Field Trip...Home School Style

So we took a little train ride last month.

There was a get together at a friend's house we wanted to go to and we thought, "Why not take the train? It'll be fun!"

Just a little train ride.

So we left out of Mineola TX one fine evening, fresh and eager.



See? Eager.



'Round about midnight, we pulled into Little Rock and dropped off a few and picked up a few. The boys slept through that.



Right after dawn, we passed by the St. Louis arch.



Then we traversed Illinois...the long way from bottom to top.



Finally, we got to Chicago.



We got off the train in Chicago and got on the commuter train to Sturtevant WI, which is right outside Racine WI.

Racine WI is where I was born and lived till I was 35. It's right on Lake Michigan and a pretty city during every season but winter...which lasts from October 1st thru May 31st.









We spent the night in Racine, and while there, of course, we visited family- my brother and son and their lovely partners.



And my parents.



And an old friend from high school. Old friend. I'm not sure how he got so old since we went to school together.



And then we got back on the train.

Back to Chicago, where we had time to explore Union Station before our next transfer.



We slept our way across most of the dreariest parts of northern Illinois, Indiana and Ohio and woke up to Cleveland.



Here's where it sorta went downhill. Most of the time Amtrak will run a bit late and by 'a bit' I mean anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours late. This is not, as you hear so often, the mis-management of Amtrak. This is because the tracks themselves are owned by the freight companies and the freight companies treat Amtrak like the redheaded stepchild and restrict which tracks they may run on and when. Hence...sitting on the tracks waiting for stupid freight trains to mosey on by, while passengers on the Amtrak train sweat out whether or not they will make their next connection.

So the train went from leaving Chicago on time on the nosie, to an hour late, to two hours late, to "Holy Shit We Are Never Getting to Albany" late.

Somewhere in there our train car was overrun by several Amish families- 22 of them from about mid-thirties down to "I think she had that baby on the way to the train" little. They were delightful. And darling. And very well behaved.

Somewhere in there our train was boarded by several border security (I never think of the Canadian border as...foreign) and they asked everyone where they were from and where they were going. Several rows in front of us were 2 women who spoke very broken English. They conversed to each other in their native language- Russian. They were outstandingly pretty. They couldn't answer the questions. They were smiled at and the security guys moved on to...the Hispanic English teacher from Chicago, who got everything but the spotlight shone in his eyes during interrogation. Eventually they wearied from this exercise in National Security and left.

Finally...four hours late, we pulled into Albany.



And our reason for being there...a few days in a 1700's farmhouse



Surrounded by blueberry bushes in full fruit



And this balm-for-the-soul environment







And good friends.



From there it was just a short trip to New York City, where none of us had ever been, and a prettier route I cannot imagine as it went alongside the Hudson River the entire way.






I was sorta excited to be able to SEE New York City without having to DRIVE or FLY into New York City. Unfortunately, just before the train gets INTO New York City, it goes underground, giving this lovely view all through town.



Once in Penn Station I realized...it's fucking huge. I've been all over the US and we're absolutely comfortable in Chicago and Houston- numbers 3 and 4 in size of US cities, but this? Fucking huge. Luckily, we were met by friends who steered us outside long enough for a photo in front of (within sight of) the Empire State Building. We were outside less than 5 minutes, but can now say we have been IN New York City. Where? Oh, Midtown.



This is New York City.



This is literally ten minutes south of New York City. Looks a helluva lotta like Illinois.



Ahhh...Washington DC, where the capitol building hides behind the congressional offices.



The Washington Monument is covered in weblike scaffolding, appearing rust brown instead of marble white



And just across the Potomac River is the Creepy as Fuck Masonic Temple, proving once again that Separation of Church and State is a good thing...because it could totally kick the ass of any building or monument in DC. I mean...lookit it.



We slept through most of the dirt poor charming Southern Seaboard states and woke up to Atlanta.



This leg of the trip was the longest stretch on the train. Thank God for coffee.



By now Alec had decided he was never getting off of the train and pretty much just carved himself out a lair.



Birmingham Alabama may have some redeeming qualities. Or not.



Rural Alabama is just like you'd imagine it...if you ever imagined it. Camaro up on blocks, something in smoker and kudzo marching in to take it all over.



