Monday, September 29, 2014

9 inches in the flood plain

I slept really badly last night, got up at 2 AM, and went to work. 

I managed to wheedle a driver into permitting me to take my magliner on the vehicle, to work.  The handcart had lived in my garage for the last year, and I really needed it at work.  We strapped it down and a friend took it in while I pushed the wheelchair.  

I worked a long day, getting 2 deliveries and putting away half a pallet of soda (40 cases, 24 cans each).  It took me two hours just to stock snacks.  My label gun ran out.  I had to hand write expiration dates on stickers and apply them to the merchandise.  I've done it before, it's kosher, but the customers aren't quite as eager to buy - which, considering my pathetic pastry level, is a good thing. 

Our sandwich guy was on time, and the soda guy was late.  But I got them and stocked/stored them.  I had a heck of a time wedging the handcart into my area when I left.  I should have brought some vaseline! 

We went home after work and had a turnaround trip to a fast food location.  Ron waited while I took some care packages to the post office.  I also had our flood insurance premium.  $1000, 'cause we're nine inches in the flood plain.  OUCH. 

At least it's a pretty decent policy. 

I found it ironic: after working at the Postal Processing and Distribution center - "where the mail goes after you mail it" I say, I had to stand in line for half an hour.  So my mail could go to work. 

I reminded myself I'm doing God's work, and my feet didn't hurt.  Tired, but not hurting.  My little squishy insoles are great.  I'll get the name tomorrow at Walmart. 

I finished just in time to run back to the restaurant and get a snack before going home. 

Home at last, I got another tummy rub from Baby Girl (spotted tabby in photos), and went to bed.  I took a nap for a couple of hours, woke up, and finally got to my God Time. 

Then I turned on the computer. 

It's been an interesting day on a couple of levels.  Today, Dad entered the hospital.  He's getting treatment for pretty severe atrial fibrillation, a heart condition. 

He will be in the hospital for a few days.  It's a good hospital.  Small chance of "complications". 

Still, I don't like having Dad in the hospital.  If nothing else you've got all those megabugs running around - I don't want him catching something. 

Then I remind myself God made Dad, and loves him a lot more than I do. 

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Inside the Beltway

We missed church, the last 2 weeks.  Ron wanted a day off the drama of trying to get to church on time. 

Overall, work is very flexible, which is great, 'cause anyone else would fire us. 

Church is on a set schedule and we hate "walking" in late. 

So.  The first week was Ron's.  The second week I was extremely depressed and figured no one would want me around, so when Ron asked to skip again I didn't argue. 

Last night one of the guys called Ron to see how we were doing. 

That's never happened before. 

Now, I swore up and down I wouldn't compare churches, and I won't.  I will say, out of the entire denomination, ours is the only church in the Houston Metrolift/bus service area.  The only one, and they have several.  The churches here have all gone to the suburbs. 

Mine's the only one that went inside the Beltway.  I value that. 

Like Jesus, they hang out in the "iffy" parts of town.  Respect.

Ron was happy to tell our friend we'd be present.  Our friend was delighted.  

What he didn't know, if you want us somewhere tomorrow you need to call before 4 PM the day before, so Ron can make the arrangements.  But he had. 

"What role does he have in the church?" Ron queried. 

I thought for a second.  "Well, the pastor's the head, and [name] is the heart." 

Ron agreed. 

I had some hot milk with french vanilla powder, and a protein bar, for breakfast.  I got pretty carsick, we had a long, bumpy, ride, and I helped Ron work on his cell phone. 

I ran by the gas station and got some cold diet soda.  I was horrifyingly queasy. 

I managed to get it under control. 

I do have a problem, attending church, when I'm depressed.  I cry. 

Not loudly, I'm more of a "leaker".  I cried and cried during the mission trip video (about a month ago).  I cried during the "dancing missionaries" (per pastor) today.  I cried during "I surrender all".  Happily they have tissues, but next time I need to bring a bandanna. 

I did discover I can get my hand up under my (new) glasses to dab my eyes, pretty easily.  I guess that's a good thing. 

The nice thing for me: no one got wierd about my tears.  I know they were happy to have me there. 

I do suspect the guy who called us may have viewed my Facebook and read about my depression.  I have an open profile. 

Saturday, September 27, 2014

I need more worms!

I overslept, took my shower, and saw this on TV:

The newscast clearly showed the paratransit logo on the van.  It appears one of "my" drivers killed someone. 

I have a guy.  I will contact him and see about mailing the cab driver a care package.  If nothing else they are unemployed (I would IMAGINE!), scared, remorseful..

They can use a care package. 

Now, you might think, this driver ran over someone just like that guy ran over your husband.  Don't you lump them together? 

