911 Seventeen Years Later (Music Video)

aaepluribusEvery office window, every vehicle, every home, had an American flag on display. Skyscrapers draped flags from rooftops and cars and trucks tethered them flapping in the winds of roads and interstates. People were nicer to one another. Everyone was an American.

Coming from the rural Midwest in the prime of a career, I moved to Upstate New York and for almost ten-years commuted to work in New York City. Myself a “fish out of 1pabuswater” I’m often tempted to refer to that as a “mistake” of judgment, but in truth it wasn’t. It was the experience of a rural young lady’s lifetime and I’m grateful for it.

1pabusOnce you are a New Yorker that sense of being never leaves you. You feel like you have this special inside track into the rest of the world. You were inundated with people-in-the-know and had a firsthand seat to renown events shaping our world. You forever view yourself as an integral part of all that has and does take place there.

Working at CBS I took a late day lunch and our side street was irregularly bare. Andy Rooney (60 Minutes), with flushed-face and an overcoat slung over his shoulder, passed like two old friends too tired from work to do more than exchange passing hellos. My job sent me to an event at The Mayor’s Mansion where I ”let the corn come out of my ears’ (as Dad would say). Let me put it this way, I bet Mayor Koch still remembers me.1arooney

Being so close then to all that was and is ‘Donald Trump’ and his name so frequently in what was then ‘local’ news, he feels more like a casual acquaintance than a president I’ve never met. Sometimes I had to remind myself of that. The World Trade Center bombing was a memory of “I’m glad I didn’t go there today” rather than a piece of American history. For as impersonal as New York is, what happens in New York always feels personal to those who’ve lived there. Their slogan should be: “What happens in New York goes with you.”

Nine-eleven is the kind of day and time when everyone remembers where they were. I’d ‘escaped New York’ back to the Midwest and was sitting at my desk at work. There were no iPhones and workplace internets weren’t as accessible as today, so radio and word of mouth was the only source of information. I hadn’t seen any of the images, my imagination wrangled to envision what I’d heard. I called my Father nearby, but he knew little more than I.

Instinctively the frantic rush of fearing war on American soil came over me. Just as instinctively, I reassured myself that couldn’t possibly be so. Living in Ohio at the time, the most pertinent 19112news for us became of the plane that was being steered back toward Washington D.C. The flight that passengers thwarted in a Pennsylvania field.

There are two things I remember most about that week. The first was the overwhelming number of missing person 1911posterpamphlets posted two or three thick across massive New York fronts lining its streets. There was scene after scene of them, many handwritten spur-of-the-moment. It was hard to fathom possible so many loved ones could be missing and even harder to fathom those who’d jumped from the Towers to escape its intense heat. It made one’s heart bleed with all of these souls’ pain.

What I recall most vividly in the days that followed is immense American patriotism. In every state, city and small town, in every office window, every vehicle, every home, there was an American flag on display. Skyscrapers draped flapping flags like blankets from rooftops and cars and trucks tethered them to windows, flapping in the breeze down every road and interstate. People were nicer to one another. Everyone was an American.

[GreatSeal.com] ~ E Pluribus Unum describes an action: Many uniting into one. “From Many, One” or “Out of Many, One” – a phrase that captures the symbolism on the [American] shield. The meaning of this motto is better understood when seen with the image that originally accompanied it:


I didn’t know anyone who died in 911 … I knew them all.

God rest their souls and comfort their families. God bless America.


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Politics, WordPress, Cyberspace, Spiders, & Folk Songs (Music Vid)

1folksong“That was familiar frustration, which is only slightly better than the unfamiliar kind. What happened to evenings sitting on the porch singing folk songs?” (Song Video)

aprotest1I ask myself why I sit in front of these televised Congressional hearings as intently as I do. Afraid I’ll miss something, I guess, plus just bored with what I could (should) be doing. I don’t like the news snippets afterwards. Those don’t capture the spirit of a moment and depending on which station you watch, oh my gosh, their editing amounts to a ‘spoiler alert’ you hear in regret, because you’re never going to see the real thing again.