Coming through Mississippi, kudzo really hit its stride and the True South welcomed us home.



'Round about sunset we crossed over Lake Pontchartrain.



And right AT sunset we came into the train yard in New Orleans...sunset to sunset, 7 days from Mineola TX to New Orleans LA via St. Louis, Chicago, Cleveland, Albany, NYC, Baltimore, Washington DC, Atlanta, and Birmingham.



Pulling into the station, where we got off the train after just shy of 3,500 miles.



Ahhh...New Orleans.







Ward went to Tulane and said he didn't feel like he was really back in New Orleans till we saw this-



So that was our Dixon Family Road Trip...more of a Track Trip this year. The boys found out they like train travel as much as I do as we traveled through fifteen states and ten major cities, crossing two arterial rivers and skated alongside three of the Great Lakes.

History, Family, Friends, Food, Adventure, Culture, Good, Bad, Ugly- America.

Don't discount the train as a way to get from point A to point B, especially if you have small children who would appreciate being able to run around while the vehicle is moving, or if you are traveling alone- I've met one unpleasant person on a train...ever... in over 40 years of train travel, or if you are older and don't really want the killer 15 hour days of a long distance road trip anymore.

The train will rock you to sleep, take you places automobile roads don't go, and do the driving through the big cities.

www.amtrak.com

Tell 'em the Dixons sent you.

Phrases That Make My Skin Crawl

"You've gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet".

That's one of those catchy, 'responsible adult' things you hear from the Sensible Conservatives, along with 'fiscal responsibility' and 'sharing the burden'.

Here's what those phrases really mean as well as what they should mean.

Because these particular phrases are an unholy pantsload of complete bullshit sometimes difficult to understand fully.

Breaking a few eggs to make an omelet really means that once they're done messing with the budget and social programs, a lot of people who need help will not get it. And by 'not getting the help they need', I mean they will actually die from lack of healthcare, actually starve from lack of food and actually be homeless for lack of shelter. Don't listen to anyone who tells you that 'that sort of thing could never happen in AMERICA' because it happens every damn day, and if you don't know that you are living in a dream world of unicorns and rainbows...you know- like us liberals are accused of because we want to make sure that Americans don't die of shit they don't have to die of like lack of healthcare, food and shelter.

Here's what 'breaking a few eggs to make an omelet' should mean- It should mean that those who have eggs to spare pony up and toss 'em into the omelet. Social security cap of $113,000? Gone. If we took (as in taxed) everything- even a fraction of a percent- social security would be not only solvent, but leaping for joy. A .05% tax on $200,000 would be a whopping $100 a year. You cannot tell me that anyone would MISS $100 out of $200,000. Back in 2010, 4.5 million Americans made over $200,000. That would be 450 MILLION extra dollars into the social security fund...just by taking $100 from the FIRST $200,000. Someone who makes $1,000,000 a year would have to pay a whopping extra $500. The horror.

Fiscal responsibility is something we hear a whole lot of. So much that according to some, being fiscally responsible overrides everything else- taking care of our people, making sure our bridges don't crumble while being driven on, everything. Well, except for the military. They're somehow exempt. What it really means is that people just need to get used to the idea that the gravy train candy cane days of good pay and benefits and pensions are gone. For good. Just like that. And to question that or whine about it is not only unseemly and annoying, but fiscally irresponsible. Because what fiscally responsible family doesn't refuse to go to the grocery store and buy food when the bill for the home security system is due? Food? Health care? Shelter? Those are LUXURIES, kids- they're not RIGHTS. You're thinking of guns.

Here's what 'fiscal responsibility' should mean- It should mean that America takes care of its people who can't take care of themselves. Sick people, old people, children. Take care of them, period. Not with stipulations or 'proof' that they need it- 'proof' that they're sick and old and tiny and weak. Fiscal responsibility is using the financial resources you have for things that matter. It does not mean refusing to go to the grocery store because you promised the boys you'd go to Shreveport and gamble on the boats this weekend and if you back out now they'll call you pussywhipped and it should not mean gutting social programs and giving bailouts to corporations that are banking billions in profits because you're askeerd that they will 'take their business overseas'. Because if you aren't aware that they are already GONE, that their bank accounts and their employees and factories are already not still on our US soil, then your head is firmly lodged in your ass...you know- like us liberals are accused of when we question the wisdom of taking American land by eminent domain and giving it to foreign companies to run leaky pipelines over the aquifers that supply most of the farmland in America with water and will provide zero full time jobs for Americans for oil that is already contracted to be sold overseas.

