My friend Soul Sister brought her boyfriend, her daughter, and her daughter's friend to help my sister and I move stuff from the house to outside storage.
From their arrival, we were hit with delays: dead batteries on power tools, frozen bolts and screws, thunder, lightning, and rain.
After three hours, I started to cook dinner because everyone was getting hungry. I had just put the raw hamburger patties and hot dogs on the indoor grill when we heard a loud clap of thunder and the lights flickered as if the power was about to go out.
Wanting to make my wishes known to the powers that controlled the electricity to my house that I was NOT going to deal with another delay, I defiantly held my spatula and blurted out, "Don't even think about it!!!"
My guests laughed at me, and even I knew what I said was ridiculous. However, it must have worked. The lights flickered no more, the electricity didn't go out, and we were able to munch on our grilled burgers and dogs with french fries, and pork and beans, despite the stormy weather outside.
They're coming back tomorrow to try to move this stuff again. God bless them. Let's hope the weather isn't hot and there's no rain.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Saturday, June 02, 2007
I'm Grateful, but I'm Also Peeved
Please note the date this missive was written: June 2, 2007. This was before the huge wildfire that sprouted up the first week of July 2007. It's a very serious fire, and my prayers are with the firefighters and all those affected.
Despite the lack of media attention, those of us in southeast Georgia have been dealing with a huge wildfire since mid-April. We finally got some rain late last night, and it's still raining now. It's the most beautiful sight we've seen here in a long time.
We may not be California or Florida, but our fire was just as large and just as serious (if not more so). I'm not saying that we wanted the media attention because we would have rather not had the fire nor the cameras in our faces as we dealt with our increasing losses. However, the attitude that our fire wasn't important or serious enough to warrant concern by the media really chaps my hide. A little brush fire (in comparison to this one in Georgia) sparks up in California, and the nationwide media coverage permeates the airwaves and Internet immediately, but our larger and rarer southeast Georgia fire gets a brief one-time also-mention? Our fire spreads to Florida and suddenly people want to know what's going on, but only about Florida coping with the fire?
Give me a f**king break!
Waycross and the surrounding towns have had to deal with dense acrid smoke, evacuations, highway and road closures, respiratory ailments, property loss, and the extended stress of helplessness as the fire slowly encroached as an irresistable force toward precious historical landmarks, homes, and businesses.
God bless the firefighters and the people who came together to support them. The copious contributions from people were swift and abundant. The Waycross community united in such a way that I have to say I'm proud to be a citizen of this town.
Despite the lack of media attention, those of us in southeast Georgia have been dealing with a huge wildfire since mid-April. We finally got some rain late last night, and it's still raining now. It's the most beautiful sight we've seen here in a long time.
We may not be California or Florida, but our fire was just as large and just as serious (if not more so). I'm not saying that we wanted the media attention because we would have rather not had the fire nor the cameras in our faces as we dealt with our increasing losses. However, the attitude that our fire wasn't important or serious enough to warrant concern by the media really chaps my hide. A little brush fire (in comparison to this one in Georgia) sparks up in California, and the nationwide media coverage permeates the airwaves and Internet immediately, but our larger and rarer southeast Georgia fire gets a brief one-time also-mention? Our fire spreads to Florida and suddenly people want to know what's going on, but only about Florida coping with the fire?
Give me a f**king break!
Waycross and the surrounding towns have had to deal with dense acrid smoke, evacuations, highway and road closures, respiratory ailments, property loss, and the extended stress of helplessness as the fire slowly encroached as an irresistable force toward precious historical landmarks, homes, and businesses.
God bless the firefighters and the people who came together to support them. The copious contributions from people were swift and abundant. The Waycross community united in such a way that I have to say I'm proud to be a citizen of this town.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
The Life of Lucky
In Memory of Linder Jeffereson Mundling
February 4, 1925 - May 2, 2007
With gratitude to my sister Pamela for her contribution to this tribute
Born: Sarah Mississippi
Parents: Linder Mitchell Mundling, Farmer, Blacksmith, Hunter, and Jack of Many other Trades
Alice Pierce Mundling, Stay at home Mom, Farmers wife, never seen sleeping, and although only 5 foot tall, all five of her boys addressed her as “Ma’am” and knew better than to talk back to her.
Family moved to Memphis Tennessee when daddy was in Grade School, they took their chickens with them to the big city. Daddy worked many odd jobs growing up, didn’t matter that he was just a kid.
Daddy learned at an early age how to use firearms and nothing was to go to waste. When his father sent him to go hunting for squirrel with a shotgun and three bullets, if Daddy came back with one squirrel, he’d better have two bullets left.
When Daddy was in High School, his father died. Daddy dropped out of school to work full time to support his widowed mother and kid brother. His three older brothers all had young families of their own to support.
In 1942 Daddy was drafted into the Navy and went off to Boot Camp and Gunnery School in Bainbridge Maryland. His job during that War was Lead Gunner on Merchant vessels supporting the war effort. He learned to sleep in his clothes because submarines liked to attack at night, and in the North Atlantic you wanted to be dressed warm when General Quarters was sounded.
He began to think that the arm of God was around him as he was beginning his first assignment out of New York Harbor. Him and another gunner switched assignments, so they could crew with their friends…as the ship Daddy was originally assigned to was leaving New York they were torpedoed by a German U-Boat and went down with all hands.
Later in the war, the convoy Daddy’s ship was in was attacked. The ship behind them was torpedoed, they thought they were next…then the ship ahead of them was torpedoed, they knew they were next…then the U-Boat simply left the rest of the convoy alone. None of the ships daddy was on ever suffered a torpedo hit, nor were any of them bombed by an enemy plane. Daddy took out the planes as they made their strafing runs.
After the war, Daddy was discharged and went home to Tennessee. His Mother had to sign for him to work a job out of state because he was under 21 years of age. After a few months, he realized that he missed the Navy life and re-enlisted. He did “odd jobs” in the Navy for several years before applying to become an Aircraft Mechanic. He began that career on Rotary Fixed Wing Aircraft, aka: props.
Next to a battlefield where people are shooting at you, the deck of an aircraft carrier is probably the most dangerous place on earth. Even though the ship is huge, ocean waves toss them about without much effort. Add to that a few dozen aircraft being launched or recovered and you have a recipe for disaster. Aircraft being prepared to launch is tied down with thick braided steel cable at several points until it is given permission to taxi and take flight. One day as the ship was launching aircraft a wave caused the ship to take a significant roll, a plane that was powered up broke its tie-downs and was thrown several feet. It “landed”, with its propellers turning at just under take off speed near Daddy. His back was against the wall of the ships “island” and the propeller was turning rapidly about one inch from his chest, any movement he might try to make would likely kill him. Four men ran over and moved the plane manually away from Daddy, saving him from a rather gruesome death. The next day these same four men attempted to move this same aircraft and could not budge it a single inch.
Once in a while the Navy would let Daddy have some time off. In Jacksonville Florida on 4 December 1955 he popped into an establishment on his way back to the Base for a cold refreshing adult beverage (Budweiser). A young lady from the Okefenokee Swamp was visiting her Aunt and Uncle who were stationed in Jacksonville…they were also out at the same establishment enjoying cool refreshing adult beverages (Schlitz). The young lady saw the young man walk in, was immediately smitten and wanted to meet him. Her Uncle Stan sort of knew him since he had recently checked into his squadron. Finally an introduction was made between Lynette Highsmith and “Lin” Mundling by Aunt Martha and Uncle Stan.
Ironically, Daddy had been married twice before and had gone through his second divorce; he had no intentions on getting involved in another relationship, much less married. However, on that fateful night, the two of them hit it off. They agreed to see each other again the next day.
By the third day, he asked for her hand in marriage.
Her response was, “What took you so long?”
Six weeks later this innocent sailor joined the Highsmith Clan and his life hasn’t been the same since.
Daddy was able to see potential where others couldn’t. He knew that as reliable as “props” had been that the future of aviation was in jet aircraft. He applied to switch over and everyone up his chain of command made the same statement: “Mundling, this is going to ruin your career”.
Strangely enough, this young, tenth grade drop out was right and the educated experienced leadership was mistaken. As one of the first jet mechanics in the Navy Daddy was not only on the leading edge but as he advanced was part of the edge. In the early 70’s the Navy was introducing a revolutionary new Jet Aircraft, the F-14 Tomcat. No existing squadron had the experience to fly or maintain it so they had to develop a squadron from the ground up. They knew they would need an outside the box thinker to not only head up maintenance but develop the actual maintenance program for the plane. The man chosen would have to determine in advance of working with the aircraft: the number of personnel required to maintain the plane and exactly what specialties and experience levels would be needed.
They chose the older more experienced tenth grade drop out: Aviation Maintenance man, Master Chief Linder J. Mundling. The F-14 was in service for over thirty years and the only real modifications to the squadron maintenance personnel and schedules where due to technological advances. The infrastructure set in place by this high school drop out remained throughout the life of the aircraft.
Eventually, congress decided that enlisted folks shouldn’t stay more than thirty years and threatened to begin decreasing my father’s pension if he didn’t retire. At the age of 49 with 32 years of service, having defended his country during three wars, WW-II, Korea, Vietnam, and some uneasy peace times, the Aviation Maintenance man Master Chief entered dry-dock and got to learn how to be a civilian father to his two daughters, one a teenager and the other still a human being. (I’ll let you figure out which one of us was which).
Mama and Daddy had purchased some land in Colorado for when he retired but an insight during the winter weather reports brought them to reality before the family could move … something about sub-zero temperatures and snow. They decided to move to a warmer place and ended up in Mom’s hometown of Waycross. This gave Michelle, who had spent the majority of her short life in San Diego the chance to get to know the family. They weren’t worried about the teenager since she was planning to begin her Navy adventure soon anyway.
After the family moved to Waycross 14 July 1975, Dad had been invited by some of the local men folk to participate in various turkey shoots. Little did they know how well of a crack shot Dad was. Needless to say his reputation spread quickly after winning several shoots in a row, and he wasn’t encouraged to participate so much.
Dad’s work ethic carried over into his “retirement years.” He became a self-employed road escort hired by companies needing to transfer mobile homes, boats, and other large items to various states in the country. Although he never kept a running total of how many miles he had driven, it’s been estimated to have been nearly one million miles. During this time, he purchased a Mercury Lynx (Mercury’s version of the Ford Escort) with a diesel engine. He had no idea how long the car would last. However, it managed to accrue over 750,000 miles before the engine blew, creating a hole in the engine block the size of his fist.
When Dad didn’t feel like being on the road anymore, he devoted himself to volunteer work. He had been a member of the American Legion and founded the Fleet Reserve Association local branch 236, in which he served as president for a few years. Later, he joined the Ware County Exchange Club. He enjoyed doing things like giving ice cream to children at Laura Walker park, helping out ringing the bell for the Salvation Army during the Chirstmas season, and attending Freedom Shrine dedications at various local schools. One of his biggest contributions was during the annual Fair in which the club would run their concession stand. His experience running a maintenance shop during his military career enabled him to reorganize how the concession stand operated, making it work more efficiently and therefore increase sales. During his membership, he served as president a couple of times and won the Exchangite of the Year award, not once but twice.
We always marveled how creative Dad was with tools. He could take scrap building materials and make something useable from them. When I was a child, he made me a well-built bunk bed for my dolls. I enjoyed playing with it, and I discovered our puppy Snoopy liked to sleep on the bottom bed during the night. He also made me a rocking horse using an old saw horse. It was solid wood and lasted me several years until I wore it out. As an adult, I have witnessed his ability to create nice-looking shelf units that are still functional, even after 25 years of use. The most extraordinary use of spare building materials would have to be the laundry cart he made out of nothing but pvc pipe and wheels. However, I’d have to say his masterpiece could be found in the master bedroom bathroom. I had come down for a visit and commented on Mom’s new cabinets and mirror with frame in that bathroom and asked who they hired to do the work. I was floored when she told me that Dad did all the work: the creation and installation.
Dad was never the kind to back down from a challenge. Even as his health declined, he’d find clever ways to adapt so he could still lead an active and full life. His motto was, “If I rest, I’ll rust. I feel better when I’m working.”
His biggest challenge would be cancer.
In June 1996, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Right away, he knew he wanted to fight, so he had surgery to remove it. The surgery went so well, he didn’t need chemo treatments. After five years, he was declared cancer free.
