Repurposing: Recycling Ourselves

Yesterday my daughter Kate used the word repurpose in a conversation about decorating her new house.  Not being the decorator type, I hadn’t heard the word used until that moment.  My creative juices, it would seem, have led me toward more literary ventures rather than the esoteric home decorating or fashion brigade, although plenty of friends and family seem to be clever enough in that department to make up for my shortcomings. And I have always relied on their advice.

Curious about the word, which is believed to have first appeared in 1984, I Googled it and was astounded at the number of definitions, photos of repurposed items—hundreds of them—and comments and suggestions about the act of giving new purpose to something that might otherwise be discarded.  Bathroom tissue rolls molded into art work, old doors turned into tables, and cans and jars transformed into décor for every room in your house, the possibilities could yield endless objects of delight.

Several comments, however, were not so positive:  The word is too saccharine, too superficial.  What’s wrong with the old word, recycle? Why use a new word when the old one works perfectly?  I must admit, I tended to side with the naysayers.  Yet, after more consideration, I’ve decided to recycle the word repurpose, taking full advantage of its wonderful metaphoric quality.

            Consider these widely accepted definitions:

·         To use or convert for use in another format

·         To use for a different purpose on a long-term basis

·         To alter to make more suited for a different purpose

·         To give new purpose or life to

 

Now, if we take a broader view of the less materialistic and look at more spiritual prospects in life, the most principled act we can commit to is that of recognizing the purpose for our lives. You don’t have to look far to find people struggling to realize who they are and what they want out of a job, a relationship, a life.  Don’t misunderstand.  I’m not suggesting that there is a quick fix or an overnight metamorphosis.  Finding your purpose is a lifelong process that has to start somewhere at some time. For those who walked down this path early in life, congratulations and well done are in order.  It takes a long time, however, for many people to reach that consciousness, but it’s never too late to get started. 

 

And so I return to this interesting word repurpose.

 

I knew I would become a teacher from the age of eight or nine when I held my first classroom with any of the children in the neighborhood I could corral.  I frequently spent time alone composing stories in my head even though only one teacher ever asked me to put one in writing.  Several teachers, whose positive influence and mentoring changed the way I saw myself, became my role models, and I couldn’t wait to go to college and become a teacher myself.  At age 21, I taught my first group of students ninth grade English, but my purpose in life was only just beginning to unfold. 

 

I suppose I’ve been repurposing my life for years:

 

When I was faced with challenges, I tried to convert those difficulties into lessons that could teach me what I clearly didn’t know.

 

When I surveyed the talents God gave me, I tried to use them for growing my purpose and moving to even greater heights.

 

When I found myself in situations that I believed were more difficult than I was able to cope with, I turned to the solution of changing the way I handled each one to better suit my purpose.

When what I was doing to raise my children or succeed in my job wasn’t working, I changed directions to breathe new life into every endeavor.

 

I was not always successful, but more often than not, I accepted change—not always willingly—and grew in faith.

 

Repurposing your life--finding new uses for it—is not as simple as turning a cardboard shoe box into a contact paper covered carry-all, but without change, subtle or sublimely painful, it is illogical to think growth can occur.

 

In his book Anam Cara, a Book of Celtic Wisdom, John O’Donohue says, “Change, therefore, need not be threatening; it can in fact bring our lives to perfection.”  He adds that it is “important to explore how possibility and change remain so faithful to us.  They open us to new depths within…This is the secret way that change and possibility conspire with growth…When you are faithful to the risk and ambivalence of growth, you are engaging your life.  The soul loves risk.”

 

I have found over time that the moment you become open to new depths within, you begin to gain consciousness.  Only through mindfulness will you begin to recognize how to love and nurture yourself so that the changes you encounter can lead you to the most harmonious end.

 

 

           

You Gotta Have Heart

This post makes the second response to the movie Patrick and I watched several weeks ago about the life of the great race horse Secretariat.  The idea that a horse could run with such heart led Patrick to a comparison to two great American statesmen.

The Triple Crown belongs to Secretariat.  At his death, his heart was found to be over two times the size of the largest hearts of only racing horses.  Two of the highest achievements in the formation of America which demonstrate the role of a great heart are those of Sam Houston and Abraham Lincoln.

