What's Love Got To Do With It

 I saw a video of an author who stated that he never wanted to work for any company. He not only didn't want to get in to the system of 8 to 5, 5 days a week and retire after 20-30 years, he didn't want to work at all. His perspective, like mine, is the ultimate objective is to get paid for doing nothing.

I like doing nothing, in fact I'm quite good at it and now in my mid 60's I think it's been earned, deserved and I find it quite desirable. 

The American Dream and consumerism mindset of wanting ever more material things might just lead to creating more to-do's or honey-do lists. Be careful what you wish for.

We were fortunate to have been able to live what we considered a good life with guaranteed income and medical coverage... then we inherited generational wealth. It has created more work than we imagined. In fact I've had to buy more tools in the last few years than I had in the previous two decades.

Initially I complained a lot. Eventually I accepted the load. Now I try to find the benefits of it. (Happy Wife, Happy Life) I've even experienced something similar to a runners high after exhausting myself.

I've waded into poison ivy, hand sawed invasive trees and vines, had the glasses knocked off my face while fire ants feasted on my bare ankles, been bit by spiders and had blood running down my face and arms.

I saw another video about the reward system that goes on in our brains when we do things with our hands. I can understand this. My wife is always busy with a crafty project as well as devouring books. I happen to enjoy my time in the kitchen. It's where I am the most creative and productive.

But just because you can do something and you're even good at it, doesn't mean you like or enjoy it.

At the end of the day, I don't enjoy any of the blood, sweat and tears...

But, as a very valuable friend once told me, "Love Does," and that's what gets the job done for me. I do it because I love my wife and family. No other reason.

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Something is amiss

 In my dream last night, a black widow made an appearance. The last time this happened I blogged about it with the title, "War is Coming."  Something is amiss. Something is lurking. I suffered from an impending doom syndrome for decades and it has waned significantly. But I feel something, down the pike, is waiting. Whether it's the past that's going to rear it's ugly head or a new foe, I don't know. I'll pause to consider... 

Recently we purchased an item for one of our grandkids from a garage sale. I put it in the truck bed and we brought it home. I unloaded the item and put it in the garage. The next day I was checking it out and couldn't figure out how to work it the way the seller had demonstrated. It had a battery in it and a remote control. I did not have any directions so I just began to investigate by turning it on it side and looking at the underneath. I could not see a way to access the battery, but I did see spider webs and a lot of spider eggs. So the battle began. I grabbed my handy spray bottle of 'Miss Muffet's Revenge" and gave the undercarriage a good soaking.

I inspected the item the following day, and there lie, the biggest Black Widow I'd ever seen, dead, with her red hour glass on display for all to see. 

Likely the matriarch of the spider eggs, or maybe they were hatchling meals in wait. I didn't consider this any kind of an omen at the time and I was glad that the inability for me to operate the thing led to the discovery of the infestation. It horrified me to think of the possibility of us having given this item to a grandchild without finding all this first.  

Fortunately, in this dream, I killed the venomous spider. I felt empathy for it. As though I'd entered it's territory and it reacted to my presence as it would any intruder, with curiosity but prepared to kill if necessary.

I shared this information with Anita, whose response was, "whatever it is, we'll be fine." We've certainly weathered our share of storms and it's been nice lately to not have to wear the armor every day and be on guard so to speak. Hypervigilance, is exhausting.

Caregiver: My MG Story

Caregiver: My MG Story
The Struggle is Real

My wife Anita and I are now in our sixties, we met in our late forties. We hit the ground running early in our relationship. Anita had already published a book about her first two mission trips to Ghana, West Africa. That opened the flood gates for me and we published another book about my life, in the first nine months of meeting. We traveled as far west as Hawaii and east to Africa. North to Nova Scotia and south to Belize. Anita was always happiest in the most inclusive and diverse conditions. A memory that stands out is a small dinner in our home with new friends from Sri Lanka, Mexico, China and Ghana.