In November 2004, he was diagnosed with cancer again, but it was a different colon cancer. Determined to fight it again, he had surgery December 2004. To the dismay of the surgeon, the cancer had spread from the colon to the liver, and the cancer in his liver was inoperable. The surgeon removed as much of the cancer as he could. There was no question in Dad’s mind what he wanted to do: he was going to fight the liver cancer. His oncologist told him that he could receive chemo treatments to buy him more time, but it would not be a cure. Dad was undaunted; he was determined to prove the doctor wrong. In many ways, he did. Dad lived two years after his fatal diagnosis, but he still had a good quality of life that he could enjoy. It enabled him to care for his ailing wife and spend time with his two daughters.
It was his will to live, his determination to get out of bed every day, and his positive outlook that enabled Dad to live as long as he did and as well as he did.
----------------------------------------------------------
This is some of the formal stuff on Daddy. Some of the personal things that made him special to us:
We always knew he loved us and was proud of us as long as we gave my best effort, even if the outcome was less than successful.
Good grades were fine, but the question was, did we learn anything?
Do what you enjoy to the best of your ability and you will be successful.
Do the best you can do in what you don’t like until you can do what you enjoy.
He’s the one that we liked teaching us how to drive because we could make the little mistakes and learn from them … and it was ok to make little mistakes.
It was ok to splurge once in a while as long as all the bills were paid.
It was good to have fun when you were doing stuff.
February 4, 1925 - May 2, 2007
With gratitude to my sister Pamela for her contribution to this tribute
Born: Sarah Mississippi
Parents: Linder Mitchell Mundling, Farmer, Blacksmith, Hunter, and Jack of Many other Trades
Alice Pierce Mundling, Stay at home Mom, Farmers wife, never seen sleeping, and although only 5 foot tall, all five of her boys addressed her as “Ma’am” and knew better than to talk back to her.
Family moved to Memphis Tennessee when daddy was in Grade School, they took their chickens with them to the big city. Daddy worked many odd jobs growing up, didn’t matter that he was just a kid.
Daddy learned at an early age how to use firearms and nothing was to go to waste. When his father sent him to go hunting for squirrel with a shotgun and three bullets, if Daddy came back with one squirrel, he’d better have two bullets left.
When Daddy was in High School, his father died. Daddy dropped out of school to work full time to support his widowed mother and kid brother. His three older brothers all had young families of their own to support.
In 1942 Daddy was drafted into the Navy and went off to Boot Camp and Gunnery School in Bainbridge Maryland. His job during that War was Lead Gunner on Merchant vessels supporting the war effort. He learned to sleep in his clothes because submarines liked to attack at night, and in the North Atlantic you wanted to be dressed warm when General Quarters was sounded.
He began to think that the arm of God was around him as he was beginning his first assignment out of New York Harbor. Him and another gunner switched assignments, so they could crew with their friends…as the ship Daddy was originally assigned to was leaving New York they were torpedoed by a German U-Boat and went down with all hands.
Later in the war, the convoy Daddy’s ship was in was attacked. The ship behind them was torpedoed, they thought they were next…then the ship ahead of them was torpedoed, they knew they were next…then the U-Boat simply left the rest of the convoy alone. None of the ships daddy was on ever suffered a torpedo hit, nor were any of them bombed by an enemy plane. Daddy took out the planes as they made their strafing runs.
After the war, Daddy was discharged and went home to Tennessee. His Mother had to sign for him to work a job out of state because he was under 21 years of age. After a few months, he realized that he missed the Navy life and re-enlisted. He did “odd jobs” in the Navy for several years before applying to become an Aircraft Mechanic. He began that career on Rotary Fixed Wing Aircraft, aka: props.
Next to a battlefield where people are shooting at you, the deck of an aircraft carrier is probably the most dangerous place on earth. Even though the ship is huge, ocean waves toss them about without much effort. Add to that a few dozen aircraft being launched or recovered and you have a recipe for disaster. Aircraft being prepared to launch is tied down with thick braided steel cable at several points until it is given permission to taxi and take flight. One day as the ship was launching aircraft a wave caused the ship to take a significant roll, a plane that was powered up broke its tie-downs and was thrown several feet. It “landed”, with its propellers turning at just under take off speed near Daddy. His back was against the wall of the ships “island” and the propeller was turning rapidly about one inch from his chest, any movement he might try to make would likely kill him. Four men ran over and moved the plane manually away from Daddy, saving him from a rather gruesome death. The next day these same four men attempted to move this same aircraft and could not budge it a single inch.
Once in a while the Navy would let Daddy have some time off. In Jacksonville Florida on 4 December 1955 he popped into an establishment on his way back to the Base for a cold refreshing adult beverage (Budweiser). A young lady from the Okefenokee Swamp was visiting her Aunt and Uncle who were stationed in Jacksonville…they were also out at the same establishment enjoying cool refreshing adult beverages (Schlitz). The young lady saw the young man walk in, was immediately smitten and wanted to meet him. Her Uncle Stan sort of knew him since he had recently checked into his squadron. Finally an introduction was made between Lynette Highsmith and “Lin” Mundling by Aunt Martha and Uncle Stan.
Ironically, Daddy had been married twice before and had gone through his second divorce; he had no intentions on getting involved in another relationship, much less married. However, on that fateful night, the two of them hit it off. They agreed to see each other again the next day.
By the third day, he asked for her hand in marriage.
Her response was, “What took you so long?”
Six weeks later this innocent sailor joined the Highsmith Clan and his life hasn’t been the same since.
Daddy was able to see potential where others couldn’t. He knew that as reliable as “props” had been that the future of aviation was in jet aircraft. He applied to switch over and everyone up his chain of command made the same statement: “Mundling, this is going to ruin your career”.
Strangely enough, this young, tenth grade drop out was right and the educated experienced leadership was mistaken. As one of the first jet mechanics in the Navy Daddy was not only on the leading edge but as he advanced was part of the edge. In the early 70’s the Navy was introducing a revolutionary new Jet Aircraft, the F-14 Tomcat. No existing squadron had the experience to fly or maintain it so they had to develop a squadron from the ground up. They knew they would need an outside the box thinker to not only head up maintenance but develop the actual maintenance program for the plane. The man chosen would have to determine in advance of working with the aircraft: the number of personnel required to maintain the plane and exactly what specialties and experience levels would be needed.
They chose the older more experienced tenth grade drop out: Aviation Maintenance man, Master Chief Linder J. Mundling. The F-14 was in service for over thirty years and the only real modifications to the squadron maintenance personnel and schedules where due to technological advances. The infrastructure set in place by this high school drop out remained throughout the life of the aircraft.
Eventually, congress decided that enlisted folks shouldn’t stay more than thirty years and threatened to begin decreasing my father’s pension if he didn’t retire. At the age of 49 with 32 years of service, having defended his country during three wars, WW-II, Korea, Vietnam, and some uneasy peace times, the Aviation Maintenance man Master Chief entered dry-dock and got to learn how to be a civilian father to his two daughters, one a teenager and the other still a human being. (I’ll let you figure out which one of us was which).
Mama and Daddy had purchased some land in Colorado for when he retired but an insight during the winter weather reports brought them to reality before the family could move … something about sub-zero temperatures and snow. They decided to move to a warmer place and ended up in Mom’s hometown of Waycross. This gave Michelle, who had spent the majority of her short life in San Diego the chance to get to know the family. They weren’t worried about the teenager since she was planning to begin her Navy adventure soon anyway.
After the family moved to Waycross 14 July 1975, Dad had been invited by some of the local men folk to participate in various turkey shoots. Little did they know how well of a crack shot Dad was. Needless to say his reputation spread quickly after winning several shoots in a row, and he wasn’t encouraged to participate so much.
Dad’s work ethic carried over into his “retirement years.” He became a self-employed road escort hired by companies needing to transfer mobile homes, boats, and other large items to various states in the country. Although he never kept a running total of how many miles he had driven, it’s been estimated to have been nearly one million miles. During this time, he purchased a Mercury Lynx (Mercury’s version of the Ford Escort) with a diesel engine. He had no idea how long the car would last. However, it managed to accrue over 750,000 miles before the engine blew, creating a hole in the engine block the size of his fist.
When Dad didn’t feel like being on the road anymore, he devoted himself to volunteer work. He had been a member of the American Legion and founded the Fleet Reserve Association local branch 236, in which he served as president for a few years. Later, he joined the Ware County Exchange Club. He enjoyed doing things like giving ice cream to children at Laura Walker park, helping out ringing the bell for the Salvation Army during the Chirstmas season, and attending Freedom Shrine dedications at various local schools. One of his biggest contributions was during the annual Fair in which the club would run their concession stand. His experience running a maintenance shop during his military career enabled him to reorganize how the concession stand operated, making it work more efficiently and therefore increase sales. During his membership, he served as president a couple of times and won the Exchangite of the Year award, not once but twice.
We always marveled how creative Dad was with tools. He could take scrap building materials and make something useable from them. When I was a child, he made me a well-built bunk bed for my dolls. I enjoyed playing with it, and I discovered our puppy Snoopy liked to sleep on the bottom bed during the night. He also made me a rocking horse using an old saw horse. It was solid wood and lasted me several years until I wore it out. As an adult, I have witnessed his ability to create nice-looking shelf units that are still functional, even after 25 years of use. The most extraordinary use of spare building materials would have to be the laundry cart he made out of nothing but pvc pipe and wheels. However, I’d have to say his masterpiece could be found in the master bedroom bathroom. I had come down for a visit and commented on Mom’s new cabinets and mirror with frame in that bathroom and asked who they hired to do the work. I was floored when she told me that Dad did all the work: the creation and installation.
Dad was never the kind to back down from a challenge. Even as his health declined, he’d find clever ways to adapt so he could still lead an active and full life. His motto was, “If I rest, I’ll rust. I feel better when I’m working.”
His biggest challenge would be cancer.
In June 1996, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Right away, he knew he wanted to fight, so he had surgery to remove it. The surgery went so well, he didn’t need chemo treatments. After five years, he was declared cancer free.
In November 2004, he was diagnosed with cancer again, but it was a different colon cancer. Determined to fight it again, he had surgery December 2004. To the dismay of the surgeon, the cancer had spread from the colon to the liver, and the cancer in his liver was inoperable. The surgeon removed as much of the cancer as he could. There was no question in Dad’s mind what he wanted to do: he was going to fight the liver cancer. His oncologist told him that he could receive chemo treatments to buy him more time, but it would not be a cure. Dad was undaunted; he was determined to prove the doctor wrong. In many ways, he did. Dad lived two years after his fatal diagnosis, but he still had a good quality of life that he could enjoy. It enabled him to care for his ailing wife and spend time with his two daughters.
It was his will to live, his determination to get out of bed every day, and his positive outlook that enabled Dad to live as long as he did and as well as he did.
----------------------------------------------------------
This is some of the formal stuff on Daddy. Some of the personal things that made him special to us:
We always knew he loved us and was proud of us as long as we gave my best effort, even if the outcome was less than successful.
Good grades were fine, but the question was, did we learn anything?
Do what you enjoy to the best of your ability and you will be successful.
Do the best you can do in what you don’t like until you can do what you enjoy.
He’s the one that we liked teaching us how to drive because we could make the little mistakes and learn from them … and it was ok to make little mistakes.
It was ok to splurge once in a while as long as all the bills were paid.
It was good to have fun when you were doing stuff.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Roadtrippin': Day Four
Woke up to abundant sunshine in Lordsburg, New Mexico this morning. A stark contrast to the rain and wind (especially the wind) from yesterday evening.
I'm finding out the hard way that when you make a reservation at any hotel, be very specific about which room you need. I requested a ground floor room, and I got a ground floor room. However, the hotel was one of those places in which there was only one entrance. My room was waaaaaaaay in the back of the hotel. The hotel did not have a cart to carry my bags in, the clerk did not offer to help unload my truck, in fact, he had an attitude, and my right knee was killing me.
The morning clerk was much friendlier and offered to help me load my truck. I had slept seven hours and took two pain pills, so I felt good enough to do it myself, but I did let him know that he was appreciated. I got to fill my ice chest before I left, so I knew my Slim-Fast shakes would be nice and cold in a couple of hours.
Speaking of food, I didn't feel like eating one of my salads this morning. Since I spotted the Kentucky Fried Chicken down the road when I arrived last night, I decided to stop there for chicken strips. But first, I needed sunglasses. There was a Dollar General store up the road close to the McDonalds I stopped at last night, so I went there. I got two of the same pair of the wide-lensed glasses. The price wasn't bad ... $5.00 a pair.
This Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant was one of those combo-restaurants in which it was a Kentucky Fried Chicken AND Taco Bell. I had never seen this before. Apparently, this is becoming a trend in numerous areas along the Interstate. It seemed strange to look at the menu and be able to order items from both restaurants. All I wanted was chicken strips, so that's what I got. I already had Diet Dr Pepper.
Finally, I was able to hit the road. I will be in San Diego this evening.
As I was travelling west on Interstate 10, I kept gazing at the scenery. I was in the desert now, surrounded by mountains. The green and brown shrubs contrasted nicely with the light tan sand as the mountains and boulders separated the bright blue cloudless sky from the desert ground. It was as beautiful as it was deadly. This was not a place you would want to find yourself stranded without food, water, and shelter. There was no water to be seen for miles. This was mid-October, so the air temperatures were more moderate than if I were to have travelled in, say, July. I thought about that while sitting in my comfortable truck with the air conditioner running and listening to my favorite 80's tunes.
Remember, I'm from Georgia, where I was surrounded by pine trees. Some people might think that this area would be a wasteland, but to me, it's a breathtaking view. I also considered pulling over to take pictures. I'm not sure pictures could do justice to the scenery. Looking at a small picture does not compare to being surrounded by the scenery in its entirety. It's one of those things in which you've got to be there to appreciate the full beauty God bestowed upon this place.
Upon entering Arizona, I noticed the license plates of the state's residents. The older ones were dark brown with white letters and white silhouettes of a barrel cactus. The newer ones more a little more colorful. I looked around to see if I could find any barrel cacti, and I couldn't see any. I was almost disappointed. Was I in the wrong region for them to grow? It wasn't long though before my attention turned toward the group of mountains that I would be driving over.
I checked my cell phone signal, and it was maxxed out. However, that was soon to change. As I started up the road into the mountainous area, my signal dropped from a full five bars to one bar. I also noticed something I had not encountered in a long time: my ears were reacting to the air pressure change. A few weeks ago, my friend Silke had suggested I chew gum to alleviate the air pressure in my ears. While driving with my left hand, I plundered through my purse with my right hand, trying to find the pack of gum I placed in it. After I found the gum, I placed a piece and started chewing. To my surprise, it worked. Even when it started souring after ten minutes, I kept chomping away on it.
Coming down a mountain was a different story. I was approaching Benson, Arizona, and I was chomping on that piece of gum furiously as my truck descended from the mountain area. I managed to keep the full-blown pain at bay, but I noticed that my hearing was diminishing. When we came down from the mountain, we came DOWN from the mountain! Oh my God! I shudder to think what would have happened to me if I had flown in an airplane!!
The things we travellers do for entertainment! There was this sheriff's deputy travelling on the Interstate at 80 miles an hour. The posted speed limit was 75 miles per hour. I and two other travellers decided to follow the deputy. After all, if he can drive it, so can we, right? This continued until we got to Tuscon, Arizona. When the deputy took an exit and left the Interstate, I waved my hand and said, "Goodbye, officer! Thanks for letting us play 'follow the leader!'" Yes, I entertain easily.
In comparison to driving in New Mexico, it seemed like driving through Arizona took forever and was more tedious. Probably because it only took 170-something miles to drive through New Mexico, whereas it took twice as long with Arizona. At least I did finally get to see the barrel cacti that we've all seen in various pictures. What we don't see in many of these pictures is that the cacti along the Interstate were shot up and full of bullet holes. The ones further away from the Interstate didn't have any or nearly as many bullet-sized holes. This was a constant sight for many miles. It saddened and concerned me at the same time. I was saddened because the damage these plants sustained. I was concerned because of the number of bullets that had to be fired to cause all the damage. How many people do you know go out on an interstate highway to use cacti for target practice??
Finally, at 6:40 PM EST, I entered the state of California. I took a deep breath when I crossed the state line. I was almost to my destination, and I was getting a little emotional. Less than five miles to the south of me was Baja California, which is Mexico. I haven't been this close to another country since July 1975. There was nothing but white sand for the first few miles inside the state line. By the time it occured to me to pull out my camera and take some video, the scenery had changed. I did manage to get a quick bit of video here:
Once I entered California, I noticed that there were call boxes placed every so many miles from each other so if someone was stranded along the interstate, that someone could call for help. My cell phone signal dropped down to one bar, so I'm glad to see these call boxes out here.
I approached the forth border patrol checkpoint of my entire trip. For the first time, I actually had to stop. I was approached by a cute hispanic-looking border patrolman who spoke to me in a thick accent, "Good afternoon ma'am. How are you today?"
I smiled as I concentrated to eliminate all traces of the southern dialect I acquired while living 30 years in Georgia. "I'm doing great today, sir!"
"Great. Are you an American citizen?" With all due respect sir, I sound more like an American than you do.
"Yes sir I am. Here's my driver's license," I handed him the ID case containing my license and insurance card.
He looked at my license, then handed it back to me. "What do you have in the back of your truck, ma'am?" Hmmm ... should I have told him about my salads in the ice chest in the passenger side floorboard?
"Luggage. I'm on vacation from Waycross, Georgia. Would you like for me to open the back for you?" ... so you can take a look at my leopard-print luggage and come to the conclusion that I have no taste.
"No, ma'am. That won't be necessary. Thanks for your help. You have a great day"
"You, too. By the way, I appreciate what you all do, so you all be careful."
His smile got bigger. "Thank you, ma'am."
All jokes aside, the border patrol has a thankless job to perform, and they're catching hell from both sides. One side says they're being too hard on illegals and everyone should have a chance to enter the country. The other side says that they're not doing enough to protect our borders from the illegal intruders. That's why I took the time to tell him that they were appreciated. You'd be surprised what "you are appreciated" can do to help someone get through the day. No one likes to be taken for granted.
Thirty minutes later, I see more mountains ahead of me. Without thinking, my right hand started searching my purse for more gum. How high was I going to go this time?
As I started my ascent, I noticed the road signs suggesting that drivers should turn off their air conditioners to prevent their vehicles from overheating. Not a bad idea. Besides, the weather was surprisingly pleasant, so I decided to roll down my windows. I also noticed the placement of barrels of radiator water on the side of the road every couple of miles for motorists who had the unfortunate luck of dealing with an overheating vehicle. Glad to know they were there, but I prayed I would not need them.
I reached up to a height of a little over 4,100 ft above sea-level. Wouldn't you know it? I approached another wind farm! This time, I got very close, as you can see from the video below:
There was another border patrol station during my descent from the mountainous area. I had to stop at this one, too. Unlike the last one, these guys wanted to see what I had in the back of my truck. I handed him a key to the truck bed lid. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw he was having difficulty opening it up. Not wanting to hold up the vehicles behind me nor startle any jumpy patrolmen by leaving my truck too quickly, I slowly opened the truck door, stepped out, and said, "The lock on that lid can be tricky. Would you like for me to open it for you?" He shook his head and said yes. I walked to the back of my truck, jiggled the key, then opened the bed lid.
In view of five border patrolmen was all my leopard-print luggage, a bag filled with dirty laundry, a hot pink tote box filled with boxed food, and two five-gallon gas cans full of gasoline. Now, I've got nothing to hide, but I didn't know what to expect next. Flashes of heightened airport security checks raced through my head as I looked at the faces of the uniformed men. Were they going to go through everything, including my unmentionables? Of course, one brief look and they were through with their inspection of my vehicle, so I was free to go.
The sun was setting as I entered San Diego County. I wasn't going to worry about trying to recognize anything at this point. My only concerns were to get to my hotel room, make two phone calls, and get on the Internet.
After checking in, driving to my room, and unloading the truck, I sat down on the bed. All that kept going through my mind was, "I can't believe I'm here! I did it! I'm here!" I reflected on the various places that were near and dear to my heart when I lived in San Diego: my old elementary school, my sister's high school, Belmont Park, The San Diego Zoo, Sea World, the beach, Miramar, and especially the Millers ... I was going to see them again.
I finally made it back to San Diego.
I'm finding out the hard way that when you make a reservation at any hotel, be very specific about which room you need. I requested a ground floor room, and I got a ground floor room. However, the hotel was one of those places in which there was only one entrance. My room was waaaaaaaay in the back of the hotel. The hotel did not have a cart to carry my bags in, the clerk did not offer to help unload my truck, in fact, he had an attitude, and my right knee was killing me.
The morning clerk was much friendlier and offered to help me load my truck. I had slept seven hours and took two pain pills, so I felt good enough to do it myself, but I did let him know that he was appreciated. I got to fill my ice chest before I left, so I knew my Slim-Fast shakes would be nice and cold in a couple of hours.
Speaking of food, I didn't feel like eating one of my salads this morning. Since I spotted the Kentucky Fried Chicken down the road when I arrived last night, I decided to stop there for chicken strips. But first, I needed sunglasses. There was a Dollar General store up the road close to the McDonalds I stopped at last night, so I went there. I got two of the same pair of the wide-lensed glasses. The price wasn't bad ... $5.00 a pair.
This Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant was one of those combo-restaurants in which it was a Kentucky Fried Chicken AND Taco Bell. I had never seen this before. Apparently, this is becoming a trend in numerous areas along the Interstate. It seemed strange to look at the menu and be able to order items from both restaurants. All I wanted was chicken strips, so that's what I got. I already had Diet Dr Pepper.
Finally, I was able to hit the road. I will be in San Diego this evening.
As I was travelling west on Interstate 10, I kept gazing at the scenery. I was in the desert now, surrounded by mountains. The green and brown shrubs contrasted nicely with the light tan sand as the mountains and boulders separated the bright blue cloudless sky from the desert ground. It was as beautiful as it was deadly. This was not a place you would want to find yourself stranded without food, water, and shelter. There was no water to be seen for miles. This was mid-October, so the air temperatures were more moderate than if I were to have travelled in, say, July. I thought about that while sitting in my comfortable truck with the air conditioner running and listening to my favorite 80's tunes.
Remember, I'm from Georgia, where I was surrounded by pine trees. Some people might think that this area would be a wasteland, but to me, it's a breathtaking view. I also considered pulling over to take pictures. I'm not sure pictures could do justice to the scenery. Looking at a small picture does not compare to being surrounded by the scenery in its entirety. It's one of those things in which you've got to be there to appreciate the full beauty God bestowed upon this place.
Upon entering Arizona, I noticed the license plates of the state's residents. The older ones were dark brown with white letters and white silhouettes of a barrel cactus. The newer ones more a little more colorful. I looked around to see if I could find any barrel cacti, and I couldn't see any. I was almost disappointed. Was I in the wrong region for them to grow? It wasn't long though before my attention turned toward the group of mountains that I would be driving over.
I checked my cell phone signal, and it was maxxed out. However, that was soon to change. As I started up the road into the mountainous area, my signal dropped from a full five bars to one bar. I also noticed something I had not encountered in a long time: my ears were reacting to the air pressure change. A few weeks ago, my friend Silke had suggested I chew gum to alleviate the air pressure in my ears. While driving with my left hand, I plundered through my purse with my right hand, trying to find the pack of gum I placed in it. After I found the gum, I placed a piece and started chewing. To my surprise, it worked. Even when it started souring after ten minutes, I kept chomping away on it.
Coming down a mountain was a different story. I was approaching Benson, Arizona, and I was chomping on that piece of gum furiously as my truck descended from the mountain area. I managed to keep the full-blown pain at bay, but I noticed that my hearing was diminishing. When we came down from the mountain, we came DOWN from the mountain! Oh my God! I shudder to think what would have happened to me if I had flown in an airplane!!
The things we travellers do for entertainment! There was this sheriff's deputy travelling on the Interstate at 80 miles an hour. The posted speed limit was 75 miles per hour. I and two other travellers decided to follow the deputy. After all, if he can drive it, so can we, right? This continued until we got to Tuscon, Arizona. When the deputy took an exit and left the Interstate, I waved my hand and said, "Goodbye, officer! Thanks for letting us play 'follow the leader!'" Yes, I entertain easily.
In comparison to driving in New Mexico, it seemed like driving through Arizona took forever and was more tedious. Probably because it only took 170-something miles to drive through New Mexico, whereas it took twice as long with Arizona. At least I did finally get to see the barrel cacti that we've all seen in various pictures. What we don't see in many of these pictures is that the cacti along the Interstate were shot up and full of bullet holes. The ones further away from the Interstate didn't have any or nearly as many bullet-sized holes. This was a constant sight for many miles. It saddened and concerned me at the same time. I was saddened because the damage these plants sustained. I was concerned because of the number of bullets that had to be fired to cause all the damage. How many people do you know go out on an interstate highway to use cacti for target practice??
