Kathy's Big Adventure: Let There Be Light and Recycling

Finishing Vermont.

Just when I was sure I'd looked at every pendant light ever made, I involuntarily clicked on a link that brought me to another 1436 of them. It didn't help that I wasn't really sure for what I was looking but thinking that I'd know it when I saw it made me look at every one. Filled with hope, while wondering why 'view all' isn't always an option, I trudged through 24 items per page sixty times. An hour later I decided that the pendant light I was looking for must not exist and went to the dump.

Finally. I decided to go with the one millionth pendant I looked at.

I guess it's called transfer station. Whatever it's called, the one in Washington is like a carnival compared to the one in Vermont because of the glass pile. True. In VT you can recycle everything in one bag which is it's own reward but nothing like being encouraged to shatter a month's worth of wine and beer bottles without having to sweep them up. But, if you want to recycle your number 5's (like yogurt containers) you have to mail them somewhere and I'm not sure where that effort ends up in the good-for-the-earth recycling pay back stream.

The Metaline Falls bottle throw

One Saturday on the way to the post office with a box of empty yogurt containers we got to talking about what would happen if we drove our plastic up to Nelson, British Columbia for recycling and decided to head north to find out. Sitting at the border crossing feeling guilty for no reason like usual we told the agent that 'recycling' was the reason for our trip ( now, I would've thought that sounded fishy ) and they waved us through. The transfer station in Nelson was closed when we got there but it looked like it wold be pretty easy to climb over the gate past the signs that said we were being watched and would be prosecuted if we dumped anything when the gate was closed. Idle threats? It was a chance we were willing to take. Now, after a couple months of looking over my shoulder I'm letting myself assume we won't be spending Christmas in a Canadian jail cell.

Our sixth road trip across the country in two and a half years started with a 'hi-bye' stop at my cousin Linda's in Spokane to make excuses for not visiting while we were out west and to move a heavy hutch from smack-dab in the middle of her living room to it's real home in her dining room. Two days later, in Tyler, we were at Uncle Roy's making excuses for missing his 80th birthday party at the Legion and moving a china cabinet from his garage to a flatbed. After that, caught up on the excuses, I played gopher while Vin fixed a couple tornado-torn roofs on my brother Dale's farm.

When we're in Tyler we stay at my Dad's. We called him from the road to say we were on our way but it was Thursday and he had to get to Men's Night at the golf course so he couldn't really talk.

Growing up, 'for cryin' out loud' was the only swear word Dad ever used. I don't know what happened but this trip it seemed like every other word was 'fricken'. Where did he even learn/hear it? Vin says he probably learned it from his girlfriend (80). I think it might have been Men's Night.

I think I promised to post a few pictures from our Greece trip.