Today, I am a Caregiver for the best human I've ever known, my wife Anita, who was diagnosed with MuSK+ MG in 2018. Witnessing the onset of what seemed like life threatening symptoms and the frustrations of finding any solution was the scariest time of our lives. Mind you during this time I was the only caregiver for my mother who suffered from Dementia. I am a disabled Marine Veteran diagnosed as BiPolar and PTSD from a Helicopter crash whom at times needs Caregiving myself.

I have a passion for those in the "Newly Diagnosed" category today. The onset of MG turns your world upside down. From my perspective as a Caregiver, MG life is all about Caregiving. In an ideal scenario an MG patient is diagnosed and treated under a Physician's Care. The MG patient learns their limitations and Cares for themselves. And the Caregiver fills the gaps.

It grieves me to hear of relationships failing under the stress of the life changing symptoms of any type of MG. MG patients don't have a choice. Caregivers do. Not everybody is up to the task and I have discovered Caregivers need care too. MG, like an addiction or other life altering condition affects the entire household. Immediate and major adjustments need to be made and endured.

To demonstrate how much of a impact MG has, we went from this to this in the blink of an eye. 

A Caregiver will often realize and accept that MG is not going away before the patient accepts it. There is a toll on every aspect of life. It consumes your psyche. All of your energy is in seeking information to understand what you're up against. You scour the internet, read medical journals, medication trial results and learn more medical terms than you ever cared to. Your sleep, intimacy, finances, diet and exercise is out of balance. You're balancing on a ball and juggling flaming knives; hyperalert.

My wife went from the highly educated witty super active woman that I met and married to being unable to hold her head up. She had difficulty chewing, double vision and when she spoke she sounded like Elmer Fudd. She began having difficulty breathing to the point where she couldn't sleep. She'd sit on the side of the bed in the middle of the night and gasp for breath. She couldn't bathe or dress herself.

Three trips to the ER in thirty days in the back of an ambulance finding frustration in the lack of knowledge by medical personnel about MG will get you into an incredibly aggressive or completely defeated state of mind. I was scared to death that my wife was going to die. She lay on a gurney still barely able to breathe, using a CPR resuscitator bag on herself, and no one is doing anything to help!

 Anita was finally diagnosed the day she was discharged the second time, still suffering from the same symptoms. Prescribed a useless medication that had the same symptoms for under dose as over dose.

We sought help elsewhere. Online research revealed Duke University Medical had a highly respected Neurology department in the area of MG. I drove Anita to appointments, four hours one way. She rode along utilizing a battery operated breathing machine, aka, a Bi-Pap that we obtained from a Pulmonologist she'd already been seeing for Asthma.

In a wheel chair that we'd brought along, I pushed her down the long unfamiliar hallways of a distant hospital.

 

Wide eyed I absorbed everything the Doctor told us. By the end of the visit, we understood the treatment. We both breathed a sigh of relief. We felt seen, cared for and hopeful that the current conditions could and would improve. We loaded up and made the four hour journey home. We stopped for a rare treat to celebrate. A Wendy's Frosty. Little things like that seem so wonderful when you've been wandering in the wilderness searching for answers.

We made one more trip to the ER due to a choking episode where the EMTs found us on the living room floor recovering. Her lips had turned blue and her eyes rolled back in her head while I desperately tried all I could to save her. Once again, I'd thought I was going to lose her. My hypervigilance grew. I can't count how many times I'd lay in bed or have a quiet moment and feel that MG is such a bully and wish it had attacked me instead of Anita. I'd take it all away from her if that were possible.

The future held appointments with her General Physician, a Neurologist, a Pulmonologist, an Optometrist, a Dentist and an Ophthalmologist. High dosage Prednisone induced Glaucoma, spurted growth of cataracts and created a macular crease. It also cracked a few of her teeth. A few surgeries later and weaning off of Prednisone things were better. You're fighting one battle after another.

