I’m peeing myself.

You think there will be no state-run radio and reinstatement of the “Fairness” Doctrine under President Obama?

Yeah. Say goodbye to your free speech. If you’re not with him, you’re silenced.

UPDATE: Also, go read this from Charles Krauthammer and this from Michelle Malkin.

(All three via Hot Air.)

If I had time to write about anything, I would be writing about the end of free speech and privacy in an Obama administration. But anyway, they’ve done it better.

Carmen got polled.

Heather has an Open Letter to Christians re: Obama’s left-of-Planned-Parenthood stance on abortion. And you’re right, Heather. A lot of people simply don’t know. One of my friends was talking to her very Christian parents, and they said they “think” they’re voting for McCain. When she informed them of Obama’s position on partial-birth abortion, they were surprised. They’d never heard anything of it. Now they’re sure they’re voting for McCain.

If I can’t attend, I send a good gift. When I’m not even invited… um, not so inclined to send the gift.

Today sucked so bad. In our department meeting, Big Boss told us that some of our department would be laid off, and by the way he was talking (saying goodbyes, telling us all how much he liked working with us, etc.), we knew it was going to be this week. I actually went into Big Boss’s office and asked if it was too late to volunteer. He didn’t know. Okay, well will you pass it along to TPTB that I volunteer to be laid off? It’s not ideal, money-wise, but it wouldn’t be awful for me, because I want to stay home eventually anyway. Yes, he would let them know, but I got the feeling that the decision had already been made.

Elle and I decided that two of the accountants and possibly one other person in our department would be let go. We just didn’t know who or when.

The big shoe dropped at 2:30. Elle and another accountant (who doesn’t know yet) plus the other person in the department who we thought might be let go were laid off. Plus one in another department whom we’ve worked with and really like. Plus a few others.

We knew at 2:00 that it was going to happen (meeting invites, the people on the list), and basically five of us gathered in our office and cried until it was time for the meeting. I went to Big Boss’s office at 2:25 and asked if I could take the rest of the afternoon off. He immediately said yes. “Elle’s going to come over.” “Ok. That’s fine. I completely understand.” And then I started crying and told him thanks, left his office.

I was about to leave when Elle went to her meeting, but I got an invite myself. Frak. Judging by the list of people in this meeting, I figured I would be surviving layoff #3, and that turned out to be correct. I’m through to the next round. I noticed that the 7th person in our department (he’s in accounting but not an accountant) wasn’t in either meeting. I went over to his office, and he told me that he’s also been laid off. That sucks. I enjoy working with him — Elle says that it’s like watching siblings when he and I have a conversation, because we almost always end up debating over something or other, and we snipe at each other. But we’re always able to go right back to normal when the debate is over, and I definitely consider him a friend.

When the still-employed accountants got back from the later meeting, Elle was just finished with clearing out her desk, so she and I left together, and she came over. We had wine, and I made chicken pot pie. Comfort food. We watched half of Biggest Loser together (I’ll do anything to cheer up a friend in need, even watch a reality show about losing weight — which is like the definition of my life, so why do I want to see that on TV?), and she went home. (Aside: Frank and I did finish Biggest Loser later, and I have to admit, it’s kind of a catchy show.)

Anyway, I feel like I’ve cried half the day. But even just saying that, I have Weird Al’s “Why Does this Always Happen to Me?” running through my head.

Y’all go over and leave Elle some nice comments. She’s getting married in less than two months and kind of needs to have a job, so she’s a bit of a wreck.

Part 1.
Part 2.
Part 3.

As I said, I was in an all-out panic. The giant bumps got worse — there were two or three I knew for certain were unpassable. I started bawling after the first one. Every now and then, I would check my cell phone, just to see if a cell tower had magically appeared atop a giant ponderosa pine, only to be disappointed. And then, just to make things worse, I started imagining all the ways I could possibly die in the mountains.