Sharing the burden is a great one. What it really means is that while the corporations and really rich people (think of what you make and what everyone you know makes and times it by 100...that's not enough. That rich.) are paying lawyers and congressmen to be sure that they pay very little or nothing in taxes, people like you and I pay more to try to prop up the system they are making their billions from. See? Sharing.

Picture 2 people struggling to carry a really heavy box. Like a box of rocks. A third person comes up and offers to help. That person opens the box, takes out the smallest rock and puts it in his pocket, then sits on the box while the other 2 carry it.

*Sharing the burden*

What 'sharing the burden' should mean is that the 2 people carrying the box tip the smug asshole off of the box and pour the entire thing out, divide up the rocks equally and all three carry their share. Their FAIR SHARE. It's not Socialism, it's socialism and if you don't know the difference you're an ignorant propaganda-dazed moron who doesn't think past whatever the talking heads on TV and the radio tell you...you know- like us liberals are accused of because we don't watch FOX or listen to Rush because those are the only ones 'brave enough to tell it like it is', unlike the liberal mainstream news which is a three word fallacy on all counts.

I was going to include it's high time the Republicans stood up against the mean old Democrats who run roughshod all over the US Constitution and strong-arm everything they want through the House and Senate, but I can't even type that without simultaneously laughing hysterically and throwing up a little in my mouth.

And that's a dangerous mix.

For a glimpse of how the world is really working for everyday ordinary Americans, please see
http://www.amazon.com/Almost-Invisible--Different-Survival-ebook/dp/B007W4T3B4/ref=sr_1_7_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1375981088&sr=8-7&keywords=sheri+dixon

Phone Blogging- Like Drunk Texting Without the Spelling Accuracy

So I'm blogging on my phone while Alec is swimming. I haven't had time to do much of anything in my 'normal' routine lately, because Ward is suffering from a mystery foot issue- with his medical history there could be no less than four causes for him to be so crippled up he can barely walk and can't drive, but they are treating it as though it's 'all of the above' and hopefully soon...

Here's the thing that I want to make abundantly clear.

People are always complimenting me on how much I manage to get done.

Ward is always telling me how horrible it makes him feel that I'm so busy and he 'sits at home doing nothing'.

I'm here to tell you- I could not do a tiny fraction of what I do without being secure in the fact that Ward is taking care of the daily grind- the feeding and care of most of the pets and people on our place, the tending of the gardens, running Alec to swinming and art class and social dates every single day, sweeping and steaming the floors that are always sandy from outside, just the never-freaking ending pile of dishes in the sink...shit I never ever even think about- *poof* all done every day without fanfare or complaint.

Ward is and has always been my knight in shining armor- more now than almost 20 years ago when we met and he nurtured me through depression and poverty and despair- all the things that go with the end of even the most miserable marriage.

He's amazing, and courageous, and so incredibly sexy.

And I never want to hear him say "I just stay home and don't do anything to help" again.

Because Gomez?

Your 'doing nothing all day' is absolutely kicking my ass.

I love you.

PS- for those who don't know us and the absolutely amazing man my husband is- here-

http://www.amazon.com/CancerDance--a-love-story-ebook/dp/B008IBMMJ0/ref=sr_1_8_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1375887311&sr=8-8&keywords=sheri+dixon

Oh. It's also about being a cancer family.

When Every Day is a New Day

Most every morning, I see him walking from his cabin to his mom's house.

It's not stalking if you're in my yard, and both little houses are less than 100 feet from our cabin.

Every morning Joe walks over to his mom's house, her morning medications in hand and ready for coffee and conversation.

I love Edna. I've loved her from the moment I met her almost exactly 2 years ago. She was only 91 then.

She was small and frail and in a hospital bed in a hospital. She had read my book, "CancerDance- a love story" (the first version) because Joe had given it to her to define for her this family he was now part of.

I walked in the room and she looked up at me, and in her eyes I saw relief. "Everything will be OK- Sheri's here" they seemed to say.