Life didn't stop while we played catch up. I dropped 70 pounds. Grand kids were being born, events we could no longer attend were still being held. We lost Anita's Parents in a tragic car accident and my Mother passed away two weeks later. Talk about kicking you when you're down! The various stages of grief that were already evident in our lives were now amplified.  Then a pandemic arrived. More hypervigilance and less getting out and about. We pressed on.

Today, Anita's MG is well managed. She is driving to her own appointments, she's active with all her crafty projects and back to feeling good about being productive. I push her to achieve more than she thinks she can and I understand when she just needs to stay in bed longer and let her batteries recharge.

She's remained the most wonderful human I've ever known .
I have not always made the best decisions for my own care. When Anita regained her independence, I let loose and used alcohol to relieve the hypervigilance that gripped me. This was not productive for me and it stressed Anita and is counter to my role. I reacted to this with beating myself up,, having thoughts of, "I'm not a good Caregiver," which I prided myself on being. I gained 50 pounds back.

Caregivers must be as willing to accept their own shortcomings as they are for their patient's. You'll go through phases. You'll go from feeling incredibly determined to feeling completely defeated. From Energizer Bunny to complete exhaustion. But in time, I promise, determination and patience will prevail.

I try to find what I'm thankful for. We're thankful the kids have become compassionate adults and good parents. We're also thankful for Organizations, Groups and Individuals that seek to inform, treat and support families that experience the Monster of MG. MGFA and ARGENX to name just a couple.

Under great leadership they've pressured the system and made incredible, record progress with so many new treatments now available and in the pipeline as well as commercials on TV! MG is becoming a term people understand. It seemed relatively unheard of just a few short years ago.

Even with treatments that bring a tolerable sense of normalcy to the MG patients life and the Caregiver able to return to some activities that were sacrificed, I find that part of my psyche will entertain thoughts of impending doom in consideration of memories developed during the onset period of MG and now facing the long-term effects of immuno-suppressant medications on my loved ones longevity. I Try to stay present and celebrate the progress.

We try to give back. We've given our local EMT's literature on MG. We've shared with our friends and family what we've learned. We've found ways to give back.

Anita has volunteered for new treatment trials and is an MG Friend through MGFA. She gets assigned to individuals who have reached out wanting to be contacted and calls them as often as they desire. We wish we'd have found something like this in the early days. I am seeking to do similar for Caregivers. 

I donate plasma since so many MG patients utilize plasmapheresis as a treatment, and they even pay me for it! Did you know you can donate plasma twice a week? I highly recommend it if you're able. It's quite rewarding. (use this link for a referral we both can benefit from with information about a donation center near you.)

https://www.cslplasma.com/start-donating

Use referral code 0DLE5OWPDE or just tell them when you arrive for your first donation that you were referred by David Waters in South Carolina

This is the first step in doing the amazing at CSL Plasma. They collect plasma to make 24 life saving medicines for patients around the world. 

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 Today, life is good, we're thankful and closer than ever.

Please reach out. Find a group online or near you at the Myasthenia Gravis Foundation of America website https://myasthenia.org/

You need acknowledged, heard, understood, supported and cared for.

DW

RED Obit

Ruth Eileen “Bootsie” (Dover) Waters…

91, formerly of Columbus, OH, passed away peacefully at Pruitt Health in Ridgeway, SC, on Sunday March 1st.

Born on September 22, 1928, to the late Raymond Emmett and Ida Elnora (Cole) Dover, in Columbus, OH, Bootsie always had a zeal for life and music that never faded.

  

She met and married the love of her life, Thomas Alvin “Brother” Waters, in 1945 in Daytona Beach, FL. while he served in the Navy. In 1946 they moved to his hometown of Winnsboro Mills, SC. After the birth of their first two children, the local mill shut down and they moved to her hometown of Columbus, OH., where they remained and raised two more children until 1978 when Tommy passed away at the age of 51. Three of their four kids served in the military.