No, I don't.  God enables separation. 

On that note, we went to the warehouse.  Ron wanted 18 cases of drinks.  I needed a lot of snacks.  I got everything and checked out.  A man was waiting, at the door, to help me load the truck. 

DELIGHTFUL!  "Thank you, Sugar!" I told the "big black man" as I shoved the cart towards the pickup.  I love black people.  :) 

We got that rascal loaded (well, he did, I just handed a few things and put up Ron's wheelchair) in record time. 

Off to work. 

I got my handcarts.  I was a little worried because we took 2 days, in a row, during the week.  However, we got away with it. 

The machines were fine, it appeared.  Snacks were all nicely fronted and I had enough sandwiches. 

God prodded me to wait on snacks, and open the soda machine.  The canned soda machines do not show the inventory levels.  I have to open them and look. 

They were nearly empty.  Wow.  "They were thirsty" Ron remarked as he "viewed" the wiped-out bottled vendor.  No problems with that one! 

He got to work on "his" and I got to work on my 3.  Mine required 17 cases.  I did about 14 of them by the time Ron finished.  I had to carry them by hand to the machines (maybe 150 feet) because our carts were full of stock. 

Once Ron took over, I turned my attention to "patching" the snacks.  They didn't need an intense stock, Sundays are very slow at the plant.  They did need some pastry! 

I did that and worked on candy, crackers, etc.  I wasn't too worried, we'll be there at 4 AM Monday. 

I need more worms, I lamented.  Sour Gummy Worms.  The "new" people love them.  They seem to like everything I'm doing, except for one guy who stalks me for Gatorade.  I don't have room, I explained, as he coughed in my face. 

I think he caught the viral sinus infection that makes the rounds every winter.  I'm hoping it's the one I got last year, and I'm immune.  I did take some extra olive leaf after he left. 

A note, the downtown mail sort/processing facility is closing, so the employees are coming to us.  Most of them are long time Postal workers, but new to our facility.  That's why I call them "new".  They're not, really, just new to us. 

I had felt a little gnawed, because the first couple I met had only complaints, but one fellow said "We really appreciate your hard work" and that made a huge impact.  Dale Carnagie is right, a little appreciation goes a long way. 

The drip tray in the "bad" soda machine (the one we're trying to replace) was nearly overflowing.  Had it, it would have appeared the machine peed on the floor!  I got it dumped.  Ugh. 

You can bet I washed my hands very well before I touched any stock. 

All in all, work was just what I needed for my depression.  Odd but true. 

We came home.  Baby Girl ran up to me and coyly flopped on her back for her tummy rub.  I took care of that as Ron propelled himself up the driveway and around us (we were off to the side).  Baby Girl properly spoiled, I went in the house. 

She's in "my" chair right now.  When I sat on the loveseat nearby, she rolled over, cracked an eyelid, and purred at me.  She's a sweet lovebug.  

I made a sandwich with the last of the lunch meat (no headache today, by the way): pepper turkey and meunster cheese (aged cheese can provoke migraines).  It was delicious.  I took my meds and a nap. 

Happily, I slept pretty well.  Someone was playing music, quietly, but I still slept.  I got up and did my God Time (I had overslept and barely had time to shower). 

Are you ever running late, climb out of the shower, dry your hair, get dressed, and then suddenly wonder "Did I apply my deodorant?" 

Remember, I had a lot of physical labor today. 

Thank God I had.  [snort] 

Friday, September 26, 2014

"Time is precious"

Really?  Then you must not have severe bipolar depressions with psychosis.  If you did, you'd realize that time is an enduring torture. 

Ron asked me an important question today, and I was honest enough to tell him the truth. 

"Why do you have such faith?" 

"Because, if I didn't, I'd have a sawed-off shotgun and a hell of a mess."  Ron laughed, patted my shoulder, and rolled away. 

No, I am not suicidal, but if I had no hope for eternity why would I live?  The thought of 40 more years like today - the thought is just horrifying. 

I know some of you are nodding your heads.  You understand completely.  The idea of a lifetime of depression is just too much to bear sometimes.  The only way you get through it is reminding yourself you're not always depressed.  You may even get a little manic sometimes, not too much, just enough to add an extra sparkle and make everyone around you grin. 

I know I do all of that.  I remind myself of the good things in my life.  I also remind myself how Ron's life would quickly go to hell without me in it.  I'm his caregiver and sole employee.  Without me, his butt is hanging out.  My death would really upset those who care about me and, if I killed myself, might blow back on the Bible Handout recipients. 

I'm not doing that.  I am very protective of others; terrible at protecting myself. 

Ron told me "If you ever leave take both cats.  I can't imagine anything worse than knowing they brought something home, chasing it, and no one to get rid of it." 

