Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Ebola has come to Texas

Am I worried?  Only slightly. 

If we get an epidemic, I thought, you'll find me out on a street corner, handing out Bibles.  To paraphrase World Missionary Press: when things are in crisis, people really need God's Word.  I couldn't agree more. 

I would absolutely hit the streets for evangelism.  I would, and do, witness as much as possible because I don't know how much time I have left. 

I could die tonight, or get raptured tomorrow. 

In the meantime you'll find me doing up my Bibles.  I like to put a tract in before I hand them out. 

A whole lot about my new toilet

Still pretty depressed.  Getting really sick of these depressions. 

We went to Walmart, I got some cleaning supplies.  I found a tropical smelling Lysol.  I also bought some wax melts and a warmer because I thought I could plug it in the bathroom. 

Our toilet installer came, and I wanted him to have a pleasant, yet not overpowering, experience.  Yes, my house is a mess.  It took me forever to clean a 48 square foot bathroom.  I emptied it, too.  I like the way it looks and will probably keep it sparse. 

I also got more deli meat, some yogurt for work, etc. 

We came home.  I emptied the bathroom and cleaned it.  I tried to plug in the warmer, only to realize our only bathroom outlet was installed upside down.  Normally it's not a problem, but my warmer didn't have an adjustable plug.  Funny I only now notice that after over 10 years. 

Of course I had no other air freshener items.  AGH. 

I finally found a can of Febreeze spray, ran through the house with that, and used the tropical Lysol (surprisingly nice) to clean and disinfect the bathroom.  It was only $2, and I'd get it again. 

I didn't get a nap.  The installer called.  Then he arrived.

I heard a lot of loud banging noises and figured he was having trouble with the bolts.  Nope, apparently we had a lot of build up in the line.  He said the opening from the toilet, supposed to be "a couple of inches" was down to "3/4 to a half inch".  Yuck.

No wonder I had to plunge for everything.   He took a little time working, we left him alone (I made sure Ron did).  The cats were out otherwise Torbie probably would have fallen down the sewer, smelling it. 

All set and looking good!  The toilet has a taller seat, easier for Ron, and a soft close seat.  Ron can bang the lid sometimes. 

Ron had fun feeling the toilet and flushing it (before we used it).  I put in my little hanger thing with the cleaners and air fresheners.  The plumber gave me a rather skeptical look. 

Yes, my house is a mess, but I do prefer a clean toilet. 

He dragged off the old one, and I don't miss it.  I can tell from the paint marks that it was in the house from the start - so the toilet itself was nearly 30 years old.  The new toilet is narrower than the old. 

So, did it work?  We wanted a mega flush.  We didn't want to plunge every time we "dropped a solid". 

We found out.  Someone made a rather large "deposit".  I was very skeptical. The toilet didn't appear very vigorous.  However, I pushed the lever and wham - an empty bowl.  OK, I am impressed.

With the old toilet, I would have been plunging for a good 5 minutes.  

Joe (yes, we had a plumber named Joe) said we might want to do a line cleanout.  We're looking into that, but in the meantime I had half a bottle of lye and some rubber gloves.

I used to work with lye crystals, making soap.  It is very toxic and will burn like no one's business.  You have to be tremendously careful, working with lye.

I have glasses for eye protection.

I loved that in chemistry, I never had to wear goggles.

So, I donned the gloves and very carefully poured the liter of lye down the drain.  I'm supposed to let it work for 8 hours and "flush the line with hot water".  Since I poured it down the shower drain, that will work perfectly.

I'll make sure to rinse the shower out, very well, before I step into the tub, though.  

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. 

Monday, September 22, 2014

What a 40th!

It's my birthday, and I have to laugh.

I didn't sleep well because I was working up a migraine.  After I woke up, I took some generic headache tablets, and my shower.  After the shower, I vomited.

A couple of facts:

When I vomit, I prefer a bucket.  Happily I was able to access my bucket in time.

I vomited up red fruit punch, which I had well before bed.  I don't think I'm going to touch that stuff for quite a while.

Enough about that.  I used my mouthwash, made sure I looked OK, and did half my God Time (the Bible Study, most of it).  We went to work.

Yes, with a migraine, on my birthday - but interestingly enough getting sick took nearly all the edge off the thing.  Ron said that was God's birthday gift to me.  I brought my fizzy headache medicine, and took that 4 hours after I took the headache pills.  That helped.

We'd worked Saturday, so we didn't have much on our plate.  Good.  I was feeling pretty lazy!

Ron did not get a good day's work out of me.  I did what had to be done and that's it.

The other vendors were shocked to see me, and gave me a meowing birthday card.  I thought it was great.  I love it.

All in all, a good day at work, especially after the fizzy headache stuff.

I have encountered a couple of sick employees at work the last week or so.  I find that a little un-nerving.  I don't want to get sick.

I couldn't take my usual immune system supplements because I had an iffy stomach.  I wasn't queasy but I have a rule: nothing in the stomach until I am thirsty and hungry.  It works.

When I break that rule, I suffer.

So, off to Walmart.  Ron was unhappy we were there quite a while.  I think he slept in his wheelchair.  I put him out of the way.

I shopped a little.  My 22W pants are pretty baggy.  I can take them off without unfastening them.  I just washed them so they're not stretched.  However, the smaller size is not good, and I realized I prefer a higher waistband.

Being a "larger" size, I'll have to take whatever I get, but the image in the mirror was pretty awful..  I'm not into a "skinny 20W" yet.  I don't see how such a size can exist.  All this takes time and I was glad I had the time.  I feel like my underwear is getting baggy but I need to get out the tape measure. 

I did buy a pair of jeggings.  In the 18-20W size.  They fit nicely and are cute.  They'll be great unloading a truck because they have 7% spandex, and I am tired of baggy pants.  These seem fine to me, modest enough (especially since I wear t-shirts with a long hem).

I also got a cake, lemon with a glaze.   My aunt had called, she kept trying to talk me into a cheesecake, but it just sounded revolting.

Ron wanted cashews, I got them.  He always pays for his own stuff.  I also got some stuff for work, about $12 worth (chicken salad kits, and cup a noodles).  Halloween candy - candy corn taffy, 3 bags (2 for Halloween, and one for handing out as Driver Candy).  I also got some small Hershey's to hand out on Halloween.  The good stuff always sells out well in advance of the holiday.  I got some deli meat, tuna, fake crab, mayo, dill relish, and lemon pepper.  I see a lot of sandwiches next week.  Of course I got bread. 

Doc told me I need to eat a lot of salt, so I got the refrigerated dill pickle spears.  Yum.  Sugar snap peas, one of the few vegetables I like.  Celery to make tuna salad.  Ice cream.

I packed it all into 3 reusable shopping bags (work took one by itself).    We went outside in the heat to await our ride, which was half an hour late.