Finally, at 6:40 PM EST, I entered the state of California. I took a deep breath when I crossed the state line. I was almost to my destination, and I was getting a little emotional. Less than five miles to the south of me was Baja California, which is Mexico. I haven't been this close to another country since July 1975. There was nothing but white sand for the first few miles inside the state line. By the time it occured to me to pull out my camera and take some video, the scenery had changed. I did manage to get a quick bit of video here:
Once I entered California, I noticed that there were call boxes placed every so many miles from each other so if someone was stranded along the interstate, that someone could call for help. My cell phone signal dropped down to one bar, so I'm glad to see these call boxes out here.
I approached the forth border patrol checkpoint of my entire trip. For the first time, I actually had to stop. I was approached by a cute hispanic-looking border patrolman who spoke to me in a thick accent, "Good afternoon ma'am. How are you today?"
I smiled as I concentrated to eliminate all traces of the southern dialect I acquired while living 30 years in Georgia. "I'm doing great today, sir!"
"Great. Are you an American citizen?" With all due respect sir, I sound more like an American than you do.
"Yes sir I am. Here's my driver's license," I handed him the ID case containing my license and insurance card.
He looked at my license, then handed it back to me. "What do you have in the back of your truck, ma'am?" Hmmm ... should I have told him about my salads in the ice chest in the passenger side floorboard?
"Luggage. I'm on vacation from Waycross, Georgia. Would you like for me to open the back for you?" ... so you can take a look at my leopard-print luggage and come to the conclusion that I have no taste.
"No, ma'am. That won't be necessary. Thanks for your help. You have a great day"
"You, too. By the way, I appreciate what you all do, so you all be careful."
His smile got bigger. "Thank you, ma'am."
All jokes aside, the border patrol has a thankless job to perform, and they're catching hell from both sides. One side says they're being too hard on illegals and everyone should have a chance to enter the country. The other side says that they're not doing enough to protect our borders from the illegal intruders. That's why I took the time to tell him that they were appreciated. You'd be surprised what "you are appreciated" can do to help someone get through the day. No one likes to be taken for granted.
Thirty minutes later, I see more mountains ahead of me. Without thinking, my right hand started searching my purse for more gum. How high was I going to go this time?
As I started my ascent, I noticed the road signs suggesting that drivers should turn off their air conditioners to prevent their vehicles from overheating. Not a bad idea. Besides, the weather was surprisingly pleasant, so I decided to roll down my windows. I also noticed the placement of barrels of radiator water on the side of the road every couple of miles for motorists who had the unfortunate luck of dealing with an overheating vehicle. Glad to know they were there, but I prayed I would not need them.
I reached up to a height of a little over 4,100 ft above sea-level. Wouldn't you know it? I approached another wind farm! This time, I got very close, as you can see from the video below:
There was another border patrol station during my descent from the mountainous area. I had to stop at this one, too. Unlike the last one, these guys wanted to see what I had in the back of my truck. I handed him a key to the truck bed lid. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw he was having difficulty opening it up. Not wanting to hold up the vehicles behind me nor startle any jumpy patrolmen by leaving my truck too quickly, I slowly opened the truck door, stepped out, and said, "The lock on that lid can be tricky. Would you like for me to open it for you?" He shook his head and said yes. I walked to the back of my truck, jiggled the key, then opened the bed lid.
In view of five border patrolmen was all my leopard-print luggage, a bag filled with dirty laundry, a hot pink tote box filled with boxed food, and two five-gallon gas cans full of gasoline. Now, I've got nothing to hide, but I didn't know what to expect next. Flashes of heightened airport security checks raced through my head as I looked at the faces of the uniformed men. Were they going to go through everything, including my unmentionables? Of course, one brief look and they were through with their inspection of my vehicle, so I was free to go.
The sun was setting as I entered San Diego County. I wasn't going to worry about trying to recognize anything at this point. My only concerns were to get to my hotel room, make two phone calls, and get on the Internet.
After checking in, driving to my room, and unloading the truck, I sat down on the bed. All that kept going through my mind was, "I can't believe I'm here! I did it! I'm here!" I reflected on the various places that were near and dear to my heart when I lived in San Diego: my old elementary school, my sister's high school, Belmont Park, The San Diego Zoo, Sea World, the beach, Miramar, and especially the Millers ... I was going to see them again.
I finally made it back to San Diego.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Roadtrippin': Day Three
Got a late start hitting the road. Claire woke me up around 6:30 AM local time, but it was not until 9:30 when I finally loaded the truck and hit the road. I decided to make use of the Internet access and take care of some business online while I could. I had this feeling that I would not be able to access the Internet until I got to California, and only then if my hotel’s Internet service was working.
Claire and TxLobo have a couple of couches that they’re trying to sell. If one of them is the one I slept on last night AND I had room in the back of my truck, I would have bought it. That was a very comfy couch. I love couches I can just sit and sink into. It had lots of pillows and room for up to four people.
Traveling back to the interstate where Abilene was located, I was comtemplative about how the state of Texas allows the speed limit to be 70 mph on state-maintained roads. In Georgia, the speed limit was always 55 mph. I think it’s because the state roads in Texas are so remote and sparsely populated. In any case, I was glad I was able to travel at that speed.
Upon arrival to Abilene, I was surprised at how large the city was. For some reason, I had assumed it was a smaller city like Valdosta, Georgia. Before I got to the Interstate, I had seen a wide array of restaurants, stores, and other businesses … all looking like they had been built within the last five years. I saw a billboard for a restaurant that struck me as funny: “Buffet City, Over 200 items.” Talk about telling it like it is!
I started thinking about Soul Sister. She was born in Abilene. I don’t know what her work schedule is, and I’m so afraid I’ll wake her if she’s home because she’s usually asleep. She’s been on my mind a lot lately. I haven’t spoken to her in awhile, and I teared up when I was reminded yet again that I failed to call her. I miss her. It was easier to keep in touch when she had Internet service, but her current home doesn’t have adequate service yet. Still, I need to call.
As I got back on the Interstate, I started looking at gas prices again. In this area as of this writing, it was $2.07 for regular unleaded. I was told it was about that price in Waycross, Georgia. I hadn’t seen exuberant gas prices yet, but I’m expected it anytime.
Sweetwater, Texas has a wind farm south of I-20. A wind farm is a spot of land in which power-generating windmills are located to catch the wind and generate electricity. To the best of my knowledge, these windmills do not create hazardous waste nor damage the ozone layer. It is, to my understanding, one of the cleanest forms of energy we have available to us if we just utilize it more. It was a sight to behold.
I remember reading about how a company wanted to put up a wind farm at Martha’s Vineyard, and the residents protested, saying the wind farm would be an eyesore. I can’t speak for other people, but I’d much rather have a wind farm as a view than to pollute the environment by burning oil and coal to generate electricity. To me, wind farms are beautiful.
I approached a sign at the beginning of a bridge, displaying that the Colorado River was just ahead. I was expecting a large body of water. I was taken aback at how dried up this river was. I’ve seen water-filled ditches with more water than this “river.”
There was a refinery that I passed on my right; it was owned by Fina. OMG! I thought the paper mill in Brunswick, Georgia had a bad smell! Ewww! Note to self: never move close to an oil refinery.
Shock of the day: When I approached the city of Monahan, Texas, the speed limit on the Interstate went up to 80 mph. I had to do a double take. My first thought was that vandals changed the sign. There was a second sign right after the first one that said trucks and cars with trailers must go 70 mph. I was elated. I could drive 80 mph and do it legally! I set my cruise control and happily continued on my way. Of course, I had to call my good friend Pumooda and tell her about the speed limit signs.
One of the things I noticed about speed limit signs in Texas is that they have different speed limits for daytime and nighttime. The daytime speed limits are posted in black letters on white backgrounds. However, the nighttime speed limites are posted in white letters on black backgrounds. If the speed limit is 70 mph or higher, then a nighttime speed limit of 65 mph is posted.
About five miles before I-20 merged with I-10, I entered the first mountainous area of my trip. It was beautiful. Parts of the road were lined with landscaped jagged rocks and boulders. I started thinking about the freeways in San Diego where they had similar landscaping. A couple of tears ran down my cheeks before I was brought back to the reality that I was still in Texas. I still had a ways to go, but I was getting closer.
My cell phone reception up until I entered this area had been excellent. Once I got to the mountains, my reception was virtually nonexistent. It was a little unnerving at first. It’s funny how quickly we adapt to technological advances to the point that we become naked and vulnerable when they’re suddenly not available.
Approaching an exit around 169 miles from the New Mexico state line, I noticed the gas prices for regular unleaded were $2.69. I was wondering how long it was going to be before I approached these high-priced gas stations. At least it was a modern-looking station (from what I could see from the interstate). However, I wasn’t about to stop for gas. Luckily, I fueled up 100 miles ago when the gas cost $2.29 a gallon. Even then, I’ve got two five-gallon containers of gasoline in the back of the truck. If a gas station didn’t look safe, I wasn’t going to stop.
I did make a stop to take a couple of pictures of this beautiful rainbow:
Once I got to the El Paso county line, the speed limit dropped back down to 70 mph. It was a nice ride while it lasted.
Finally, I got to New Mexico. By then, I had been on the road approximately eight hours. I made a reservation at the Super 8 in Lordsburg, New Mexico, and it was going to be another couple of hours before I got there.
Dark clouds were forming overhead as I drove on. I was looking at the various shapes each cloud formed. One had a lopsided triangular shape to it. I wondered if it was the beginnings of a tornado, but I blew it off (no pun intended). I figured mother nature was playing her optical illusions again. By then, it was nearly dark and I couldn’t see the sky.
Then the wind hit the truck.
You know how when you’re riding in a vehicle you can hear the steady sound of the wind, and it’s a constant sound? The sound of the wind went from a soothing rush to a sudden roar. At the same time, my truck’s steering became more difficult to control. I immediately slowed down. I looked around and noticed other vehicles hitting their brakes at the same time. This lasted for about 30 seconds before whatever hit us died down. There was no rain, no hail. Was it a tornado? I honestly couldn’t tell you. Whatever it was, it was powerful.
Finally, I arrived at my hotel. I didn't feel like eating the food I brought with me. I wanted some comfort food, so I decided to treat myself to McDonalds. I got my food, brought it back to my room, and enjoyed my gourmet chicken nuggets and fries. I went to sleep shortly after.
Claire and TxLobo have a couple of couches that they’re trying to sell. If one of them is the one I slept on last night AND I had room in the back of my truck, I would have bought it. That was a very comfy couch. I love couches I can just sit and sink into. It had lots of pillows and room for up to four people.
Traveling back to the interstate where Abilene was located, I was comtemplative about how the state of Texas allows the speed limit to be 70 mph on state-maintained roads. In Georgia, the speed limit was always 55 mph. I think it’s because the state roads in Texas are so remote and sparsely populated. In any case, I was glad I was able to travel at that speed.
Upon arrival to Abilene, I was surprised at how large the city was. For some reason, I had assumed it was a smaller city like Valdosta, Georgia. Before I got to the Interstate, I had seen a wide array of restaurants, stores, and other businesses … all looking like they had been built within the last five years. I saw a billboard for a restaurant that struck me as funny: “Buffet City, Over 200 items.” Talk about telling it like it is!
I started thinking about Soul Sister. She was born in Abilene. I don’t know what her work schedule is, and I’m so afraid I’ll wake her if she’s home because she’s usually asleep. She’s been on my mind a lot lately. I haven’t spoken to her in awhile, and I teared up when I was reminded yet again that I failed to call her. I miss her. It was easier to keep in touch when she had Internet service, but her current home doesn’t have adequate service yet. Still, I need to call.
As I got back on the Interstate, I started looking at gas prices again. In this area as of this writing, it was $2.07 for regular unleaded. I was told it was about that price in Waycross, Georgia. I hadn’t seen exuberant gas prices yet, but I’m expected it anytime.
Sweetwater, Texas has a wind farm south of I-20. A wind farm is a spot of land in which power-generating windmills are located to catch the wind and generate electricity. To the best of my knowledge, these windmills do not create hazardous waste nor damage the ozone layer. It is, to my understanding, one of the cleanest forms of energy we have available to us if we just utilize it more. It was a sight to behold.
I remember reading about how a company wanted to put up a wind farm at Martha’s Vineyard, and the residents protested, saying the wind farm would be an eyesore. I can’t speak for other people, but I’d much rather have a wind farm as a view than to pollute the environment by burning oil and coal to generate electricity. To me, wind farms are beautiful.