aplatoI could do without all of today’s “protesting” hoopla, for sure. What a poor example of our society. In retrospect, I know that’s exactly what my grandparents’ generation said of us … and theirs, before them. I reassure myself it’s getting very close to coming full circle when manners are back in vogue. Well, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I whiled-away time this evening trying to figure out how to print WP posts for a three-ring binder. After exhausting every trick-in-the-book, I was surprised to realize, apparently, WP doesn’t let you print your own work in a decent format unless you pay/upgrade with their print plug-in. In fact, they make it down right hard. Hmph. That’s shoddy. Now they tell me? I’m doing good to function with the free version, can’t imagine what I’d be forced to learn with an upgrade. At my age you don’t force yourself to learn anything that’s not critical to living.

apostsThe last thing my life needs is more frustration, so I spent a few hours hopping from desk to printer and back again several times per post so I could print one, two-sided. That says nothing of all the angst I put myself through when first determined I could find a better way. It’s laughable when I think about it … giving up on that only to count odd versus even pages then misprint and start over a few times, as if that wasn’t “frustrating.” At least that was familiar frustration, which is only slightly better than the unfamiliar kind.

I should probably be on Twitter right now instead of here, where I could vent in 240-characters or less and be done with it. But the last time I tried that one of my best tweet atwitterreplies disintegrated into the Conservative censorship pit, wherever that is, never to be seen hide nor hair of again. That was disappointing. Now that I think about all of this, though, it is really sad that digital media has so much of a grip on my life. What happened to evenings of sitting on the porch playing a guitar singing folk songs?

Willie Nelson | By Graeme MacKayMy patio is nice and I thought about going out there this evening … but this time of year there are a lot of spiders in the shadows. By the time I gathered my amenities and shoed away those critters, arghhh, too much spooky hassle for me … and it’s a l-o-n-g way back & forth to the printer.

So who’s fault is it I’m left wallowing in so many furstrations of cyberspace, as if that’s the best option? But I can’t play guitar and, oh, and I can’t sing either.

Those darned protestors.

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Dad & the Walkman (Music Vid)

cdion2I bought the tape, a Walkman and set it to play …

This song hit the charts and Father’s Day was around the corner. The lyrics reminded me so much of Dad I couldn’t imagine a better gift. You may not remember walkmans or are too young to know (an early predecessor of portable CD players then iPhones with earbuds). It was a lifetime ago.

I bought Celine Dion’s tape, a Walkman, set it to play on this song and mailed it to Dad. All he had to do was open it, put on the headphones and push the button.

They said he went in the other room to listen and began crying. God bless you, Dad. It’s the one thing that’s brought me to tears since those of losing you.

Dad hosted our family reunions every Labor Day weekend. Happy Labor Day to you and yours!

Even without you here,
this keeps you near.
I love you.

~ Karen Suzanne ~


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Letters … ~ Ch 6: Finding a Way Back

6bIf we look we can find blessings in what feels like overwhelming dire straits. They’re little oasis’ in a desert, four leaf clovers in a briar patch. If you’re reared in a life of faith they will show themselves. It’s up to us to look, find and appreciate them.

PreviousLetters… ~ Ch 5: The Pile On

Dear Grandchild,

The events of this “Letters” series began roughly five years ago when health insurance costs were rising and mine was no exception. “You cost more than you’re worth to me,” he stated flatly, determinedly, matter-of-factly, like every resource we had was 6ehis and my being alive needlessly drained them.

As bizarre as I find anyone saying such a thing (I trust you do, too), that is how he really thought (Narcissistic Personality Disorder). Every article on the subject defines narcissists as keenly adept actors who pretend emotions that they witness in others because they are incapable of their own. Most bystanders find them very endearing on the face. A narcissist is never so vicious as when you leave them (stop giving “narcissistic supply“). That’s when you see what their character really is. (Refer to video in Chapter 3.)

I’d identified his narcissism, but I hadn’t studied it at length and being married for so long I didn’t know what to do with that knowledge anyway. Unknowingly, I had stopped feeding his ‘narcissistic supply’ by standing up for myself more, which I now know triggered this revelation. When I suggested we amicably part he immediately turned as vile in demanding I ‘get out.’ There was no reasoning and there wasn’t going to be any sharing. He wanted it all and in his mind it was all his. The pompousness of that attitude makes you want to barf before you slap them silly.

It was such a blatant revelation of truly despicable character that I found it pathetically mind-numbing. What do you say to something like that? Argue it? “Oh yes I am worth something,” like that? And that would get you …. where?

There were many things he needed to hear and there actually were things I could’ve said, though those would not have been the least bit decent. That was a critical time to stand up for me whether he listened or not, but I blew the opportunity and I live with that serious regret.

