At the Mercy of a Trash Can

Technology baffles me.

Most of my skills are archaic, involving hand tools and shovels.

Like that old Hank Williams Jr. song, I can run a trot line and skin a buck deer, but my i-watch remains a mystery, the fish-finder in my boat is still a work in progress, and Siri haunts me.

I’m even at the mercy of a trash can.

About a year ago Barb decided it was time to replace our kitchen trash can. It sat tucked away out of sight under the counter where its decrepit condition went largely unnoticed until it was noticed.

“We have to get a new one,” Barb announced one day.

I was against any cha...