She had a huge attitude and parked about 100 feet from us.  She got out and yelled at us to "come over".

Have you ever towed a blind man in a wheelchair hanging on with his good hand, to the shopping cart with the groceries?  I did it.

She loaded Ron.  [Edit: Ron said she was incredibly rude to him, shouting at him.  Had I heard or known that - things would have gotten EPIC.]

I loaded the groceries.

She told me that "wouldn't work" and I had to move them, because she was getting another wheelchair.  OK.  Got it.  I pushed everything over to the left (driver's) side of the vehicle.  Any wheelchair could pass.

I attempted to shut the door, my work done.  No, she grabbed the door (the back emergency exit) and refused to shut it.  She surveyed the 3 bags and again said that "Wouldn't work, you have to move them."

Had she explained the next customer weighed over 500 pounds, in a massive electric wheelchair, I might have understood what she wanted.  She didn't say that.  She just stood there with the door open and a very loud alarm buzzing.

Ron got upset.  I kept asking her "Where do you want me to put the groceries?  Just point and I'll move them."  She wouldn't point.  She just stood there glaring at me.

Ron became progressively more agitated.  His head injury does not like loud buzzing noises.  He kept asking her, with increasing urgency, to shut the door.

She'd say "Not until she moves the groceries."

I'd say "Show me where you want them (by pointing) and I'll put them there."  I didn't want to play the "move the groceries/that's not right either, you have to move them" game anymore.

She just stood there glaring.  So Ron got up and headed over to shut the door himself.  I told him "She's blocking the door" and coaxed him to sit down, but he was very upset.

I finally got smart, got out my cell phone, and put it on video record.  I told her "I'm recording this" as I did so.  I asked her again where she wanted the groceries, so we could please shut the door.

How to stop a bully

I'm going to remember that the next time the driver wants to play power games: get out the phone, set it on video, and make sure they know I'm recording.  

A few seconds into the video, she realizes she has "lost" the game, slams the door, and stomped off.  She then had a screaming tantrum we can hear inside the van, literally stomping her feet and shouting at a supervisor, (poor supervisor) for a good 10 minutes.  She was talked into coming back and driving us home.  After she picks up Mr. Big.  There is no way to get Ron's wheelchair out around Mr Big. who literally takes up the entire back of the vehicle.  She called and asks the dispatcher to rearrange the trips (I agreed, silently).  The dispatcher does so, we go maybe 5 minutes out of the way, no drama unloading Ron.

Now, as you may know my cat, Baby Girl, only loves me when I come home.  The rest of the time I really don't exist to her.

When I get home, she wants her tummy rub.  

Normally I carry my bags up to the house and then pay her attention.  Today I dropped everything in the driveway (the big vans park in the street) and gave her just what she wanted.

I didn't care what the driver thought of me "making" Ron get up the driveway by himself.  I was spending quality time with my Baby Girl.

Ron has a trick, he turns backward and propels himself up the driveway, backward, with his good foot.  He's very good at it now and it gives him some exercise.  

I came in, headache was lurking - not surprising considering the stress levels - and took another fizzy thing.  I took my nap (still not hungry).  I slept for a little over an hour and then got up.

I got on the computer first because Ron wants to see the video.

After I post this I'm going to finish my God Time, then make a salad.

When Ron gets up we'll order some pizza to celebrate. 

Edit: we had a lovely meal.  I opened my present from my parents: a hardback Daily Chronological NKJV Bible.  

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Where are they now?:

I thought it might be interesting to create an update for some people who had a huge influence on my life. 

Dad: still alive, still happily married to my stepmom.  They do some traveling and have the kind of life I always hoped he'd have. 

Stepmom: surprisingly close, considering everything.  She is very protective of me now.  Yeah. 

Birth Mom: died years ago of a heart attack brought on by smoking.  Smokers beware. 

Ron: still married, he doesn't look to be getting out of the wheelchair.  He uses it full time now.  We may need to modify the bathroom doorway. 

Primary sibling abuser: has a pretty miserable life, volatile personal life, many unhappy issues.  Probably, I suspect, how some expected me to turn out. 

Whatever you say about Ron he does have a role in me living a "productive" life. 

My older half-sister had many issues when last we spoke.  Poor health, divorced, very, profoundly, unhappy.  I suspect she wanted to break up my marriage so I could "move in" and of course become her caregiver.  I cut off contact, I have no desire or prodding from God, to resume it.  I think God needs to work on her one on one for a while. 

Her kids are all off living their own lives, and very happy from what I can see. 

My older half-brother is more of a recluse, but a thoughtful "old soul" when he does post on Facebook.  He's artistic and made me a nice thing that has no value to an outsider. 

My older stepbrother turned out about how I expected, working 2 jobs, a father, happily married. 

I'm the longest married of all the siblings. 

My older stepsister is busy with her life, very happy, I'm happy for her.  Oddly enough her ex friended me on Facebook.  [shrug] 

Ron's parents:  "They wanted to put me in a nursing home" Ron says wryly "Now they're in one."  I have the information if Ron ever wants to attempt contact again, but they made it pretty clear last time they really didn't want either of us in their lives.  I stand by his decision. 

It's sad, but I stand by it.  Ron's sister is a great-grandmother.  Her son got a girl pregnant, then the offspring got a girl pregnant while still in high school.  She's only in her 60's. 

I know nothing about Ron's brother, the one who tried to kidnap me and "force" me into "admitting I screwed up the paperwork and that's why we can't put Ron in a nursing home!" 

Ron told him "If you can't treat Heather with the respect due my wife, I don't want you around." 

I don't miss him.  I do pray for all of them (waving hand) every day. 

This is the First Amendment - Public property for all

So, I'm feeling better.  Oddly enough, while it doesn't supposedly "work" on depression, I often feel far better after my lithium. 

So there. 

Anyway.  I was thinking about people I find upsetting. 

See, "depressed ravings" nonwithstanding, most of the time I like nearly everyone.  I usually have a huge affection for black service providers, gang-bangers of all color, other service providers, etc. 

Although I do have to say I would, if asked, say God has "sent" me more to the black and latino crowd as regards evangelism. 

Speaking of, someone's very upset. 

Here's an important fact: the first amendment works across the board.  If I can hand out Bibles on the median, the homeless guy can beg on his median, or the JW's can hand out material on their median.  It's public property for all. 

Private property is far more tricky. 

In one case, a Florida public school granted permission for Bible distribution to each child.  As a result, a group of "satanists" requested permission to hand out "coloring books".  I viewed it online.  It seems pretty harmless. 

Some people are outraged, saying the Bible-thumpers have "ruined" it for everyone.  I disagree.  This is the first amendment - equal access.  Are the kids walking off with Bibles?  Then it's a win. 

Common sense, and the Holy Spirit, will "protect" the kids from any unsavory coloring book influence.  Equal rights in action. 

