In July, I moved from an apartment to a sweet, little duplex. For the first time in 5 years, I have to take my garbage can to the curb once a week, as opposed to tossing my bags of garbage in a dumpster. No big, I'm so pleased to be in this nice space that I don't mind it at all. (I also have the opportunity to recycle now, which thrills me to a completely stupid degree.)
Garbage day is Tuesday, so each Monday night I take the can (is it a can if it's plastic?) to the curb. Every Tuesday when I get home from work, I find the empty can next to the garage door at the top of the driveway. Now, I entertain a very small fantasy that one of the local sanitary engineers got an eyeful my fabulousness, developed a little crush and acts it out by carting my garbage can up the driveway for me, but I realize that's highly unlikely. I was off work for four weeks after surgery recently, and I thought I would surely catch the fairy in action. She's sneaky, that one - four Tuesdays and I didn't get even a fleeting glimpse of a glittery wing.
I think the garbage can fairy is the lady who lives in the other half of the duplex. We've met, have spoken on a few occasions, but I don't really know her and I rarely meet her coming or going. But who else could it be?
It's a small thing, both for the fairy and for me. But it makes me smile and gives me a warm, fuzzy "aren't people the best?" feeling every week. It makes me want to reach out to other people more often - hold more doors, smile at more mothers with screaming meemees in their arms, and find other ways to pay it forward. Maybe that's why it happens.