I had known from the minute Joe said, "Mom fell down and is in the hospital" that her next move would be onto our place. She'd been living alone and I knew those days were probably over for her unless there were special circumstances.

So we put the special circumstances in place.

She had enough in her bank account to purchase a little modular home- a tiny modular home that was nevertheless as big and about 10 times better constructed than the apartment she'd been living in...the apartment that cost her her entire social security check plus some of her savings every month with nothing included- no utilities, no services, no meals...nothing.

She paid cash, hooked up to our well and septic and got herself an account with the phone company and electric company.

We promised her she'd never be alone overnight, since she was an urban dweller and our rural location made her squidgy.

I try to visit her every other day and when Joe and I are out running errands for more than a few hours either Ward or Alec check on her.

At night when I go to bed I turn on the baby monitor that sits one end on the top of her fridge and the other end on our headboard. I turn it off when I hear her little dog dancing around in the morning.

Once a week I take her to get her hair done and we generally go out for lunch afterwards.

But the bulk of Edna-care falls on Joe's big ol' shoulders.

When Edna declared that she needed help and that Joe needed to move to Oklahoma City to help her, he panicked.

When Edna moved into his cabin for a 'visit' to see if she liked Texas and declared 2 weeks later that Joe's little cabin was just fine for her and he could stay living in his camper permanently, he hyperventilated.

When Edna finally moved into her own little house, he was relieved. And horrified. Because she was here. Right here. Forever.

When Edna moved here she was sharp as a tack, in all ways. And Joe was the one she poked.

For some reason, I'm the one she thinks can do no wrong, and Joe can do very little right. It's only funny about half the time now.

Last summer, Edna came down with pneumonia and was hospitalized for a few days. They wanted to keep her longer but she checked herself out against medical advice and three days later was sitting at her kitchen table eating pizza and drinking a beer.

She seemed a little more physically feeble after that.

About 6 months ago, she was sitting down on the end of her bed, misgauged where her butt should land (shut up- we've all done it) and slid off the bed and onto the floor- cutting her forehead on the dresser and bruising herself up pretty good.

Of course, she refused to go to the doctor, much less the hospital.

She used to tell me about her crazy dreams- where people she knows are long dead or relatives still alive come to visit her- but she knew they were dreams. Because she was awake most of the day, most days.

Now she spends a lot of time sleeping and dreaming and sort of drifts in and out of what we see as reality.

She's been getting more and more confused about days and times and thinks her little dog is sometimes a little boy who can't talk or eat correctly...because he doesn't have fingers.

Joe never knows how many places will be set at the table for dinner, because she's cooking for 'everyone'. Sometimes it's 2. Sometimes it's 8.

She'll be 94 in September. She refuses to go to the doctor. Says she's fine. Old, but fine. She told me the other day, "I have aches and pains and I'm getting forgetful, but you know? I still do pretty much what I want to do. Most people my age are dead".

How can you argue with that?

The one thing I hate, personally hate, is that she is forgetting her son.

She'll be talking to him...about him.

He said something about his upcoming birthday and she asked when it was. He told her and she said, "Oh! My son's birthday is that same day!"

When he offers to go to the store for her, she tells him no thanks- she'll wait for her son to go- he's so good at it.

He tries to tell her that HE'S her son and it only makes her angry. She doesn't know who he is, but she knows darn well that he's not her son.

When I'm talking to her she refers to her son...and that other guy. The one who lives out behind her son's house.

Joe asked me why she never forgets who *I* am. I avoided what would normally be my smartass obvious answer- that she loves me better, because it really does bother him...a lot. And I understand why.

I told him that she's living more in the past now than the present, reminded him that she never knew me as looking other than how I do right now, that he left home when he was 17 and except for visits of a few days never went back. Has he looked in the mirror lately? When he walks into her house he's not her 17 year old son...he's a 71 year old man.

While he understands it, it's still difficult.

While I understand her confusion and wanderings, it takes a lot of patience to have a sustained visit with her.

And I'm not her daughter.

Every morning he takes her her pills and has coffee. Every afternoon he has dinner with her. Every evening he takes her her pills. And generally checks on her in between.

And it's a total crap shoot whether he'll be her son, or 'that other guy'. Sometimes they switch places during the visit.