I doubt many will see it that way.  The Christians will be angry that anything bearing the name "satan" is presented to any child.  Some will be angry that the children are given Bibles.  But, at the end of the day, I see it as a win for everyone. 

We have to respect each other.  Yes, I may believe you are going to hell but I'm going to treat you with respect.  I'm going to defend your right to hand out your material as I hand out mine.  And I'm going to pray for you daily. 

My faith life has sucked a bit, lately.  I need to work on that. 

Here's the quandary:if I didn't get a good night's sleep, wake up, and work 10 hours, come home, eat, and go to bed, when do I do my God Time?  Do I get up earlier?  I have with limited results. 

If I don't get my God Time in the morning, I have traditionally done it before I use the computer.  But if I don't use the computer how do I work that? 

How important is every day?  When would God rather I take a day off?  I'm still working this out.

Ron laughed at me today, he asked if I'd like to watch the church service online.  I told him no, I'd rather do my God Time. I only had the energy for one thing.   

Maybe I could bring my kindle (it has a daily Bible loaded) and my notebook (has all the prayer requests) and get a little nibble now and then? 

[sigh]   Sometimes I wish God could send me a text. 

I attempted to take a nap, but due to the excellent sleep I had last night, I wasn't able to drop off.  I also think it's not wise to sleep a lot on my day off, when battling depression.  If I were truly tired, yes...

Another question has plagued me for a while, when do I cut off the drama online?  If a person is not saved I give them a lot more rope; but what about a professing believer who seems pretty ignorant of the Bible?  If I find them provoking?  

Anonymous may have answered the question indirectly, stating they come by even though they often find my posts upsetting (see comments for Depressed Ranting).  Maybe I just stick it out?

My facebook, as a rule, is a happy place full of rescued cats, blind cats, old cats, and black cats (although I haven't seen them in a while).  A place with many people who share my beliefs and plenty who don't. 

I guess I just need to pray on all of it and hope for a letter on my pillow in the morning. 

I'd skip it, depressed ravings

It's not about my birthday. 

As I see it, I'm doing pretty damned well for a crazy, brain-damaged women turning 40. 

I own my own home. 

Ron and I own our own business, which is doing well in spite of the economy. 

I have a rewarding evangelistic career. 

I have a strong faith life. 

I am healthy (save the odd cyst); I have the use of all limbs and senses. 

I have a husband who is working on appreciating the things I do for him.  He has gotten a lot better at that, lately. 

I don't mind the caregiving stuff, not that I really think I have that much anyway.  But it is nice to hear thank you and "You do a lot for me" now and then. 

That said, I'm pretty depressed. 

I was listening to http://youtu.be/sI6sITMJtC4 - Signed up to Die, by This'l. 

I had the thought I often have, it's a lot harder to live for Jesus, than it is to die for Him.  A decision at gunpoint, a bullet, it's over. 

Living for Jesus - battling all my inner demons, Bad Thoughts, etc... especially when the kids next door are kicking the soccer ball - yup, gang, it's that time of year again - into the side of my house yet again, at 9 AM on a Sunday morning. 

I hope they believe Ron and I get up early, that we'd gone to church.  I hate to think they just did it without thinking about us at all.  They have 3 fences and about 10 feet of the wall of my house, bordering their backyard.  It is a source of constant amazement they constantly gravitate toward my little patch. 

Half an hour minimum, loud thumps against the wall of my house (and my old siding), screaming....

I'm not a parent.  I believe I would make a very bad parent, which is one reason I married a sterile man (he had an operation in the 80's).  I am certain I don't understand a lot about children, including their incredible and insatiable need to kick a soccer ball into the side of my house during mild weather.  The older kids are at least 12-10 years old.  Why can't they go to the park?  I was going to the mall for hours, myself, at that age. 

Nope.  Gotta be my house. [sigh] 

One of them has a birthday this week.  Several years ago, Ron and I saw them setting up a bouncy thing one year when we left on my birthday, to take a couple days in Galveston. 

They are pretty good about birthday parties, especially since I revoked yard access a few years (huge packs of wild children running wild and screaming in my yard unattended, during a party back in 2011 - also an unsupervised 2 year old running wild by himself).    They keep it quiet and finish up pretty quickly.  Apparently, if it isn't a first or 15th, they just have a meal and presents. 

After Mom has the next one (#6, if I had to guess about 6 months along - apparently they don't believe in birth control), I'm sure we'll find a big first-year-birthday party (huge in Mexican culture) at the end of next year, but the regular parties have been pretty reasonable. 

The last thing I'm doing on my day off is writing a long blog about the neighbors.  They like the cats (the mother at least - the father has never said anything either way).  They are generally quiet, save the soccer ball thing, birthday parties, and their insane all-night Christmas eve parties.  Last year some kid was yelling "Ho ho ho" at 2 am and kicking the soccer ball into my bedroom wall.  I wasn't super happy about that. 

Ron and I have never had a loud party.  Ever.  

Anyway, they could be a lot worse.  No barking dog.  OK with the cats.  They DO stay out of my yard unlike some of the renters in #2.  The current renters would never enter my yard.  Those kids thought my house and yard were community property - I found one of them, past the locked gate, in my backyard, looking in a window.  When he realized I'd "caught" him he just looked at me casually and said "You have a lot of books".   I told him to get out and don't come back. 

How was that his business looking in my house?  When the house got robbed in 2012, I immediately thought of those kids, who'd be old enough to rob the house.  I'll never know for certain until God tells me, though.  So, I don't have that.  

Boy, whoever robbed me was in for a big disappointment.  All they got was an elderly Macbook with some power supply issues - it wouldn't always boot when I turned it on.  On the computer, they found a 50 page typed out testimony and a bunch of gospel rap.  I changed all my passwords so they couldn't access anything online, and I never keep financial or personal data on a computer. 

So, they kicked in my door, ransacked the house, found "nothing".  The neighbor came home and they fled like cornered rats.  An interesting way to evangelize. 

Here's another thing - since I'm on a depressive rant anyway.  Babies. 

I don't want a baby.  

One, I need a quiet life.  I don't need all the crying and the diapers and the constant spending on items for a child that may grow up to be a complete monster.

I have heard horrific (to me), "funny" stories of babies pulling off their diapers and playing with their own waste.  I can only imagine what that does to the water bill. 

Everyone's like "Oh, of course you want a baby" with the same vacant expression.  NO I DON'T. 

I have a "baby", he is 59 years old.  He is in a wheelchair.  He will most likely continue to deteriorate as he gets older.  I don't need anyone else dependent on me.  Most people, when alerted to this, "excuse" me. 

I don't need your permission to remain child-free.  It's not my duty to breed.  In fact, with my genetics I think breeding was the worst thing my family has done.  We have "crazy" - people who are basically so mentally ill, they can't even work or provide for themselves, (my genetic family) we have that spread over at least 20 people to 4 generations.  UGH. 