I’m going to careen off the road, and the car is going to tumble into the ravine. No big, dramatic explosions, just some crunching metal and shattering glass. They won’t find me for weeks… It’s going to get dark, and when it does, I’ll just have to pull over as close to the mountain as I can and hope a bear doesn’t eat me, because I am *NOT* driving out of here in the dark. OH HELL! BEARS! AND ALL I HAVE WITH ME IS A .38 SPECIAL! WHY NOT A .45 WITH HOLLOWPOINTS!? Or the .44 Magnum? Ok, that one’s because it’s too heavy. What if the bear smells my lasagna? I mean, it smells awesome back there. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. My last meal could be lasagna?! Really? I’d always hoped for chicken tikka masala and garlic na’an. Dangit. Lasagna. There are so many better last meals than lasagna! I’m going to die a brunette. Why couldn’t I die a blonde? Why did I color my hair? It’s a good thing I’ve asked to be cremated so no one has to see me like this at a funeral. I don’t think this could be worse. I’ll die a brunette after eating my last meal of freaking lasagna. I’ll die fat! The crazy militia mountain people are in the northern part of the state, right? RIGHT? The crazy mountain people are going to kill me and serve me to their enormous hounds as a snack. I think the ravine thing is most likely, and I suppose that’s good, because I’ll just break my neck and it’ll be done. But what if there’s a river way down there where I can’t see? I know there is a river here somewhere. And what if my car bounces nicely through the trees, not killing me, and then I just go right into the river?! Oh, wait. The Mythbusters told me how to handle the car going in the water. If it happens, Sarah, open the car door right away. Don’t wait. If you can’t open it in time, relax, don’t struggle, just be one with the car and the lasagna until the pressure equalizes and you can open the door. Of course, roll down the windows before you get to the water. Expletive! The river is all Class V rapids around here. I’ll just drown. I hear it’s a peaceful way to go, but probably not if you’re being slammed into jagged rocks.

Yeah. All of those things rushed through my head, exacerbating my panic and engorging the tears. When you’re alone in a precarious situation, your brain is your worst enemy.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that there was a lot of praying, too. A lot of begging (no bargaining, surprisingly), a lot of apologies for the expletives, a lot of thanking God for the life I did have. A lot of wishing I’d done more, been a light to more people, all that stuff.

Suddenly I passed a mowed lawn. What the? Yeah. There was a mowed lawn to my left, no driveway or anything, just a lawn with a mosquito-netted gazebo, a chair, and maybe a tractor, I can’t remember. I do remember the No Trespassing sign, and since I imagined this crazy mountain man had a much bigger gun, and I was in no frame of mind to aim properly anyway, I kept going. But this also gave me hope, because that mowed lawn meant civilization was near! Twelve miles to go. I must be coming upon a big mountain community!

A few twists and bends later, I came upon a dead end. The barricades that they have at freeway exits and onramps and entrances to mountain roads so they can close the roads in the winter and keep the stupid people safe? I came face to face with one. It was closed and had not been opened in a long time. I knew this because it was overgrown with weeds. And yeah, the road was still one skinny lane.

To be continued…

FRANK: What do they call the capital of Germany when it’s really cold there?
SARAHK: Burrrrr-lin.
FRANK: [Giggle and pause.] No. The name doesn’t change when it’s cold.

I just walked into my bedroom (I’m cold and needed warmer clothes), and Minerva is licking Frank’s running socks.

It’s nice when someone asks for your help on something, and then you ask them for information that will help you help them, and then they try to make you feel like an idiot for asking. Especially when just answering the question would be faster than the response they give.

If you are considering voting for Barack Obama or have friends who aren’t farther left than the Democratic Underground but are still caught up in the Hopenchange hype, this is a must-read/watch.

I went to the epileptologist today and saw his P.A. (whom I also saw last time). Check this out: I’ve lost five pounds since I was in there two months ago! I’ve lost an entire percentage point in my BMI. Hooray!

I guess the jogging torture is doing something.

Monday night I cut myself down to 500/250 on my Keppra, knowing that we’re weaning me off. Last time I was in there, they told me to stay on the 500/500 for at least a month, and it’s well past the month. I’m supposed to stay a week on 500/250, then do 250/250 for two weeks. After two weeks on 250/250, they want another EEG to make sure I’m not having any seizure activity (we expect that I won’t be). After EEG, I can wean the rest of the way off and maybe be done with my seizure meds by the end of November. In December, I’ll see the doc again, and maybe *then* I’ll get my undiagnosis.

I was a little disappointed to not be undiagnosed today, but I understand why the doc wants to be careful. (We need tort reform!)

There’s a decent chance I’ll be laid off soon.

Tonight I decided to make something I’ve never made before (in my whole life, even!). I made hot wings. I marinated them in Frank’s Hot Sauce, cayenne pepper, smoked paprika, olive oil, and garlic powder. I cooked them on the grill, and the grill is lighted, but it was dark outside, and I was on a massage high anyway, so I barely registered what I was doing. We had a bunch of little snacks, too — it was like going to Chili’s or Bennigan’s except without the gluten and cross-contamination! We had carrot sticks and celery sticks… no blue cheese dressing, because of that whole potential-gluten thing, but we did have ranch (and that is pretty much the only time I’ll eat ranch dressing — when I have wings). I put out pickles and olives and cherry peppers. And since we just had to be healthy, we took all our vitamins, and I put out a bowl of strawberries, raspberries, and apples.

