When a $ Sign is a Road Sign

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What a pleasant vacation it has been, spending hours every day working through an unusually complicated and vexing tax prep. One satisfaction is shredding some antique receipts that had no tax significance at the time and which I saved only out of paranoia and which I am now bold enough to discard.

That's faith in you, Big O.

So I'm going through some old credit card bills, and there it is: May 24, 2000, I charged -- what is it? --$1,005 for one ticket, make that two tickets at $1,005 each, SF to Roanoke, Virginia, where I was born and raised. Damn. What was that about? A bogus charge that I neglected to catch? May 2000? May 2000?

Ohhhhhhhhhh yeah. May 24, 2000. That was the day after my dad died.

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