Both men were born and bred into what is understood to be the spirit and the life of a frontiersman of the nineteenth century.  Yet neither man was rough-hewn; they were both men of letters and were capable of demonstrating human behavior across the spectrum of being able to be “drawers of water and hewers of wood,” and yet capable of partaking in the most sophisticated and intellectual manner in discussion.

Both Houston and Lincoln had enormous setbacks before they embarked on their final mission into immortality, in the same way that Secretariat lost before the Kentucky Derby because of an abscess that caused many to abandon hope in him. Houston’s lowest point was before the decisive war of San Jacinto.  What Houston achieved by gaining the independence of Texas was the way forward for the land between the Pacific and the Atlantic to become one country.

At Gettysburg all hope in a Union victory looked lost.  Lincoln was in a sea of wounded and dead bodies, all around as far as could be seen.  Yet he gave his address to the surrounding crowd, to the nation, and to history, thereby ensuring that there would be one nation. 

These three achievements took great heart—nothing less.

Ian Turnbull's "An English Compliment" -- Final Installment

Ah, finally we come to the last installment of Ian Turnbull's sweet love story, "An English Compliment."  You can always read it again!

Chapter 5: The way back to the hotel

The walk to the car seemed longer than usual. After he shut the door, he pulled down the sun visor and flicked open the illuminated vanity mirror that some clever designer had incorporated. He looked at his own lips. Angela had done a good job. He was disappointed; he wanted there to be a vestige of her lips on his, something to mark the occasion. He placed the napkin on the passenger seat beside him, and started the engine.

As he drove back over the now familiar roads, Bernard was thinking over how useless yet again he'd been in Angela's company, for although he'd said his compliment, had he said anything else, no! He was disappointed with himself.  Why was he so, inept? He spoke to women regularly; he even flirted with them, but put a woman in front of him that raised his heart beat, well, then, panic, worry, and complete incompetence at organising the flow of words that issued from his mouth!

 

His mind wandered to an unexpected encounter he'd had some weeks back, Angela was hurrying back from some emergency shopping requirement for Ellen. He hadn't used his command of English very well that day; he thought about the great writers, what they had, and what he didn't. They did their polished lines at the writing desk, Bernard did his blunders in real life.

He considered the lucid lines of Shakespeare, the smugness of the well written verse, the drama unfolding in iambic pentameters, humph. I bet Shakespeare hadn't come out with lines like that when in front of Ann Hathaway! No, he'd probably blurted out incomprehensible drivel like I do.   He remembered how stunning Angela had looked dashing across the shopping mall car park or parking lot as she'd say. The sun was behind her, and seemed to float around her hair, and at that moment she competed with sunlight itself. She wasn't dim, like the faces on photos taken facing the sun, where the camera hadn't compensated for the light behind the subject! No there was no need to for compensation in that image; she radiated her own light. Even just standing on tarmac on her way somewhere, she was radiant.

 

He was convinced Shakespeare faced with that visage, would have probably blurted out, “You look, you look just like a summer's day” just as Bernard had. Of course Shakespeare would have gone back to his desk later and polished it. Then for all posterity we would have the lines “Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” How much more majestic does that sound. The splendour of lines carefully crafted at the writing desk,.........yes Shakespeare must have worked on that for some time, it wasn't spontaneous like......................

 

Flashing lights blinded Bernard back to the reality of the journey home. He stamped on the brakes and brought the Ford to a sudden tyre tearing halt. He realised what had happened all too readily. As he had turned left across the carriageway he had gone into British driving mode and entered the next road on the left side. He had done this a number of times before but had realised before encountering any traffic, corrected his driving and had escaped without consequence. Paper had fluttered around the car with the almost instantaneous halt. He was facing another car nearly bumper to bumper, with a rather irritated looking lady peering at him over her steering wheel. Sheepishly he pulled the wheel to the right, and started to skirt around the vehicle, as his door lined up with hers he pressed the button and the window glided down. “I'm terribly sorry” He said with a true sincerity, “I lost my concentration for a moment then.”

The lady looked at him with head-wagging gentle disapprovement, “From England, eh, well we drive on the right here! Didn’t they tell you that when you picked up that rental?” Her eye's looked skywards for a moment and then a slight smile came to her lips. Bernard took this as a sign of forgiveness. She drove on before he could add anything else to his apology.