Yes, there are a few exceptions, but they are just that - exceptions.  The "average" family member is severely bipolar, type one, with ongoing and unsolved addiction issues.  They don't take their meds as directed, they have all the dramas, and I just have to think "Thanks, Mom, for having 3 kids with mental illness, who've morphed into this huge clan of mentally ill addicted just like you.  That was a good call." 

In her defense, she got pregnant at age 12 and had my brother and sister very close together.  I was born in her 30's, the "baby".  

Ironically, one family member (a niece) won't hear a word against my mother because my mother actually happened to be in a good place mentally when my niece suffered a tragedy.  My mother was able to offer this girl some support when she needed it.   She's sanctified and haloized my mother into a saintly, blameless figure - kind of like the virgin mary.  I mentioned how I had been maimed by prenatal drinking and this girl just went off on me saying "Sure she made mistakes but don't tell everyone!!" 

I have to "tell everyone" in order for them to understand prenatal drinking is BAD.  Of course, saints are all dead, because live people, as we know, make mistakes. 

Friday, September 19, 2014


This won't be the typical blog. 

I am in a horrible mood.  Depressed and very irritable.  Not really fit for anything public. 

I had planned to go to bed very early, but that didn't work out. 

I did have a lovely cuddle with Torbie last night.  She slept in the bed, and permitted lots of petting and kisses as I hit the snooze alarm. 

I'm limping along, trying to practice my faith the best I can, honor God, and not release my inner bitch. 

Some days.  I just want to take out my brain and put it in the freezer. 

Thursday, September 18, 2014

I want to control my content

When depressed, I often encounter the "I'm so depressed, negative and boring." line of thinking.   

However, my hit counter (about 2800 views a month) says y'all like me anyway.  Yes, it's a popularity contest.  I admit that.  It makes me happy to see lots of hits, although I don't think I'll ever get the 7K hits I did the month our house was robbed back in December 2012. 

Today: got up, shower, no energy or motivation for God time.  We had some pretty severe downpours and some minor street flooding.  We are due for more rain, too. 

Baby Girl has become more "my" cat, although Torbie does sleep with me on occasion.  I'll take what I get. 

Ron and I had made a date to go to House of Fries.  I saw it after a Bible Handout a while back and I've been interested to sample the menu. 

Of course, I took this along: 
My afternoon meds.  Clearly I take some supplements in addition to the prescriptions.  The pink capsules are lithium, the small orange tablet's my Haldol.  The Depakote is in there but hiding. 

I've realized some of the drivers are (hate to say it) lazy.  They will let Ron out of his wheelchair, but then refuse to tie the wheelchair down.  It gets damaged.  This happened to Ron's "new" wheelchair, just bought this year, and now it has a bad brake, making it unusable on paratransit. 

Thankfully Ron has an "old" chair, but many drivers act like "Oh, it has good brakes, just set the brakes and forget it."  No, they can't do that.  The wheelchair will flip, run into the back of the seats, etc.  It makes horrible crashing noises every time the driver accelerates, or brakes. 

Asking them to tie it down has resulted in drivers outright lying to me, saying they did, then lying again when it starts crashing around in the back.  When I opened the back and looked, it hadn't been tied down at all. 

With a passenger riding, the wheelchair requires 4 tie downs and a cross-body seatbelt.  We ask them to please use 2 tie downs.  Many get a massive attitude - so I've realized I have to stand at the back of the minivan, like a policeman, "reminding" them to tie down the wheelchair.  Ensuring they do. 

Ron cannot get around without the wheelchair.  Why are people so careless? 

I understand, a lot of the drivers are obese, it's difficult for an obese person to do the bending and reaching required to tie down a wheelchair - but maybe your refusal to exercise got you obese?  And why would you take a job requiring certain physical actions if you're really incapable of performing them? 

They are NOT going to buy us a new wheelchair, that's for certain.  I've begged Ron to please just ride in the wheelchair, forcing the driver to secure it, but he says it's very bumpy.  He also had a hearing impairment and cannot hear any conversation if he's riding in the back.  Agh. 

Anyway, I've been standing out in the rain, a lot, lately, policing the drives, acting like a bitch in their eyes, I'm sure.  Getting soaked while the driver is nice and dry in the wheelchair compartment.

I'm not angry or bitter about it, just resigned and a little frustrated that no one seems to take pride in doing a good job, anymore.

I'm going to make some fruit punch.

OK, I'm back.  Ron's been very appreciative, by the way.  I really appreciate it.  He acts like it's such a big deal to "take care of him".  It isn't, really.  He doesn't require much more than an "normal" husband.

Pet care
Check the mail 
All that is the same.

The only difference is pushing him in the wheelchair.  Not a big deal and, we both agree, easier than me guiding him.  That requires a lot of (mine at least) brain processing.  I have to be aware of my location, and Ron's positionally.  I have to move in the three dimensional space while maintaining constant awareness of obstacles and uneven flooring, while maintaining positional awareness for both of us.

Much easier to push him in a wheelchair.

So, we went to House of Fries.  It's on Antoine, not far from where I do Bible Handouts.

I checked it on the health department website - it was fine.  Reviews were consistently good.

We went, even in the rain.

I got this:
Here it is exposed:  
 I adore curly fries.  Options: curly, battered (Ron's choice), standard, waffle, and sweet potato.  I could have ordered a basket of fries topped with delicious meats, cheeses, onions, and peppers.  I opted for a standard bacon cheeseburger, minus the onion, curly fries. 

They have several dipping sauces for the fries.  I went with honey mustard (so did Ron).  Ron added jalapenos to his burger. 

It was delicious.  The bacon was perfect, thick, crisp, and tasty.  The toppings were good and didn't detract from the burger. 

I gave them a review on Google plus:  Yes, I know it has my real name.

Menu, if you're blessed enough to live in Houston:  Check out the low prices!

Overall, VERY happy. Ron swore we were coming back. 

The manager was really nice.  I liked him a lot.  The employees all appeared to be well-treated, diligent, and happy. 

I hate eating somewhere and you hear the manager screaming at people.  Or the people are insolent and rude.  Not here. 

Best of all, it's on a bus line.  Like I told Ron "If you dropped dead tomorrow I could still get here on the bus"  He laughed. 

Google offered me the opportunity, a while back, to "monetize" my blog - to put ads and get paid if y'all clicked.  I decided that wasn't something that interested me. 

In my view, when a blog goes commercial it whores.  Suddenly "clean eating health nuts" are sporting ads for GMO energy bars.  A blog like mine would probably have ads for "bad" churches. 

I want to control my content.  If I have something nice to say about a business I will say it.  No one's paying me so you know it's clearly "my" opinion. 

That's just me.  I don't fault people for trying to make a buck but you won't see it here.