Thinking there was nothing more to drain from me, he justified stealing it all and putting me aside with less remorse than those who put-down an old dog. By nature of being a narcissist it took far, far less than words like his to “hurt” his feelings. Just forget to praise his cooking or yard work and see what that got you. (Unadulterated rage.)

6fThe good thing was, at his age he didn’t have another 20-years to bleed other women dry. Out of all of his prior relationships I was the longest running so I must’ve had a heck of a lot more ‘usefulness’ than he could ever find in any of them.

As he drug out the divorce tying to hang onto all of the money, making it considerably more tedious and ugly than need be, months of life trudged on as described in these chapters. By the time I was free of his narcissist hook everyone in my family but you and Dad were gone. The day of divorce Dad was ecstatic, the most gleefully excited I’d seen him in a very, very long time. It felt good to share that with Dad. God bless Dad.

A merry heart does good like a medicine: but a broken spirit dries the bones. [Proverbs 17:22]

From my packing to leave the marital home through all of the stages of suffering divorce one-and-a-half years later, I’d disciplined myself to make only “good and right” decisions. I left much more on the table than I took. I fought bitterness and anger, simply wanting to live without his angst. I didn’t want to give him my soul, too. I believed that’s how God would have me do it and that God would take care of me if I kept myself walking the honest, straight and narrow.

When divorce wrapped up I was pretty raked over the coals and didn’t benefit much from it other than freedom from him. By then I was willing to pay him to go away. Relying on the good principles I’d set for myself, I refused to counter his personal affronts in court as he lambasted me with grossly maligning lies. Apparently his approach worked better than mine.

With such a horrid divorce and all of the family losses on top of it, I kept asking myself where God was and why He wasn’t helping me. It felt like God wasn’t there at all. To keep bitterness from setting-in I concentrated on counting blessings, like how freeing it was not to be battered by someone every day. That mattered.

As time went on I couldn’t believe God would let me flounder in the intense pain of losing so many people; why He’d let me be so maligned by and among them; and why He wasn’t rewarding me with some reprieve of goodness from all of the goodness I’d tried to lay as a foundation. I had worked so hard to make only “good and right” decisions. Didn’t that count for anything?

As bouts of ill health came and went and I shoved handfuls of pills in my mouth every morning and night to stay alive, I began to tell myself that I do cost more than I’m worth. Why would God let me contemplate such a thing? Didn’t I matter to Him? Wasn’t He supposed to turn good works into some goodness of life? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?

6hI fought doubt, asking those questions over and over and clinging to my faith by bare threads. I came to believe God had abandoned me or, worse, maybe it was true that God wasn’t real at all. (I am ashamed to admit that.) Then I reminded myself of all that He had saved me from over so many years and how many prayers He’d answered so perfectly they could only come from Him. I knew He was still there. I just had to find my way back.

There is a verse in the Bible to the effect,

“As the twig is bent so goes the tree.”

That entrenched pilot light of faith was my tether to God. Being reared in His word was the undying belief that flickered inside of me waiting to be ignited again, waiting to be useful again. If I hadn’t had the believing upbringing Dad provided I would not have been able to cling to that when all of life felt so hopelessly against me that nothing felt right, nothing relieved the pain.

I try to never take God’s good graces and mercies for granted no matter how hard life gets. You cannot imagine how much I prayed and yearned and sought peace of mind in traversing the experiences described in these chapters. Some things only God can handle, even when it feels like we haven’t time to wait; even when it seems no one is up there listening; even when we think we’ve given up and don’t know how to get it back.

You’re aware how I’ve encountered health issues of late. I call their medication “chemo light” because it leaves me feeling so very badly. I spend my days doing nothing but giving comfort to myself, remembering chemo and reminding myself it could always be worse. This isn’t as degenerating as chemo and that’s something to be very grateful for.

In weird ways I’m relieved to have a reason to do nothing but pamper myself. It’s like I’ve needed that for years so I deserve to do it without guilt. Just having the time and resources in retirement to do that is a blessing. I can’t imagine being a younger person trying to balance work and family while feeling this way. I am very blessed.

I recall one of my chapters mentioning how we expect to have “caring people” around us at this juncture of old age. Having settled here only a few years ago and hibernating from society since, I didn’t try to get out to meet people and, as anyone reading this series is aware, now I have very little family.

6iIt’s scary to be so alone in this time of life, but when I strip away the self pity I realize that I’m actually living a self-fulfilling prophecy least expected. Just because it’s not expected doesn’t make it bad — just different.

