Looking out my Backdoor: When garbage day becomes an event

As soon as I heard the smoke-belching diesel truck rumble off the highway into the Rancho, I grabbed pruning shears and artfully poked around in a pot of lavender on the front patio.

Well, I haven’t been off the ranch in two months. I don’t get to see many people. There are generally three men, sometimes four, swinging our garbage cans or lawn bags into the maw of the beast. They are friendly. They are young and strong. They wave. They greet me, “Buenos dias.”

I wave and grin and shout my best good morning. They probably think I’m easy.

The garbage truck dust cloud had hardly dissipated when B...