So, we ate.  We sat around for an embarrassingly long time afterward, waiting on Metrolift.  The manager was very nice about it, though.  I bought a delicious cookie.  I found out they have free refills but didn't abuse it. 

I intend to avoid all caffeine after 12 PM.  It messes with my illness. 

Remember the other night, when I heard all that strange rumbling?  Ron had mocked me a little but he woke up later that night and heard it too. 

Now, say what you want about my husband, and you can say a lot, good and bad: one night, years ago, back when he could walk a little: he actually staggered as far as he could down the road because he heard the rumbling noise and wanted to locate the source, and stop it.  He almost fell and barely made it home. 

But he did what to most would be a marathon physical exertion, to "protect" me. 

"I almost went in my wheelchair to track it" he told me the other night "But I figured you'd get upset."  Uh, YEAH! 

He said he did hear it and it's industrial.  We have a new (couple years) industrial park on the other side of the bayou, not a quarter mile away.  They do a lot of manufacturing at night, apparently, which results in erratic, loud, rumbles at night... pretty low grade but enough to "disturb" the "disturbed". 

That is, if I had too much caffeine.  So, I'm avoiding it. 

Ron reminds me they are keeping out property taxes down. 

It's not bad 360 days a year.  And I think the other 5 nights, even a quiet room would be too noisy in some way. 

In the cat department, Torbie sleeps with me occasionally, and Baby Girl is hanging out nearby more and more often.  I think we're getting more bonded. 

I did not bond to her at first, I saw her as a pestiferous little interloper, disturbing my Bubba.  I had promised Bubba I wouldn't get any more cats and now Ron, and this thing, had made me a liar.  She was too hyper, only cuddled Ron, and kept trying to sleep in my bed - and I rolled over on her one time too many.  She gave up on me. 

Now, though, as Torbie bonds more to Treat Man, Baby Girl is sliding over towards me.  I value her.  I cherish her.  I respect her.  I often find her sleeping in this doorway as I work on the computer. 

She's been guarding the cat door.  I think something tried to get in. 

I set up the ingredients for my dump cake: 
2 cans mixed berry fruit pie filling (two, 20 ounce cans)
1 box cake mix (I had butter pecan)
1 stick butter, cut up, will remain in the fridge until cooking time. 

I'll dump the fruit in a 9x13 pan, then the cake mix and butter on top.  Cook it for (let me check) 50 minutes at 350 (preheat).  Easy. 

Something I can cook, even depressed.  Best of all I have disposable cake pans!  I can throw out all the dishes! 

It ought to be good. 

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

"Get me a switch"

Another point. 

I have been the victim of domestic violence on more than one occasion.  On nearly every occasion I used physical violence to defend myself. 

I had to teach one abuser, getting within arms reach while attacking me meant they'd be choked until they agreed to stop hitting me.  A harsh lesson to teach, to be sure. 

I have knee problems due to one physical assault, from someone who was taught karate.  If you have a violent and abusive child, don't send them to karate.  It just makes them more effective tormenters. 

I have various physical scars from physical assaults before I met Ron. 

On one memorable occasion, Ron got violent with me during a blackout when I prevented him from walking on broken glass.  He slapped me and left me black and blue.  I ended up hitting him over the head with an old running shoe until he backed off - and let me tell you, that's a hell of a place to be, pinned on the floor by a crippled head injury victim who's doing me damage - wondering if I'll "break" him if I hit back to get him off. 

On that occasion, after a couple ineffectual whacks with a shoe, I told him the police were on the way.  He stopped and hid in the man cave. 

I've told him, and I mean it, any future violence will result in criminal charges.  I will also post photos of any injuries. 

Having established my status as a domestic violence "victim" and possibly perpetrator (although I firmly believe I am entitled to defend myself if someone's hitting me first), I have some opinions on the recent NFL domestic abuse cases. 

In poor black culture, "Get me a switch" is a fact of life.  The switch (flexible twig broken off a tree) is used to spank the child.  Occasionally it leaves marks. 

I don't see a problem with this as a disciplinary measure.  I think had the player worked for a meat-packing plant, it would have been a non-issue. 

Secondly, the Rice case. 

Interestingly enough, when I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area I rang up Mrs. Jerry Rice on a couple of occasions.  She was a lovely lady, very kind to me, the service provider.  I always enjoyed seeing her.  Very classy. 

So I hate that these people even share the same name. 

No excuse to hit a woman.  Ever.  I've seen the video.  Not only does he hit her, he treats her like a piece of trash until she wakes up. 

That said, it's equally unacceptable for a woman to hit a man, under any circumstance. 

Now, as I said, if someone's physically assaulting you, by all means defend yourself.  Stomp on their instep.  That will fix them right quick. 

But, no matter what the provocation, don't hit.  Hit the elevator button, get off at another floor.  Go home.  Take a long walk.  Go gamble (they were at a casino), watch a show... but don't hit. 

No one forces you into anything.  If you have the discipline to become a professional athlete, you have the discipline to walk away.  That applies to regular people, too. 

Walk away.  It's not worth your reputation and a possible criminal conviction.  It's not worth the damage to your relationship.  If you don't care about the last, walk away from the relationship altogether. 

A good example, years ago, one local church pastor was charged with domestic violence.  I can only imagine what that did to church attendance. 

In my case, I've learned Ron can be very angry when he's having a blackout.  When he is having a blackout, I don't let him corner me.  I don't argue or respond to provocative remarks.  I don't speak at all.  I keep my cell phone with me and my bug out bag at hand.  Should I need, I can flee. 

How would he find me?  He's blind.  As long as I keep my ringer off I'm invisible until he settles down. 

However, Ron has truly changed since I showed him, himself, drunk.  That video was a lifechanger. 

Another thing that bothers me: everyone's attacking the victim in this case.  I try to explain, she's been brainwashed.  She really thinks she doesn't deserve a good man, one who will cherish her.  She thinks this is the "best she can do". 

Why did she marry him?   I am certain Rice's handlers told him marriage was the only way to get out from under the scandal.  If she married him it would trivialize the assault and make her a co-conspirator.  Abusers are charming.  I'm sure she had "wanted" to marry him.  Unfortunately she did. 

I pray she does have an escape plan should she need it.  I am certain the domestic violence underground has contacted her. 

In the meantime, all we can do is pray. 

Date night

I've mentioned I have a scar on my chest.  It's upsetting. 

The scar itself isn't upsetting.  I have scars from various other injuries that don't bother me a bit.  I have acne scars..  I have moles and some large, dark, freckles. 

It's the context.  I got the scar in an assault.  When I went for help, those I trusted to help me not only refused to help, but blamed me for the assault and denied medical care. 

"If I see it and I'm depressed" I told Ron "It's very upsetting and really aggravates the depression."

Ron them proceeded to tell me that everything was made of atoms so scars, and skin, didn't exist anyway.  [sigh]

We went to the Dollar store a while back.  I saw some temporary tattoos. 