Now, when I think about people coming and going as used to be, that feels uncomfortable. Just as I was left alone when younger to figure things out for myself, that’s the same way I am today and aptly so. Just let me admire life from a distance. That’s about all the energy I have for it anymore anyway. And that’s okay.

Then I thought about the new people who do come and go in my life now. They are good and caring and so thoughtful. As are those tending to the home. I don’t have many needs that aren’t being met. Wants, maybe, but not needs (smiling). Given how I tend to be such a private homebody, I’m not sure I’d even want more people than this in my daily life.

I was surprised to realize just how “full” my life is given the limited desire I have to be active in it. God blessed me with newbie ‘loved ones’ and I’m so comfortable with them I almost forgot how much I do appreciate them. They are all considerably better to me than my own family (save Dad and you all of course).

God is good to me. He’s carried me and He’s let me walk alone. He’s led me to understandings and He’s walked silently to keep me company as I figured them out. He’s woven caring people into the moments of my living when I feared there could never be more.

The cleaning lady and I laugh a lot, she’s more like a daughter or lifelong friend than a paid helper. I buy household gadgets to give us new toys for play when she does her work. When she arrives at the door CeeCee scampers with the enthusiasm of a child seeing grandma bearing goodies. In many ways, I do have family. They’re just a very different one than what I’d envisioned.

6bLike that undying flicker of faith, I never lose hope, either, that God will make it possible for our broken family to mend itself. I don’t expect that, but I know He can if He wants and I keep praying He’s working on it. Maybe by then we’ll all have our hearts in a better place, be better aware of our own failings and less critical of one another, thus better prepared to receive each other in a brand new light. With God, all things are possible.

If we look we can find blessings in what feels like overwhelming dire straits. They’re little oasis’ in a desert, four leaf clovers in a briar patch. If you’re reared in a life of faith they will show themselves. It’s up to us to look, find and appreciate them.

Ever since a small child Dad would stop to peruse a clover patch for four leaf clovers. We’d do it together, even as I was older, and he always found at least one. Recently I opened a book he’d given me just before he died. Tucked inside its pages is the “I love you” of a four leaf clover he’d secreted there. Its plucked but still-green color feels like a bridge between where the two of us are now, he on the other side of life and me, still here, trying to find my own.

I cannot imagine living the struggles of life without faith that Dad instilled in me to do just that. It may be a long while before your young life experiences serious troubles, but some sort comes to all of us at one time or another. When you do, I hope you’ll reflect on these words.

Lesson Six:  No matter how bad life may feel in tribulation, take a moment to look for a good inside each bad you’re suffering. You’ll be surprised. God is so good. ♥


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Letters to a Grandchild ~ PREFACE: My Wisdom Quest

retrospect1This series unveils epiphanies that shake a soul as much as ease a shattered heart. It proves it’s never too late to learn even when we think we’ve learned it all. This is a personal story of perplexing circumstances and the lessons learned in digesting its incomprehensible tragedy.

Dear Grandchild,

Retrospection weighs heavily with age. If not so for everyone, then either I need to know their secret or they need to know mine.

Purely by happenstance it’s a year to the day since I’d last posted. Given bouts of ill health, I’ve been making practical decisions like securing a grave and marker. I’ll rest back in the hometown between Dad and baby sister, both frequent subjects of earlier writings.

Children’s children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children is their fathers. [Proverbs 17:6]

Working through burial paperwork, it was odd to realize that Dad bought the plots when I was five and my sister was on the cusp of being born. Dad would’ve been your age now, myself the age of your little one. That brings generations closer in a more relatable way, imagining him young and not so unlike yourself. That was also when Dad & Mom changed my given name. I remember those days so vividly, with many visions of Dad in his signature khaki casual wear.

Dad kept a picture on the wall of his older brothers and himself circa 1930. It was professional for the day and then you were about five or six (again, Dad’s age in the photograph). You looked so much like him it was striking, everyone commented. You both were amazingly adorable looking with your coy smiles, big eyes hiding a twinge of orneriness and heads of curly dark hair.

I became a genealogy buff, so regardless where my PicDanBoonebody ends-up I wanted a grave marker. Dad’s line descends from England, from Daniel Boone’s aunt. Daniel is the renown 1700s American frontiersman. He was well known back in my day when schools taught proud American history. Your generation knew little of him. Sigh.

