The Lesson We Hate

"Everyone leaves, son. Through relocation or emotional separation or death...nothing stays the same and everyone leaves."

My 13 year old son's dog was only 2 years old. After having given his heart to 2 already aged dogs and having his heart broken when they died, I chose for him a little wild-haired terrier/poodle...because those damn things live forever.

Alec (son) and Aaron (dog) were inseparable. Since Alec home schools that's a literal statement. Outside, they explored our property back to front and side to side and never tired of it. If Aaron got sidetracked by some smell or sound and Alec rode off on his bike without him, you'd see in just a few moments Aaron flying full flat out- ears pumping and tail ruddering after his Boy, short little legs a blur.

Inside, Aaron was under Alec's chair at the dinner table (or ON the chair eating his dinner if he left the table for a glass of milk) or sleeping on the desk chair in Alec's room where he could see Alec at all times. He wasn't a snuggler, but he needed to be within nose's reach at all times. He did love the schnauzer. He couldn't be in the same room as her without humping her ceaselessly until Alec would notice and say sternly, "Aaron- I'm going to have to ask you to stop that."

Aaron wasn't very well housetrained. He and Alec would be outside for an hour, come inside and he'd pee on the (thankfully cement) floor. Alec would sigh and say, "Aaron- you're a terrible terrible dog". And Aaron would wag his tail furiously and gaze at Alec adoringly.

If Alec was away, Aaron would curl up on the bed and nap till he got home. If Alec left him behind and went somewhere on the property without Aaron? The noises that came out of that little dog would put a slaughterhouse to shame.

His wild hair and behavior when separated from his Boy earned him the nickname of Meth Muppet.

You may be thinking, "That sounds like an awful dog" and you'd think so, wouldn't you?

Aaron was long of body and short of legs. He had wiry white hair that was never quite clean. His front feet always pointed out...like a platypus- even when he ran.

His eyes were different sized. Really. But they were serious intelligent eyes. His other nickname was Aaron the Freakishly Understanding.

Alec could balance Aaron upside down along the length of his arm (tail against his elbow bend and head in his hand) and carry him around that way. Aaron would fall asleep like that.

Alec would sit Aaron upright in his lap, dog back against boy chest, and use Aaron's paws to gesture while he talked. Aaron would fall asleep like that, too.

Aaron first got sick back in May. Liver failure that responded to fluids and antibiotics so they thought it was an infection.

We boarded him at the vet's when we went on vacation in July and they re-did the bloodwork just for fun. The liver values were better...but not normal. We realized that Aaron probably had a birth defect that had made it easy for the infection to take hold back in May and he was most likely a dog with numbered days; but from May through last week you'd never know it by his behavior and outward health and we were thinking months, maybe years, but not literally days.

He crashed last Saturday, spent the weekend at the emergency clinic on fluids and not eating with very bad liver values.

Monday he went back to the regular vet and Tuesday he was eating, so we were hopeful- we were sure (even the vet) that he had gotten another infection and would respond as before.

Wednesday he really crashed. Stopped eating and his bloodwork was twice as bad as just four days prior- all organs were now failing. He was retaining fluid in his abdomen and his breathing was labored.

Alec spent almost an hour with him in his lap, and stayed with him till the end.

I know in my heart that he would not have survived the night, and we all know it was so much 'better' for us to have been able to say goodbye...for him not to have been alone.

My six foot tall boy's heart is broken, and because of that so is mine and so is Ward's.

It's not fair. It's not sensible. It's the lesson we hate- that those we love are here one minute and then gone...whether or not we're ready and whether or not we have time to steel ourselves for it.

Our family is not religious, but we believe in science and I personally believe in energy- that little spark, the life spark in all of us that some call a soul. I believe energy can be focused and sent (also known as 'prayer') and I believe the scientists when they say that energy cannot be destroyed- it only shifts somewhere else.

