From New Orleans to Wichita Falls, Texas

Today, after a little more sightseeing, we left New Orleans for Texas. Our desired landmarks seen, we could now concentrate on getting back home.

Before leaving New Orleans, Keith wanted to check out one of the old French Quarter cemeteries. I found the juxtaposition of the graves and the PowerBall display to be intriguing, like a joke searching for a punchline.

Texas is yet another state that I prefer to spend as little time in as possible. But when traveling across country from Florida to Arizona, there's really no way to avoid it.

I will say, though, they had the prettiest rest areas.

But then I spotted this at a truck stop. If I were Christian, I would certainly find this to be blasphemous. After all, the Cross is the symbol of Christ, and Jesus' teachings (or the teachings attributed to him, in any case) are utterly pacifistic. But this is Texas, so it's for sale. (And there's probably a crate more of them in back.)

Imagine what would happen if this monstrosity were on the wall of a place that had a housefire. There were be iron pellets flying everywhere. (That's known as God's way of taking stupid people out of the gene pool, as with the rash of toddlers who've found guns and shot their parents or grandparents—23 so far just this year.