12-8-1941

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72 years ago, still, today.  72 years.

The day after.  Those who managed to remember yesterday have all almost most likely forgotten already by today.  Our flag still flies this very cold and gray morning.

Today we will try to finish decorating for Christmas.  Today many of us will shop for Christmas presents.  Today we will likely watch at least some football on television.  Today some might even attend a mass somewhere.  Today a child will be born and an old man will die.  The earth will spin and the weather will change or stay the same.  Today is the day after the day before and we rise to greet it in way not very like some of those that have come before.

Were you alive on 9-11-2001?  Do you remember what it felt like to be alive on 9-12-2011?  The world had changed and we weren’t exactly sure what it would then be like thereater.  But were you scared?

Were you alive on 12-14-2012?  Or maybe on 12-1-1958?  Do you know these dates?   Do you remember what it felt like to be alive on 12-15-2012 or 12-2-1958?  Again, the world had changed.  I became more fearful for my children after that first date and only have read about the other but still it brought me fear.  Were you scared after either or maybe both?

There are still those who were alive on both 12-7-1941 and also the day after.  We declared war on Japan and the world was not going to be the same.  It was a Monday and folks were off to work, off to school.  Millions of young men, I’m sure, felt the urge to do something and many enlisted in the military soon after the declaration.  Millions of families, mothers, likely began to worry about their sons and were fearful of what might lie ahead for them.  The world had changed and people were angry…and, I’m sure, very scared.

Those fears were all new fears.  All felt the day after an unforeseen and very tragic event.  Who had seen any of these, or others, coming?  And it was obvious to most, directly after, what the basis was of the fear that was felt and even what the likely response was likely to be. 

When a person is struck by another that person assumes a protective response and maybe even strikes back.  It’s a reflex action.

These days we have not arrived yet at a new day after.  What is happening now to us (to all of us whether you will admit it or not) is not sudden, it is not like a heart attack or personal attack from another.  It is more like a slow and spreading cancer and it has been that way for a very, very long time.

And how successful are we at ever recovering from such affliction?  How do we feel the day after we first learn that we are so afflicted?

And how do we feel the day before the day on which we die? 

It is a thing to consider for, in that event, there will be no day after.  No day after my friends. 

Wise up America; rise up America.

12-7-1941

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I know enough to know that it was on a Sunday because my dad had told me they interrupted the Bears game on radio to make the announcement in Chicago.  That was 72 years ago.  Today.

Today, December 7th, 1941.  It was a day that would live in infamy.  It was a day that shook this country and finally made it wake up to all the terror and all the danger all around.

Sometimes I think I can imagine and almost feel what it was like to be alive in that time.  Alive here at home; alive and in an American uniform overseas; alive and a pilot in the RAF; or maybe in a tank in the north African deserts; alive and landing on a beach on a lonely atoll in the Pacific; alive and just a regular citizen in Nanking, or Manilla, or Stanlingrad, or Naples, or Paris, or Warsaw, or, yes, even in Berlin.

This brings on so many feelings- pride, fear, hopelessness, destitution, anger, frustration, hopefulness, terror, dejection, and, as time would have rolled on a growing feeling that it might soon end and some sort of normalcy return to the world.  To my own little world.

I can imagine a father who has lost contact with his family having no knowledge of whether or not they were still even alive; or of a mother arriving at a concentration camp and having her children pulled from her embrace; or a boy who sees his parents killed by the Nazis or the Fascists or the Japanese; or a young soldier terrified in his first battle; or a grandmother wondering about the four grandsons who are off to a foreign war; or an officer who has to make split decisions on a hot battlefield; or a young girl so fearful of what the enemy soldiers might do to her; or of a father, not so unlike me perhaps, who struggles to the end to protect what remains of his family in the burned out basement of a bombed building in the middle of December in Stalingrad; giving up any of his own food so that he does not have to watch another of his children starve finally to death.

I can sometimes feel these and more and then I look around and realize how very good I have it now and, in comparison, how good I have had it throughout my life.  My struggles pale in comparison- so do so many who claim to have suffered more than they really have if they were to compare it to the world of long ago.  To other times, other places, other people.

I realize and then I further realize how easily and swiftly it might one day change.  I will not force our existence to compare to that of those who truly suffered, to those who paid a much higher price or made a much greater sacrifice (some willingly but many more not so)- that would be absurd.  But I will continue to read and remember, to feel and empathize, to realize how very nearby it all might be, and, most importantly, to make sure that my children are aware of these and other truths.

It is only with our children that we can likely now alter all that exists as threats to us all- whether we see any of it coming or not.

They say FDR saw it coming, KNEW it was coming but I really do not know.