I told Alec that I believe when a companion animal passes on in the presence of their loved one, it's easy- when their life spark leaves the furry body, it attaches to its human...because that's all they ever want- just to be near us.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same. He'll be looking for Aaron and missing Aaron forever.

But he's right there. Balanced in between his elbow bend and hand, upside down. And sleeping.



Alec visiting Aaron at the emergency clinic over the weekend. Rest in Peace, little buddy.

"unimpressive- the inelegant art of just getting by"

This little book is now for sale in Amazon in paperback or for Kindle, or directly from me as a signed paperback.

http://www.amazon.com/unimpressive--inelegant-just-getting-ebook/dp/B00F1K1HVA/ref=sr_1_14?ie=UTF8&qid=1378617873&sr=8-14&keywords=sheri+dixon

Like the first two of my fictitious survival stories, this one is unassuming but important, with characters who are ordinary women quietly acting in extraordinary ways without the violent fanfare and trappings of most of this genre.

Where did this one fall in the elusive categorizing process?

Sustainable living...tucked almost as an afterthought at the end of Home and Garden.

*Sigh*

Please enjoy this preview- and I'll let ya'll know when it's officially 'out there'.

The leaves rustled imperceptibly. There was no wind to speak of, and the air was heavy with heat.

Tammy stirred fitfully in the tree stand just within sight of the shack.

Back in the day, the previous owners had had a deer feeder just below this stand and had fed the deer all year long. Just before dawn on opening day of hunting season, they’d stagger out of the lease shack after a night of playing cards and drinking beer, loudly shushing each other, pee off the porch and into the weeds, then precariously climb into the tree stand and valiantly ‘hunt’ the deer that had been basically trained to come for breakfast.

The tree stand hadn't been used for many years, and multiple vines (poison ivy, Virginia Creeper, kudzu and greenbriar) had woven up and around it till it was completely invisible unless you knew it was there.

The only reason Shayla had discovered it involved Olive and a stray cat who scrambled up the tree and then tiptoed along the outer edge of the stand, outlining it with every paw-step. One second it wasn’t there, and the next it was in clear view…it was all a matter of perspective and association.

They all took turns off and on during the daylight hours keeping a watch over the shack and those who used it.

The first nine days there was a steady stream of visitors even though their road was not a main thoroughfare; people were taking the back ways out of the area. All were respectful, if stressed.

They were those who had somewhere to go…if they could get there. They used the shack as somewhere to rest that wasn’t the back seat of their car; somewhere the kids could have a semi-normal night’s sleep. Mostly families, some couples, a few single people…all ate the food and drank the water, appreciated the washing basin and soap, spent the night and moved on after tidying up after themselves.

Those who could replaced the food, and a few left a few dollars and a thank you note.

On the tenth day, Tammy tried calling Ray three times before setting the phone in a drawer and closing it with finality. “Well, no more of that”, she said matter-of-factly and with a false cheerfulness. She stared at the closed drawer as though she’d folded Ray himself up and closed him in there and for a minute she wished she had- at least she’d know that he was safe. She’d know where he was.

Ray had made it halfway through Oklahoma before running out of fuel and running out of luck in finding any. He’d traded the truck for a bicycle and a backpack.

After that there were more people on foot than not down their little road, and more people who looked like they didn’t have anywhere to go, but nowhere to stay, either.

More and more of them were women with children, alone.

So. What's It About?

"You've written books? That's amazing! I'd love to read 'em- what're they about?"

I get this a lot, and the clear answer is, "You've just got to read them to find out".

Oh, it's not that I think they're the best combination of 26 letters and punctuation ever to grace a page because they're obviously not. I'm happy with them and proud of them but, yanno.

Here's the thing, though. Two of my books are pretty easy to pigeonhole.