Bootsie then moved to California, Nevada, and finally settled down in South Florida.

Bootsie worked at General Motors, Suburban Freight, and even once as a grocery demonstrator. She also supported several community organizations, including the American Legion Auxiliary, Moose Lodge, VFW Auxiliary and the DAV.

Bootsie was known for being able to stretch a dollar, and loved going thrifting long before it was a trendy thing to do. No one knew what new treasure she may show up with after a trip to the thrift store or a local yard sale, but it was always an adventure.

While Bootsie enjoyed being independent and sailing the high seas, she moved back to Winnsboro, SC, to be closer to her son when her health began to decline. In her final weeks she especially enjoyed listening to piano music and viewing family photos with her son.

Bootsie will be missed immensely and remembered lovingly. 

She is survived by her sons Richard A., Terry D., and David L. Waters, eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. In addition to her parents and husband, she is preceded in death by her sister, Thelma E. (Dover) Krack and her eldest son, Thomas Alan Waters.

There will be a memorial service SaturdayMarch 14th at Lake Wateree Presbyterian church with visitation at 2pm and service at 3pm. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Lake Wateree Presbyterian Church.

The pain, oh the pain. I miss you Mama.

*Special thanks and credit to my step daughter Melody Braswell for her assistance in composing this obituary.

Annette & Haskell Tarlton Eulogy 02-22-20

         

(Click Photos for Obituaries)

Let me begin by saying I am humbled and honored to speak on this occasion to remember and celebrate the lives of Annette and Haskell Tarlton.

Thank you to family for gathering around Anita and Becky when needed most and to our local and extended communities for the immense love, caring and concern. Your words and hugs have been comforting up close and from afar.

Words…

I think about words that come about in circumstances like this. Words like Unfathomable, tragic and horrific. And rightfully so, a VOID. We know that Annette and Haskell in their 64 years of marriage were pillars of the community as they demonstrated inclusion without judgment, grace and peace in their sphere of influence.

And while that may seem to leave a VOID, I look at the faces of their descendants and I see Expansion. I see a Legacy being carried on with the same positive characteristics they’re so deserving of being described as.

An apple is not just a fruit from a tree it is the birth of orchards.

I believe a little girl’s first love is her Daddy and Anita and Becky always told me their parents were their biggest cheerleaders. It was a role I knew I had to step into and that she was worthy of.  I’m sure Gene felt this as well. 

Anita has told me stories about walking the beach and picking up broken shells or finding a wounded critter at the farm and asking her Daddy to help it.

I was one of those wounded critters, one of those broken shells she  brought into this fold 15 years ago. And I have observed, healed and grown as a result.

What’s in a name?..

I’d been coming to SC all my life and no relative ever called me David. No, my name was YANKEE. I joined the Marine Corps and “once a Marine Always a Marine” was the saying, I had a new name.

When Anita and I were engaged she got a kitten from Jennifer and Kevin Ricketts. Anita was still working so I got to take to kitty to the local Vet. I was greeted as Mr. Tarlton.

Anywhere we went, Anita and Annette were known as Miss T.

Well we finally got married and two years later moved in together combining households in a house I’d just bought. I got my first pickup truck, because you know, Daddy always had one. (I wasn’t raised on a farm) and I set about using the truck and a chain to uproot some bushes.

With Anita watching I wrapped the chain around the base and pulled away. The chain just came undone and there sat the bush. I repeated the process with similar results. Anita held a hand up, signaling to not even get out of the truck. She wrapped the chain around the bush and I put it in gear and the bush came right out.

Anita rubbed her hands together and said, “there ya go, now I’ve got to go powder my nose.” A snark from the dainty feminine piano playing lovely woman I’d married.

We shared this story with her parents, Haskell just beamed and Annette leaned in with a glance at me and told Anita, “there’s a lot of city in that boy.” A snark from this woman of few words.