I do know that many men who now rest under water at a place called Pearl Harbor probably never saw it coming but come it did.   And the price they paid can never be repaid unless we honor their memory and work to preserve a country and life that they felt worthy and ready to defend. 

I will not turn my eyes away and I will teach my children to be ever-vigilant and armed with the knowledge and the courage to question and stand up for their beliefs of all that should be.  I will teach them to always honor the brave who have done so, in likely more drastic ways, in the past.  On this day and all others.

Now, as I was reminded by my son, it is time to go and place the flag outdoors for others to see.  And perhaps they, too, might remember with honor and a commitment to stand ever-strong against the tyranny and evil still too readily available in this world we live in.

God bless all of you who fought and even died on our behalf and in our defense.  It is something that cannot be easily repaid and should never be forgotten.  May you always rest in peace.

And may God bless America, this day and all days.

The Arrival of 777

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George arrived at the State Proper School on a blustery October afternoon.  It was a significant date, the 25th, and the banners were flying everywhere, flapping vigorously in the constant wind. 

“You are the new arrival?” George was asked by the man in the military uniform as he exited the final car on the long train. 

The train was dark and dirty, inside and out; the day was gray and gloomy; George felt the effects of both as he tried to muster a smile.  Not necessary, he knew, but still something left to hold on to that was all his and his alone.

George was quickly informed that he would now be addressed simply as “SPSNA777”, indicating of course that he was New Arrival 777 at the State Proper School.  He would be re-designated after the successful completion of his First Year Plan.  Incomplete completion was not broached as a possibility and was not referred to as failure- failure was not allowable under the current Constitution of Lasting Permanence.  That, too, could change but that, too, was also not discussed as George received his arrival instructions.

Later that day 777- the irony of the three sevens was never considered by the boy formally known to most as George- was finally able to rest awhile.  As he curled up on the hard cot in the chilly gray room of the arrival center he thought briefly about his stewards.

“They only did what they had to do; I cannot blame them for my behavior” he mused, dutifully.  “If they had not called the Central Area Community Administrator to report George’s mal-aligned and malignant behavior and if the Magistrate or Triumvirate or even any of his Plan Instructors had detected just a hint of some of the questions he was asking or thoughts he was having then his stewards would have been properly questioned under the Actively Enacted Guidelines within the present CoLP and, for them, as 777 might somehow imagine, it would have been much less desirable than simply following the Proper Procedural Process of Self-Reportance, also under the present CoLP.  This is as it should be and had always been.

Somehow, deep inside, 777 felt an emptiness in knowing that he would likely not have any additional future contact with his stewards.  That, as well, was as it should be and had always been.  Still, after those almost twelve years under their supervision he felt something he had really never felt before and had never been instructed to experience.  He had no way of knowing what it was, really, but he did wonder briefly if his stewards felt anything even remotely similar.

Within a few months, he knew, if his stewards passed their own re-review by the Community Council High Committee they would have the possibility of being entitled to a pre-designated sperm assignment (a new auction after re-assignment of a previous ward was not allowed) or, possibly, re-assignment of a recently vacated ward assignment.  The latter was possible only when a set of partnered stewards themselves were deemed ineffective and themselves re-assigned to an Adjustment Facility.  The specifics were as outlined in the current CoLP.

Unable to maintain any additional directive of thought 777 began to drift into a needed and necessary sleep.  He was conflicted inside, that he knew.   This was a new awareness for him but real nonetheless.

He was no longer known as George but that would have happened at some point anyhow after he had progressed to a future designation as YouthWorker or PartyProspect; and still again later when he had progressed still further as SoleUnit, PartneredSteward (usually shortened to just Steward), or PartyProgressor but the latter was unlikely given the origins of his and his stewards beginnings; several other possible designators were possible as he aged or as the present CoLP was properly evolved.  For now, he was simply SPSNA777.

He was no longer under the supervision of the stewards he had known for many years- all the years of his still youthful existence.  Against instruction and protocol he had come to have special, strange and unusual feelings for his male and female stewards.  He did not fully understand these but they somehow made him attain an improved state of proper awareness.

He wondered if other wards and stewards had ever experienced the same.  He wondered the same about his own stewards whom he wished deeply, as far as wishing was allowed, were with him now as he moved swiftly toward a sleeping state.  Somehow, he reasoned, somehow, he hoped (though he was not aware that it was hope he was feeling), somewhere, he imagined (as far as imagination would take him, having not been allowed within his instructive) they must.  They just must, for in many fundamental ways they were the same human creatures as was he.

Before the moment of fully losing consciousness SPSNA777 made a few promises to himself.

He would secretly, in his mind, always refer to himself as George and try to always internally convert any arbitrary designator assigned to him during his life tenure to George before responding; he would not hold his stewards to blame for his actions and his ultimate fate and he would continue to secretly feel these good feelings toward them; he would believe that he was not unique in all of this and believe that, perhaps one day, he would manage to find others like him.  This was all he had left to him.