As most writers, I’ve spent a lot of this last year contemplating impressions of life, trying to determine whether I have any “words of wisdom” to leave for you. I guess we all want some insight that would be helpful to those we love … hoping we can help their lives by virtue of learning from ours. Living so long and the mere desire to do that seems like it ought to reap some fruit. If not, oh well. I tried. We can only try. So this is my “Wisdom Quest.”

This “Letters to a Grandchild” series describes profound lessons that only revealed themselves in the last few years. They are epiphanies that shook my soul as much as they eased a shattered heart. Despite my experienced years, it proves it’s never too late to learn from life and some of the most poignant lessons come late in it, just when we think we’ve learned all there is to know. The telling of this story unveils a perplexing set of real-time circumstances that I still struggle to accept.

Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.  [Proverbs 4:23]

Until recently I’ve not been able to reasonably articulate the wounds of battle suffered in reaching these lessons’ understandings. As anyone with heartbreak knows, there are not adequate words to describe that kind of pain. But I know if I cannot get words written on a page then all hope for the truth of myrespect sister’s and my legacy, all hope for putting the aches to rest, is lost.

I may use the “protected” menu option if some of the stories get too personal. I’ve done my best to tell them objectively but they are so emotionally taxing it’s taken this long to get to a reasonable first draft.

These comprise what could easily be a tragic Lifetime movie. The horror plays in my head not unlike it did in real time. The ending is one I instinctively saw coming, regardless that I was determined to defy that logic until everything shattered into unintelligible pieces of gross disguise.

I had to fit the puzzle back together the only way it made sense and the picture that evolved was very different from any I could’ve imagined, nothing like the one that fell apart. Nothing would ever be the same. But the tragedy was necessary to get where I needed to be, to finally live with what really was, to once and for all put to rest life’s unrelenting pain.

The chapters will roll-out as editing and energy permits. My writing-goal used to be working through pain so I understood it. Believing now that I finally do heartunderstand it, I hope sharing will open eyes of those who are as naïve as I, before they end up in the same barren, “too late” old-age pit of regret and despair I did. If I can do that for anyone else then sufferings are made worthwhile. I suppose we all want to believe there is a way to make our sufferings worthwhile, to have them benefit someone. Now that is my writing-goal.

Every good and decent person deserves better. If this retrospection benefits someone else, praise God for that. Life is most often not what it seems.


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Next: Letters… ~ Ch 1: When I’m Gone (Video)


“Miracle – An extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs, such as the healing miracles described in the Gospels.” [Merriam-Webster Dictionary]

There are some people we could never convince of miracles and that’s okay. You either believe in miracles or you don’t. I do. I don’t profess many, given my age, though merely being here is probably the biggest one of my life. miracle1That’s considerably more complicated than could possibly be covered in one blog.

To put my claim to miracles in better perspective, it’s been 10-years or more since I recall the last one. I do believe miracles happen more regularly, every day in subtle forms that we fail to recognize. But this is one of those that really stands out.

One way I define miracles is how perfect they are in answering casual pleas I’ve made of God, as I go about the business of living life’s struggles. By “casual plea,” I’m not at all diminishing what I ask of Him as being something unimportant. It is important. To me. But when a problem seems insurmountable and the answer comes in more perfect form than I could ever imagine to even ask of Him … that is God Himself stepping right up to the plate.

God & I seem to have this arrangement that works: I do my best to deal with what I can and when I need Him to intervene, He’s there with undeniable clarity. Praise God I’ve been unusually healthy the last few years. Not even a head cold, which is highly irregular for me (and I do praise Him for that). Years prior were seriously troublesome ones, both in physical and emotional health.

Though seemingly nothing of consequence, my vision had turned weird and I learned I needed cataract surgery. All of my friends commented how miracle3easy it was and how well they could see afterwards, so that was something to look forward to. But given what I had been through, medical experiences taught me to be cautious and I have to admit, I was probably more anxious about this than considerably more serious health events in all of my years prior.

As anyone who’s ever had surgery procedures knows, there’s always a bunch of doctor appointments and blood labs and preliminary tests. Mine were compounded by past health issue requiring clearances to have the surgery, but those all went well. Then I learned the hospital wouldn’t let me have surgery unless personal family or a friend drove me there and back. Then I learned that included transportation again the next morning for a post-op exam. THEN I learned they don’t do both eyes at once … silly me.

I did think they’d do both eyes at once, even after they described having an eye patch. It made perfect sense, slap my forehead, since you can’t walk around with both eyes patched at the same time. Oh sigh.

