I’m keeping this one quick: I didn’t have a chance to turn in any pop cans Wednesday, but I did get a few bags from friends and co-workers.

I’m hoping to get rid of them around lunch time in preparation for a bigger haul this afternoon. 

My boyfriend and I will be driving out to Lakeside to pick up what I’ve been told will be an 8-bag windfall. Hopefully his truck can fit it all. 

Will write more after lunchy.

In my regular job as a reporter, I often deal with ethics issues. I can’t take gifts from sources. I’m not supposed to write about groups I’m specifically involved in — like doing a feature about roller derby — or pick up assignments that deal with my friends. 

With the blog, since it’s about my life, some of those issues don’t apply. 

But, I was faced with an ethical conundrum last week when one of my North Bend School Board members — a reader, a regular source for articles and very nice woman, by the way — offered me a bag of pop cans. 

I grabbed it before a school board meeting and shoved it in my trunk. I immediately developed a stomach ache. 

As much as I love making pop can money, I began to feel that taking her donation, although I receive many others from the community, would be unethical. It sure didn’t feel right. 

So, for a day the bag sat in my trunk as it ate away at my conscience. I talked to my editor Elise and we agreed that it was definitely borderline. However, we needed to talk to our boss, Clark, for a definitive decision.

I promised the cans would remain unredeemed until we did so. 

On Friday, Clark agreed, so we gave the school board member two choices to resolve the problem — donate it to Relay for Life, or she could have it back. 

She opted for Relay for Life, and now the bag is gone, gone. So is my stomach ache.

And now, for something completely different, —  I made $7.20 yesterday.

Out of Order. On their own, the words have   no power. But strung together on a sheet of   American-cheese colored paper, posted      above the only open recycling machine at    Fred Meyer’s, they inspired fear, shock, and  a cold sweat. 

OK. I’m melodramatic. 

But it was pretty annoying that I had to wait at least a half hour to even start recycling the four shopping carts worth of bottles I’d managed to pick up earlier Monday. Not that I minded chit-chatting a bit with fellow recyclers, as they fed one bottle at a time into the antiquated machine left running. Still, plans to see my work friend Jeffee’s stinky plants — the glorious Dragon Arum, also known as Voodoo Lilies — and to finally show Mr. Porter that I can cook more than frozen lunches were quickly aborted. On the plus side, combined with the help of a much quicker McKay’s experience, I made $39.65.

Jeffee's stinky plant - 2007 crop.

  Regardless, please, Fred Meyer employees, replace your    machines! At least fix them! People truly are relying on their    recycling to make a living — I met one of them yesterday.

  An employee at Freddie’s mentioned that everyone’s life —    including her own — would improve if the machines ran    smoothly. The attendants, who work in dairy or other parts of the    store, have to stop work constantly to unjam a glass bottle or fix a   malfunction or empty a full bin of cans.

  Poor them, poor us, poor me.

Before I end this note, I want to say thank you to Angie in Hauser, without whom I’d be at least $39.65 poorer.

Waiting in line with all my carts.

Some of the money I made on Sunday.

   My friend Jeff says consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.

    As much as I don’t wish to be plagued by hobgoblins, it’s been       time to get back to regularly pop canning. In fact, I re-embraced      the effort on Sunday, making $32.25 for the day.

  Gosh, if I had earned that every day last week, I’d be golden. 

   Unfortunately — or fortunately, because I wanted to do it — I      had no time. I was stuck in court most of last week for the Henry    Cozad hearings. I’ve been following the story since day one, so it was really satisfying to finally get my questions answered about the case. But after nearly  8 hours in court each day, and then at least two hours of writing per session after that, I just couldn’t find the energy to do anything more than bathe and eat.

Long story short, on Sunday, I finally picked up a donation promised to me when I started pop canning, and after roller derby practice I found a large trash bag’s worth of empties at Sunset Middle School. That campus is a mess. 

Turned them in with the help of my teammate Scrambled Leggz, and ta-da! Money.

Thank you for sticking with me everyone. This week should be chock-full of recycling. 

BTW, the true quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson — bastardized by Jeff — reads:

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.”

Once again I spent all day at the Coos County Courthouse learning about the death of Linda Foley. On top of that, I have a flat. Actually, my tire exploded. So, without car or energy, it’ll be another nickel-less day.

Hoping I can somehow make it up on the weekend.

Sorry this is late, dear readers. I had an all day hearing on a murder case in Coquille, so I had no time for writing blogs or searching for pop cans. Peh.

I’ll keep this short.

Went on a quick Easter egg hunt of sorts at Sunset Middle School after practice Tuesday and picked up about three shopping bags worth of bottles and cans in the grass and playing courts. Apparently, some people feel it’s OK to throw their junk wherever they please. Also found some in a trash can by the school’s baseball diamond. Seems to be a problem with the urge to recycle there, too.