So we sat down to eat, and I was through about drumette number three when Frank said, “Is this cooked enough?” I looked at my piece of chicken, peeled down to the bone, and determined that yes, it was fine. Then Frank showed me his. Pink and red meat at the bone.

Blerg.

So I apologized profusely for his (and my) future diarrhea. “Hey, if you’re really sick tomorrow, I’m really sorry, and just know that I didn’t mean to.” He says he won’t hold it against me.

I was able to salvage the wings. I threw them in the oven for fifteen minutes or so and burned them, just to make sure they were good and done. Of course, that added some free radicals to our meal, so I kinda think I would have preferred the salmonella.

Oh, but the marinade was teh yum.

I think I may change all my categories back to their retarded, cutesy names. It took me about ten minutes to find “Wedding/Married Life.” SarahJ was a much easier category to remember.

McCain’s speech at the Alfred E. Smith dinner rocked the house. Watch the whole fifteen minutes. You won’t be sorry. I want to see more of this McCain. I especially loved the end, where he pumped up what was sure to be the greatest speech ever at the Al Smith dinner and made sure to jokingly set the expectations for Obama’s speech very high. Really, the whole thing is a great throttling of The One. Watch it. Do it now.

The One also gave a speech, and it had some funny lines, but most of them were “It’s funny because it’s true” laughs at Obama’s expense. And of course, it didn’t meet my expectations. I also couldn’t get over his laughing at his own jokes. Every other joke he had to pause to laugh or suppress a laugh, and it made me wonder if he even looked over the speech before standing at the podium. The part about not being born in a manger was funny, and the followup about actually being Superman would have been funny if he wouldn’t have said “my father Jor. El.” Everyone just says “Jor-El.” Totally ruined his geek cred. I do laugh my butt off when he whines about Fox News not being in the tank for him. I think this makes three times in one week! “Wah. Hannity doesn’t get the tingle up his leg. Where’s my baw baw?”

In other news, Larry King says Sarah Palin is going to be on SNL this week. She’ll do a great job if she takes Frank’s advice.

I’m all-politics-all-the-time right now. It’s painful even for me. But since I’m in that mode, I liveblogged the debate at IMAO. Don’t worry, I worked in plenty of personal stuff and humor, so don’t be afraid.

This is telling. I have to disagree with Captain Ed on this, though, considering some of the recent conversations I’ve had with fairly uninformed voters. An example:

UNNAMED PERSON: I’m totally a Democrat, but I’m voting for McCain because of Palin.
SARAHK: God bless you.
UNNAMED PERSON: Not so quick. I was a huge Hillary supporter. But I really think we need a woman in there.

A terrible reason to vote for someone, yes? This is the same girl who said she’s definitely not a conservative because she has a sense of humor and conservatives don’t. I kept waiting for the badum-ching, but she was serious.

Senator Obama doesn’t want to punish your success, rich people. And by rich people, I mean people whose small businesses employ a hundred people or so and put food on our tables (not to mention health and retirement benefits). He doesn’t want to punish businesses for doing bad things such as paying people for their hard work. He just wants to overtax them to the point that they can no longer afford to do business. But hey, in the short period that they are still doing business, the beneficent senator just wants to take the money out of the pockets of those employers and put it in the hands of people who didn’t earn the money. It’s not punishing success — it’s redistribution of wealth. (Also known as socialism, which is also known as forced mediocrity.) And when the small businesses run out of money and have to lay off their workers and close their doors… well, don’t worry! Uncle Barry will take good care of you. He will pull that money right out of his hopenchangery backside and hand you pennies when you used to make dollars! See? It’s all good, Senator Obama is just here to help you be more patriotic.

The answer to your question is yes. I do think we’re all gonna die if he’s our next president. Why do you ask?

In other news, Obama wants a “temporary” ::cough:: SHENANIGANS! ::cough:: moratorium on mortgage foreclosures. You know, just until January, at which time he’ll decide that no one should ever have a mortgage again. Government housing for all!

It gonna be awesome. Socialism always works out so well.

Part 1.
Part 2.

