Black Trash Bags

Seemingly innocuous, over the course of my life, these transporters of trash have have held much more than trash and signaled changes to come or a departure from a state (literally OR figuratively in this case) of where I have been.

My first memory of black trash bags were of the garden variety. Good for grass, their humble, tidily bunched and tied forms lined our street after my father mowed the lawn. Nothing spectacular. Later, in high school, I remember sorting through one in a desperate bid to rescue a paper of some sort I had been writing for a class and misplaced. Black bags were for more serious jobs than the white, kitchen variety.

Then there was the time my high school sweetheart and I finally called the relationship over. His stuff was handily transported and personally delivered with butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms to his apartment in the Black Bag. This moment of time and my use of the Bag changes. It is no longer just a vehicle for trash but one for belongings, its contents carefully placed inside.

I began college, and in a self-centered and prideful move I insisted on going to an out-of-state university. Having a very small car of the Japanese persuasion, boxes did not easily fit its curved backseat and diminutive trunk. Being over 5 hours from home frequent trips back and forth to retrieve items from home were not an option. The black bag fit the bill for the crushables: blankets, comforter, clothes and the like, packed carefully with my Mom to arrive for the only time on my bed and in my drawers folded. Upon arrival at the dorm, the Bag was easily tossed into the trash- an economical version of luggage. It was not long before I bravely journeyed east to the coast to work at my first corporate job. Again, the Bag is put into hot use. The car a little older and less water tight held my few precious possessions as I lugged them up 3 flights of stairs to my first apartment with 2 mean roommates. This time the Bag was also used for trash. The mean roommates and I shared the responsibilities of lugging the Bag down the scary back stairs to the scary dumpster. Never living in a city previous to that, well aware of my femaleness and youth I carried the Bag a bit protectively like a shield and making sure I had a good handle on the slippery top in case I needed to fend off back alley rats, cats or worse, scary men.

Later I move home. Bags in force. My mother journeys to my coast town and helps me pack/shove/push/tamp the many Bags into my car. Amazing what two women can do when pressed for time and space! The Bag features as inexpensive luggage again, but this time also as a ticket to freedom from a sort of oppression I encountered in that city. I was free!

Now many years later and many moves under my belt, the Black Bag has featured in many ways in our household: as an impenetrable-to-the-sugar-crazed-eye Christmas candy hiding spot, Easter basket storage, Christmas tree needle catcher, broken mirror and glass receptable and even apparel for my children as they toss eggs to one another in a game (after all, black looks good on everyone).

Today I filled many black bags. Some bound for charity. Others bound for the dump. I was sickened to see how much STUFF we have accumulated; how much we waste. Some of what ended up in the Black Bag I gleaned from its cousin the white kitchen bag that was being used as storage. Today, just as with the many other times I have filled Black Bags, marks a departure of sorts. I will not allow so much stuff into our home. The old adage: "What goes IN must come OUT" is certainly true with homes. I do not care to pay the emotional toll that goes along with owning so much stuff- the organization, the care of the article, the fear of its break/loss/theft. As a parent I struggle to organize my children's things, glean the good, judge its value to the owner and decide the item's fate. Stuff is often a burden and the Black Bag- a trash bag- is the vehicle to transport it to the curb, or guiltily drop it at the docks in the back alley of the Goodwill and speed away. Today I will begin to pay closer attention to the bags that come IN to my house- the gift bags, white kitchen bags thoughtfully packed with hand-me-downs, shopping bags and grocery bags. I will weigh the value, and the cost much more closely.