I have considered a permanent tattoo.  However, I tend to abscess and that could get ugly real fast.  I want to minimize it, not amplify. 

I thought the temporary tattoo might be a good solution.  I applied one this morning, after my shower.  I was delighted to see it covered the scar completely. 

The "temp" isn't really my style, it's very flamboyant and fanciful, but it's better than naked scar.  I'll live with it for a while, apply new ones as desired, and see if I want to purchase a library of options more to my taste. 

Considering "tats" run up to hundreds an hour, I think it's a good choice. 

I'd love for this not to bother me.  I really want to "get over it" but it's been nearly 30 years and it still does. 

So, today we went to Walmart. 

Let's see what I got: 
One gallon of milk.  I can get protein regardless of fatigue or depression.  Good on cereal, a favorite depression dinner (generic cheerios, which I have in abundance).

More frozen chopped beef.  I thought I got pulled pork but this is excellent, and will make a fantastic birthday dinner.


Ranch dressing for the salad.

Pie filling so I can make a dump cake.  Yellow cake mix and butter for same (ingredients are dumped in a bake dish, then cooked to create a divinely ugly dessert).

Frozen TV dinners.

Kraft Hickory BBQ sauce because that's the only one Ron will eat.  [shrug]

Bacon bits for salad (funny story later)

Snack foods, pepperoni, string cheese, meat sticks - trying to eat protein instead of crap.

Baby carrots

Salad mix - I prefer lively, bitter, greens.  Ron wants iceberg.  We both got what we wanted.

Luna Lemon protein bars.

Cat treats

Hoodie and pants in navy heather.  Smaller sizes than I expect fit with plenty of room!

Cycle stuff

Brand name toothbrush - never bought one before.

Enamel building toothpaste.

Cal/mag/zinc supplement.

I also made a bank deposit in case I want to get something online.

About the bacon bits.  I have been seeing a lot of muslims in the ritual getup lately.  Consider what they are doing to Christians in the middle east.  What they do to thousands of little girls every day - butchering their privates.  I'm not a fan.  I do absolutely pray for them every day, and hand out Bibles if they are interested, but I don't see them as friends.  I see the spread of islam as a tragedy, and a terrible thing. 

So.  The muslim lady in line in front of me, was haggling with the cashier.  She wanted the adult Tshirt priced the same as a tiny child's shirt.  The cashier explained she could not do that.  The customer was pretty shrill and rude... until I threw the bacon bits on the conveyor belt right next to the clothing.  She couldn't wait to leave after that.

I was a little sad I didn't have the pulled pork as well, but [sigh].   

I wish I had put in a compliment for the cashier.  I regret that.  I told God I was sorry for poking a stick at the muslims.

It just makes me so angry to see them in costume, knowing what it represents: domination, hatred of others, submission or death, female enslavement and butchery, dogma, hatred, and a corporal "We're OK and You're Not" attitude.

Christianity tells us to love our enemies (working on that) pray for them (done daily for years), reach out to them with the gospel.  It doesn't tell us to torture, kill, and maim them for a differing belief.  Christians are to emulate Christ, who came to serve.  We're to be servants, not masters.  I think that's the key difference between Christians and muslims.   

By the way, I'm making a deliberate choice regarding capitalization. 

I don't ever wear overtly Christian stuff: one, we have a dress code at work.  Two, at work I wear the cheapest and most modest t-shirts available.  I have a whole selection of mostly black, oversized, men's t-shirts.  I wear them with bermuda shorts in the summer, and comfortable jeans in the winter.  Consider my job entails pushing a wheelchair, pushing heavy hand carts, crawling under and behind vending machines, picking heavy things up and putting them on carts.  unloading pallets of merchandise, reaching, pulling trays out of vending machines, taking heavy things off of carts and putting them onto racks, and you get the idea.

Second, I think my actions ought to exhibit my faith.  If you can't tell I'm a Christian by my actions and reactions, my response to the hurting, etc... then I'm failing.   

So, we came home.  It was raining pretty hard.  Ron says I have tomorrow off, and we'll work Friday and Saturday.   He wants to do another truck day on Saturday. 

Ron also agreed it is foolish to pay his friend $20 plus buy him a meal, just for giving us a ride.  We're taking Metrolift out to eat tomorrow at a place that appears very promising. 

Besides, I need a date night.  We never go out at night, the trips are terrible, but a brunch date works just as well. 

We plan to go to House of Fries.  I saw it recently and have a very strong desire to try it.  Reviews are excellent.  Menu is very reasonable and appealing.  It's on a bus line even.  Yum. 

I'll let you know how it tastes.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

"It has a black cowboy"

We had our truck day yesterday.  Overall, it went pretty well save a few issues: 

1.  Sandwich guy was late so we had to come in on our day off, today, to get the delivery and stock.  However, it did give me the chance to realize business is about the same, regardless of who supposedly showed up over the weekend.  No worries about getting wiped out- at least not yet.  Things will get busy as we approach Christmas. 

2.  I'm very glad we have help - someone with a truck.  However, he did not tell Ron he had parked all the way across the parking lot and walked over, instead of pulling up outside like he usually does. 

The cart attendant brought the flatbed out the exit door, and when I called Ron to come over the guy took his time, clowning around, pushing the wheelchair in circles.  The cart attendant had a lot of work to do.  When he realized our driver didn't even have a vehicle nearby,  he left (rightly so). 

Later Ron asked why I "had" to load the truck by myself (hey, it's exercise).  I said (not knowing the driver was behind me), "He thought ____ was playing games." 

I do, however have fully stocked vending machines.  While I'm a little stiff and certainly well exercised, I'm in fine shape.  The machines look even better. 

I had promised one of the other vending guys I would empty the dumpster if I put any trash into it, and I did so, today.  It's very important for me to keep my word. 

Ron always acts like physical labor is such a big deal, that he's torturing me.  He's not.  I like being active, simple as that. 

I like accomplishing a task, not riding a desk.  While I'd do it if necessary, I'm far happier in my active job. 

No one seems to understand that, except, perhaps, my Dad. 

People are into the "old" thinking that physical labor is bad and hard, office politics and fashion games good.  Not in my universe!  The opposite applies! 

So, work is good.  I got paid too. 

I'm looking into webcams, but I already took my medication.  It's pretty hard to reason. 

I can blog in my sleep, I think. 

I'm debating the purchase of a very cheap, orange "eyeball" design.  I used to call my old webcam "eyeball".  I apparently got rid of it when Dad gave me his old laptop in 2011.  Dad's old computer was stolen in 2012, and the "new to me" laptop came with a basic black and white webcam. 

I'd like a new eyeball, one that's easy to use, interesting in appearance, and cheap.  Walmart has a Logitech for $30 and I'm just - cheap.  From what I can see, though, it does have good reviews.  I need to pray on it. 