My initiation had begun. The new addition/ son-in-law was selected to make a mono-e-mono trip with Father-in-Law Haskell to the beach house to do some work. Off we went down the road with me driving his car. Now Mr. Haskell only turned on two things in a vehicle, the ignition and the temperature control. Never a radio or GPS.

So…. Silence…. I could barely stand to hear my own thoughts.

After about an hour, I said, “Anita is the most wonderful human being I have ever met.” And quicker than you can bat your eye he exclaimed, “THAT’S RIGHT!” While I pondered this instant cheer-leading for the next half our, he finally broke the silence with “There’s Annette’s favorite store.” Thumbing over towards Tractor Supply. A snark from this man of few words.

I was beginning to see the light of what I was in for. I learned to enjoy the silence.

Numerous times I’d get a call or be sent somewhere on behalf of the family and I’d be addressed as Mr. Tarlton. Lord knows we’ve been to a lot of doctors lately and they assume the same thing.

So, y’all can just call me MR. T!

It’s a name I proudly accept in light of who it originated from.

I’ve often said if you could go shopping for in-laws, after scouring millions of online pages and every mall, you’d choose Haskell and Annette Tarlton.

In walking around their home these past couple of days, which was Annette’s parents home, I looked up at a little cut-out in the ceiling molding and remembered Haskell telling me the doorbell used to be there and in their early days of dating, Haskell had brought Annette home and walked her to the door. One arm leaning against the house, he leaned in for the goodnight kiss, she leaned back and the door bell went ding!!

He said he was in the truck pulling out of the driveway by the time it went dong.

Communication…

My memory is flooded with kind words and encouragement from both Haskell and Annette. I once brought up a hot topic so to speak and Haskell’s face got red and he started to say something with his finger raised, but he shook his head and his face returned to normal. He just wasn’t going to entertain ill thoughts and certainly not speak them. Annette was the same. Always smiling, always looking for the positive. Both of them were always teaching that the janitor was just as deserving of respect as the professor or dean of the school.

Annette taught kids to communicate with their fingers on a keyboard. Anita did similar. Becky communicated behind the scenes of the education system with numbers (something Annette and Anita claimed was a foreign language to them) and today, Amanda is an advocate for those with communication difficulties, Melody teaches college students to communicate by improving their writing skills, Drew communicates life-saving stats for the injured and teaches others that skill, Tommy communicates in terms of finances for clients, Ann Marie communicates on behalf of a huge collection of material in a library, Brett is the best at communicating with the kids. They mind, admire and respect him.

Haskell and Annette visited each of us. No matter the distance.

They communicated that we were all of equal value and important in their lives. They demonstrated the most effective, respectful and loving communication. They walked their talk.

Annette and Haskell are the ULTIMATE LOVE STORY in so many ways.

Not even in Death do they part.

When Annette passed after Haskell, I hugged Brett and said, “they were GREAT people and all we can do to honor them is try to be like them.”

Innerds & Stuff on Mothers Day

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I've been contemplating, mulling over, considering, pondering, thinking about things lately. Inner things.  I've always had a fascination with what makes people tick. What they believe and why. But lately the journey has been inward.

"Know Thyself."

That's a phrase that has defined a key to what I've found to be the most powerful of all knowledge. Knowing your tendencies, your strengths and equally important, your weaknesses.

I had some issues going on inside me. Physically and mentally. The mental things were causing physical things. The physical things didn't all show, weren't readily apparent. I was likely on the cusp of developing permanent damage or at least on the road to an autoimmune disease.

I went on the offensive and lost weight. I eliminated practices that weren't complimentary and changed my eating to primarily plant based, adopting a low-carb diet. 

The changes were a success and I now weigh sixty three pounds less. I look and feel great.  But on the inside, mentally and physically, the improvement that don't necessarily show were just as drastic and beneficial. All these pluses without much exercise, never missing a meal and eating chocolate nearly every day.