"CancerDance- a love story" is a journal of our family's adventures in medical land- except for a few 'getting to know us' chapters it's written as it was unfolding and so it's all out there- the funny, the relieved, the terrified and the incredibly pissed off; all lying there nekkid and fresh and raw. I love it because it has a happy ending and I love it because it's not written from a 'to God go the glory' perspective or an 'and he taught us so much before he died' perspective (I hate those). We're normal people with average intelligence and limited funds and we just did the best we knew how. Still do.

Easterchicks Gone Bad is a compilation of the first 30ish articles I wrote for www.homestead.org so it's just that. Thirty different short stories about all sorts of homesteady things from alternative energy sources to cutting hair to hatching chicks and milking goats. Some of them funny and some torn straight from my heart as we ourselves faced trials and tribulations.

This is where it gets tricky.

When you publish books on Amazon, they ask you to categorize them- non-fiction, fiction, history, fantasy, romance, adventure, health and wellness, etc.

The following books are a clear and resounding 'none of the above'.

Here's what they're not.

They're not your average 'shit hits the fan' book. Not zombie books. Not shoot 'em ups. And yet they all deal with the breaking down of society and the events that would likely take place.

The problem is that none of the realistic scenarios will be historic, fantastic, romantic, adventurous epics.We're looking at the slow, plodding, crushing weight of a systemic collapse- not the astonishing literal earth-shattering explosion caused by one easily identified enemy who looks like a Bad Guy.

The problem is that the other day I perused an online event listing of authors 'getting their books out there' and they were all stuff I'd never read in a million years- vampire books, horror stories, soft porn romance, you know- fiction.

Our house is filled with books. Filled. With. Books.

Easily over 1,000. I'll wager not more than a tenth of those are fiction and 90% of those are classics like Mark Twain and Douglas Adams.

So we're flat not geared towards picking up a book for no reason other than to kill time.

Not that that's a bad thing. We just don't do it. Never have. Even Alec.

We ENJOY the social commentary books, the actual history books, the scientific discovery books.

That's some fun, there.

What that means when I write a fiction story, then, is that it's not pure fiction. It's social commentary and observation using fictitious characters in a realistic setting. Without zombies.

People who've read 'em say they like 'em. They say they're important and prescient and touching and human.

Because I'm a stickler for things like spelling and punctuation and grammar they are reasonably correct and proper. They're carefully crafted and the characters are created to be as real as you and me. Because they could be you or me.

They're not Rambo and they're not the Terminator. In fact, they're not even men. And they're for damn sure not the pistol packing, big-boobed, big-haired 'men with vaginas' who pass for the token females in other 'end of the world' books when women aren't in the story to be raped and killed or sent to the kitchen to make sammiches in between waiting to be saved by some big strong M.A.N...bosoms heaving.

They are courageous and they are survivors. They love men but their choices in life are not 'hide behind a big strong man or die' and they do not automatically give up control and swoon when a man "Oh, thank goodness! Finally!" comes on the scene.

So where the hell do I put these stories when Amazon insists on a category?

Weird as shit spots because I have to be honest. If I put them in with the other SHTF books I'll have more refunds demanded than books purchased, and reviews that'll curl yer eyebrow hairs for being 'naive' and 'too sugar coated' which is bullshit because they deal with homelessness and hunger and death and the FACT that the first ones to be hit the hardest whenever society shifts are the weakest. It's bullshit because I've lived abuse and homelessness and poverty and unemployment and I KNOW bad shit happens. But it's not the norm.

What scares the shit out of me is that people read the road warrior books endlessly and start to think that's the only outcome of collapse. When it's not. Historically- it's not.

But people don't read history anymore.

They read vampires.

So I followed the category list down to the end of the line and

"Almost Invisible- a different kind of survival story" ended up in 'homelessness'. Because that's what it's about. A little old lady with Alzheimer's who's homeless and what happens in her personal world and the society around her.

