The Trash Heap Has Spoken, Nyeaah!

When my oldest son was little, his favorite show (and mine) was Fraggle Rock. Not the cartoon, but the original Jim Henson produced live puppet (oxymoron?) show on HBO. It remains the most amazing and wise show ever made. Period.

One of the characters was "The Trash Heap." She was the oracle. And she was a huge pile of trash. Her helpers were two rats (I think they were rats) with Boston (correct me if I'm wrong) accents. The fraggles would come to the trash heap and ask for her sage advice. After giving her enigmatic response, the rats would chime in with, "The Trash Heap has spoken. Nyeeah!"

This post isn't actually about Fraggle Rock. It's about my own personal trash heap, on the back of a hill in my neighborhood. I've told about  how people dump there; about how I should hate it; about how I love it instead. Here's what I recently found one afternoon, on a walk with Donkey (my golden retriever).

Two leather wallets, one Mexican sandal key chain (like I had when I was little), and a never-opened still-in-the-cellophane pop-up Pooh Bear greeting card. All things I really needed. Well, I did need a new wallet.

The Trash Heap Has Spoken. Nyeeah!