As soon as the road started ascending, I was ready to turn around. As soon as I was ready to turn around, the road had narrowed, and I was stuck. In retrospect, I should have stopped the car and backed up all the way down Packer John Road until I hit that one-lane bridge, which was about a half mile away by now. But at the time, I knew I had no choice but to keep moving forward. The GPS was showing me a distinct route, still knew where I was, and still told me how far I had until I reached my destination. So I kept going. The road was so thin, and the ravine on the non-mountain side was so steep, but hey. I have driven the Vermillion Cliffs near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon several times at night, so this couldn’t be as bad as that. It was around 7 p.m., so I still had a good hour and a half of daylight left. I’d be in that cabin by 7:30, happily eating my lasagna and playing games with the church ladies, so I was okay.

I glanced up at the GPS. Fourteen miles to go. Making progress, I thought. Man, that lasagna smells so good.

I kept driving upward, confused but sane, and then I came to a fork in the road. The GPS said to go right at the fork, and again I ignored my instinct to turn around, a very stupid thing considering that I actually had room to turn around at this point. I went right. The road started to slope downward, and I felt a giant whoosh of relief. Then I rounded a bend and saw that the road was going up again. And then… things got bumpy. Every hundred feet or so, there were these giant bumps in the road. No, seriously. We’re talking two feet high. And I was going about ten miles an hour here, because the gravel was a little slippery and the road was becoming skinnier every minute. The best thing about these bumps? They were all preceded by little ditches that were themselves about a foot deep. So I would jolt down and then will the car to get itself and me over the giant hump. If I had been in the Explorer, I wouldn’t have made it. Too much car, too much weight, and too many times that the road tilted toward the ravine at the precise moment I was rocking over the enormous humps.

After about three of these humps, I was in all-out panic mode, quite sure I was going to die in the mountains.

I wasn’t crying yet — don’t worry, I eventually got there — but I was scared and smelling garlic and balsamic vinegar and imagining every possible way I could die in these mountains. I turned a corner after a particularly harsh bump in the road, and I saw a red Jeep coming the opposite direction. In the Jeep were four college boys, and I looked at them, obviously distressed, looking for any clue from them as to what was ahead for me. And they looked at me and kept going. Which is fine. Except that they gave me no inkling of what I was in for next. They didn’t wave or mouth “Don’t go that way!” or anything. Just looked at me and kept driving. It will take me a long time to stop hating them.

To be continued…

Zo has a blog now.

You are dead to me.

This morning, I made hot chocolate using Dagoba chocolate and almond “milk.” With turbinado sugar and a dollop of coconut milk. I moaned a lot.

Texas wins the Red River Shootout.

I miss the State Fair of Texas.

On October 10th. It’s big news here. We could set a record. Judging by the size of the flakes, it looks like we might. They’re getting bigger and coming faster. This is the best fall ever!

BTW, I love working at home in the afternoons. I have the most awesome view in my office (formerly the reading room).

Hey y’all. Thanks for all the comments and suggestions. G Fresh, I tried the resistance training thing. I’ve done weights, I’ve done Curves, and I’ve never stuck with it. Because it bores me to tears. I have to have change of scenery or television for exercise, and the last thing our house needs is weights to clutter it up. In the case of our morning walks, I know that we have to do that or Rowdi will act crazy and I’ll beat her. I don’t like beating her. I don’t do gyms. For one, they’re too far from our house. When I did Curves, it was only two blocks away, and I stopped going there, too (though that might have been due to the pinched nerve in my back). Anyway, weight training just isn’t going to happen.

The food thing, though: I don’t eat breakfast until I get to work. It’s usually a grapefruit or something like that, but it’s food. And I do snack a couple of times a day.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been losing weight, or at least losing girth. But it’s not happening fast enough for me to be skinny in time for this wedding.

So yesterday when Frank got home, I told him that today we would start jogging in the mornings with Rowdi. He’s up for it.

Have I mentioned that in was in the thirties when we got out this morning? Yeah. I wore sweatpants, a thick hooded sweatshirt, hiking socks, and my Nikes. They felt good on my feet. Oh, also my hat that covers my ears. Frank doesn’t yet have sweats, so he was in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt — I’ll get him sweatpants today. I told him we wouldn’t need our jackets, because we would get hot. Hahaha. We jogged to the end of our street, and I had to turn around and go back for a fleece jacket. Today I’ll also be buying us some ski masks. We actually have a chance of snow this weekend! Snow! How do I keep the dog warm, though? Does she need a doggie sweater? Socks and shoes?

