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A rainy day today, so I'm working indoors, tearing into areas where I intend to install some plumbing. I try to carefully remove and save for reuse as much of the old sheetrock as I can, but some is so decrepit already that it is beyond salvaging. It's messy and tedious work, but I try to look beyond the present mess, and envision the way it will be when it's all fixed up (still years off, I fear). I distract myself by singing Johnny Denver songs, hymns, or 'American Pie' (which is good for killing 10 or 15 minutes in one song). Talk to myself, sing to myself, full voice, who's going to mind? That's one of the perks of living back in the woods.

I take piles of the broken pieces and pitch them out the back door. Waste. Which gets me to thinking again about the Waste Management foolishness.

Now wait a minute. Think about what you're doing, Jerry. What is this stuff you're pitching? Old sheetrock. And what, exactly, is sheetrock? Gypsum sandwiched between two layers of heavy paper. And isn't gypsum used to sweeten sandy, acid soils like mine? Bingo.

So, between showers, I use the wheelbarrow to haul the pieces out to the grassy knoll west of the house, where I scatter them about, and smash the bigger chunks by dropping the sledge hammer here and there. This is more like it. In fact, this is exactly what I had in mind.

Again, I need to look beyond the present messiness, and see the future goodness: This gypsum given over to the elements of Nature, and Nature knowing what to do with it. Time will see the chunks crumble, soften, and return to the earth, enriching the cycle of Life. Yes, the broken, irregular pieces lying on the ground are pretty icky looking at the present, definitely not in the Waste Management style. But it's OK, and better than OK. It's as right as the rain that is beginning again to gently fall.