I have to grin at Ron thinking that's the worst thing. 

I didn't do my God Time, brush my hair.  I did brush my teeth.  No, I didn't.  [sigh]  I sat in my chair all day watching Supernatural reruns. 

"Superman?" Ron asked. 
"No, Supernatural." 
What's it about?
Two brothers who go chasing after Bad Things.   I wish they could "gank" the Bad Things in my head. 


Thursday, September 25, 2014

"We're going to die here"

We bought the house because it was "so quiet".  However, here's your moral: Don't buy a home near undeveloped land. 

An update on the rumbling bassy noises:

"They" have been developing a plot of land to the south of us.

I truly hate it when someone gives a written description so I'll keep it short.  We have about 100 acres directly to the south of us, running parallel to the subdivision - which is a long rectangle.

So, 2 long rectangles, one on either side of a bayou (stream).  I live a few hundred yards from the south edge, about halfway down. 

The area near us was clear.  However, as they developed the land to the east and west, I began to hear more noises at night.  Basically a low intermittent rumble, disliked by the psychotic depression.

Now, however, they have built some kind of heavy industrial manufacturing facility directly to the south of my home, about 1/4 mile away, if that.  I hear rumbling during the day, AND at night.

I know, however, it is the manufacturing.  Not knowing, to me, was the worst part.  I really don't like to think of myself "losing it" to the point of hallucinations.   At least I have that.

[Edit] I did some research.  One of them in a heavy duty hydraulic crane company - these things are shipped all over the world.  That's the one closest.

Cranes are good.  Cranes are needed.  They have to build them somewhere.  They used plenty of cranes at work during construction! 

The other facility does steel rolling, cutting, and stamping.  I don't know what they do to steel but they do a lot of it.  The world needs steel.

The crane company needs a lot of steel.  I'm sure they do a lot of business and that's got to be the shortest shipping time ever.  I'm sure they spend more time loading the steel than they do driving it next door!   Clever! 

I'm trying to like these companies, to adopt them as family members.  I think I'll put a page in my prayer journal.    [end edit]

I'm sure I'll get used to it.  I lived right next to Bush Airport for 3 years.  We lived though lots of very loud airplanes taking off and landing, just a few hundred yards in the air.  I got used to that.

The guy who owned the land used to have cows and we would smell horrific manure stench in the summer when the wind came out of the south.  Ugh.  

We used to live on the train track.  I used to hear the trains all hours of the day and night.  I used to hear them idling, coupling, and uncoupling right outside my bedroom, and adapted to the point I slept right through it.  I had the upstairs neighbor with the Gregorian chants and the loud gay sex.  I made it through that.

I have slept in my bed, #6's compressor chugging away on the other side of the wall, and slept great.  I'll get through this.

So, moral: don't buy a home near undeveloped land unless it's a park.

I also told Ron, since we are impacted by these business I will file a protest on our property tax next year, stating that living so close to industrial manufacture impairs our home's resale value.  I'm certain it would.

But, like Ron said, "We're going to die here". 

I know how evil we can get

I'm going to talk a little about black-on-white racism.  It exists. 

Nearly everyone I know, of color, is an awesome person.  I like being around them.  They are fun, professional, interesting, and look out for my husband as much as I do. 

I married a black man.  We've been married 22 years.  

A lot of my drivers listen to 102.1 "Magic".  In the morning, they have a talk show.  During the talk show they disparage anything to do with whites or white culture.  They promote racial division and glorify ignorance.  It's awful. 

The main "black radio" is promoting racial division, the white people hate you and are out to get you, etc.  They talk a lot about white on black crime, but never talk about the fact that over 80% of young black men are killed by other young black men.  They never talk about the black on white crime, either.

So, those seeking to stay in touch with "black culture" are fed a very distorted worldview wherein they are perpetual victims of the white man. 

This is also fed by the mainstream media and the attorney general: white on black is unacceptable, but who cares about black on black, or black on white, or latino on greek, etc. 

Anyway, Ron and I went to Walmart.  I had a very limited amount of time.  I was pretty queasy from my antidepressant but I am feeling better. 

I grabbed a cart.  I placed my reusable shopping bag into my cart.  It is a very large, red, bag.  I went to the bank.  I made my deposit. 

I turned around, grabbed my cart, and left.  I noted a woman who seemed pretty "off".  Her body language and attitude with the teller said, to me, she had some mental health issues. 

She reminded me of the driver the other day, seemingly "fine" but waiting to erupt in an angry tantrum.  She didn't come off as angry, in any way, though. 

I just had a feeling - like a pressure cooker. 

So, I left.  I was headed for the cooler and a cold bottle of Diet Dr Pepper when the woman ran after me, shouting "Excuse me".  I stopped.  Perhaps I'd dropped, or forgotten something. 