After a decade on medications for blood pressure and cholesterol, I don't have to take either now. My organs are thriving rather than struggling to keep up with an unproductive lifestyle. My demeanor is calm. I feel more at peace. I sleep better and I get more done.  

My doctors are impressed and cheering me on. I just had an Ultrasound and a CT Scan. Both reports came up with similar results, "Grossly Unremarkable."  I can't say that I've ever felt such joy hearing those to words to describe anything about me.

Today someone told me I looked twenty years younger. Another said I should teach a class on weight loss.

(Before)                                        (After)

 I think there's a slender person inside each of us. I read two books this year that oddly had to do with weight, the mental battles and physical challenges one deals with surrounding that subject. 

I enjoyed both books very much and hope you might to.

The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man's Questto Get Smaller in a Growing America by Tommy Tomlinson


Heavy: An American Memoir  by Kiese Layman



So much of life is a battlefield of the mind. It's all between the ears as I like to say.

Recently David Hayaward, aka the Naked Pastor tweeted this graphic, which resonated with me.

If you don't mind, it don't matter is a phrase I'd heard in the Marine Corps a bit here and there over the years.

Dr. Phil tells us that we talk to ourselves more than any other person, animal or thing. More than your parents, your kids, your co-workers, your pets, your spouse, yes, even your god(s).

So that inner talk should be positive.

My wife, since being diagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, an incurable neuromuscular autoimmune disease, blogged about talking to an enlarged and printed on canvas portrait I placed on the wall of her. She was seeking to the previous her. Missing her old self. Struggling with finding a new normal.

My great friend and fellow Marine Joe, aka "Guido," whom I consider a brother recently had to have the most invasive surgery on his heart because of some inner stuff that seemed undetectable even with a battery of tests. Thankfully his wife is a cardiac nurse and knew he needed a CT Calcium Score, even though insurance won't pay for it. Without that test, he would likely have continued to push through any discomfort he may have experienced and dropped dead in the middle of a workout or even a mundane task such as taking out the trash. He was a ticking time bomb that outwardly showed little to no signs. (Please follow the link and get this test done. The cost is usually about $100.)

We live in a reactive rather than proactive world. Government, healthcare, our personal lives are all wrapped in this mindset of if it ain't broke, don't fix it and the stats show we're reaping from it.

Experiencing all of the above, I've learned a good bit about our guts. Not the brave type but our microbiome. The multitude of bacteria, good and bad that play a more significant role in our lives than we're informed about. Hippocrates, the father of medicine asserted that all disease starts in the gut. So, with the handful of things I was dealing with and the belief that my gut was the culprit, I set out to find and incorporate a remedy. I am a fixer after all, as my wife likes to point out. 

I was super fortunate to have another great friend who'd already started down this road and she, Jacqui has been an invaluable resource for guidance. She's a great cheerleader and is remarkably savvy at finding just the right buttons to press to get and keep you on track for any personality type. I happen to be a contrarian that will rebuff everything as hocus-pocus hogwash initially until I can wrestle with it and find sufficient evidence and get my mind wrapped around the idea I don't already know everything.

Today is Mothers Day. I started this post as soon as I got home from visiting my ninety year old mother. 

She's in a home and slipping away little by little due to dementia. We've always sang songs together and it's the one thing I can do to bring her to be present. She hears my voice, she recognizes the lyric and she joins in. Less and less so lately. I miss my mother's vibrancy. I miss her good singing voice. I miss the sparkle in her eyes. I miss the wisdom she'd share when I needed it most.

Anita once thanked me for not abandoning her when her world turned upside down. At the onset of her disease she couldn't bathe or dress herself. I was fully prepared to live like that for the rest of our lives. It hurt my feelings to think she could even imagine that I'd be capable of such a thing. Inside, from my perspective, she's no different from the woman in the photo. Her previous self as she calls it. But I understand her just being thankful. And we're both thankful that she's come a long way since then and is about to participate in her first Walk for MG, to raise funds for research and awareness. (If you'd like to donate or participate, please use the link) She is also about to start an MG support group in Columbia, SC. 