This alone was enough comfort to settle him down sufficiently to finally fall asleep after a long few days of existence-altering activity.  Without knowing it a soft but evident smile managed to form as the cold and gray closed all around.

The Dawning of George

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George was confused and becoming unsettled.  He needed to speak with his stewards to get the proper story- certainly they would tell him the truth.

It was like the time when he had found out he had been conceived as the result of a sperm auction and he had also received the name of “George” only after his stewards had been given special permission from the state to do so as it was not a name on the Approved and Proper Designators list.  It was fortunate for him, at both pre-conception and post-birth, that his stewards had sufficient means and access as afforded by their own beginnings and, as he learned as well, an outcome of their own sperm auctions, the selections of their own stewards.

George was a good boy by most historical standards.  By more recent assessments, however, he was beginning to fall under suspicion, especially by the School Triumvirate.

“I reviewed all the materials and then did even more” he said as he continued his inquiry.  “I knew all of the questions and am sure that I did much better than the grade that I was provided by the Grading Commission.  I know I did better.  I just know it!”

“How can you know for sure?” his female steward asked.

“Well,” George stuttered slightly, swallowing hard as he did, “I accidentally saw the raw scores- but just for a second and I tried to look away before I saw mine and I well, I…”

“Stop now young one!” she exclaimed.  “You know that is not allowed, you should not have looked and you should not have told anyone, not even me.”

“But I was always taught to be honest.”

“Only when required” she quickly countered.  To George this was an interesting and new qualification of a Fundamental Teaching.

“But I got everything right!  The scores, my score- I saw it!  It was a perfect 100 percent!” George cried out, his eyes beginning to dampen.

“Quiet George!” his male steward demanded, albeit in a hushed voice.  “A Patrol Associate might overhear you!”

“It isn’t fair” George said in quieter tones but still simmering and near a boiling point.

“It is exactly fair young one.  It is fair for all and not just one.  You know the teachings and you should know the methods- these have been taught to you” the female steward chimed in.

“Please tell me again because it just doesn’t make sense” George asked in a more subdued voice.  His manners, though not required, were sometimes refreshing to those old enough to remember the early times.

“Yes, I think I must.  It is fair that everyone should start at the same point and that is at 60 percent- fair for all and not just one.  No one is a failure-“

“But I studied and I worked hard and I got 100!” George interjected, animated once again.

“George- er, young one- you must listen and you must understand and you must not call out your score again” the male steward added in to the instructive.

“Young one” the female continued “you know that beyond 60 all additional points go justifiably to the Community Pool and are then equally distributed among all of the Community test-takers.  So the better each individual does the better everyone does.  It is so elegant and beautiful and it is how we live in all aspects of our lives, you know this, you have been so informed and instructed.”

“It’s not fair, it’s not right!” George actually screamed.  “I studied and got 100 and a lot of the others did nothing!  They probably didn’t even do enough to get to the minimum 60.  That was because of me and the few others who do the work, who spend all of the time because we want to do well, we want to do well all by ourselves and without the help of the others!  If they need help with their preparation I would be willing to assist them to prepare but why, why do they get to take away the points that I have earned and claim them for their own??”

“Son, George- er, young one” the female steward attempted excitedly “you must stop this, this unsanctioned behavior.  We have already been pre-warned by the Triumvirate and they have suggested that we have you placed in the Community Adjustment Program at the State Proper School.  We do not wish for you to leave us before the normal age.  Please gain control of yourself” she concluded, an unwanted tear forming in just one eye.

“I cannot, I WILL NOT!” young George cried out in desperation.  “It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair for me!  It isn’t right that the Magistrate’s ward does not even study and he mocks those of us who do- he calls us names and laughs openly at us!  His future is set no matter how little he knows and no matter how poorly he does!  It isn’t fair for me!  It isn’t fair to the others who try, who study, who work so hard!  And if it isn’t fair for even one, like me, then it isn’t fair for all!”

“Exactly the point” his male steward said calmly now.  “And you see that if one, if just a single one, protests against the fairness then fairness cannot be had for all.  And that is why it is strictly enforced and simply not allowed.  It is only fair.  We must address this before we are also implicated” he finished, a bit upset for the apparent failure of him and his female.

The female looked with a fleeting touch of sympathy and a heavy dose of disappointment at George and then with seriousness at her male.  “I will go and make the call” she said as she stood, slowly.

George looked at each of his stewards in shocked disbelief and then around the room, suddenly understanding that he would likely not see these things perhaps ever again.  He had crossed the line and there was no going back, no taking back of the very words that had now betrayed him.   The responsibility of his stewards was clear and he did not wish harm to them.  He looked at the floor and sighed with resignation and deep sadness, knowing now that, like the Magistrate’s ward, his future was indeed set.

