My neighbor, the trash-picker.

I really do have some great neighbors.  One of my favorite neighbors and a dear friend is Tere, who lives just one house away.  Tere is a dynamo - mother of three, craft woman extraordinaire, great cook -- and, by the way, a doctor.  She is/was the first woman radiologist to make partner in a group in San Diego. (I think I have that right.  I'll double check). In fact, when I found the lump in breast, I trotted up the street in my jammies for a diagnosis.  Tere was wonderful:  She amde a couple of call and had me in for all the diagnostic testing the next day.
And I know she'll be pleased to see that I am including in my blog a picture of her...
/
/
/
/
scroll down
/
/
/
/
/
/
 PICKING MY TRASH!

and I'm there too, helping her while Jaime examines her shoe and pretends we're not really picking the trash...and by the way that wet spot on my orange tee?  That's puppy pee.  Trashpickers don't need no stinkin' clean shirts!

Now, I will point out that not only are we picking the RECYCLE bin, which is clearly a notch above the actual trash, we digging for the New York Times.  We're well-read trashpickers.