From my front door, down to the quiet little creek.

Never seen the creek go this high. Daniel thinks it's crested because he couldn't see the fence an hour ago.

I pulled out of my driveway this morning around 0400. Within minutes a knot started forming in my gut and by the time I stopped at a gas station for coffee, as the sun was coming up in Huntsville, Al, it was screaming at me.

What was it saying? Turn around. The reason I've lived this long is because I always listen to my gut, so I did. Now I'm sitting back at my house with visions of a Biloxi beach dancing sadly in my head.

Man, if I was depressed before, I'm bordering on suicidal now. It's a good thing I don't believe in that shit. Had a nice evening with my gun expert neighbor Daniel last night and we had my sawed off shotgun loaded to the hilt, one in the chamber and the safety on. He said I should take it with me, which I didn't, and the first thing I did when I got home was rapid eject five shells onto my table, flipped the safety off, and pulled the trigger.

So what now? I really don't know...


Putting treats inside plastic eggs is not on my list this year, so I'm heading down to Biloxi to eat some seafood on the beach, have a cocktail or two, watch the sunset and try to get my head straight. My truck is running great but I've got her stripped down this time, not carrying all the road stuff I normally travel with. If shit goes south (or north) I've got a backpack to throw everything into and I can work my way back home. I'm very grateful that I still have my spirit, as depressed as it is, and I have my health. Steph's watching Piper, fuck everything else...


She ain't pretentious, she says what she feels.

There's no doubt about it, this mama's for real.

She done raised her kids, she ain't havin no more.

She spent all her money, and now she's dirt poor.

She's my trailer trash mama.

Maybe it's because I'm old, but I'm running out of care. Like when people I care about threaten to disrespect god's gift of life, when old uncle Joe stumbles up the stairs, and the blackification of America shoves it's self down my throat on TV.

So what happens when you run out? You sit back and take stock of what remains real. You dig down into your core and ask questions, like, what the fuck do you want to do with your remaining time on earth?

And then you do one of two things, sit back and say it ain't worth the effort, and kill yourself, or get your ass moving down the road to a final destiny that makes you fulfilled.

Life is a gift from god. You live it until you die, that's it, end of story, and see a smiling god on the other side. Ending it by your own hand pisses him off and commits you to hell. So I'm going to Boca Chica Beach, that will make him happy!

And where is that you ask? It's way down in the southeast corner of Texas, right on the Mexican border. It's a beach you can drive out and camp on but you better bring your own shit because there ain't no services. You also drive right by a Space-X launch site to get there.

And what about Piper you ask? Steph's got it, she reminded me today that she took care of the girl while I was on that eleven day cruise and the recent road trip back West. Thank you my friend, you get me, and I love you.

My truck is totally striped down, just the bed in the back. I'm not carrying all the normal stuff I ride with because I'm not sure she's going to make it the whole way. After all, I came back from that last road trip and had to put in a junk yard rear-end to just keep moving. Although I must say, she's moving mighty fine! I'm bringing along a backpack that will hold my important shit in case shit goes to hell, know what I mean?

So here I go. I ain't pushing this post out, so if you landed here, you chose to. stay tuned...


Last summer I was driving people up and down Shoal Creek in an old school bus, pulling a trailer full of float tubes behind. Business was booming, we were short-handed, so I got the bright idea to get Steph's grandson on-board. He was a buff kid, broke and in need of a job, so he came down and worked an afternoon for us. I told him we really needed him the next morning by 1000 but he had some over-nighter with his buddies going on, and never made it the next day. The job fell apart at that point and I ended up the villain with the family, and they cut me off. I have not seen those two little girls that I was falling in love with, since.

A while ago I drove to Pensacola to meet another grand-daughter and I was on my way down there again for a few fun days, when my poor sweet cat pissed and shit on my parade. I didn't make it and as punishment, I have been cut off.

It's becoming a pattern that I am not happy with. But, I have to face reality, it is what it is, and I am a realist. I also don't have that much time left and I despise self-pity wallowing, so all I can do now is say "Fuck It" and see what comes down the old highway of life next.

Staying on this dead-end street for no damn good reason, ain't high on the list...