Oh well, more money for me. Made $7.20 at McKay’s yesterday. Too tired to continue the effort this evening.

Over and out.

Monday was nearly a bust. By the afternoon I could still see the black carpet of my now clean little car. 

No cans, four bottles. My life felt so empty. So quiet.

However, last night the chaos of collecting began anew when I received a huge donation of recyclables before a school board meeting from one woman and even more this morning from another named Phyllis Love. She delivered them to The World in her ginormous truck.

Just before pulling them out of its bed, she said they’d been collected by 4-Hers, who never got around to recycling them. I said that’s because doing it can be a pain. Phyllis agreed.

That’s all for now. I’ll update my earnings sometime this afternoon.

 \hig-ul-dee-PIG-ul-dee\   adverb : in a confused, disordered, or random manner

Merriam-Webster’s word-of-the-day seems a rather appropriate description for my Sunday of pop canning.

I started off the afternoon by driving out to Charleston where “Porter” helped me clean out my car. It was so full of junk scattered higgledy-piggledy throughout Beatrice that fitting my pop can spoils has been a problem. If only cars could talk. She hasn’t been cleaned since the Middle Ages.

Together, we threw out a huge bag of trash, reorganized my trunk, vacuumed the interior, and did a quick wash before I drove to Empire to pick up some more cans from a local lady’s home.

There, Nancy gave me trash bags and a broom and we pulled four or five sacks worth of empties from between a hutch and her other belongings. A few were stuck so far behind her furniture that I had to squeeze my body into the space and get the rest with a fire place poker. 

“God, I wish I had Go-Go Gadget arms,” I told her from my little cave. 

When I got the last elusive bottle, Nancy offered to give me $5 for my cause. As much as I appreciated the offer, that’s not what this month-long escapade is about. I view it as a second job and I don’t take tips. I’m just providing the service of removing annoying empties from other people’s homes or taking them off their hands, so they don’t have to worry about doing the recycling themselves. 

You’re sweet, Nancy. Thank you!

Earnings wise, I only made $5.05, bringing me to $269.20. I’m still ahead, but my pop can supply is running out…

In a battle royale over my Friday night, the double date easily trumped the cans.

Yes, I had empties to return. But with limited time to get ready for my first double date ever (guess I tend to go out with loners), I said bleep it and went home to get my sexy back. 

The next morning, despite the first hangover I’ve had in months — thanks the gods for Gatorade — I dragged myself over to The World for its parking lot sale, in part to run a T-shirt table for Coos County Roller Girls and to pick up any recyclable donations people left for me. 

One woman donated a little sack, which she left with my co-workers. And Alan Taylor, whom I know from BACAPA, brought over several bags of cans and heavy bottles that made a terrible din when I picked them up. Ouch, my ears. 

As I tried to shove them in my car and my overly full trunk, he laughed at me. People seem to do that a lot these days. I admit it, my car is a catastrophe.

I ended up getting half in the car and half in my new boy’s — I’ll call him Porter — truck. It’s really his dog’s name, but he’d rather maintain some anonymity. I’m also taking a cue from the Misadventures of a Food Junkie blogger, who calls her hubby Mr. X. 

Anyway, with Porter’s assistance at McKay’s, I made $11.95 and another $24.20 at Fred Meyer, for a total of $36.15.

Got everything done in time for a shower, nap and to see Diego’s Umbrella play at Waxer’s.

Good times.

Thursday was a quick and painless pop day. All my earnings came from my roller derby teammates and their relatives, except for a few leftovers from the day before.

I started after work at about 5:30 p.m., when I drove straight over to McKay’s to drop off a quick 146 for $7.30, then headed to a former teammate’s house, who brought bag after bag of bottles and cans from her home. Dizzy Molestme — her nom de guerre — was glad to get rid of them. Dizzy also said I shouldn’t worry about one naysayer’s opinion of my blog.

“I knew there was a reason I like you,” I told her. 

I also ran over to another friend’s home to pick up some sacks her sweet mom left out for me.

At one local grocery store, I picked up another $30 and change in receipts while trying to avoid a little bit of poo next to the recycling machines. Yuck. I hope they clean that thing out soon. I hope it wasn’t human. 

One of the attendants at Fred Meyer also mentioned that I made his manager nervous over the whole Oregon Bottle Bill topic. Haven’t heard back from Sen. Verger yet. 

After that I went to a derby meeting with the league treasurer, Scrambled Leggz, who told me she believes I’ll make my $1,010 goal. I don’t know. I’ve been pretty lucky so far, but the way my life has been lately, I’ve learned to have no faith in such things.

By the way, still planning on attending The World’s parking lot sale/fundraiser on Saturday, 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. I’m accepting empties, praise and criticism for the day, and may wear my skates, too.