Joe's packing up his camper as I type. He's headed to Montana for a month- something he didn't get to do last year because Edna had just come out of the hospital.

I give him a ton of shit about it- about needing to run up north to shoot and hunt because obviously there are NO GUNS or DEER in Texas, but I understand. I do.

Now more than ever.

And even though I usually never disagree with Edna unless its a life or death situation (like insisting she go to the hospital...with PNEUMONIA) I firmly but kindly tell her yes- her son does need to go up north and he's not abandoning her and the rest of the family will step in and do what he does for her and he'll be back in a few weeks.

Because a month is too long, but a few weeks is acceptable.

Being the caretaker for a child is exhausting, but you know that child will grow up and fly away as they should.

Being the caretaker for someone who's been ill or had surgery can be daunting, but most of the time they recover and re-take their place as another able adult in the family unit who can then care for others as needed.

I cannot imagine my own mother not knowing who I am. Cannot imagine my mother looking directly at me and denying that I belong to her. Cannot imagine watching the woman I remember as being strong and capable and sharp as a tack decline bit by bit, day by day.

He said the other day, "Every day's a new day- I never know who I'll be or what she'll come up with".

I know the next month will give me just a small dose of what Joe does every day right under our noses as we run our own lives.

Amazingly, when we were gone for 10 days, Joe did all the running of the farm- everything Ward, Alec AND I do, plus cared for his mother.

I just wanna tell him to have a wonderful, relaxing time.

Joey- you are appreciated, you are loved, and you are doing a tremendous job caring for your mother.

Be careful, darlin'- have fun and come home safe.

Vexation, Thy Name is Hewlett Packard 4620

So I had to buy a new printer at work.

My old printer was making tortured "electric violin in a blender" noises but that's not why I replaced it.

I replaced it because I may or may not have snapped something off during a black ink cartridge change that may or may not have caused a puddle of ink to accumulate on the floor of said printer instead of on the paper even tho the printer said, "Genuine Hewlett Packard cartridge successfully installed" as the black ink congealed on the floor of the printer, like spider blood.

I printed a test page. No black ink.

I tried to make a copy of a colorful card with black writing on it. Just a colorful card. No black writing on it.

I declared the printer dead and respectfully added it to the Dead Technology RIP closet.

An hour later I was unboxing my NEW printer/scanner/copier/faxer. This was exciting. I'd never had a fax machine in my office before. I set it up without incident and printed off board meeting notes.

Then things went awry.

I opened Quickbooks and tried to print some checks, including paychecks. No dice. Something about the font being wrong on the new printer and I needed to change it from 'settings', or 'setup', or some such. What difference does it make...really?

I opened every single screen having to do with a printer and found nothing anywhere to change the font size.

So I did what any normal, sane person would've done. I said, "Screw it" and put the checks into Quickbooks while hand writing them out, putting off any further messing with it till I got home from vacation.

I started getting disgruntled texts while on the road. Something about our main fax machine now acting all squidgy. That's the technical term. Squidgy.

Hindsightedly, it occurred to me that perhaps hooking up two fax machines to one phone line was a bad idea, but I had no conclusive facts on that idea because I hadn't actually looked in the installation guide.

It's wrapped in clear plastic and everyone knows that's hella hard to open. Hermetically sealed and whatnot. Why risk a possibly-fatal saran wrap cut?

So there was truly nothing I could do about it except commiserate with a genuinely sincere, "Wow. Really? That sucks. I'm sure I have no idea how that happened or how to fix it- have you tried plugging it into a different socket?" because I was 2,000 miles away from the clinic and the only key to my personal office was in my purse and my new fax machine was locked inside my personal office. Luckily there were fresh blueberries, and grilled chicken, and glorious company, and gentle foggy mountain scenery and a lovely white wine to distract me from my employees' misery. Life is good sometimes.

It was sort of a drag to hand write payroll, so I knew once I got home I'd have to have a Come to Jesus Meeting with the printer.

I was supposed to work yesterday from 1ish till 9ish, but stuff happened. I decided on our trip to sell out of one of the breeds of guinea pigs I've been raising for almost 20 years, posted it online two days ago and was swamped with replies. I currently have exactly four of them unsold...out of over 60. So I had people coming to the house to pick up pigs yesterday morning, and yesterday late afternoon. In between I took Edna to the eye doctor, which was a whole nuther level of stress.