And I know, though Mama is slow to respond, 

inside, she's still the amazing woman I've had the privilege of calling Mama from my very first breath...

 Through the years

No matter her outward condition,

She's always...

Mama

Happy Productive New Year - Respect Beer

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2018 brought many trials and I feel as though I/we have weathered the storms and come through in better shape. On a personal note, I stopped drinking beer and went on a low carbohydrate diet and managed to lose 41 pounds in 60 days. #Bam

I went on a trash pick up walk down our residential lake front street on Christmas day, bagging four bags of mostly beer cans but found a variety of other stuff as well. Noting too that some of the residents, all of whom live on the same side of the street, blow their leaves and other yard debris across the street into the ditch. The same ditch that catches the trash that falls off of vehicles headed for the dump and the cans of beer from those who neither respect beer or property.

Today, wanting to start the New Years with being productive, I went on another trash pick up walk in the opposite direction this time managing to fill five trash bags in a one mile out and one mile back or other side of the street trip.

I got to taking note of what seemed to be the item I found along side the road the most. Among the many items were Bud Light, Miller Lite, Natural Lite and Michelob Ultra Lite beer cans. Bud light being the most numerous with Natural Light a close second.

Shitty people drink shitty beer.

Now I am fully aware that Bud Light is the biggest selling beer in the world. Very much so here in the Bible thumping South. Seems the local Bubba's toss their stash of empties on the way home so their wives or mommies or their wives whom they call mommy in a FOX NEWS watching Pence-onian way. They don't respect beer by drinking the crap they drink and they don't respect the community or other people's property by tossing it out of their vehicles.

Education in the South is notoriously lacking. The numbers don't lie. The average is below the rest of the nation. South Carolina has jumped on the band wagon fully with Trump and contributed to the country's demise with the likes of Nikki Haley, Mick Mulvaney and the current Gropenfurher-ass kissing governor McMaster. The state song should be, "Thank God for Mississippi." Often the only other state lower on the totem pole.

I found very few water bottles. Seems Gomer's are too wise to pay for bottle water. I mean you can get water for free from the lake that's full of coal ash heavy metals from upstream. But there were plenty of Gatorade bottles. The density reasons that sodium filled colored sugar water is worthy of their hard earned cash.

I found one sippy pouch thing. I would understand this. There's no helmet law in SC and these brainless wonders tote their younguns round in the back of the truck with the untethered dawg. Surely an unenvironmentally minded kid would toss a pouch or two.

I found a Modelo beer can. There have been a few Mexican crew's doing roofing and construction in the area.  Not bad, just one can from a a few crews.

I found a few Bud Light aluminum bottles. One of them unopened/full. To this person, you too get an F but with a gold star.

To the rest of the beer can tossers, you all get an F. You are lower than a feckless c*nt. You disrespect beer and environment. You're a lot like gropenfurher, unworthy, pathetic and juvenile.

Soda cans you say? Yup, there were some of those. Not many. Guess which brand was found the most.  Not CocaCola or Pepsi, the highest selling brands on the planet. Nope. Here's a hint, we're in the South. Think density..... Mountain Dew. Yup the teeth rotting, jaw clenching energy drink of rednecks from 2 to 92.

Note that there was not one single Craft beer can or bottle. NOT A SINGLE FREAKING ONE.

Because Craft Beer Drinkers, respect beer and they respect the environment, much like the craft beer brewers.

People who drink lite or light beers, don't like the taste of beer, they just like to pee a lot. And to litter and to otherwise be unhealthy for planet earth.

Oh and you Mike's Hard Lemonade and Hard Cider drinkers, you suck too. There was one little cutesy Seagrams fruity drink glass bottle. A teen girl likely had her first drink ever and had difficulty walking much less carrying the bottle to dispose of properly. You get a pass this time but don't make a habit of it.

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