I work on the computer just about everyday.  I'm lucky, in that I am selling items I love.  I've been told by others that I could probably make more money in the general job market, based on what I know and what I can do with a computer, but I love selling books, art.  It makes me happy.  But I digress......

My husband has made it his duty to get me out of the house, and in the fresh air, on weekends.  We have a routine.  On Friday morning we go to breakfast at a favorite off-the-beaten path restaurant.  Then we might hit an auction house for a preview or an estate sale.  On Saturday we are garage sailing.  And on Sunday we go to a flea market.  I'm usually home by 11:00 a.m., and on the computer right away.  But at least we got out.

This past week, however, instead of feeling good about getting out, getting out has caused me all sorts of angst.  On Thursday night, I was shipping packages.  I wanted to get them out as this is a holiday weekend.  So I worked late, up until 8:30 P. M. packing items.  Didn't cook dinner.  Instead, I said to my hubby, I'll go with you to the post office and we'll pick up a burger at Sonic for dinner.  Sounded like a plan.  Now, he ordered a burger and I ordered chicken fingers.  The girl skated over to the car with the food.  It looked good, nice and hot.  So I'm sitting in the van, munching on a chicken finger, when I look out the windshield and see a man in his 30's picking up a french frie from the ground.  Then another. And another.  I thought, oh no, not here in Green Valley....he then approached the girl who delivered our food, and she was shaking her head no...He went over to the large garbage drum and started going through the paper bags...At that point my stomach turned.  I told my husband to beep the horn, and I gave him my dinner.  I just couldn't eat.

Well, it bothered me all weekend.  Today is Sunday, so my husband got me up at 6 and we were out the door at 6:30.  We finished walking the flea market at 10:15.  It was then our plan to have breakfast out.  So rather than getting on the interstate, we took Las Vegas Boulevard south from North Las Vegas.  At  Owens Street, more or less the border of Las Vegas and North Las Vegas, there was a tent city on the sidewalk.  Men and women, sleeping under a tent made of blankets, dirty, disheveled, in the full sun (it is still 98* here in the morning).  Now, I am not talking one or two, but dozens.  Some were lying down on the cement. Some were leaning against a fence.  Some were in a makeshift tent. Some were in full sun.   I had purchased some globe grapes and bananas at the flea market.  You guessed it....I had him pull over and handed the bags of fruit to a woman, in her later years, sittiing on the cement in filthy clothing.

This is a view of Las Vegas the visitors do not see....the poor, dirty street people who flock here thinking the climate is warm, the city is wealthy.  There are few services for them. They have sunk to such a low level it is almost impossible to pull them up.  Surely some are on drugs or alcohol, some are in need of medical attention, some need mental health attention.  Some are able-bodied.  Some are not.  But surely something has to be done to help these people.   

I sell on the internet.; My main focus is Art and Books, with a smattering of antiques and collectibles.; Rather than selling those 'stale' titles, I prefer to say I am a "seller of dreams".I sell the visions of Old Masters, with strong religious overtones; I sell the delusions of Surrealism, where symbolism abounds.; I sell the romance of Impressionism, with softly blurred peace and tranquility.; I sell the grandeur of nature in the landscapes of yesterday.; I sell the world as it was, as it is, and as it could be.