My problem is, I’ve not lived here very long and because of health issues I rarely leave the house so I’ve not made any friends. I’ve no family I can call. And they won’t let you use public transportation, it has to be someone you know. I’d never been in this position before so I didn’t know what the heck to do.

I got on the phone trying to find a resource to drive me to and from the surgery and I was willing to risk driving myself with an eye patch the next day. Some of my more serious health issues were with eye conditions, so I was accustomed to functioning with patches, I was sure I could do that much.

Because of society’s litigious mentality today and liabilities associated with it, there is no one who accepts the risk of transporting people in situations like this. Whatever chance I might have to find a program that could help was months away boggled in government red tape.

I’d joined a church but stopped going shortly after, in good part because of health issues. I’d met a lady there whom I knew to be a wonderful person and a friend to the extent we could share a friendship. She was always on the go and I was a home recluse, so we saw one another maybe once a year, if that much. I could not bring myself to ask this of her. I fought it until I could fight it no more, finally setting my pride aside. It was all I could do.

What a God-Send this woman is. Not only did she unbegrudgingly pick me up to get me there before 6am, she stayed and waited then listened to doctor instructions afterwards. She took me out to breakfast and later that day brought back a hot dinner meal. She insisted she would take me to the next day’s post-op appointment, a drive I was going to do myself and what a blessing miracle2she did. I was not in any shape to have driven myself.

I thought I still had plenty of time to get the second eye done, but learned at the post-op, for a couple of reasons, it needed to be in the next two weeks. I had totally planned to manage that without imposing on her again. By the time we left the post-op exam, my eyes were welling in tears. Between all of the pre-worry and how kind this woman was already, I had no idea if I was going to have the second eye done. I was overcome with emotion. I was drained. I did not know what else to do. I had no more answers.

This lady stepped up big time, insisting she would do all of this all over again next week. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t utter a sigh. When I called to affirm that appointment, the receptionist said another lady had overheard my dilemma and left her phone number for me, too. I was double-blessed. I was overwhelmed by a complete stranger’s compassion. I couldn’t hold the tears back longer. I broke down and bawled and bawled like a baby. Like a baby, I bawled.

I think part of the emotion was the harsh reality that I am so helpless. I’d never felt that way before. I’d never felt this alone or in this much need. It was certainly a humbling experience. But more than that, God gave me another miracle, bringing more than I needed in such perfect timing and wonderful abundance of kind-hearted people, from the infrequent friend to the stranger in the waiting room to the receptionist who took it upon herself to get involved.

So the next time you’re overwhelmed, when circumstances seem bleakest, when you don’t think you can possibly find your way around an obstacle, say some prayers. They’ve always worked for me. Thank You, God, for being there. And thank You for other good people you brought into my life. Please bless them abundantly.

Be a miracle to someone your life touches.


Russians? Really? Are You Kidding Me?

Politics was always my first passion. I’ve indulged other banter, trying to stay out of the political fray, because I do know what a distasteful web it weaves. But I’ve had it with these asinine shenanigans. This has to end.

It’s time someone told you the truth – since it’s definitely not the Main Stream Media (MSM). If you don’t want to hear what’s really going on, don’t read, because it won’t sink into thick skulls anyway. Liberals will be liberals because that’s the unrealistic grip liberal propaganda & indoctrination has; or you’re just so darned enticed by anything negative and inflammatory that’s what it takes to peak your interests.

Like it or not, it is time to rethink this. Let’s do that … and, unfortunately for me as much as you, now that I’ve pricked this scab, there are bound to be more of these. In that vein, I added “politics” to my Categories. Sigh. I know. Trust me, I know.


This “Russian” propaganda campaign has reached its limits. It is absolute nonsense. There is No evidence whatsoever to its allegations – this is nothing but random allegation. It’s no more reliable than gossip about your neighbor. If you want to throw away Your tax dollars with God knows how many months or years “investigating” nonsense, well, then, you should be real pleased with the way things are headed. And you’re probably someone who doesn’t pay much in taxes.

If you know anything about history, this is exactly what Communists did. This is an attempt to overthrow America’s new president and I cannot think of anything more unethical of a political opponent.

“If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes truth.” [Joseph Goebbels, Minister of Propaganda, Nazi Germany]

Like Trump or not, those antics are not acceptable. I’m not even sure myself whether I like him, but I am certainly willing to give him a chance. What’s it been? Less than two-months in office? Oh give me a break. Can we at least get to the real business of The People before we start running him out of town on a rail? What’s the rush?