EXCERPT-

"Ms. Hoskins? Are you having any trouble with your eyes?"
"Yes. They move around and I have to stop every few lines when I'm reading to get them back on track".
"Oh- you mean they seem cloudy? If you use your Systane before reading that will help".
"Well, yes- they are also a little cloudy".
"Good. The systane will help if you put it in before reading".
"OK".

ME
"NO, SHE SAID HER EYES MOVE AROUND. IF YOU LOOK AT HER EYES, THE LEFT ONE ISN'T TRACKING. SHE WILL BE LOOKING STRAIGHT AHEAD AND IT WANDERS OFF TO THE OUTSIDE. HER EYES MOVE AROUND. THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH CLOUDY VISION".

"Ah. I see that now. Lets run some tests".

There's almost nothing I hate more than doctors who don't freaking listen, assume they know what you're trying to tell them, phrase their response to fit the diagnosis they want to give, and move on. That shit don't fly with me.

So by 8pm I was ready and primed.

The fucking printer was next.

"You're going into work NOW???"
"Yes. The fucking printer is next".
"Oh, boy". *nervous laughter of relief that he'd be 20 miles away from the scene of the crime*

I started by removing the installation disk from my computer, uninstalling all programs having to do with the HP4620 and restarting the computer.

Cold and calculating. Exceedingly calm.

I chose "add a printer" and it asked me to insert the disk. I inserted the disk. It told me installation would be easier and faster using the online guide and since I'd used the disk before I thought I'd give this a shot.

I aborted the mission once it started asking me all sorts of non-printer-related questions and went back to "No, thanks- just use standard disk installation".

It sorta skipped and snorted and twitched, but ended up by saying "Printer successfully installed- would you like to print a test page?"

Why, yes. That would be lovely. *send*

Nothing.

*send*

Nothing.

*SEND*

Nothing. Lets check the little 'help' option up top of the screen.

"Are you having trouble printing?"

Yes. Yes, I am.

"Would you like to troubleshoot your printer?"

That would be freaking awesome, thanks.

--------------------- ---------------------- ---------------------------

"Your chosen printer is not set as the default printer. Would you like us to set it as your default printer?"

What do you think, computer?

--------------------- ---------------------- ---------------------------

"Could not set selected printer as default printer. Go online to troubleshoot further?"

Why the hell not?

------------------- --------------------- ---------------------------

"Can not fix this problem. We suggest the following steps-
-contact the manufacturer of the printer
-contact the manufacturer of your computer
-call a computer repair person
-ask a friend"

Are they serious??? ASK A FRIEND??? That's the most fabulously generic-yet-sincere bullshit suggestion I've ever seen in my life.

*Ask a friend*

Anyone who considers themselves my friend wouldn't have been within striking distance at that moment. I mean, they're my friends, but they all have superb survival instincts.

So I went to uninstall the program...again.

But I couldn't.

Because it was nowhere on the computer. I shit you not.

The HP4620 printer icon was in 'available printers'. It had told me, "printer successfully installed- would you like to run a test page?" So where the Sam Hell was the program???

I restarted the computer after removing the disk.

Under 'trouble shooting printers' it gave me the option of doing a 'system restore' to right before everything went to shit.

I restored said system.

Inserted the disk.

Chose "No thanks- I'll install from disk".

This time it asked me relevant questions like "Do you want to activate the fax feature at this time?" NO- NO I DON'T.

and "Do you want to make this your default printer?" FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY---YES!!!

"Printer installed successfully. Would you like to run a test page?"

.
..
...

*deep breath*

*send*

TEST PAGE!

Why, yes. Yes that is a Microsoft Test page in a frame on my office wall where there used to be a photo of my family.

Why do you ask?

I was on a roll. It was 10:30pm, but I had to conquer the other side of the printer issue, which was the Quickbooks check writing font debacle issue.

I tried to open Quickbooks.

Quickbooks did not open.

I tried to open Quickbooks.

Quickbooks did not open.

I TRIED TO OPEN QUICKBOOKS.

QUICKBOOKS DID NOT OPEN.

I restarted the computer.

Quickbooks opened.