 

Where a moment before there had been a rare perfect order in a car that Bernard was driving, there was now a mess of papers in the passenger foot well where the large plastic wallet had deposited the car's paperwork, the rental agreement .........what to do if you have a breakdown, the insurance if you had an accident, etc, etc. There was quite a pile, which of course Maine had diligently explained to him. He leant over and scooped up the shuffled paperwork and stuffed it back in the provided wallet. The car moved off with Bernard considering how letting his mind wander, might have meant a new lesson from Maine, and now he was making sure he stayed on the right side of the road.

 

Chapter 5: The next morning

Maine was on; it was her early shift and Bernard was enjoying the inspection of the returned car. No rubbish found, no new dents or scratches; he was on a roll!

“I see my training is working” said Maine, “Don't you feel so much better driving round in a clean car? You never know who you might give a lift to!”

 

“Actually Maine, I do feel better about it. It's a challenge I have risen to!”

 

“Well all that remains now is to finish off the paperwork. Let’s go to my desk. You haven't got any further bookings. Is your stay over?”

“I have to go to Boston now and decide where I am to work; for the operation here, or our operation in Boston!”

 

“Well you'll do well now, with a nice clean car in Boston! Of course you won't get the service you're used to here!” Maine added with a wink!

Bernard couldn't help liking Maine. She was relentless, yet fun. You wouldn't take her on in an argument and expect to win! He remembered one of her sayings that had made him laugh, when he'd returned a car that had been troublesome!

 

“Well do you know what FORD stands for? “

 

“Er, no?”

“Fix Or Repair Daily!” Came the sharp answer in her wisecracking New York accent.

 

He had managed to score a wisecracking point with Maine when he asked her if she knew what his car at home stood for, LOTUS. “Lots Of Trouble Usually Serious!” Maine had laughed and shaken her head, “We won't be renting those then!”

 

Bernard drew up the chair opposite Maine to finish off his credit card transaction; she was always efficient, yet managed to keep up a conversation the whole time! He thought there's not many who could do that and keep you amused doing what really was a pretty mundane thing, renting a car.

 

Maine pulled all the paperwork out of the wallet, and then with delight held up a white napkin in front of Bernard with a set of lip prints in dusky pink. “What's this,” enquired Maine, or rather who does this shade belong too? Now you don't wear lipstick do you?

Bernard knew he was flushing, and was about to bluster an answer, before he could..........

“Well have you done it?”

“Done, er, what Maine”, asked Bernard, thinking surely Maine is asking if he had, well had been intimate with the lady.

 

“Have you called her?”

 

“No, why would I call her?”

 

Maine put the napkin down on the desk revealing the other side; there was a message written in what looked like eye-liner pencil.

 

Call me soonest, two kisses and a cellphone number.

“You haven't called her, and she wears lipstick like this? Is she hot?”

 

Bernard thought Maine could work for the police; her interrogation seemed as irresistible as her lectures. “Err, yes and no!”

 

Maine slipped into New York wisecrack mode again, “What you can't make up your mind?”

 

“No I haven't called her, and yes, well, she's hot! Yes, she's hot!” Bernard wouldn't normally have used that expression, but he knew if he tried to express it any other way he'd fail; two failures talking to women within twenty four hours, even for two different reasons, one because her physical presence intimidated him, and one, because the familiarity, although strangely welcome, floored him!

“Well don't you think you should call her?”

“I've packed my cellphone in my suitcase, as you're not allowed to use it on the flight”

 

“Who packs their cellphone in their suitcase? What are you nuts, what happens if the baggage handlers lose it? Geez Louise, you Brits haven't heard of American airport baggage handlers! They could lose the airport, they're famous!”

 

Bernard hadn't thought about that, and now felt incredibly naive!

Maine, turned her telephone around and pushed it over to Bernard's side of the desk!

 

“But I won't have any privacy here” even Bernard thought his objection sounded pathetic.

 

“Nobody is going to hear you on the other desks, there's plenty of space between them.”

Bernard looked up at Maine, and was about to say something about not being alone, when she anticipated his further protest. “Hey, I'm part of the team. If it wasn't for my diligence this would be lost to you, wouldn't it?  Do you know how boring it is cleaning and checking cars? This is the most excitement I've had for ages. Would you deprive me of it! Look what I've done for you, I expect she's seen how well you keep your car and it's made a good impression on her! I'm coaching you, we're a team! …........................And, doesn't it say ring soonest? Well? This is soonest!”