I approached a sign at the beginning of a bridge, displaying that the Colorado River was just ahead. I was expecting a large body of water. I was taken aback at how dried up this river was. I’ve seen water-filled ditches with more water than this “river.”
There was a refinery that I passed on my right; it was owned by Fina. OMG! I thought the paper mill in Brunswick, Georgia had a bad smell! Ewww! Note to self: never move close to an oil refinery.
Shock of the day: When I approached the city of Monahan, Texas, the speed limit on the Interstate went up to 80 mph. I had to do a double take. My first thought was that vandals changed the sign. There was a second sign right after the first one that said trucks and cars with trailers must go 70 mph. I was elated. I could drive 80 mph and do it legally! I set my cruise control and happily continued on my way. Of course, I had to call my good friend Pumooda and tell her about the speed limit signs.
One of the things I noticed about speed limit signs in Texas is that they have different speed limits for daytime and nighttime. The daytime speed limits are posted in black letters on white backgrounds. However, the nighttime speed limites are posted in white letters on black backgrounds. If the speed limit is 70 mph or higher, then a nighttime speed limit of 65 mph is posted.
About five miles before I-20 merged with I-10, I entered the first mountainous area of my trip. It was beautiful. Parts of the road were lined with landscaped jagged rocks and boulders. I started thinking about the freeways in San Diego where they had similar landscaping. A couple of tears ran down my cheeks before I was brought back to the reality that I was still in Texas. I still had a ways to go, but I was getting closer.
My cell phone reception up until I entered this area had been excellent. Once I got to the mountains, my reception was virtually nonexistent. It was a little unnerving at first. It’s funny how quickly we adapt to technological advances to the point that we become naked and vulnerable when they’re suddenly not available.
Approaching an exit around 169 miles from the New Mexico state line, I noticed the gas prices for regular unleaded were $2.69. I was wondering how long it was going to be before I approached these high-priced gas stations. At least it was a modern-looking station (from what I could see from the interstate). However, I wasn’t about to stop for gas. Luckily, I fueled up 100 miles ago when the gas cost $2.29 a gallon. Even then, I’ve got two five-gallon containers of gasoline in the back of the truck. If a gas station didn’t look safe, I wasn’t going to stop.
I did make a stop to take a couple of pictures of this beautiful rainbow:
Once I got to the El Paso county line, the speed limit dropped back down to 70 mph. It was a nice ride while it lasted.
Finally, I got to New Mexico. By then, I had been on the road approximately eight hours. I made a reservation at the Super 8 in Lordsburg, New Mexico, and it was going to be another couple of hours before I got there.
Dark clouds were forming overhead as I drove on. I was looking at the various shapes each cloud formed. One had a lopsided triangular shape to it. I wondered if it was the beginnings of a tornado, but I blew it off (no pun intended). I figured mother nature was playing her optical illusions again. By then, it was nearly dark and I couldn’t see the sky.
Then the wind hit the truck.
You know how when you’re riding in a vehicle you can hear the steady sound of the wind, and it’s a constant sound? The sound of the wind went from a soothing rush to a sudden roar. At the same time, my truck’s steering became more difficult to control. I immediately slowed down. I looked around and noticed other vehicles hitting their brakes at the same time. This lasted for about 30 seconds before whatever hit us died down. There was no rain, no hail. Was it a tornado? I honestly couldn’t tell you. Whatever it was, it was powerful.
Finally, I arrived at my hotel. I didn't feel like eating the food I brought with me. I wanted some comfort food, so I decided to treat myself to McDonalds. I got my food, brought it back to my room, and enjoyed my gourmet chicken nuggets and fries. I went to sleep shortly after.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Roadtrippin': Day Two
So much for setting the alarm clock. I slept right through it. That was God’s way of telling me that I needed more sleep. I know I’m a heavy sleeper anyway, but this alarm was obnoxious-sounding.
This particular hotel offered a free “continental” breakfast. In other words, you have your choice of two cereals, bagels, and doughnuts with milk, orange juice, coffee, butter, cream cheese, and jelly. I took a cup of milk and two bagels with cream cheese to go. I could get addicted to bagels with cream cheese; it was tasty and filling.
From the time it took me to wake up to the time I walked into lobby to check-out, one hour had passed. At least carrying my stuff down the stairs was easier than carrying them up the stairs; I’m not complaining. I did do something stupid: I signed the credit card receipt without even looking to see how much it was. I finally checked when I made my first fuel stop of the day in Louisiana. I’ve got to be more careful.
I remember crossing the Mississippi river when I left Mississippi and crossed into Louisiana. That’s a huge river! The only other river I’ve seen that could come a distant second is the St. Johns River in Florida. It got my attention.
Along Interstate 20 from Georgia to Louisiana, I did not notice much of a difference in the landscape. Honestly, I could have taken a picture of the interstate in Georgia, and it could have looked like the landscape in Alabama, Mississippi, or eastern Louisiana. Once I got halfway through Louisiana, I noticed that we were still surrounded by trees, but they weren’t pine trees. I don’t know what kind of trees they were.
When I arrived to Texas, their welcome station had free wireless Internet. Of course, you know I had to stop and check this out for myself. How do you think it felt when I was able to access the Internet from inside my truck? I had been marveling at how strong my cell-phone service connect had been throughout my trip. I have been able to make calls at will to friends and family and not have to worry about racking up long distance charges. Thinking back at how road trips used to be, I can’t help but marvel at the technology readily available to us.
Texas seems to take their slogan, “Don’t Mess With Texas,” seriously. Shortly after getting on the road again from the Welcome Station, I passed a sign that displayed, “Don’t Mess with Texas, $50 - $1000 Fine for Littering.”
Passed a sign about 30 minutes east of Dallas, Texas: Prison Area, Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers. Considering that I work in a prison, I thought the sign was hilarious. I called a friend of mine to tell him what I saw, but he didn’t sound too impressed. Just me, huh?
The closer I got to Dallas, Texas, the more I noticed the landscape change around me. I saw more open fields of wildgrass with shrubs and scattered trees here and there. The change was more obvious after I crossed through the Dallas and Fort Worth area. For someone who has spent 31 years in an area in which all you see are pine trees, seeing a wide-open plain was absolutely breathtaking.
Oversleeping cost me two-and-a-half hours of driving time. I was supposed to be to a small town in Texas to meet a couple of friends and spend the night. We were going to go out to eat when I got there. I was on the road 11 hours before I finally arrived.
God bless them for being patient and understanding. They went ahead and picked up dinner and brought it back to their house so it would be ready when I got there. We had fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes with cream gravy, green beans, carrots, and potato salad. I remember picking up a piece of chicken and originally thinking that it was two pieces stuck together. My friends chuckled when it dawned on me that it was one single piece of chicken breast. I guess what they say is true about things being bigger in Texas. Even the drumsticks were bigger than the ones we get at the local KFC in Georgia.
It was so good to see Claire again. I had not seen her since she moved from Waycross to be with TxLobo. As far away from home as I was, it was almost as if I never left. Her husband TxLobo has greatly impressed me. I mean, OMG!!! He took what was originally a small house and added to it. He did almost all of the work himself. I was in awe at the practicality and craftsmanship of all of his home-improvement projects. Claire told me he was the “jack of all trades, but the master of none.” Well, he may not be the master, but he’s pretty damn good at what he does! The house felt like a home … a real home. If he was my neighbor, and I wanted to have something done to my house, I’d hire him. By the way, did I mention that he can cook and knows his way around computers like the back of his hand? I should have asked if he had a brother. :-P
This particular hotel offered a free “continental” breakfast. In other words, you have your choice of two cereals, bagels, and doughnuts with milk, orange juice, coffee, butter, cream cheese, and jelly. I took a cup of milk and two bagels with cream cheese to go. I could get addicted to bagels with cream cheese; it was tasty and filling.
From the time it took me to wake up to the time I walked into lobby to check-out, one hour had passed. At least carrying my stuff down the stairs was easier than carrying them up the stairs; I’m not complaining. I did do something stupid: I signed the credit card receipt without even looking to see how much it was. I finally checked when I made my first fuel stop of the day in Louisiana. I’ve got to be more careful.
I remember crossing the Mississippi river when I left Mississippi and crossed into Louisiana. That’s a huge river! The only other river I’ve seen that could come a distant second is the St. Johns River in Florida. It got my attention.
Along Interstate 20 from Georgia to Louisiana, I did not notice much of a difference in the landscape. Honestly, I could have taken a picture of the interstate in Georgia, and it could have looked like the landscape in Alabama, Mississippi, or eastern Louisiana. Once I got halfway through Louisiana, I noticed that we were still surrounded by trees, but they weren’t pine trees. I don’t know what kind of trees they were.
When I arrived to Texas, their welcome station had free wireless Internet. Of course, you know I had to stop and check this out for myself. How do you think it felt when I was able to access the Internet from inside my truck? I had been marveling at how strong my cell-phone service connect had been throughout my trip. I have been able to make calls at will to friends and family and not have to worry about racking up long distance charges. Thinking back at how road trips used to be, I can’t help but marvel at the technology readily available to us.
Texas seems to take their slogan, “Don’t Mess With Texas,” seriously. Shortly after getting on the road again from the Welcome Station, I passed a sign that displayed, “Don’t Mess with Texas, $50 - $1000 Fine for Littering.”
Passed a sign about 30 minutes east of Dallas, Texas: Prison Area, Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers. Considering that I work in a prison, I thought the sign was hilarious. I called a friend of mine to tell him what I saw, but he didn’t sound too impressed. Just me, huh?
The closer I got to Dallas, Texas, the more I noticed the landscape change around me. I saw more open fields of wildgrass with shrubs and scattered trees here and there. The change was more obvious after I crossed through the Dallas and Fort Worth area. For someone who has spent 31 years in an area in which all you see are pine trees, seeing a wide-open plain was absolutely breathtaking.
Oversleeping cost me two-and-a-half hours of driving time. I was supposed to be to a small town in Texas to meet a couple of friends and spend the night. We were going to go out to eat when I got there. I was on the road 11 hours before I finally arrived.
God bless them for being patient and understanding. They went ahead and picked up dinner and brought it back to their house so it would be ready when I got there. We had fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes with cream gravy, green beans, carrots, and potato salad. I remember picking up a piece of chicken and originally thinking that it was two pieces stuck together. My friends chuckled when it dawned on me that it was one single piece of chicken breast. I guess what they say is true about things being bigger in Texas. Even the drumsticks were bigger than the ones we get at the local KFC in Georgia.
It was so good to see Claire again. I had not seen her since she moved from Waycross to be with TxLobo. As far away from home as I was, it was almost as if I never left. Her husband TxLobo has greatly impressed me. I mean, OMG!!! He took what was originally a small house and added to it. He did almost all of the work himself. I was in awe at the practicality and craftsmanship of all of his home-improvement projects. Claire told me he was the “jack of all trades, but the master of none.” Well, he may not be the master, but he’s pretty damn good at what he does! The house felt like a home … a real home. If he was my neighbor, and I wanted to have something done to my house, I’d hire him. By the way, did I mention that he can cook and knows his way around computers like the back of his hand? I should have asked if he had a brother. :-P
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Roadtrippin': Day One
I’ve waited 31 years for this.
I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m finally embarking on this long-distance drive. I had planned on making this trip for so long that it didn’t hit me until the week of the trip, and then I felt like I was caught off guard. Reminds me of the time when I lived in Atlanta in the 90s and we kept hearing, “The Olympics are coming!” We’re like, “Yeah, yeah … in another six years … five years … four years …” It wasn’t until two weeks before the Olympics were due to start that it finally hit us, “Oh my God!!! The Olympics are coming!”
In an unrelated bit of family trivia, it was also 31 years from the time my Uncle Luther disappeared without a trace in February 1965 to February 1996 when a good friend of his called us to let us know that he was alive but ailing in Waco, Texas. But I digress …
It was a cool, overcast morning when I left the house. I had no idea where I was going to make my first stop, but I was going to drive as long as I could before I felt the need to stop for the night. I’m running on three hours of sleep, but I’m so keyed up right now that I don’t think I could go to sleep if I tried.
The longest I ever spent driving someplace was six hours, and that was in my 1984 Mercury Lynx that had no cruise control. I would not attempt this cross-country drive if my truck did not have this luxurious must-have feature. In fact, my truck has been a blessing to me. The seat is comfortable and supports my back. Even if you were to make frequent stops on a road trip, the seats in your vehicle can make or break your enjoyment during the trip.
