Bin There, Recycled That - June - 2010  
(If stress is garbage, I've...)
Bin There, Recycled That!
Non-toxic tips to recycle your stress, reduce negativity, and repurpose your life.
b in the bin 
This week, I opened a checking account for a policeman. It was fun to ask him for HIS drivers license for a change! His attitude was stinky. I wanted to say, "Hi Pot, this is Kettle. You're black!"
Coffee from head to toe...
My guilty pleasure is to buy a latte before boarding an airplane.The last time I did this, I was seated next to a man, who, like me, was reading USA Today. This requires two hands, so I set my cup on the floor between my feet, gently squeezing, to stabilize it. (Think, Kegels for your ankles!) Sadly, I squeezed too tightly and felt my shoes start to ooze with latte. They were brown pumps. Too bad they weren't sub-pumps. After reading each section of the paper, I put the folded part on the floor, and stomped gently to soak up the liquid, all the while, trying not to annoy my seat mate. I peeked at the him from the corner of my left eye to see if he detected my disaster. No sign. Then I began to smell the brew from my shoes!  After we both finished our papers, he said, "Excuse me, Ma'am. I don't know how to tell you this." Oh it comes...I'm busted!
"And I don't want to offend you..." he continued. I could hardly breathe.
" have unusual hair."  Ha. Did he say, "HAIR?" I started laughing. "Oh, that? A gift from my mother. I thought you were going to say you could smell my feet! Whew!"  Did I really just say this to a perfect stranger? I wasn't sure if I actually said it or thought it. We chatted about being gray (white, actually) in a world of color and how I had come to embrace my hair instead of resenting it. The flight attendant collected the trash as we began our descent. She took my wad of newspaper and unfolded it. I have no idea why. She looked at the mess, then at  me, and shoved the wad in her hefty bag with a sigh. I squished off the plane, because I still had a lot of latte in my shoes. Next time, I shall ask Starbucks for a sippy cup.
big coffee

Traveling Abroad With the Fam

Flight: I was wedged between my spouse and son. Who are these seats built for, the Munchkins? And when did Jeff become Mr. Wiggles? The man cannot sit still. For 9 hours.

Going to France may sound glamorous and all, but my first activity was to help Korey vacate her apartment. So, here I am, in lovely Versailles, France, scrubbing floors, spotting  carpets, and hauling out trash. Hey! This is just like home!

Road Trip - A Fiat was our 'midsized' rental car in Europe, or in US terms, a tuna can. And whose big idea was it to construct roundabouts, instead of intersections 800 years ago? After circling one village three (3!) times, I decided to go to sleep in the back of the can.

You would've thought it made sense to send our son, Nick, to a Paris nightclub with his older sister. Apparently not. He may be mature in some ways, but he's still only 19. Imagine our horror when his sis (and friends) sent him back to the hotel (20 miles away) in a cab, under the influence, by himself, without any money, at 3 a.m. Let's recap here:
  • 10: Number of kids in their group
  • 0: Number of kids with Nick in cab
  • Zilch: amount of money Nick had when he opened his wallet to pay the cab fare.
  • Language spoken by cab driver:  French
  • Language spoken by Nick: English and very broken Spanish (?)
  • Nick's Blackberry: what the cabby took in lieu of money
For you bottom line folks...
  • $38: approx. cab fare from Paris to Versailles
  • $125: insurance deductible on stolen phone
  • 4: Number of blocks from hotel the cabby dropped Nick (and he found his way!)
  • 1: very remorseful sister in the morning who will be covering cost of replacement phone
  • Nick's adventure/safe-ending: PRICELESS!
mont san michel
     Pictured above, The Whites at Mont San Michel

My book pick of the month:  "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake,"
by Aimee Bender. All I can say is, "If the title intrigues you, read it!"

Korey, Bobbe, and Nick
Remembering at Omaha Beach

I took several gold dollars to France to give to Korey's french and American classmates. At the American Cemetery (Omaha Beach), I placed one at a memorial, Lady Liberty side up. Imagine our pride, when we
passed by the memorial, over 30 minutes later, and no one had stolen the coin! I'll never know, but I hope it is still there! A belated Memorial Day thought to the families who have lost a loved one in the line of duty and as we pass another anniversary of Memorial Day and D-Day (June 6).
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Why is it that my motivation for house cleaning - really cleaning -  comes only with the arrival of a house guest? I don't know what comes over me. I suppose I just don't want guests to think we live in squalor. Yesterday, it seemed that the guest room smelled like my husband's golf caps, so I shampooed the carpets. (?) This requires vacuuming, moving heavy oak furniture, and excessive energy. I began at 8am and finished around 3pm, doing mounds of laundry (up & down the stairs) all the while. By 3pm, I tell you, I was exhausted! So I drove to the nearest walk-in pedicure shop. Soaking in warm sudsy water was heaven. I felt like bread dough as the massage chair gently kneaded my back, rolled my tired muscles and pulsed through its motions. My pleasure turned to pain, however, as the Satan cycle vigorously kicked in. The strong gyrations jiggled my gut horribly, and  threw my back out. After my pedicure, I didn't know whether to go rent "Abs of Steel" or make an appointment with the Chiropractor.

A medical urban legend was passed around the office Tuesday. A part of me always wonders if it is real or if I am just gullible, especially when the author appears to have credentials.  It told of the magical powers of a white onion, which can absorb bacteria and saved one family from the deadly flu in the early 1900's. They did so by setting an onion on their nightstand to draw out the bacteria in the environment. It also explained how a cut onion is very hazardous in your house (in OR out of the fridge) because it can become a potent source of crud, causing gastro-intestinal distress). Jeff called, "Shenanigans!" because onions have lived in our house for weeks and even months and we've not tasted one spoonful of Pepto-Bismal. True. But still. What if it were true about the flu? So imagine my surprise when I had a sore throat during the night Tuesday and fetched a plump onion out of the veggie drawer. When I woke up, my sore throat was gone. Miracle? I think not. But the onion still sat proudly on top of my clock radio. I left it there all day and night because it made me laugh so hard, I got in trouble! I realized that I  the whole thing had been a dream, except for the very real onion which is still on my clock radio. I didn't realize I was a sleep-walker.


And last, but not least, this month I share one of my fondest father's day stories. The reason Omaha Beach in France is so moving for me, is because my father was dropped in those waters in WWII. He survived the ambush, but later was captured and was a POW in Germany for six months. Because he was starved in the camp, I grew up in a home where everybody ate everything served by my mother. My father's usual comment was, "Mmmm Shirlee, this is good, what is it?!?" I remember as a little girl, saying to my sister, "Cathy, let's give Dad dog food and I'll bet he'll say, "Mmmmm Shirlee, this is good, what is it?!?" We always collapsed in fits of laughter at the thought, but we never crossed that line. Happy belated Dad's Day to those of you who are a father or had a father. Until next month, then...

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Bobbe White
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