 

Bernard considered telling Maine that Angela had never seen his car, but felt he didn't want to disappoint her, and he thought if Angela who was always so well presented had seen how he had kept the car, well he may have not made such a good impression. He knew why he liked Maine, there and then. Maine had sass; it wasn't a word used back home, and there wasn't really an equivalent. She didn't have cheek, that was our word, but she had sass all right. Sass said something more, something irrepressible, and he liked her all the more for that sass.

 

He smile, grabbed the receiver and punched in the cell phone number. Maine was almost beside herself. She beamed; there was a slight squeaking. Maine was actually jigging up and down on her chair with excitement.

 

He heard Angela's voice just answer with “Hi!”

“Hello Angela, it's........... Bernard!”

“Oh, Bernard, I thought you weren't going to ring, and I had made a fool of myself. Where are you?”

“Well I'm at the airport!”

 

“You are? You haven't checked in yet, and there's no queue at the desk right now!”

 

“Wow, how do you know that?”

“I'm standing here Bernard, I wanted to say good-bye, and we didn't get a chance last night!”

 

There was a “ha” as the air gushed from Bernard's lungs and he had to take another breath to answer.

 

“I'll be right there, right away. Bye, I mean, see you, see you shortly!”

 

Bernard put down the receiver. Maine was looking excited; he knew she'd heard the entire conversation and she looked like she was going to explode with joy, “Aren't you glad that you called now?”

“Yes I am Maine, yes I am!”
 
“Well go on then, go and see the girl! Angela, nice name too!”

 

Bernard shot to his feet and started to gather his case, and papers.

 

“Just a moment” called Maine and reached behind her, and placed in front of Bernard, a wrapped up bunch of flowers.

“You've got flowers here?” This was an amazing day already for Bernard, and Maine had flowers at her desk. “Just in case of an airport romance?”

“Of course!”

Maine thought she'd better relieve Bernard of his puzzlement.  “Don't you men ever notice anything? Look there's a vase of flowers on each desk to make the office look nicer, though why I bother, I don’t' know! Sheesh, if men ever notice anything we do! I do the flower arrangements every day, always getting in fresh flowers!”

 

“Well, won't you need these then?”

 

“Hey, I've been around a bit; I can trim up yesterday's and make 'em look real pretty! Don't you want to give her flowers?”

 

Bernard leant over Maine's desk and kissed her on the cheek; he was amazed himself at being so reckless in his behaviour. “Yes Maine, I'd love to give her flowers, thank-you, thank-you so much!”

 

“Well it's spring now,  and these flowers say spring! Go, take them and go, she's waiting!” Maine slipped into her wisecrack voice “I expect you'd prefer it if I'd planned ahead for today and had ordered roses?”

 

Bernard looked into the wrapper to see what the flowers were, “Oh no Maine, not roses, daffodils, daffodils are perfect, just perfect!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ian Turnbull's "An English Compliment" - Installment Four

You do not want to miss this fourth installment of Ian's new short story "An English Compliment"!

Chapter 4: The Compliment

The chef had brought the meal to Bernard's table, as was generally the case if he was the only person dining, but it meant he'd missed the opportunity for a further, albeit brief, talk to Angela. He was a nice chap and they had exchanged pleasantries. He'd explained why the steaks were good, the locally sourced beef. Bernard had been astounded at just how impressive a cow's c.v. could be!

 

Bernard liked his usual table, it wasn't far from the bar, and he enjoyed that view. The steak was fast disappearing and yet he was no nearer to thinking about what Angela would consider an English compliment. He thought about Jane Austen, for he knew there was a series being shown on American television that either the BBC or some other British production company had sold to the USA. He'd read some of her work at school, and was going through the quotes from Pride and Prejudice in his mind. The fact was though he hated Austen's writing, and had longed for some Terminator character to loom out of one of chapters and wipe out the Bennett family. Thank goodness for Wickham he thought, at least a bit of drama there. Anyway his recollection of the plot offered him no inspiration.