Speaking of, I had some problems sleeping.  Firstly, the cats brought home a bug (I heard the proud meow calling us to view the trophy).  It crawled up my leg last night, towards my privates, and woke me up quite abruptly, let me tell you. 

I also thought I heard some music.  A low grade, intermittent, bass noise.  It may or may not exist.  I just hope I can sleep tonight.  I tried to take a nap today and the construction noise (I think) made a rather similar bassy rumble, making sleep impossible. 

I talk about this because I know there's other people out there battling noises that may or may not exist, getting scoffed at by loved ones, and just wanting to do a do-it-yourself lobotomy.  It's not just you.  It might "be in your head" but it's in mine, too.  (((Hugs)))  If this proves ongoing I'll ask Doc to up my Haldol (antipsychotic). 

I have severely curtailed my caffeine usage.  That should help. 

Yesterday was a long day.  I was so hungry I ate a couple protein bars during the day, then a huge glass of milk and a single serving lasagne tv dinner.  I went to bed and didn't sleep well due to the music that may or may not have existed, and the thing running up my leg when I did fall asleep. 

I missed my God Time yesterday, and did it later today. 

We went to work and got our delivery, ensuring that everything looked great.  We left and had a rather long and roundabout ride to Walmart. 

We finally pulled up.  I got out.  A driver pulled up right next to the paratransit van (the short bus) blocking the wheelchair lift.  She was a home care aide, helper for an elderly lady sitting on the bench next to a cart load of groceries. 

The driver got out, stuck her head in the vehicle, and kept yelling "Is she in a scooter?"

I realized she meant "Do you need the lift?" 

"Yes, my husband is in a wheelchair."  Ron says I used my mean voice. 

The rude driver started yelling at me.

Our driver apparently said "I'd better get out there" and exited the van, interposing himself between us.  I walked off, shaking my head, as the driver managed to lower the lift, and Ron, in the limited space available.  

As soon as I got Ron away from that awful woman, I said "I can't believe someone is paying her to take care of that poor old lady." 

That poor old lady. 

People wonder why I don't want a helper - 1.  Gossip.  I don't like people in my business unless invited, for example my blog.  2.  They're not going to love Ron, no matter who they are.  3.  They won't love my cats either. 

I'd rather leave things undone.

So.  Ron wanted to get a new umbrella, he lost his.  I never yell at him for losing things because I do, too. 

I also got some stuff for work.  It's funny how, self employed, the business affects even a trip to Walmart.  The business owes me $16, by the way. 

I also got a package of Stubbs BBQ.  Chopped beef - I figured that's the acid test.  I figured, correctly, that Walmart wouldn't stock crap, either. 

I got the meat (a pound, frozen), an extra bottle of sauce, and some buns.  I made it for dinner.  Ron really enjoyed the meat but says he prefers Kraft Hickory.  OK.  We can do that. 

I loved mine.  It's what I've been seeking.  Finally a decent chopped beef, in Texas. 

"It has a black cowboy on the box" I told Ron "I'm sure it's delicious."  I was right. 

I am a total racist when it comes to BBQ.  I would much rather eat "black" bbq. 

Happily, Stubbs has several frozen BBQ meat entree options.  Including another favorite, pulled pork. 

What else?  Oh, the Olay cleansing cloths have been very nice in the morning.  No reactions, skin looks and feels good. 

I did remember my back brace yesterday so I'm just a little worked, not really hurting.  I plan to eat a lot of protein to help build up those muscles. 

We're off tomorrow.  We may or may not have "heavy downpours due to tropical moisture". 

Sunday, September 14, 2014


I realized, to my horror, my Breakfast Biscuits may contain nut allergens. 

I know I am allergic to Almonds.... goodbye breakfast biscuits.  I've been giving them out to (nice) drivers. 

I don't want to wake up with a tube down my throat because I had an "episode". 

I woke up pretty early today.  We had to go to Walmart. 

Ron fell and broke his plastic desktop fan.  He loves to lie in the breeze.  Yesterday, we bought a metal fan but it scared Baby Girl.  She wouldn't even go in his room to eat when the fan was running. 

Clearly, we need another fan. 

Ron didn't want to go to church today, so we got up early.  I took my shower (yay!  Quite the job when I'm depressed) and we went to Walmart before it got crazy. 

I did my God Time later, before getting on the computer. 

I took Ron over to the fan section (pretty sparse these days!) and he selected a stand fan.  I reminded him he had broken a lot in the past, by falling on them. 

"That was when I had all the blackouts" he replied.  "I'll be OK now."  He thanked me for making "the video" (a one minute clip of Ron in full blackout, verbally abusive, glory.  He refers to me as a "stupid r*tarded b*tch" at one point.)  Apparently it has worked as I hoped. 

[shrug]  No more blackouts at any rate.  He knows I will make another one and I have told him I'll put it public if I do.  Would I?  I don't know. 

So, we got the stand fan.  He likes it.  Most importantly, so do the cats.  He plans to keep the noisy fan. 

I got Ron parked up front and looked around a bit.  I found myself in the skincare section. 

You might want to skip this if you aren't interested in skincare. 

I wash with acne soap and water.  I take vitamin A & E.  That is the extent of my skincare.  If I don't take the vitamins, I get acne.  I get skin infections (not on my face).  They hurt, look bad, and can scar. 

Most of skincare, as I've seen it, is getting the precious moisture to the skin.  I have very oily skin.  Even now.  I remember looking at my Dad, about 70.  Only now would I consider his skin "normal".  I don't really need moisture! 

I do like a good exfoliating now and then... so I picked up a small sample of the St Ives Apricot scrub.  I didn't want another big tube languishing in the shower.  I'll get a couple good treatments out of this one. 

I spent a lot of time looking at skin cleansers.  Walmart used to have an excellent, dry, disposable, skin cloth.  They came in 30-packs.  I'd wet it and rub it together to get a lather, then use it on my skin.  They stopped making it several years ago.  Now Walmart just does the wet cloths, which don't work for me. 

However, it appears Olay makes the cloths now.  I bought a package.  I didn't realize I'd bought the refill size, but I still had one of my old Walmart containers at home.  I'll let you know how I like it, tomorrow.

Last but not least, I found some Pond's Dark Spot cream.  I looked at the different dark spot creams.  I have a small dark spot above my right eye.  Actually, I think it's sun damage, as it's a little rough-feeling.

I noticed all the dark spot formulas had niacinamide, B-3, in them.

"Why" I thought "Put it on my skin when I can get it in the skin?"

I decided to buy some B-vitamins.  I've learned an important lesson: don't put them in the pill organizer.  Oh, they create the most awful stench of B-yuck.  I'll keep them segregated in their own bottle.

They won't hurt, that's for sure.

I did buy a sample bottle of the Pond's stuff.  I haven't decided if I like it.  My fingertips felt nice after applying it.