This is what Community Organizers do and, as we all should recall, Obama was the supreme “Community Organizer.” That’s all he was known for, all that he had going for him coming into his election (other than being of color). No experience. No knowledge. We couldn’t even find records of his internet-cleansed background. ‘Community Organizing’ was it. He hadn’t accomplished anything but Community Organizing. That was Obama’s legacy then and it is his more tainted legacy now. You go guy. Big deal – you know how to disrupt the order of things. Any 15-year old can do that.

“In the beginning the organizer’s first job is to create the issues or problems.” [Saul D. Alinsky, Rules for Radicals: A Pragmatic Primer for Realistic Radicals]

Obama was a student of Alinksy’s, as was his wife and was Hillary Clinton. It’s soundly reported that Hillary Clinton wrote her college thesis on Saul Alinsky. Have you ever asked yourself why? Their “fundamentally changing” American values is exactly what The People in this election voted against. We lived eight years of your guy – give us a few years with ours.

If Alinsky’s words aren’t good enough, read Cloward-Piven, who attempted to perfect the methodology. For those who support them, I’d ask why you are so easily led by something that is based in such upheaval & negativity? There’s no good in what Alinsky preaches. It’s like a fanatic religion that appeals to lunatics because they’re so desperate they have nothing else to cling to. Is that who you are?

“You’re either part of the solution or you’re part of the problem.” [Eldridge Cleaver]

For Alinksy’s “Twelve Rules,” search them. They’re easy to find and you’d be surprised just how alike they are to the leftist propaganda that’s disseminated today. For an even more poignant reflection, check out the “45 Communist Goals” read into America’s Congressional record in 1963. How many of those have come to fruition in my (your) lifetime?

If you’re too young to know that answer, how many of those Communist goals are true today versus your parents’ or your grandparents’ lives? It’s roughly a mere fifty years since “The Greatest Generation” of your grandparents. Doesn’t that down-trend in morals and values bother you? Doesn’t that tell you something that you should be paying attention to in what’s happening today?


Did you know that Bob Creamer, whose job it was to do no more than Community Organize, who was put in charge of Obama’s ‘Americans Takes Action’ organizing group and husband of a Democrat Congresswoman, made 350 visits to the Obama White House? Fifty or so visits were with Obama himself. Do you stop to ask yourself why that would be? If you don’t, why don’t you?

Obama has a substantially more intense, intimate & secret history with the Russians than any of today’s politicians, yet he chose not to disclose any threats until it served to disrupt the new presidency. If that doesn’t concern you, why not?

After Trump’s election, rather than respectfully fading from a new president’s spotlight as all other presidents before him, Obama moved into a Washington D.C. house just blocks from the White House. Into this “personal home” with his family, he’s also moved-in his closest political advisor & confidant while in the White House, often referred to as the brains behind his eight-years of political reign, Valerie Jarret. Isn’t that, in and of itself, strange? If you don’t find it odd, you should. Who does that?

It’s widely reported that Obama was ‘collecting and preserving’ Russian communications for a very long time, long before Trump’s win. If that information was so critical, why didn’t Obama release it before now? Why did he ‘preserve’ it for months if not years? And now that Dems have constructed this “Russian” ruse, why, pray tell, are they doing everything they can to oust every key advisor of Trump’s simply because they might’ve had contact with Russian officials in the very same capacity as any of their peers? Have they no respect for the reasonable order and oversight of our country … of us?

This is dangerous insanity, folks. If you don’t get it by now you likely never will. At least try. If you do, it’s past time to speak up and put a stop to this. At the very least, give America the chance to be great again.

If Trump fails, he fails. Nothing can be worse than failures of the Obama administration, with its Community Organizing racial divisions and law enforcement upheavals; and the jobs-killing of prosperity and shameful representations made of America – our country – to other countries. You may not be old enough or maybe by now you’ve forgotten Obama’s unbelievable sharp spike in costs of food & fuel, among other things, but I do remember it. I’m still counting my pennies trying to keep up. So are your parents and grandparents – and You, whether you know it or not.

If there is any recovery, it has to come now, with us. Do it. Just do it. Don’t allow these cannibalistic ruses to continue. It’s not just you & me … it’s our country, our livelihoods and, literally, our children, that are at the stake. I don’t know about you, but I do not want mine determined by a bunch of greedy, self-interested politicians.