What was I thinking... We were rolling down 43 about ten miles from the house when Piper climbed into my lap to look out the window. How sweet I thought, want's to hang with daddy, then she let out a guttural meow and proceeded to pee all over my lap, big time.

I pulled in to a closed gas station for a little light, stripped my soaking wet sweatpants off and wiped myself down. It's a good thing I live in the quiet south because walking around to the back of my truck for dry pants, without any pants on, wasn't even noticed at 0230 in the morning.

Ok, onward I mumbled, accidents happen, poor baby. She climbed into my passenger seat and a little further down the road she let out another meow so I pulled over and put her in the cool little litter box I had set up in the back. Too late, she had already shit all over the seat. And my phone.

My poor truck reeked of cat piss and shit as I pressed the Go Home button on my GPS. Shortly I was being guided through every little backroad I never knew existed as she brought me back, with the window down, on a dark chilly Tennessee morning, home.

I don't know what my next move is yet. Let the sun come up and clean my truck at least...


So when the nurse at the fire station jammed the needle in my arm she asked if I had any issues with the last one. I said hell no and she said I should expect flu-like symptoms with this one. Hell no...

My truck is packed and ready to roll down to Pensacola tomorrow and I just plugged a route into my vehicle GPS that will take me to Hamilton, AL then on to Jackson, Al then on to Pensacola, FL. It should be Hwy 43 most of the way and take nine hours. I could make it in 6.5 hours if I took the Interstate, but screw that. I get up every morning at 0200 so I'll be out the door around 0300 and into Florida mid-day.

Wednesday I'm taking my grand-daughter Taylor and my cat Piper to the beach in Florabama where I'm going to set her cat carrier down at the waterline, let the saltwater drift on in, and open it up. Of course I'll take pictures.

I've been wondering lately what stands between me and death and the fact that I'm asking is good because it means I ain't there yet. Covid didn't get me, I have no heart issues or cancer that I know of, and my genes are good. A bit snug, but good.

So the main thing standing in the way is me, and the choices I make. I could always fall victim to fate, like the guy my age up in Nashville that just got smashed into by a 13 year old kid running a light at high speed in a stolen car, but that's out of my control, unless I decide to never drive again.

As I mosey down Hwy 43 next week I'll have plenty of time to think about all this, and my goal is to show Piper the ocean. I bet it will blow her little mind...


I have an unusual ability that I don't talk about much, but then that's why I have a blog. On occasion, I get a glimpse of the other side, usually involving people, where their facade drops off and their true self is visible in all of it's harsh reality.

I suspect this ability became unlocked back in my Haight Ashbury sixties days where I dropped a lot of acid. I used to peek behind the curtain often and it was always enlightening.

I recall the last most vivid occurrence was with the little old lady out on Bates Road in Teton Valley about six years ago. She was a spoiled old broad, nice home on a few acres with a stunning view of the Tetons. Her son was a top mechanic in town, performed magic on my old truck a few times, and mom was well taken care of. Three times a week I would brave the snow drifts to bring her in to the Senior Center for lunch, and then back home, a fifteen mile tough drive in the winter, and it was free to her.

One day as she was walking up the ramp to the Center, pushing her walker in front of her (she was in her late eighties), I mentioned I might be a little late picking her up. Her face was sideways to me and as I think about it, she rarely made direct eye contact. Suddenly she stopped and turned towards me, and I was stunned.

What emerged from that winkled, mostly pleasant face, was the look of a gnarly old wicked witch. It was a Dorothy in Oz kind of witch, and I have never forgotten it.

Just one example, I have a few more... Speaking of weird things, the slab in my creek looked interesting this morning. Considering that Hernando de Soto camped on this creek back in 1541, who knows.

Sometimes, when working on a complex block of code, I have a moment. After hours of diving deep into a project where I know what I want to achieve and all of the pieces are slowly converging, I think to myself, what result logged to the browser console would indicate complete success, that everything works exactly as I conceived it.

I had one of those moments this morning when I opened the console thinking of a single number sent from the code that said success! It was the number 52 and when I saw it sitting there quietly, solidly and alone in the window at the bottom of the browser I thrust my arm towards the screen and shouted "Yes" to a quiet neighborhood where nobody heard me.

I think everyone has those moments at sometime, where something happens that validates all of your hard work and energy, and you just say "Yes" and pump your fist.