My sleep deprivation was already taking a toll on me when I got to the city of Albany, Georgia. I misread the signs and took the business route of US 82 (the long way) rather than the bypass. I lost 30 minutes of driving time in stop and go traffic. I was upset with myself. I wondered if I needed to make a stop and take a nap, but I decided to keep going.
I never thought I’d get out of Georgia. It took me five hours to get to Columbus from Waycross. In addition, the City of Columbus had some kind of celebration going on and the police department was having to direct traffic. Instead of taking 10 minutes to drive through the city, it took 35 minutes. I never thought I’d be so glad to see the sign that said, “Alabama State Line.” I made much better time once I got to Alabama. One thing I will say about US routes in that state is that they’re almost like the interstate roads as far as being at least four-laned and having speed limits higher than the standard speed limit of 55 MPH.
After dark, the full moon came out. There was not much traffic on the interstate, so I was able to enjoy the whitish-blue glow cast upon the trees and the road. It was really nice. I love full-moon nights.
By the time I got to Meridian, Mississippi, my body was letting me know that it was time to pull over and get a room. Honestly, I was still hyped up and could have driven another two or three hours. However, I had been awake 21 hours and only had three hours of sleep the night before. The body was willing, but even I knew that my sleep deprivation made me a few clowns short of a circus. I needed to get off the road.
I stopped at a couple of hotels before I found one with a vacancy. However, it only had vacancies on the second floor. This is not a good thing when you have a pinched nerve in your back and an injured knee. I decided to take only what I absolutely needed and would just take extra medication for the pain. No matter what I did, I still had to make two trips. What added insult to injury is that the hotel offered free high speed Internet service, but I got a room with a damaged CAT5 port. I could not get service to my computer. What did I learn from this experience? Pick a town and make your reservation if you need a specific room to accommodate you.
I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m finally embarking on this long-distance drive. I had planned on making this trip for so long that it didn’t hit me until the week of the trip, and then I felt like I was caught off guard. Reminds me of the time when I lived in Atlanta in the 90s and we kept hearing, “The Olympics are coming!” We’re like, “Yeah, yeah … in another six years … five years … four years …” It wasn’t until two weeks before the Olympics were due to start that it finally hit us, “Oh my God!!! The Olympics are coming!”
In an unrelated bit of family trivia, it was also 31 years from the time my Uncle Luther disappeared without a trace in February 1965 to February 1996 when a good friend of his called us to let us know that he was alive but ailing in Waco, Texas. But I digress …
It was a cool, overcast morning when I left the house. I had no idea where I was going to make my first stop, but I was going to drive as long as I could before I felt the need to stop for the night. I’m running on three hours of sleep, but I’m so keyed up right now that I don’t think I could go to sleep if I tried.
The longest I ever spent driving someplace was six hours, and that was in my 1984 Mercury Lynx that had no cruise control. I would not attempt this cross-country drive if my truck did not have this luxurious must-have feature. In fact, my truck has been a blessing to me. The seat is comfortable and supports my back. Even if you were to make frequent stops on a road trip, the seats in your vehicle can make or break your enjoyment during the trip.
My sleep deprivation was already taking a toll on me when I got to the city of Albany, Georgia. I misread the signs and took the business route of US 82 (the long way) rather than the bypass. I lost 30 minutes of driving time in stop and go traffic. I was upset with myself. I wondered if I needed to make a stop and take a nap, but I decided to keep going.
I never thought I’d get out of Georgia. It took me five hours to get to Columbus from Waycross. In addition, the City of Columbus had some kind of celebration going on and the police department was having to direct traffic. Instead of taking 10 minutes to drive through the city, it took 35 minutes. I never thought I’d be so glad to see the sign that said, “Alabama State Line.” I made much better time once I got to Alabama. One thing I will say about US routes in that state is that they’re almost like the interstate roads as far as being at least four-laned and having speed limits higher than the standard speed limit of 55 MPH.
After dark, the full moon came out. There was not much traffic on the interstate, so I was able to enjoy the whitish-blue glow cast upon the trees and the road. It was really nice. I love full-moon nights.
By the time I got to Meridian, Mississippi, my body was letting me know that it was time to pull over and get a room. Honestly, I was still hyped up and could have driven another two or three hours. However, I had been awake 21 hours and only had three hours of sleep the night before. The body was willing, but even I knew that my sleep deprivation made me a few clowns short of a circus. I needed to get off the road.
I stopped at a couple of hotels before I found one with a vacancy. However, it only had vacancies on the second floor. This is not a good thing when you have a pinched nerve in your back and an injured knee. I decided to take only what I absolutely needed and would just take extra medication for the pain. No matter what I did, I still had to make two trips. What added insult to injury is that the hotel offered free high speed Internet service, but I got a room with a damaged CAT5 port. I could not get service to my computer. What did I learn from this experience? Pick a town and make your reservation if you need a specific room to accommodate you.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Roadtrippin': The Beginning
For the next couple of weeks, I'll be posting an ongoing journal of my road trip from Georgia to California. It is a combination vacation/self-actualization journey.
Why is this trip important to me?
San Diego was a place in which I had started developing my own interests, my own friends, my own identity. The house we lived in at Miramar NAS (now a marine base) was the first place that felt like home to me. I had just turned four years old when we arrived, my dad being transferred there from Virginia Beach. By the time I was ten years old, I had spent 50% of my life in one home, one neighborhood, one school. It was what I was comfortable with ... what I was familiar with.
Dad retired from the Navy when I was nine years old. My sister still had one year of high school left. Mom and Dad didn't want to take her out and put her in a strange school, so we rented a house in the Clairemont area of San Diego. I had to change schools, but I thought it was cool that I could walk to school instead of riding the bus. In addition, a lot of schools back then were similar, so it wasn't too different from attending one school or another ... just different students and teachers.
When my sister graduated high school, there was no reason to stay in San Diego. The cost of living was too high. We had some land in Colorado, but a snowstorm prompted my parents to change their mind about moving there. Dad suggested moving to Waycross because Mom's family was there. Mom liked the idea.
On July 7, 1975, we left San Diego. I had to leave behind everything I was familiar with. I didn't want to leave. I had to say goodbye to my friends. I had no idea what to expect.
We arrived to Waycross on July 14, 1975. I thought we had arrived to Green Acres (the TV show). We had been travelling on a road that had sporadic run-down wooden homes and mobile homes. Mom didn't realize until later that the particular route we took might not have given me a good impression of the town (you think???). We pulled up to my maternal grandmother's house, and I looked around. There were rows of older-looking wooden homes. Mom and Dad were looking where to put the luggage and the moving truck. I was still looking for Arnold the pig to show up with a welcome basket in his mouth.
The next few months were not pleasant.
I was not used to the high 90F+ temperatures and the high humidity. No matter how many times I showered, I still didn't feel fresh and clean. It felt like someone opened a Pepsi or Coke and poured it over my body.
My body chemistry made me a buffet treat to all the biting insects in the area. What's worse, I was having allergic reactions to their bites. I remember one night being taken to a family member who was a pharmacist for help because I was seriously ill. I somehow managed to get numerous mosquito bites all over my body, and I couldn't stop scratching. Mom told me later that I had a fever and they were worried about me because I got so sick. I looked like I had a relapse of the chicken pox.
It was hard for me to converse with people. I was not familiar with their southern accents, and I'm sure they got tired of me asking them to repeat what they said. Some even started making fun of me for the way I spoke. I was a sensitive child, so their ridicule hurt. I just wanted to fit in, and I was failing miserably.
We didn't have these problems in San Diego. Why did we have to leave?
I learned to adapt. It took me awhile, but I managed. Cooler weather helped, also. Unlike California, we actually had cold weather during the fall and winter months. I loved it. It was such a reprieve from the hot sticky weather I suffered through before. Regardless of the time of year, when it's around 70 - 72 degrees with very low humidity, and I feel a breeze, I immediately think of San Diego.
I longed to see San Diego again. I had brought this up with Mom a couple of times over the years. She kept brushing it off as silly and stupid. Why would I want to do something like that? It's not going to be the same as when we lived there. I didn't expect it to, but why should that stop me? I learned not to mention it around her. It was obvious she would not be supportive of this venture. Dad was more supportive, but after dealing with Mom, I didn't bring it up again for discussion.
When a loved one dies, it tends to make you philosophic. Two months after my mother passed away, I started looking at where I was and what I wanted to do with my life. I started seriously thinking about making the trip. I had the finances, a well-maintained vehicle, the vacation time, and the desire to revisit a lost childhood. That is when I knew that the time had come to to make the return.
I do want to clarify that I love living in Waycross. I've grown to love the landscape, the people, and the history. As an adult, Waycross is my hometown.
But speaking for the 10-year old little girl who had to say goodbye to everything she loved, I'm finally going home.
Why is this trip important to me?
San Diego was a place in which I had started developing my own interests, my own friends, my own identity. The house we lived in at Miramar NAS (now a marine base) was the first place that felt like home to me. I had just turned four years old when we arrived, my dad being transferred there from Virginia Beach. By the time I was ten years old, I had spent 50% of my life in one home, one neighborhood, one school. It was what I was comfortable with ... what I was familiar with.
Dad retired from the Navy when I was nine years old. My sister still had one year of high school left. Mom and Dad didn't want to take her out and put her in a strange school, so we rented a house in the Clairemont area of San Diego. I had to change schools, but I thought it was cool that I could walk to school instead of riding the bus. In addition, a lot of schools back then were similar, so it wasn't too different from attending one school or another ... just different students and teachers.
When my sister graduated high school, there was no reason to stay in San Diego. The cost of living was too high. We had some land in Colorado, but a snowstorm prompted my parents to change their mind about moving there. Dad suggested moving to Waycross because Mom's family was there. Mom liked the idea.
On July 7, 1975, we left San Diego. I had to leave behind everything I was familiar with. I didn't want to leave. I had to say goodbye to my friends. I had no idea what to expect.
We arrived to Waycross on July 14, 1975. I thought we had arrived to Green Acres (the TV show). We had been travelling on a road that had sporadic run-down wooden homes and mobile homes. Mom didn't realize until later that the particular route we took might not have given me a good impression of the town (you think???). We pulled up to my maternal grandmother's house, and I looked around. There were rows of older-looking wooden homes. Mom and Dad were looking where to put the luggage and the moving truck. I was still looking for Arnold the pig to show up with a welcome basket in his mouth.
The next few months were not pleasant.
I was not used to the high 90F+ temperatures and the high humidity. No matter how many times I showered, I still didn't feel fresh and clean. It felt like someone opened a Pepsi or Coke and poured it over my body.
My body chemistry made me a buffet treat to all the biting insects in the area. What's worse, I was having allergic reactions to their bites. I remember one night being taken to a family member who was a pharmacist for help because I was seriously ill. I somehow managed to get numerous mosquito bites all over my body, and I couldn't stop scratching. Mom told me later that I had a fever and they were worried about me because I got so sick. I looked like I had a relapse of the chicken pox.
It was hard for me to converse with people. I was not familiar with their southern accents, and I'm sure they got tired of me asking them to repeat what they said. Some even started making fun of me for the way I spoke. I was a sensitive child, so their ridicule hurt. I just wanted to fit in, and I was failing miserably.
We didn't have these problems in San Diego. Why did we have to leave?
I learned to adapt. It took me awhile, but I managed. Cooler weather helped, also. Unlike California, we actually had cold weather during the fall and winter months. I loved it. It was such a reprieve from the hot sticky weather I suffered through before. Regardless of the time of year, when it's around 70 - 72 degrees with very low humidity, and I feel a breeze, I immediately think of San Diego.
I longed to see San Diego again. I had brought this up with Mom a couple of times over the years. She kept brushing it off as silly and stupid. Why would I want to do something like that? It's not going to be the same as when we lived there. I didn't expect it to, but why should that stop me? I learned not to mention it around her. It was obvious she would not be supportive of this venture. Dad was more supportive, but after dealing with Mom, I didn't bring it up again for discussion.
When a loved one dies, it tends to make you philosophic. Two months after my mother passed away, I started looking at where I was and what I wanted to do with my life. I started seriously thinking about making the trip. I had the finances, a well-maintained vehicle, the vacation time, and the desire to revisit a lost childhood. That is when I knew that the time had come to to make the return.
I do want to clarify that I love living in Waycross. I've grown to love the landscape, the people, and the history. As an adult, Waycross is my hometown.