One thing Trump is not is a politician. If nothing else, give him credit for that.

In the words of an infamously cruel Communist murderer, Joseph Stalin (look it up):

“America is like a healthy body and its resistance is threefold: Its patriotism, its morality, and its spiritual life. If we can undermine these three areas, America will collapse from within.” [Joseph Stalin]

Democrat/Liberal ideology is doing a pretty good job of it. That’s exactly what “fundamentally changing America” will get you.


The Pragmatist

He was such an authoritarian pragmatic it took a lifetime to realize not everyone is like that. The world isn’t like that. Most people in the world are not like that. That made me the weird one. W-h-a-a-a-t?

It’s not surprising this presented a unique set of challenges in sustaining whimsical love. Isn’t ‘whimsical’ the very nucleus of love or is that just the woman in me speaking? Maybe pragmatists love the whimsy of love because it is the exact opposite of who they are and what they live. There’s truth to that. For me, anyway. It’s like a forbidden potion. But, after all, I am the weird one.

If I wanted to be a good, upstanding adult, I believed I had to be like Dad, and likewise, I wrongly thought, as all other adults. So being ‘the weird one’ was my unintended goal. Ipragmatic1 succeeded in rare form. To some degree I suppose I was prewired for it, for surely not every child reared by an authoritarian pragmatist takes kindly to it.

Mom was the busied housewife with homemaking and social duties as one might expect of the perfect 1950’s mother. At a young age it was my job to iron Dad’s white hankies for his suit pocket (remember, this was the 50s). She seemed to enjoy her role and she was very good at it. Dad was the deep thinker, the one who probed places of the mind and universe that most people did not share with a little kid like me. When Dad gave me one-on-one time, I was euphoric, in heaven, soaking up his words, his perspectives, his ambitions, and his values. I loved Mom dearly and I learned much from her, but ironing hankies, cooking a good meal or catering a crowd came second to where Dad’s deep-ponderings took me.

I suppose it’s impractical to expect any woman to forever be a good textbook wife and mother as Mom tried to be. Or maybe the differences between she & Dad were just too great, which is more likely. She left years later, with us secured in familiar surroundings and Dad’s financial stability. Even through that heartache and turmoil, Dad kept himself above the fray of speaking badly about Mom. He always reminded us of special occasions, like her birthday or Mothers Day, lest we forget to show her we were thinking of her.

Now that is the ultimate pragmatist.

pragmatic2Even through my rebellious years I kept my eye on sound reasoning, whether I let it influence my own behavior or not. I readily identified when I was doing wrong, I just did it anyway. As most youngsters, eventually I settled into living a real life, having no idea that my innate pragmatism was causing more problems than it was solving.

It took years – way too many – to learn that people in general resent a person like me. I could feel the resentment, I just didn’t know why it was there. I didn’t figure that out until I was senior in age. Maybe I’m a slow learner or maybe that’s how seriously I took being what I had so admired in Dad. It was all I knew to be, really. It’s how I was programmed and the older I got the more I had perfected it – except when it came to love.

What was supposed to work so well for the makings of a good adult caused a lot of personal grief. I kept sloughing it off as others being strange or morally deficient until, one day, I looked around and came to the stark realization that, as good as my intentions were, I was alone in thinking like I do and in being as self-disciplined as I am … I am the weird one. I am the exception to the rule. Oh sigh. What to do now?

Well, we all know you can’t change your internal programming. You can try to rearrange it, better it, polish or tweak it, but you cannot change it. My only choice was to keep being some updated version of me and hope the day would come when I could attract the rare few who must be out there like me (there must be others?).

I’m still waiting.

There are no others like me.

I should’ve known that, too. That’s what makes us all uniquely individual. There’s no one like any of us out there.

The moral of the story is,  we’re all weird. We are all the same in that we are all different. So as I continue working on myself I’m also tweaking ‘what/who’ I’m waiting for. Now I’m waiting for someone who values my innate uniqueness and whose unique form of theirs I can embrace. That’s a lot more likely. I think. At least it increases the odds. I think.

pragmatic3A friend once told me of his father’s advice:  “In a good marriage the debits equal the credits.” That’s an accounting term, which means all of the assets [debits] equal all of the liabilities [credits]. That’s how you know everything is in balance, as it should be.

Now that’s pragmatic. Ahhhh, I’ve come full circle.