I guess, if nothing else, I could use it as a hand cream!

Tomorrow will be truck day for us.  I'll go to work, stock, get our delivery, stock (notice a theme? - grin).  We will go to the warehouse and get more - stock.  The nice man will load it into the truck.  I will unload the truck when we get to work, take it inside, stock (!), and put away the rest.

It'll be a good workout, that's for sure.

I'm going to need those vitamins!

Have a good one - I'm praying for you daily.  ((((Hugs))))

Help this migraine!

"Lord" I begged a few days ago, while lying in bed "Please help this migraine."

I had a thought.  Help it what?  

I had to laugh at the image of praying to make the migraine stronger.  I thought it was very funny at the time.

Tonight I told Ron "Dad's praying for your neuropathy"  I started laughing at the thought of Dad praying for worsening neuropathy and explained myself to Ron.  He laughed too.

Maybe it's our own special weirdness.  

Today was pretty quiet.  We went to Walmart and came home, then we went to Carl's Jr and home.  I took a nap.

Things look to be getting very busy at work soon, so I'm trying to rest up and take care of myself.   Am I worried?  No.

We had about this amount of customers before, 13 years ago.  We managed that and a full time deli on top.  Now we're "just" vending which keeps us plenty busy.  Worst case we can hire a part time, driving, helper.

Ideally, if we did that, I would hire someone with a disability. 

I haven't heard anything from Austin (our management) about the request for a new deli, so I assume the answer is no.  At any rate, God let me know the fix is in.  I just need to trust.  I need to disavow worry.  I'm doing that.

While at Walmart, I bought Ron socks.  He likes them.  I got some cotton blend crew socks, and some thicker cushion crews.  All black.

Ron once went to his chiropractor wearing one blue sock and one black sock.  The doctor never let me forget it.

If Ron looks bad it reflects on me, I told him, as a "bad caregiver".  It's also a "bad wife" issue too.  So, I asked, could he please let me get him some new socks?

In that context, he was delighted to oblige.  Dad thought it was a little manipulative.  I don't think so.  It's true.

As it gets colder I need to get him some nice wool socks.  He had some last year but they were getting holey.  He loved them, so I know he'll enjoy them.

I don't mind spending money on someone if they're going to enjoy it.  Ron always pays me back, anyway.

I suspect one of my love languages is gift giving.  I love to give things to people.

I don't care so much about getting things, unless it's Bibles for handout, in which case you're going to see some real excitement!   I mentioned this on my wall in case anyone wanted to get me a birthday present.

I don't need to ask for Bibles.  God has always provided.  I've gotten down to giving away a personal Bible, which I don't regret one bit, but I've never been "out" of Bibles.

But!  If someone wanted to get me a present, I'd most enjoy some Bibles.  :)  That's all.

I'll stop there lest I sound "ungrateful".

I don't really see a need to surround myself with things.  Like I told Dad "I love my $20 titanium wedding ring.  Anyone can see it is not pawnable."  He laughed.

[admiring my ring]

I am thinking about getting a webcam so I can do video blogs again.

Full color - that sounds inappropriate.  I hope you understand.

I am pretty medicated today.

Torbie has been sleeping with me.  I'm still depressed but not horribly so.

It's not your business!

I started using henna on my hair several months ago.  At the time, I believed it was temporary.  I wouldn't have used it if I knew it was permanent.  I got a nice deep auburn. 

However, I had to keep maintaining the treatments, which involved me sitting around for hours on end, on my day off, my head full of green glop. 

I also noticed all the other brunette "rebels" who had colored their hair auburn.  I was starting to feel like a lemming.  I've always sworn I wouldn't be the woman who vainly colored her hair for fashion, to match the crowd, to assimilate, and to cover oh horror the gray. 

Yet I was. 

I decided to stop.  It's growing out, pretty quickly.  I will have brown/gray hair with auburn ends, for a few years, assuming we don't get raptured first (assuming I don't cut it, either). 

I'm sure some people will be disappointed, because "Oh, it looked so cute".  Hey, I have limited energy.  I certainly don't want to spend it on my hair.  Half the time, when I'm depressed, I'm doing great just to wash it. 

I also had another encounter the other day.  I approached the van (it's always the big vans and never the contracted cab drivers) and she squinted at me.  "You his wife?" 

"Yes" I replied.  "22 years.  I got new glasses, maybe that's what had you confused." 

"Oh!" She replied accusingly.  "You colored your hair!  You grew your hair!  You gained weight... why did you gain..."

"Stop!" I put up my hand.  "Don't make me call in on you like I did the other driver." 

"But you gained weight..." she whined. 

How is that her business?  Any driver's business?  She's not buying the gas, and this woman was not slim, either. 

"I had a driver" I began warningly "Who asked me a lot of very rude and intrusive questions about my weight."  I adopted a mocking, derisive tone.  "Why'd you get fat?  You're so fat!  Oh, you look terrible!"   I resumed my normal tone.  "I kept asking her to stop, and she didn't.  It was very rude and inappropriate so I called in (a complaint) on her.  Don't make me do that to you."

"But you look so different"  she whined. 

"It's not your business why I gained the weight." I replied.  "But I'll tell you: I have all kinds of crazy on board.  My medication makes me gain weight.  But if you mention it again in front of me or my husband I will call in a report.  Ron gets very upset.."  I let her assume I meant, Ron gets upset at the driver, when in actuality I get the tirade (even though I have maintained my weight for over a year while losing one and a half clothing sizes). 

She shut up, got Ron loaded, and we left. 

Later on, the GPS told her to turn left.  It's a lot faster if the driver goes straight.  Ron suggested she go straight but she turned - I think to spite me. 

A few hours later, Ron mentioned the incident to another driver, who wondered why the driver wouldn't listen to Ron's directions.  I briefly (stupid!) mentioned the weight incident, to the horror of our current driver. 

"She said what?"

Ron got pretty upset and has been mentioning it to me "If you weren't fat they wouldn't bother you."

Yes, they would.  When I lost weight I had to endure long, ignorant, interrogations on how I had lost the weight.  One driver thought she just had to avoid "white" foods (white rice, bread, etc) to adhere to a low carb lifestyle.  Other times I would explain the details of low carb dieting for half an hour and they still didn't understand.  It was very tiring. 

Someone suggested I just say I have been "working out more", which, if I do lose weight, I'll say. 

They want to interrogate me when I lose weight.  To see how I did it and maybe they can emulate. 

They want to interrogate me when I gain weight; I suppose, to see how I did it and maybe avoid it. 

Neither is their right or business to ask.  

It's common sense, people.  Calories in, calories, out. 

Unless you take metabolism-screwing mood stabilizers and antipsychotics. 

Scattered Shower

I didn't sleep well.  I was happy, though, when I kicked my foot out, only to end up in fur.  Torbie had joined me in the bed for a cudd...