Irv Erdos

The pandemic and the accompanying confinement are responsible, I’m certain, for the recurring anxiety and restlessness many people face these days.

That’s why I try to keep busy and find an activity for each day of the week.

Thursday, for example, is the day the trucks come to pick up the trash.

So I gather the containers from the side of the house; the one that holds everyday trash, the bin with the recycle material, and the one with the lawn debris, and drag them all to the curb.

It’s a job that has somehow evolved to become my responsibility, but I have no problem with that, because, as long as we’ve been married, we’ve always divided up the household chores.

She does the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, the dishes, and the laundry, and I take out the trash.

But I have no regrets, since I happily accept the job, knowing how essential it is in life to have a purpose.

There was a time I also washed windows, but I lost that position when she complained of shoddy execution. So I got dumped for a professional window washer.

When he shows up, my wife looks on approvingly, admiring the sprightly way he practically dances from one window to the next: Pas de deux with a squeegee. No one likes an exhibitionist.

But I still have the garbage duty, and no one’s going to take that away. Not only is it an important task, but it provides yet another way to stay active.

And just as Thursday has become the day I drag out the trash cans, Friday is when I drag them back.

I could choose to retrieve the empty containers later the same day, after the trash collection, but then I’d have nothing to do on Friday.

So while Thursdays and Fridays are booked, I do have other obligations, and I certainly don’t want to leave the impression that my sole responsibility is the trash.

Saturday is the day to cut the grass, trim the shrubs, and rake the leaves, and I never fail to be out there to give the gardener instruction.

Sunday is my day of rest, but on Monday, I shave.

Then comes “Chicken Tuesday.” It’s a new tradition we’ve adopted since the virus, and it helps to break up the week.

It involves a ride through the drivethru to share nuggets, fries, and a sundae. And they say nothing good comes from the pandemic.

On the way home, I’ll stop at the gas station. I don’t necessarily need any gas because the drive-thru is the only place I go and it’s only five blocks away, but it’s yet another exercise I’ve added to my ever-expanding list of activities. So, right after Chicken Tuesday, I filled the tank. It cost a dollar. Wednesdays, I prepare the trash for the big day following, and then, on Thursday, I’m back to my normal routine.

It’s an ambitious agenda, but I try to squeeze in a nap.