But speaking for the 10-year old little girl who had to say goodbye to everything she loved, I'm finally going home.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Rest in Peace, Cpl Mike "Mad Dog" Young
Troop I is saddened to announce the death of Cpl. Mike Young #674 of Post 23, Brunswick (Georgia). Mike died from injuries sustained in a crash while attempting to assist a fellow Trooper.
Mike was a Christian, a devoted family man and a dedicated public servant. The Law Enforcement community has lost a brother and a friend.
Arrangements will be forthcoming when they are announced. Please continue to keep his family and those who loved and respected Mike in your thoughts and prayers.
From the Public Information Office of the Georgia State Patrol.
Altered Photos from "Reliable" News Sources
It's a shame when we can't trust what we see. Journalists are supposed to tell the story ... the TRUTHFUL story. Obviously, there is a pattern that various bloggers have spotted and brought to light.
These videos show examples of how photos from recent news events are manipulated to tell a story. After watching this video, I am now wondering if any of us realize what is truly going on in this world and who is doing what to whom.
I guess this proves once again that we cannot believe everything we read and see. It also shows that mainstream media sources can be wrong and their information must be viewed with a discerning eye.
These videos show examples of how photos from recent news events are manipulated to tell a story. After watching this video, I am now wondering if any of us realize what is truly going on in this world and who is doing what to whom.
I guess this proves once again that we cannot believe everything we read and see. It also shows that mainstream media sources can be wrong and their information must be viewed with a discerning eye.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Faces of Meth
My friend Lori posted a link to the above-referenced web page on the Green Screen yesterday. It shows before and after pictures of people who used methamphetamines. It's not pretty. We've been also told how in just one year, the abuser's teeth are destroyed by methamphetamine abuse.
The web site this page is hosted on is called DrugFree.org. It's the site for The Partnership for a Drug Free America. It gives a wealth of information about drug abuse, how to spot it, and how to stop it. It's a fascinating read and worth your time.
I've seen first hand what drug abuse will do to the abuser. No one wants to be addicted to drugs. What starts out as getting high for kicks becomes a nightmare of dependency where you're coerced into doing anything to get more of the drug just to keep the physical pain of withdrawal at bay.
The web site this page is hosted on is called DrugFree.org. It's the site for The Partnership for a Drug Free America. It gives a wealth of information about drug abuse, how to spot it, and how to stop it. It's a fascinating read and worth your time.
I've seen first hand what drug abuse will do to the abuser. No one wants to be addicted to drugs. What starts out as getting high for kicks becomes a nightmare of dependency where you're coerced into doing anything to get more of the drug just to keep the physical pain of withdrawal at bay.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Midnight At The Edge of Thomas Cemetery
I spent some time at Soul Sister's house Friday evening. We had eaten pizza, chicken wings, and bread sticks. Her daughter had a friend staying with them, so I had put them to work tagging and bagging Avon books for distribution. They actually made a game out of it, so at least they weren't too bored with the task. Around 11:30, Soul Sister was getting sleepy, so I left her place to go home.
The first couple of miles seemed like an endless row of sandy dirt road lined with tall, narrow pine trees piercing the dark night sky. My truck's headlights pushed the darkness back and illuminated the road like spotlights on a stage. The sky was overcast, so I was unable to see any stars in the sky. I rode with my window down so I could listen to the frogs croak their conversations to other frogs. Heavy rain seems to make them more vocal.
Once I got to the paved street leading to Hoboken, I set the cruise control and observed what little I could see of my surroundings. With the exception of the occasional house with outside lights and/or a light pole, the road was dark. It was nearly midnight and almost everyone in the area was home and off the road. All I could see was the glow of the dashboard instruments in my truck and the illuminated pavement a few feet in front of me.
Hoboken is an extremely small town. It was refreshing to see a Shell station open at this time of night. Almost every other business in the downtown area was closed and dark. Turning onto US 82 toward Waycross, I noticed other vehicles in the distance going to their various destinations. It was the first sign of life I had witnessed since I left Soul Sister's place.
Six miles later, I approached Miles Still Road on the right. Normally, this would be the shortest route to take to go home from Hoboken. However, this road had an additional significance for me: Thomas Cemetery was less than a mile away. Thomas Cemetery was Mom's new home since she died last January. I've never been able to drive past the cemetery without making a stop, and tonight would be no exception. I turned onto the road, crossed the railroad tracks, and proceeded to slowly drive toward the cemetery.
Thomas Cemetery was located across the street from New Hope Advent Christian church. The church was well-lit on the outside, thanks to the installation of a couple of light poles with the extra-bright halogen floodlights. In contrast, the cemetery across the street was dark. As I pulled up to the cemetery, my headlights could only shine a limited range upon the property. Even though there is a wide enough space between the rows of graves, there were no easily-marked paths for people to drive on. I had to drive the truck very slowly to avoid driving over a grave site. I slowly approached the row my mother was buried in. When I got as close as I could, I turned off my headlights and shut off the truck.
I surveyed my surroundings. The cemetery had been in existence since the 1800's. There was a small patch of graves to the far right of me of people who had been buried before the twentieth century. If someone were to examine this area, he would see that there are patches of sunken ground. Most people buried during that time were either wrapped in cloth or buried in wooden caskets. As time went on, decomposition and disintegration cause the ground directly above to shift and cave in. Most of the sites now are extended family members buried in concrete vaults and marked with thicker, sturdier headstones. However, I suspect there are some gravesites that were forgotten about and their grave markers were either destroyed or never existed. I try to keep this in mind whenever I walk around the property.
I looked to my left and examined Mom's grave. The silk flowers generously given to us by dear friends were still up and surrounding the cement block covering her underground vault. Can't believe it's been seven months since she passed away. I started thinking about how she didn't like for me to be out alone after dark. I honestly listened to see if I could hear her turning over in her grave because her baby daughter was sitting all alone in a cemetery at around midnight for no good reason.
Looking around and listening to the quiet of the night, I made sure that no one was around. I was experiencing a first: I had never been to a cemetery after dark alone. Growing up, I was easily spooked by skeletons, dead people, and ghosts. The very idea of being in a graveyard was creepy enough in the daytime, much less at night. It's funny how as we get older, we do things as adults that we'd never consider doing when were younger.
I turned to her grave again and started talking to Mom. I had been haunted by her in my dreams lately. I felt the need to tell her where I stood with them. In life, Mom was a high-strung obsessive-compulsive with a need to be in control. In our household, if Mom wasn't happy, no one was happy. Even after she died, she was still trying to tell me what to do in my dreams. Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I finished getting things off my chest and reasserting my life since her passing. I told her I loved her, wiped the tears from my eyes, and started up the truck. Not wanting to risk turning around with limited lighting, I drove to the back of the cemetery and followed the perimeter of the property back toward the road.
My mind was still on the significance of my actions when I arrived at the house five minutes later. To most, it would seem silly that going to a cemetery around midnight would be considered "a significant event," in someone's life. One day, I'll be able to delve into the realms of my mother's life and her influence on me.
The first couple of miles seemed like an endless row of sandy dirt road lined with tall, narrow pine trees piercing the dark night sky. My truck's headlights pushed the darkness back and illuminated the road like spotlights on a stage. The sky was overcast, so I was unable to see any stars in the sky. I rode with my window down so I could listen to the frogs croak their conversations to other frogs. Heavy rain seems to make them more vocal.
Once I got to the paved street leading to Hoboken, I set the cruise control and observed what little I could see of my surroundings. With the exception of the occasional house with outside lights and/or a light pole, the road was dark. It was nearly midnight and almost everyone in the area was home and off the road. All I could see was the glow of the dashboard instruments in my truck and the illuminated pavement a few feet in front of me.
Hoboken is an extremely small town. It was refreshing to see a Shell station open at this time of night. Almost every other business in the downtown area was closed and dark. Turning onto US 82 toward Waycross, I noticed other vehicles in the distance going to their various destinations. It was the first sign of life I had witnessed since I left Soul Sister's place.
Six miles later, I approached Miles Still Road on the right. Normally, this would be the shortest route to take to go home from Hoboken. However, this road had an additional significance for me: Thomas Cemetery was less than a mile away. Thomas Cemetery was Mom's new home since she died last January. I've never been able to drive past the cemetery without making a stop, and tonight would be no exception. I turned onto the road, crossed the railroad tracks, and proceeded to slowly drive toward the cemetery.
Thomas Cemetery was located across the street from New Hope Advent Christian church. The church was well-lit on the outside, thanks to the installation of a couple of light poles with the extra-bright halogen floodlights. In contrast, the cemetery across the street was dark. As I pulled up to the cemetery, my headlights could only shine a limited range upon the property. Even though there is a wide enough space between the rows of graves, there were no easily-marked paths for people to drive on. I had to drive the truck very slowly to avoid driving over a grave site. I slowly approached the row my mother was buried in. When I got as close as I could, I turned off my headlights and shut off the truck.
I surveyed my surroundings. The cemetery had been in existence since the 1800's. There was a small patch of graves to the far right of me of people who had been buried before the twentieth century. If someone were to examine this area, he would see that there are patches of sunken ground. Most people buried during that time were either wrapped in cloth or buried in wooden caskets. As time went on, decomposition and disintegration cause the ground directly above to shift and cave in. Most of the sites now are extended family members buried in concrete vaults and marked with thicker, sturdier headstones. However, I suspect there are some gravesites that were forgotten about and their grave markers were either destroyed or never existed. I try to keep this in mind whenever I walk around the property.
I looked to my left and examined Mom's grave. The silk flowers generously given to us by dear friends were still up and surrounding the cement block covering her underground vault. Can't believe it's been seven months since she passed away. I started thinking about how she didn't like for me to be out alone after dark. I honestly listened to see if I could hear her turning over in her grave because her baby daughter was sitting all alone in a cemetery at around midnight for no good reason.
Looking around and listening to the quiet of the night, I made sure that no one was around. I was experiencing a first: I had never been to a cemetery after dark alone. Growing up, I was easily spooked by skeletons, dead people, and ghosts. The very idea of being in a graveyard was creepy enough in the daytime, much less at night. It's funny how as we get older, we do things as adults that we'd never consider doing when were younger.
I turned to her grave again and started talking to Mom. I had been haunted by her in my dreams lately. I felt the need to tell her where I stood with them. In life, Mom was a high-strung obsessive-compulsive with a need to be in control. In our household, if Mom wasn't happy, no one was happy. Even after she died, she was still trying to tell me what to do in my dreams. Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I finished getting things off my chest and reasserting my life since her passing. I told her I loved her, wiped the tears from my eyes, and started up the truck. Not wanting to risk turning around with limited lighting, I drove to the back of the cemetery and followed the perimeter of the property back toward the road.
My mind was still on the significance of my actions when I arrived at the house five minutes later. To most, it would seem silly that going to a cemetery around midnight would be considered "a significant event," in someone's life. One day, I'll be able to delve into the realms of my mother's life and her influence on me.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Corey Johnson's Pool Table
You want to know the real value of a piece of furniture in your home? When someone takes the time to hand-craft, assemble, and create something functional that is pleasing to the eye, the finished product is priceless. Corey's pool table fits that description.
According to my dear friend Pam (Corey's mom), "He wanted to build his very own pool table and he did it ... and it WORKS!! He had to order some of the parts for it, like the rail cushions, but everything else, he bought here and there. It is regulation size and it is a lot bigger than what I expected it to be in my house."
The picture speaks for itself. You can take one look at it and know that he put a lot of work into it. I don't care if someone says they got their pool table by some famous designer. To me, Corey's pool table is worth more.
According to my dear friend Pam (Corey's mom), "He wanted to build his very own pool table and he did it ... and it WORKS!! He had to order some of the parts for it, like the rail cushions, but everything else, he bought here and there. It is regulation size and it is a lot bigger than what I expected it to be in my house."
The picture speaks for itself. You can take one look at it and know that he put a lot of work into it. I don't care if someone says they got their pool table by some famous designer. To me, Corey's pool table is worth more.
Friday, July 07, 2006
A Nine-Year-Old Child Gave Birth?
I read on the Fox News web site that a nine-year-old girl in Brazil was found pregnant and gave birth by ceaserian section. The authorities were investigating to see if it was a rape. The link to the story is here.
I will never understand why men find little girls sexually arousing. It had always been my belief that there was a natural instinct to protect children from harm. Once I started working for a prison then later surfed the Internet, that belief has all but been completely shattered. I now know that the depths of human depravity knows no bounds. Children are not exempt. Anyone who does not realize this is dangerously naive.