When we went back for our jackets, Rowdi stood in the entry and danced in place. I don’t know if she was just so excited to be jogging (a fast walk for her, really, and a fast walk for Frank — I have short legs and run slowly) or if she was cold already, because she was dancing and shivering.

We didn’t run the whole two miles. We probably jogged about three quarters of a mile and walked the rest of the way, but it was a good start. The only thing? It’s been an hour, and I am still not breathing normally. I have that frozen-throat thingy going on.

I’ll keep you updated.

Do politicians buy lists of contributors from other politicians? Or do they just hand them over and say, Here ya go! I’m sure these thousands of people would love to get mail from you!

When we were waiting for the debate to start Monday night, we could hear three people talking on the row behind us. They talked about Sarah Palin (love her) and Barack Obama (not so much) and John McCain (better than Obama). They didn’t mention Joe Biden. No one ever mentions Joe Biden.\One of the men mentioned that he always gets email from the McCain campaign. The other man (the woman wasn’t really saying much) asked how he, too, could get on the McCain email list. The first man told him that he could go to McCain’s website but that he was pretty sure Fred Thompson had given McCain his info. Frank and I looked at each other and chuckled, because we, too, were victims of Teh Fred’s generosity with his direct mail list. Before Palin was picked for McCain’s VP, we had given money to only one politician since we had moved to Idaho — Fred Thompson. Yet one day, we received a hilarious letter from the RNC, and there is no way they could have found us on their own (they couldn’t even find a conservative agenda, and they’re supposed to be experts at that). We rent and aren’t listed with our new address in any phone books, and really, I don’t think the RNC trolls phone books for their direct mailing lists. Republicans probably just assume that if you support the conservative Republican, you’ll automatically want to support the far less conservative Republican, because they think that if someone calls himself a Republican, we, the constituents, are dumb enough to think he is automatically conservative — and actually, people who don’t pay closeany attention to politics do probably think that way.

I don’t know if Teh Fred gave Frank’s email address out — I don’t check his email. I *am* on McCain’s spamlist ever since we donated, but I only open them when they’re from Governor Palin. I should probably open them more often, though — they’re surely full of blog fodder.

Don’t worry, this isn’t about the government intruding even more into your life. Wait until January for that! No, I’m singing in Elle’s wedding in December (December follows the gorge-fest known as Thanksgiving), and that means people are going to look at me at least once (”where’s that awful noise coming from?”) during the wedding. So 1) I need something to wear, and it needs to coordinate with Elle’s wedding colors, because I don’t want to clash; 2) I must look good.

I eat very well. I’m gluten-free and cow’s milk-free, and almost everything we eat is fresh. We walk for an hour with the dog every morning, so I am getting exercise. So I’m thinking I’m going to have to exercise even more.

I hate exercise except in the form of hiking, and that’s not exactly an every day activity. I don’t do gyms. When I’m working 9 hour days, cooking every night, and walking, I don’t have a whole hour for the Wii Fit… Suggestions? Should I start running with Rowdi for an hour instead of walking? Frank won’t like me very much if I make him run so I can look pretty. But that’s not a real factor in the decision — we’re already married, so he doesn’t have to like me. ;-)

Scary. And accurate.

Pwnage. It’s near the end.

Typical. Check out the dates.

Sad and funny at the same time.

Okay. Most of that isn’t stuff to read but stuff to watch. Whatevs. Enjoy your day. I’ll be reconciling bank accounts and reviewing journal entries. You wish you were me.

Part 1.

I finally found a turnout, three or so miles north of Banks, and pulled out. At this point I made a most egregious error in judgment. I had directions, and I knew I was north of where I needed to be, but I decided to plug in the GPS and let it lead me. I know that the GPS can’t find our house, and I know that it couldn’t find Rowdi’s daycare place, but I decided that it would be able to get me to the log cabin in the mountains. Of course, had I plugged in the GPS when I left home, it would have told me exactly where the forest road in question was, and I would not have ended up on my little death-defying mountain adventure.

I put in the address of the cabin, and the GPS told me to go north on 55. I knew — KNEW — that it was wrong, because Banks was south, and I had missed a turn at Banks, but I figured, eh. It knows what it’s doing. Never trust a computer over your gut, peeps.

