood litter pickup maybe there will be one less syringe, two tins of purple playdo instead of three and maybe those black high heels will be kicking up a storm somewhere else. I hope so.
That’s it for today. See you again soon.
I usually stick to the block round the house but today, feeling a little more adventurous, I wandered down the street towards the BlogTrain (our trusty light rail system, not without problems, but that’s a story for another day). Today’s haul, besides copious amounts of paper litter: two rather menacing looking used syringes, one Sleeman’s beer bottle, three pairs of brand new shoes and three little round silver tins with what looked like purple plasticine packed inside. In this age of terror, thoughts of plastic explosive came to mind - yes, I've been watching too many Bruce Willis movies - but closer inspection of the label indicated it was playdo. And yes, I wear gloves to pick up this dubious collection.
The shoes were dumped behind a tree. A pair of black high heels, a pair of white court shoes and some rather snazzy running shoes. The BlogTrain line connects with a shopping centre a few stops away so I assume they were stolen from there. So what’s the deal – you steal stuff, decide what you can fence then dump the rest? The shoes were not in boxes and there was no store identification so not exactly something I could report to the police. They've also been exposed to the pouring rain we've been having for the last few days. I put them out neatly in a row in the hopes that someone would pick them up and take them home. Granted they need to be dried out and thoroughly cleaned. But surely someone could give those sexy black heels a run for their money on the dance floor at the All Night Jazz Club?
As I laid them out by the hedgerow beside the station, a light bulb went on. There’s a house opposite the station with a low hedge. Every so often I’ve seen clothes strewn on the hedge, sometimes for days, and I’ve wondered what that was all about. OtherHalf suggested it was some kind of art project with attitude. Yes, thankyou, next suggestion? But now I reckon that folks dump stolen property in the front yard, and that’s his way of getting people to take it away. Stolen goods –on the hedge - free to good home.
OK, a quick summary of where I stand on litter. I pick it up. It’s also a good way to get to know my neighbours and talk to people. I’m also a believer in the broken window syndrome. The people who have tendency to commit crime usually need something tip the balance between committing and not committing the crime. They see a broken window, they think rule and order has gone the way of the dodo, so it’s ok to break windows, and worse. So it goes for litter. Litter on the ground begets litter. Malcolm Gladwell, quoting various academics, has written quite extensively about this in his book called The Tipping Point.
So next time I go on the neighbourhood litter pickup maybe there will be one less syringe, two tins of purple playdo instead of three and maybe those black high heels will be kicking up a storm somewhere else. I hope so.
That’s it for today. See you again soon.
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