I will never understand why men find little girls sexually arousing. It had always been my belief that there was a natural instinct to protect children from harm. Once I started working for a prison then later surfed the Internet, that belief has all but been completely shattered. I now know that the depths of human depravity knows no bounds. Children are not exempt. Anyone who does not realize this is dangerously naive.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Survivor Participant Shoots Puppy With Arrow
On the Cable News Network web site, it was reported that Brian Heidik of "Survivor: Thailand" fame shot a puppy with an arrow.
A puppy??!!
Heidik claimed he thought it was a coyote which had been harrassing his pets in the past. Okay ... really pushing it, but I'll give him that. However, why did he flee when the sheriff's deputies arrived to investigate?
He's been charged with battery and cruelty to animals. Why the battery charge? It seems that the deputies found evidence of "battery for family violence." Under Georgia's domestic violence law, law enforcement officials must arrest the batterer, even if the victimized spouse or significant other does not want to press charges.
My honest opinion of the situation is that after his spat with his spouse, he went out shooting animals because he was still angry and wanted to lash out.
In any case, he doesn't sound like a nice guy.
A puppy??!!
Heidik claimed he thought it was a coyote which had been harrassing his pets in the past. Okay ... really pushing it, but I'll give him that. However, why did he flee when the sheriff's deputies arrived to investigate?
He's been charged with battery and cruelty to animals. Why the battery charge? It seems that the deputies found evidence of "battery for family violence." Under Georgia's domestic violence law, law enforcement officials must arrest the batterer, even if the victimized spouse or significant other does not want to press charges.
My honest opinion of the situation is that after his spat with his spouse, he went out shooting animals because he was still angry and wanted to lash out.
In any case, he doesn't sound like a nice guy.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The Extreme Diet Coke & Mentos Experiments
What happens when you combine 200 liters of Diet Coke and over 500 Mentos mints? It's amazing and completely insane.
The first part of this video demonstrates a simple geyser, and the second part shows just how extreme it can get. Over one hundred jets of soda fly into the air in less than three minutes.
It's a hysterical and spectacular mint-powered version of the Bellagio Fountains in Las Vegas, brought to you by the mad scientists at EepyBird.com.
The first part of this video demonstrates a simple geyser, and the second part shows just how extreme it can get. Over one hundred jets of soda fly into the air in less than three minutes.
It's a hysterical and spectacular mint-powered version of the Bellagio Fountains in Las Vegas, brought to you by the mad scientists at EepyBird.com.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Kids Say The Darndest Things
My supervisor sent me to run a couple of errands in a town and place an order on his behalf (all in a town 30 miles away). It's fiscal year closeout and we had a little money left. I figured after the errands, I could stop by my favorte fast food place (that's not available in the town where I work) and pick up my lunch and take it back to work with me. Despite the heat, I was in a fairly good mood and was actually singing stupid made-up ditties. My supervisor felt the pressure of the deadline approaching, and I wanted to help him. I felt like I was doing some good.
One of the places I had to go to was a home-improvement warehouse-type store. It was bad enough that it took 20 minutes to get someone to help me so I could place my order with them. It was even worse when my knee and back hurt enough that I had to sit down in a chair in front of the counter.
You know what really got me? A three or four-year old boy with a big mouth. While the clerk was typing my order into their computer, in front of four employees and ten customers, this little boy looked at me, opened is big mouth and loudly exclaimed in a slow southern drawl, "HIYA ... BIG ... FAT ... LADY!!!"
I was shocked and mortified.
I looked at this boy with my eyes wide open, and the only words I could get out of my mouth was, "Excuse you????" I then looked up at his mother to see how she was going to handle this situation. Only when she saw me look at her did she bother to correct her son.
What added insult to injury is that this kid had one of those briar-eating grins on his face like he knew he said something funny or clever. His mother told him that what he said wasn't nice and he was to tell me he was sorry. He kept grinning, looking around at all the people. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him. He kept grinning. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him in front of all these people. He stopped grinning. He had a look of surprise, like, "Huh? Are you serious?" He still wouldn't apologize. She repeated her threat. He started whining and mumbled that he was scared. She said, "Well, you weren't scared when you made your hurtful remark. Tell her you are sorry." He looked back at me and whined some more. She told him one more time. He still wouldn't apologize.
She finally looked at me and apologized for what he said. She said she was embarrased and that she would see to it that he is taught not to say things like that again. She then proceeded to spank him, then took him (crying) and her other two children outside.
I really wish she had just gone ahead and apologized for his remark and then dealt with him when they got to their vehicle. Needless to say when I finished placing my order and got back to my truck, I lost my appetite. I fueled up my truck and drove back to work.
The cashier agreed with me that the boy probably was allowed to make similar comments at home and got laughs from his family members. She also noted that the mother didn't react until I looked at her and "put the ball in her court" so to speak.
I'm sure someone is going to tell me that I overreacted and I should have just let it roll off my back. However, I beg to differ. Yes, I'm obese. However, I'm not the fat lady from the Big Top; the circus is not in town. I am not a f***ing freak show!!!! I am a woman with intelligence, values, desires, and a reasonable sense of humor. I deserve love and respect like every other woman on this planet! I want the world to know that I did not appreciate that child's remark, and it should not be condoned.
One of the places I had to go to was a home-improvement warehouse-type store. It was bad enough that it took 20 minutes to get someone to help me so I could place my order with them. It was even worse when my knee and back hurt enough that I had to sit down in a chair in front of the counter.
You know what really got me? A three or four-year old boy with a big mouth. While the clerk was typing my order into their computer, in front of four employees and ten customers, this little boy looked at me, opened is big mouth and loudly exclaimed in a slow southern drawl, "HIYA ... BIG ... FAT ... LADY!!!"
I was shocked and mortified.
I looked at this boy with my eyes wide open, and the only words I could get out of my mouth was, "Excuse you????" I then looked up at his mother to see how she was going to handle this situation. Only when she saw me look at her did she bother to correct her son.
What added insult to injury is that this kid had one of those briar-eating grins on his face like he knew he said something funny or clever. His mother told him that what he said wasn't nice and he was to tell me he was sorry. He kept grinning, looking around at all the people. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him. He kept grinning. She told him to say he was sorry or she would spank him in front of all these people. He stopped grinning. He had a look of surprise, like, "Huh? Are you serious?" He still wouldn't apologize. She repeated her threat. He started whining and mumbled that he was scared. She said, "Well, you weren't scared when you made your hurtful remark. Tell her you are sorry." He looked back at me and whined some more. She told him one more time. He still wouldn't apologize.
She finally looked at me and apologized for what he said. She said she was embarrased and that she would see to it that he is taught not to say things like that again. She then proceeded to spank him, then took him (crying) and her other two children outside.
I really wish she had just gone ahead and apologized for his remark and then dealt with him when they got to their vehicle. Needless to say when I finished placing my order and got back to my truck, I lost my appetite. I fueled up my truck and drove back to work.
The cashier agreed with me that the boy probably was allowed to make similar comments at home and got laughs from his family members. She also noted that the mother didn't react until I looked at her and "put the ball in her court" so to speak.
I'm sure someone is going to tell me that I overreacted and I should have just let it roll off my back. However, I beg to differ. Yes, I'm obese. However, I'm not the fat lady from the Big Top; the circus is not in town. I am not a f***ing freak show!!!! I am a woman with intelligence, values, desires, and a reasonable sense of humor. I deserve love and respect like every other woman on this planet! I want the world to know that I did not appreciate that child's remark, and it should not be condoned.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
IBC: Inflammatory Breast Cancer ... IMPORTANT
It was brought to my attention that television station KOMO in Seattle, Washington, did a story on Inflammatory Breast Cancer: The Silent Killer. I viewed the video and was left speechless. Women as young as teenagers have died from this fast-growing cancer. Maybe it's because I've lost a friend to breast cancer, or maybe it's because my dad is taking chemo treatments for colon cancer, but the minute this video ended, I was making posts on MySpace, VinXperience, and sending e-mails to all my friends about this. It's that important.
The video speaks for itself. Folks, please click on the link below to watch this six-minute segment.
http://ww3.komotv.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=785456&
Please help spread the word about this recently-discovered cancer.
The video speaks for itself. Folks, please click on the link below to watch this six-minute segment.
http://ww3.komotv.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=785456&
Please help spread the word about this recently-discovered cancer.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
MySpace.com is Not Evil ...
... and I'm sick of hearing about it.
Someone named Nathan Tabor has published a story about the evils of MySpace.com and how MySpace.com is the "Latest Danger in Cyberworld."
This is my response to his and other stories on the so-called evil MySpace.com:
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for teenage girls who willingly lie about their age and post provocative pictures of themselves. Nobody forced them to open an account.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for sexual predators stalking underage children. Just because the site exists doesn't give the predators an excuse as to why they pursue underage teens.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for the ills of the Internet community spilling over into our society.
It is time to stop pointing fingers at everyone and everything instead of pointing fingers at those who misuse a service to misbehave. It's time to start holding the offenders accountable for their actions. When the youngsters who lie on MySpace get caught, there should be stronger sanctions against them than just having their account deleted. They're committing fraud; let's prosecute them for fraud. They'll knock it off when there are real consequences to their actions.
It's time for parents to stop being lazy in their duties as parents and start monitoring their children's Internet activities. Too inconvenient? Sorry, but no one said being a parent was easy. Get off your ass and get over it.
As for the sexual predators, they're going to go where the kids are: malls, chat rooms, myspace, facebook, fast food restaurants, ball games, school functions, etc. Shutting down anything is not going to solve the problem.
Any tool or service can be used for good or bad. It's up to us to determine how it should be used.
Someone named Nathan Tabor has published a story about the evils of MySpace.com and how MySpace.com is the "Latest Danger in Cyberworld."
This is my response to his and other stories on the so-called evil MySpace.com:
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for teenage girls who willingly lie about their age and post provocative pictures of themselves. Nobody forced them to open an account.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for sexual predators stalking underage children. Just because the site exists doesn't give the predators an excuse as to why they pursue underage teens.
MySpace.com cannot be blamed for the ills of the Internet community spilling over into our society.
It is time to stop pointing fingers at everyone and everything instead of pointing fingers at those who misuse a service to misbehave. It's time to start holding the offenders accountable for their actions. When the youngsters who lie on MySpace get caught, there should be stronger sanctions against them than just having their account deleted. They're committing fraud; let's prosecute them for fraud. They'll knock it off when there are real consequences to their actions.
It's time for parents to stop being lazy in their duties as parents and start monitoring their children's Internet activities. Too inconvenient? Sorry, but no one said being a parent was easy. Get off your ass and get over it.
As for the sexual predators, they're going to go where the kids are: malls, chat rooms, myspace, facebook, fast food restaurants, ball games, school functions, etc. Shutting down anything is not going to solve the problem.
Any tool or service can be used for good or bad. It's up to us to determine how it should be used.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Ten Years Ago
Where were you in life ten years ago?
I'm looking back to how my life has changed. I was still living in Atlanta, Georgia. I had washed myself from an abusive casual relationship, finally made enough money from my full-time job to quit my part-time job, looked forward to the 1996 Olympics, and worked on documenting my video diary. I didn't have a car, but I was lucky enough to be our job's vanpool coordinator, so I had transportation to and from work. I had to scrape pennies, but I had my own place and lived by my own rules. I had heard of the Internet, but I had never seen it.
Now, my income has more than doubled, and I enjoy putting money into savings every payday. I own two vehicles and live in a nice home ... not an apartment. Since I moved back to Waycross, I have a lot more friends, and I certainly enjoy getting out more. Not only have I been to the Internet, but I'm achieving my goals of featuring my writing. In addition, I have now discovered web design and graphics.
Am I better off now than I was ten years ago? Oh hell yes!
I'm looking back to how my life has changed. I was still living in Atlanta, Georgia. I had washed myself from an abusive casual relationship, finally made enough money from my full-time job to quit my part-time job, looked forward to the 1996 Olympics, and worked on documenting my video diary. I didn't have a car, but I was lucky enough to be our job's vanpool coordinator, so I had transportation to and from work. I had to scrape pennies, but I had my own place and lived by my own rules. I had heard of the Internet, but I had never seen it.
Now, my income has more than doubled, and I enjoy putting money into savings every payday. I own two vehicles and live in a nice home ... not an apartment. Since I moved back to Waycross, I have a lot more friends, and I certainly enjoy getting out more. Not only have I been to the Internet, but I'm achieving my goals of featuring my writing. In addition, I have now discovered web design and graphics.
Am I better off now than I was ten years ago? Oh hell yes!
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