He looked up from his plate, now bereft of steak and salad although some French fry stragglers remained that hadn't succumbed to his fork, but Bernard was satisfied, well at least satisfied with food. He had mastered a stance where it looked like he was just generally looking round the bar, but really his eyes were fixed on Angela. As she busied herself cleaning and straightening bottles and whatever things else she did behind the bar, which was always shiny, clean, and beautifully ordered. As she moved about with a seemingly inexhaustible energy, her hair would slightly sway as if in a breeze, it was so golden. Here's where he should look for his inspiration.

Bernard's musings continued, “You've got nice shiny hair!” Hmmm, that doesn't really sound all that English and it doesn't sound that inspired either, Angela's worth of more than this. She had other attributes too. Why just the hair? Well hair was safe; you could compliment a lady on her hair. Even though you might want to, you certainly couldn’t compliment a lady on anything that her dress covered. This was an unwritten rule, unwritten, but it seemed right. Even if you changed the language to make it sound non sexual, it still didn't work. “My that's an impressive thorax you have” or “marvellous pelvis you’re blessed with!” No Bernard was right, there was a no man's land entrenched between the two lines, the hem line and the neckline! Leaving that area alone was definitely English.

Her golden shiny hair reminded him of something, something more abstract..............

Angela was standing in front of him. He hadn't noticed her come over whilst he debated what words to choose in his head.

“Can I take that? Have you finished? Ready for a cup of Joe?”

“Oh yes please Angela, a large cup of Joe.  I'm on the eight forty five flight tomorrow, and I haven't finished packing yet, so will need a bit of a boost!” Bernard glanced down at his watch, it was quite a bit later than when he'd normally finish. When he was doing his valeting earlier, he had found that he dropped a lot of crumbs in the car.  It needed a bit more attention than expected and he had to pass the Maine inspection.

 At least Rick had sidled off to catch one of the many TV shows he seemed to follow. If there were no other clients in, Angela would sit at the table with Bernard and have a coffee too. She always referred to coffee as Joe for Bernard's sake. It was a bit of a joke as on Bernard's first visit, someone had called across to Angela for some Joe and Bernard had been bewildered. He'd asked her what Joe was. Angela had said it was a name for coffee and was sure that it was U.S. Navy who had called it that, but she didn't know why. The next time Bernard came Angela had found out why it was called Joe and told him the story; it was how they had started chatting. Angela had shared with him her ambitions and how she was achieving them, Bernard had shared his dreams, and that's all they were dreams, yet Angela would say an encouraging word, and even he believed for that moment that he might one day set off on a new direction. A new direction that would would make major changes in his life, a new direction that might see him realising a different future than he was resigned to, the drudgery of corporate balance sheets and management reports.  Then she would leave the table, he would leave the restaurant and those ambitions would leave him, they would evaporate with the trip back to the hotel, they would seem like a distant memory of a far away galaxy by the time he drove to the office the next day.

Sure enough Angela came back with two steaming cups of Joe, and sat down opposite him. When she fixed her brown eyes on Bernard he felt like he could fall into them. They were warm and inviting. He realised he'd sighed aloud, and now had his mouth open but wasn't speaking, Angela filled the void:

“Am I going to get my compliment, my English compliment?”

“Oh yes, I'd like to compliment you Angela, I'd like to compliment you a lot. It’s easy to find good things to say about you.”

“Ah, thank-you Bernard, that was a nice thing to say.”

“Oh that wasn't it.”

“Really, that wasn't the compliment, oh, what else will you say?”

Bernard looked up and took in Angela's golden hair again, he remembered why it was on his mind earlier, and he thought about the first time he saw Angela, his chest raised as he took in a deep breath and he spoke:

“Have you heard of Wordsworth?

“No, is he an actor?

“Ha, I can see that it would be a good name for an actor. Actually, it's a good name for a poet, that’s what William Wordsworth was. Well he wrote a poem called, I wandered lonely as a cloud.

It's very famous.

He wrote it when he walked about the Lake District. It's a beautiful place the Lake District. Funnily enough, clouds aren't always that lonely there; it rains a lot, that's why it's the Lake District! But what he was conveying that he was in a state of isolation, away from everything else, completely alone! It was”

Angela interrupted “It was like a simile?”