"Quickbooks would like to install an update that will greatly enhance your Quickbooks experience. Would you like to install update now?"

WHY THE FUCKING HELL NOT? SINCE I'M HERE AND ALL...

Thirty minutes later Quickbooks re-opened.

I wrote a test check.

It printed flawlessly.

Before it had time to realize what it had done, I exited the application(s) and turned off my computer.

Not restarted it. Turned it blessedly off.

The split second before the printer's display light flickered off I noticed that the black ink is already low.

I need to change the black ink cartridge.

I got home about midnight and my dreams last night were filled with puddles of congealed spider blood.

A Subtle But Important Difference

Now that the George Zimmerman trial is over, there is still so much rawness from both sides.

Over and over again I hear about the 'real' Martin- even though in a court of law (like the court room Zimmerman was tried in) the only things you are to look at are what happened right then- right when the incident occurred. Whether or not Martin was a 'good kid' or a 'thug' is irrelevant and not germaine to the issue at hand. Ditto for Zimmerman's background and inclinations in the entire rest of his life up until that. very. moment.

I never said Martin was an angel. He was a teenaged boy and they are notoriously long on attitude and short on common sense no matter their race.

I never said Zimmerman was Satan. I do question the reasoning behind a neighborhood WATCH person being armed. It's not a Neighborhood Shoot program, it's Neighborhood WATCH- which is detailed here in a statement from the NSA-

"Alexandria, VA – For nearly four decades, the Neighborhood Watch Program (housed within the National Sheriffs’ Association (NSA)) has worked to unite law enforcement agencies, private organizations, and individual citizens in a nation-wide effort to reduce crime and improve local communities.

The purpose of the Neighborhood Watch Program is to enable citizens to act as the “eyes and ears” within their community and alert law enforcement immediately when they notice suspicious activity. However, the Neighborhood Watch Program does not in any way, shape, or form advocate citizens to take the law in their own hands.

The success of the program has established Neighborhood Watch as the nation’s premier crime prevention and community mobilization program. Visible signs of the program are seen throughout America on street signs, window decals, community block parties and service projects.

"The alleged action of a “self-appointed neighborhood watchman” last month in Sanford, FL significantly contradicts the principles of the Neighborhood Watch Program,” stated NSA Executive Director Aaron D. Kennard, Sheriff (ret.). “NSA has no information indicating the community where the incident occurred has ever even registered with the NSA Neighborhood Watch program.”

“The Neighborhood Watch Program fosters collaboration and cooperation with the community and local law enforcement by encouraging citizens to be aware of what is going on in their communities and contact law enforcement if they suspect something – NOT take the law in their own hands,” continued Executive Director Kennard.

“The alleged participant ignored everything the Neighborhood Watch Program stands for and it resulted in a young man losing his life. Our thoughts and prayers are with the family of Trayvon Martin during this terrible time.”


I get a lot of "How about this horrible story about black people killing white people? Where is that in the lamestream media??? Of course the libtard-owned media downplays this- nothing new about this dimocrap agenda and the stupid sheeple will bleat and follow right along...PASS THIS ON IF YOU AGREE" usually along with some news item relating a horrible crime.

First of all, shut up.

If these stories are 'nowhere in the lamestream media' where did the original emailer get it? Are you and the other gabazillion others who are spreading this around the interwebs the secret holy club of those who know the truth while the rest of us are blind?

Second of all- anytime you use a word like 'lamestream', 'dimocrap', 'libtard' or 'sheeple' you effectively negate anything else you may have to say. State your case, use real words; even real cuss words will do to add spice and emphasis- but once you stray into the realm of supposedly clever denigration? That's just fucking sorry.

Now- lets look at one of these stories. Here's one-

http://victoriajackson.com/9303/4-blacks-torture-kill-white-couple

You know what's so sad about this?

Victoria Jackson is a funny lady and I used to enjoy her on SNL. Now she and Dennis Miller are just batshit crazy. So very sad.

No- OBVIOUSLY it's a horrible story about totally innocent people who are dead at the hands of others; others who happen to be of a different race than they were.

Now- pay attention...right here. Lookit here. Stop and listen. Try to focus.

The men who committed those horrible crimes were tried and convicted and are now awaiting their own deaths.