"You have my cart" she told me. 

No, I didn't.  I had my cart, the one I got at the door, with my bag in it.  Someone else took her cart and she automatically assumed it was me.  The white woman, stealing the poor black woman's cart. 

Assuming she even had one. 

I thought about it.  I really didn't have time to walk all the way back to the door and select another cart.  I had to finish my shopping, I needed some stuff for the bathroom and I really wanted some Pepto. 

I really hate bullies, but it was apparent to me she really believed this was hers.  

Everything inside me told me to hand it over.  "Just listen to your gut" a therapist told me during our last session "And you'll be fine." 

I apologized nicely, took my bag, and walked away.  She grabbed the cart and ran off. 

Now, mainly I did this because my gut told me arguing would be a bad idea.  I also had limited time.  Arguing takes time. 

I also felt a bottled up tension in her waiting to erupt.  I don't want to be the target of someone's crazy.  I know how evil we can get. 

Also, my faith.  Jesus says in Matthew Chapter 5: 42 Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.
43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, 45 that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; [NKJV]

 For me, the sealer, my actions pleased God.  

I did have to go out of my way to get the cart, but, like I told Ron "Maybe that's the one with the flu germs".  

You never know.  

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

22 and counting

So, since it's my anniversary (22nd) I have to do something to acknowledge that.

Here, have a slideshow video.  It took me a while to find some copyright free music (provided by Youtube).

It's really funny seeing Ron and I in our "old" security badges.  We've been through 2 new badges since.

A lot of this, of course, is stuff from my blog slideshow, but I have a few things that are not.

Ron's giggling in the other room.  He must be watching an old sitcom.

I woke up with a nasty headache.  I tried drinking some hot french vanilla (that stuff is full of chemicals).  It worked - I "had" to drink some French Vanilla at work one day, and it worked on a migraine.

[The machine had run out.  I restocked it but I had to make sure the product was dispensing.  It looks the same watery or "good" so I had to taste it and ensure it was alright.  I drank a couple sips of the good cup, and the headache vanished.  I suspect the heat, sugar, and caffeine all interact.]

I was happy to see that.  I did my God Time and enjoyed my new Bible.  I found it a little alarming my anniversary reading dealt with "dealing with one's wife treacherously".  Malachi 2 - that wasn't the whole day's reading, but a part of it.

I had time to make up Driver candy (bags of candy with scripture booklets) for the employees, while watching "Supernatural".   I've seen a lot of partial episodes.  So, today I saw the first half of something I'd already "ended", while doing the candy.

Huh.  A lot of loose dogs running the neighborhood today.

I pointed out a toilet tank issue to Ron - it's leaking, out the back, pretty bad.  Ron wants a new toilet anyway because this one is a clogger, and I don't mean dancing.

I told him, "You want to get me a present, get a new toilet."  God knows I'll use it.  He's making arrangements for that.   I don't need a thing. 

We went out to eat, had a nice driver.  We had a good meal and finished right about our pickup time.  We had an even nicer driver to come home.

I had a good nap and woke up around 3.  


Ron told me about something I found rather upsetting. 

A woman, born with a disability, chose to have a child, knowing it would probably have the same disability. 

When my husband discovered his blindness was inherited, his children at high risk, he chose to sterilize himself.  I agreed wholeheartedly (after the fact). 

"If we want" I told him "We can always adopt a blind child out of the system."  Many people don't want a "broken" baby and dump them into the child welfare system. 

I have a friend who has done this twice, adopt special needs children.  She is commendable and a shining example of God working through a life. 

As it turned out, God didn't want us to be parents.  That's fine.  I'm happy with my 2 cats. 

Ron's mother had 3 "normal" children when she bore him.  She never had a child afterward. 

My mother had 3 live births, and shot herself during one pregnancy, attempting suicide.  That baby died, she did not.  I was her last child.  She was told I was "nearly retarded" when I was 6 months old. 

So, in our cases both our parents expected a "normal" child. 

I would never have relations with someone, knowing I could have a disabled child.  I would adopt a disabled child instead (assuming I were normal and capable of being a loving parent).  Why bring an innocent life into the world to suffer? 

It's far better to select an already extant child and adopt them.  You could even "match" to your disability or get something else entirely. 

To paraphrase the animal shelter: no one wants the gimp.  You'll have your choice. 

But no, they want "their" baby, and "It'll look just like me".  It also reeked, Ron said, of "attention seeking behavior". 

Funny, I know, coming from a white 40 year old married to a black, blind guy in a wheelchair.  We're a spectacle anywhere we go but I don't like it unless I am manic. 

I like a lot of odd things when I'm manic.