“Yes Angela, it is a simile. Similes don't always have the word like in them. The Lake District can be a place where you can enjoy solitude, a place where you can consider things, see the beauty of your surroundings. Let me tell you the first verse:

            I wandered lonely as a cloud

           That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

            When all at once I saw a crowd,

            A host, of golden daffodils;

You see Angela, it was a breath taking experience, the Lake District scenery although often ruggedly beautiful, can look quite dull, sometimes in the shadow of clouds the grey granite can look quite unfriendly and forbidding. Yet here he is, a man walking, wandering maybe aimlessly, he may have just been out to take the air. Maybe the footpath turned a corner, or perhaps he'd just gone over the rise of a hill, when suddenly there they were, the daffodils, golden, beautiful, warming the scenery. It was an event that one might expect to be quite ordinary, except the daffodils he saw were just so amazing, they filled his senses, they inspired him, and he had to write about it.

“Yes I can see that, I'd like to hear the rest of the poem it's so lovely”

“Well Angela I will tell you the rest, but I want to explain to you what can happen. You see a man can be driving in his car, in a worn out town full of worn out buildings. He takes a turning and sees a restaurant. A restaurant with a name that he's vaguely familiar with; perhaps someone had recommended it to him. It's a fairly modest building, just a prefabricated industrial unit, with planks nailed up to make it look like a shack. It all a little grey, and needs a touch of paint here and there. He enters into the restaurant without any great expectation, and as he does, he looks across at a breathtaking sight, he understands Wordsworth's amazement. There he sees her, a sudden sight of breathtaking beauty, he sees his host of golden daffodils.”

There was a silence for just a moment. Angela's gaze was fixed on Bernard. He wondered if he had said the right thing for her. She rose from her seat and lent forward and kissed Bernard on the lips.

Her lips may have only touched for a moment, but there was a mighty firework display going off in Bernard's head. His outer body was frozen, yet he had palpitations that were multiplying and surging through him in torrents because of Angela's gesture.

“Oh Bernard, I think that must be the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”

Bernard took a breath. Words for the moment escaped him, they were superfluous, he wanted to stay in that moment, he had no cares or worries, that moment was perfect, and that moment was one he was in, happiness had just turned up. He was happy, he was happy that he'd made Angela happy, and he was happy how her happiness had spilt out.

“I didn't expect you to ask me for an English compliment!”

“Well. I got one didn't I? I love it. I just wanted a compliment from you. You see all the guys look at me, even you look at me...... tight black dresses go with the territory of being behind a bar but there's a big difference you see Bernard. When you look at me, you leave my dress on.”

Bernard felt touched, he knew he wanted to say more to Angela,  but what next, what should he ask or say...............?

The front door opened and a familiar voice shouted “Hi Angela, oh hi Bernard, you're in tonight, good to see you! Was your steak okay tonight?”

“Hi John”, was shouted back by both of them in unison. Bernard was sure John was early...... Why, why tonight, why when he'd said something meaningful! “More than okay John, it was great as usual, the steak, the steak was great!” shouted back Bernard.

“I haven't cashed up yet Bernard' I'll have to go! Oooh, just a sec!” Angela looked at Bernard's lips, she reached across to the neighbouring table and plucked up a paper napkin. She pressed it against Bernard's lips, it was a sensation almost as sensual as a kiss, but that kiss had set new standards for what a kiss should be! The napkin moved across Bernard's lips and then it left them, Angela lifted it in front of his eyes where he saw on the whiteness of the paper the pinkness of her lipstick.

“Can't have you going back to the hotel with lipstick on, they'd be asking questions!”

There was a shuffling at the bar, as John retrieved a clipboard and started reviewing its attached sheets.

“Oh I need to go and do the cash register!”

“I haven't paid yet, here's my card!”

“Thanks Bernard, I'll be two ticks!”

Bernard donned his coat; he knew the routine as he'd seen it before, John liked to look after Angela's security and would whisk her off, in his car, to her home. Angela had explained he was careful about his staff, especially on the last shift, in case anyone assaulted them, or thought they were carrying cash.  Bernard shuffled over to the bar, and Angela smiled, handed him his credit card and receipt. “Thank you for coming so many times Bernard.” She turned to her boss, “It's Bernard's last night John!”

“Bernard thanks, glad I bumped into you, New England next? Have a good journey and maybe you might come back?”

“Well I'd love to, err, well good-bye!”

Angela called as Bernard was turning for the door “Bernard, just in case, I might've missed some!”

He took from her outstretched hand the same napkin with the pink lip print on it.