They caused the deaths of 2 people and will be punished. They had their day in a court of law- something their victims did not get; a chance to tell their side of the story no matter how obvious the outcome of the trial should have been. Two people are dead who didn't have to die and that's a horrible awful thing.

In the Zimmerman/Martin case the person who killed another person is free. Not only free, but will most likely get his GUN BACK.

Evidence is sketchy at best- nothing like the horrific case Victoria held up to say "Look how evil black people are".

Martin was not allowed the luxury of telling his side and the person who caused his death is free without consequences- not 'reckless endangerment', not 'involuntary manslaughter'...nothing.

The race card is not even in this deck, as far as I'm concerned.

The situation and circumstance are what makes it newsworthy- not the race(s) of the characters.

The FACT that one person was killed while not doing anything wrong at the time of his death is a huge deal to me. Don't gimme 'evidence'- there is almost zero hard factual confirmed and verified evidence of the actual chain of events the night Zimmermen left the scene alive and Martin left it dead. Who started what, who did or said anything at all will never be known because yanno- one is dead.

That's what matters to me.

Although the race card is apparently a huge part of the outcome here-

http://www.insightnews.com/commentary/11079-is-american-criminal-justice-color-blind-the-statistics-say-no


Apparently, in America- blacks can shoot blacks, whites can shoot whites, it's almost a badge of damn honor for whites to shoot blacks but an immediate death sentence if blacks shoot whites.

We like to think we've come a long way in the human rights arena, but we really truly haven't, have we?

Clickety Clack Part One

The sun is setting out of the left side of the train and the clouds reflect it on the right.

We're crossing Holmes Lake, a tiny little blue splat between Marshall and Jefferson TX. Looks funny to see the moving blue orb that is my phone blinking on the iPhone map out in the middle of nowhere- no highway, no road, nothing a car could drive on.

Train tracks are like that sometimes.

Sparky And Gomez are across the aisle- both surfing the web on their phones although Sparky is taking photos with his more than surfing.

We've been to the snack car via the observation car and are pretty well settled into the coach seats for the night- grandmother, mom and very excited 3-ish year old boy in front of us and several young adults in various stages of napping and/or movie watching behind us. The observation car was a melange of older folks playing dominoes at the tables and little kids draped over the lounge chairs.

Other than the train being about an hour late, which is actually pretty on-time for Amtrak, the only snag in our vacation plans thus far was the rental car company calling us while we were eating dinner in Mineola before the train came...so already about 60 miles from home.

They wanted to confirm our reservation and that we needed pick up/drop off at the train station in Sturtevant tomorrow.

Oh. And to be sure I knew that if I want to use my debit card I'll need my most recent pay stub and 2 paid utility bills.

What the hell?

You're telling me this NOW? Less than 24 hours from when I need the car and when I'm 60 miles from home with no way to get that stuff?

Why yes. Yes they are.

Of course I don't need any of that mess if I pay with a credit card instead.

I don't have a credit card.

Joe had taken us to Mineola and started handing me his credit card but she said that as long as the credit card name matches the name of the primary driver, all would be well. He put it back in his wallet in disgust.

I said no worries, we'll just go to an ATM and get cash.

"I'm sorry- we don't accept cash".

What the fuck.

The boys started looking concerned.

"Never fear", I said. "I'll fix it once we get on the train".

Here's what I found out.

Yes, it IS Enterprise's policy but boy they sure are sorry whoever booked the car didn't mention that to me. Too bad they can't help with that. The funny part is that we've rented from Enterprise- recently- and paid with this self-same debit card without issue. Weird, but ultimately unhelpful.

According to the websites, both Avis and Hertz WILL accept my debit card without the bullshit idiocy restrictive rules of Enterprise.

Both open up at 7:30 tomorrow morning and by 8am I should have us a car.

So just a minor glitch. Nothing to fret about.

I know the world is going to hell. My heart is heavy with the current events of the last few days here in Texas and in Florida.

But right now the train is clacking and creaking, rocking along gently; the world's largest cradle. The scenery outside has gone from dusky to navy to turned off for the night. The whistle's blowing and the boys are settling in. I got 4 hours sleep last night and the reclining seat sure is comfortable.

I'll fix our rental car situation tomorrow. Sometimes all I can fix is what's right in front of me.

Sometimes that's all anyone can do.