I drove another sixteen or seventeen miles north, almost turning around at several pullouts, and I reached a spot I recognized. I spotted the inn that sits off the highway where we exited the river on our white water rafting trip. It felt good to recognize a place after putting my body into stress overdrive. The GPS directed me across a one-lane bridge, and I thought, “Huh. It seems like I should be farther south of here, but it’s taking me into the mountains, and I know I’m going to a cabin in the mountains… so this must just be an alternate route, and I’ll come at it from the north. That’s fine, as long as I get there.” I could see the route the GPS was plotting — a big, curvy route that went up and around and then back south. By this point, I knew that I most definitely should have turned around at the pullout, because the GPS was taking me so far out of the way. Still, the little piece of crap told me that I had sixteen miles to my destination, and I figured it would be twenty on the highway if I turned around, so this would be faster.

After the one-lane bridge, the GPS had me turn right onto Packer John Road. Let me tell you: If you are ever in Idaho, and your GPS tells you to drive on Packer John Road, throw that little punk out the window (after you smash it with a baseball bat). I happily drove onto the dirt road and decided to call Frank on my cell.

SARAHK: Hey, sweetie.
FRANK: Hey, how’s it going?
SARAHK: Well, the directions were bad, so I’m using the GPS. I’m on a tiny dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and I still have phone service!

Click. I promptly lost phone service. Immediately after that, I noticed that the road was ascending and had become much more narrow. One side mountain, the other side river / ravine. Awesome.

To be continued…

We should go to political events more often. We just got home from BSU, where Jonah Goldberg was debating Peter Beinart. It was great fun. I’ll have pictures and the full story over on IMAO tomorrow. Also, part two of “Yet another near death experience.” But that will be here on mm.

September 12 (a Friday), I took the day off from work so I could prepare for and go to a retreat with the ladies from church. I was very excited to get to know them all better and almost as excited that the retreat was in a log cabin in the mountains.

In the morning, I baked a batch of cookies and then left for my hair appointment — my hair lady was able to work me in at 10. I was out of the salon by about 12:30 and went straight to the grocery store to pick up some last minute ingredients for the lasagna I was making. (This was the point at which I tumbled into despair about my new choice of hair color — catching my reflection in the freezer section doors — but don’t worry, I’m all better about it now.) When I got home, I made a lasagna, and I have to say, I was pretty proud of myself considering I’d never made a homemade lasagna before (I did make a “Mexican” lasagna once, but it wasn’t my finest cooking). I was excited that I’d get to walk into that retreat and eat the same thing the other ladies would be eating, only better. I would offer the lasagna to the other ladies, so they could stop feeling sorry for my food situation and realize I do not suffer one little bit (except that yes, I would suffer for eating so much cheese, but whatevs, it was a special occasion).

It took me longer to get packed and get the lasagna finished and leave the house than expected. I had planned to leave by 1 or 2, but I ended up leaving at 5:45, right as Frank was getting home from work. Later I would be very thankful that I got to kiss him goodbye one last time before I died a scary death, never to be found, alive or dead — at least for many, many years.

I got on the road, put on my iPod, and enjoyed my drive through the foothills and the mountains. The retreat was in Crouch, just outside Garden Valley. I was driving the Santa Fe, thank goodness, because I’m not sure how Pinky would have fared. Not well, I think. The directions were on the seat next to me, and I consulted them every few minutes, even though I knew that I was supposed to turn at Banks on FR-24.

Now. We had just gotten new cell phones, and this is important later. As you know, phones generally don’t come with the necessary cell phone accessories like car chargers and memory cards, and we had not yet ordered those for our new phones. And I’m trying to let my battery run all the way down and die before I plug it in — I’m hoping that will make the battery last longer. That day, I should have just charged the thing all the way. But I didn’t, because I thought, “Oh, I’ll be there in an hour and a half. I have my charger with me; I’ll just charge the phone when I get to the cabin.”

When I passed Cascade Raft & Kayak, I started watching for Banks, because I knew it was north of the rafting place, as we had passed it on the way to our drop point. I got to Banks, and I saw one sign pointing toward Garden Valley and Crouch, but the road was called something else, no indication of it being a forest road. I looked everywhere for signs and didn’t see any. I’d been past Banks one time before, and I wasn’t even driving, so I had no idea if this was the only turn or not. I thought it might be, but I just wasn’t sure. So I didn’t turn at the first street.

That ended up being the only street off the highway in Banks. After about two miles of highway (with no exits or turnaround points, as this part of 55 runs right along the Payette River), I finally got to a turnout. I pulled over there and stopped the car so I could get my bearings and figure out what to do next.

To be continued…

I was yelling at the TV (as is my wont in political debates) and gaping (when I wasn’t yelling) when Senator Biden went into his speech about what a vice president is supposed to do. He was all up in a tizzy over Vice President Cheney and was trying to school Governor Palin on the Constitution. He was wrong.