"American Evolution- adolescence of a nation" dropped squarely into 'alternate history' after being shunted into 'science fiction' because that's what it is. It shows a snippet of the lives of 4 generations of girls- Thanksgiving Day when they're eight years old. So it covers almost 100 years of societal evolution.

These last two are pretty quick reads- more novellas than novels. They're supposed to be. They're meant to encourage independent thought about what society is going through and where we are headed- I want the reader to come to his/her own conclusions and opinions and possible fixes for a broken species. It's not my place to write a 'how to fix shit' book. But I can get ya'll thinking.

Needless to say, they're a slow sell. While the SHTF and zombies and vampires and bosom-rending member-throbbing books are selling like hotcakes, people just aren't typing in 'homelessness' and 'alternative history' when looking for a nice easy quick read.

But I'm tellin' ya.

You totally should.

Sometimes your books should be more than mental chewing gum.

That's what TV is for.



PS- To read any of the above books, please see the big ol' book cover photos at the left of this screen

<-------- right there

and coming soon to an obscure category near you- "Unimpressive- the inelegant art of getting by".

I'm pretty proud of this one as well.

Peace, ya'll.

Dropping the Ball

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My Birthday Wishes

So I'm 'Edna sitting' while Joe is in Montana.

I love Edna and don't get to spend enough time with her, so I was looking forward to this few weeks when I had her 'all to myself'.

Edna's great.

She's a little fuzzy and a little wobbly but shit, she's just shy of 94 so what the hell?

Sure she's forgetting who her son is (on accounta that CAN'T be her son- that's an old man), and sometimes she thinks her little dog is a small boy who can't talk and who has no fingers but anyone can make mistakes, right?

Last month Edna started complaining about her eyes 'not behaving'. She was having trouble reading because she said her eyes kept jumping around'. So we went to the eye doctor. He checked her eyes and found nothing, so he ordered an MRI.

The MRI they took almost 2 weeks ago showed a large aneurysm that's pushing on her optic nerve, which would make her eye not behave, and also pressing on an artery that feeds blood to her brain, which may be why she's getting more confused rapidly.

How rapidly?

This morning I was going up the ramp to her porch and almost bumped into Edna coming down the ramp. She was dressed and ready to go.

"Where are you going, Edna?"

"Well, I'm going to work of course".

Of course.

The short story is that there are people coming into her house through the TV, bossing her around and then leaving through the walls. Sometimes the ceiling. This is vexing to her because she remembers us going to watch them build her little house and NOWHERE were there hollow panels for people to travel through. True enough.

I asked if she wants to go to work and she said NO.

I told her, she does not have to go to work, ever again, and why. That if those people come back she should tell them to go to hell. Which made her laugh, and she agreed.

She said, however, that she is 'leery' of being alone since they come in at night more than during the day.

So I'll be spending the night with Edna tonight and as long as it takes to ease her heart and poor fuddled mind.

Because no one should be afraid in their own home, no matter the reason.

I called for the THIRD time to see what the status was of the 'stat' appointment they were supposed to be setting with the neurologist...almost 2 weeks ago. I don't know if he can do anything about the aneurysm but we need to know our options. Edna needs to know her options.

While I was stressing and worrying about Edna, I skimmed over Facebook and saw this from one of my friends, writing about her 4 year old son-

"Every night Cash closes his eyes and wishes for a new morning. Then in the morning he yells that his wish came true."

Today is my birthday- my 54th.

I am reasonably healthy, and of a marginally sound mind.

I know my family, and cherish every moment with them- every moment remembered and every moment in the here and now.

I am always (sometimes painfully) aware when I lay my head down on the pillow at night that the day just past is gone forever, and there's one less day for me to live.

Today I remember. I remember all those who love me enough to wish me a happy birthday, and I love all those who love me but who will invariably forget when my birthday is.

Because it shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.

My only birthday wishes are for security, love and happiness for everyone I love.

For the precious gifts of memory and clarity till my light is quenched and I am no longer.

And for a new morning.

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