Heil Fidelity

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It really never could happen here.  Not to us, not to you- and especially not to me.  Definitely not to me, not here, not now.  I am insulated.  I am free and in that freedom rests my safety.

How free must one feel to rest safely?

How safe must one feel to rest free?

I saw a documentary on cable about Cuba in the 1950’s.  Near the end it stated the following:

“As they celebrate Castor’s triumphant charge they have no way of knowing that he, like Batista, will one day turn his back on Democracy and become the very thing he fought to depose- dictator of Cuba.”

Now I know that nothing like Batista-Castro is occurring or has occurred in this country but I found it interesting that, once again, the revolutionary becomes the dictator and the only thing that perhaps changes is the group of people in favor, perhaps also the group of people oppressed as well.  But, in the end, it seems that the oppressed under Castro has become a larger group than that under Batista.  Both proved themselves despicable dictators.  And they both wore military garb did they not?

This is not new to those who know history and it was certainly known to those who founded this country, the United States of America.  They read their history; they knew the devil in man’s nature and acted accordingly when configuring their Declaration, their Constitution.  I do not say ours because I fear too many in this country today do not feel as if it is theirs.  They want a new document, a new way, a new revolution, perhaps with a leader who will not shed the sheep’s clothing and reveal the wolf, the devil, within.

Or perhaps he will.

No, our founders knew there must be a rock-solid foundation that would be able to hold the house against all that would assail it.  And that is why they created what they did. An absolute work of pure genius meant to withstand all that which good or bad intentioned men may contrive as a product of their thoughts and wills.

This is no longer taught to our children and neither realized nor appreciated by far too many adults today.  The bedrock has been compromised and, so with it, all that rests upon it.

You may scoff, you may laugh, you may continue to ignore and trivialize but, then again, you may continue as well to be ignorant of history.  They say that ignorance is bliss.  Really?

You should read and you should learn- not what your teacher or your favorite news program tells you but as much as you can and from as many sources as possible.  But you won’t will you?

They assure you that you need not do so and to that you listen.  This is as those in power, throughout all of history, would have it be.  Ignorance from self may be bliss but ignorance of others well, that is just raw power.  Some might say absolute power.  And from absolute power comes…

Wise up America, it may not be too late.  Rise up America and realize that what you still have as fundamental and natural freedom is not due to those now in power but to the structure that was put in place so long ago.  It is still a very good foundation and upon it may still be had a strong and worthy home that will outlast all of us for a long, long time.

Wise up; rise up.  Are you too lazy?  Are you too scared?  Are you too ambivalent?  Are you too ignorant or perhaps too blind to see?  What is your excuse?

Oh, I see; you like what you have because it wasn’t hard to come by and there are just too many other important things on which to spend your time.  No skin in the game eh?

Just a handout for your loyalty, a dollar for your soul; a promise for tomorrow if today you join my poll.

Or maybe you just think Castro is a dying breed and that wearing that Che Guevara tee is way cool.  Do you know HIS history?

Maybe you should spend just  a little time studying history and listening to the echoes of all those long-ago voices who simply said “yeah-yeah-yeah, but it really can’t happen here.”

And then maybe you might want to travel down to Miami wearing that Che tee in some of the Cuban neighborhoods.  They can teach you some history and they’d be glad to relieve you of that nice, way-cool tee-shirt.

Wise up America- 2014 is coming.

Big Brother Bob

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Overheard in a conversation:

“Yeah, I feel bad for him.  I went through the same thing, basically, only probably a lot worse” said one.

“What do you mean?” the other asked.

“I was abused, yelled at, ridiculed, beaten at times by my mother’s boyfriend when I was young.  It was terrible man” the one continued.

The other looked on with serious eyes.  “What happened?”

“My mom had gotten a divorce- never was sure why- and my dad just kind of faded off somewhere.  My mom got this boyfriend who none of us liked and she let him, she really begged him to move in with us” the one explained.

“Why’d she do that?”

“Security I guess, maybe something else but probably that.  She felt that she needed the extra money I guess but I have three brothers and a sister- we all could have gotten jobs close to around that time to help out.  Funny thing is that she got some extra money from him, when he felt like putting it into the family, but in the end it was just all about him having control over her- and all of us too” said the one.

“So he abused you and your brothers and sister?” probed the other.

“As far as I know, yes.  But most of us never mention it and my mom is in a home now and pretends like it never happened.  My oldest brother Bob talked about it though.  He’s the one who finally stepped in and put an end to it.”

“How’d he do that?”

The one, his voice faltering a bit, went on: “When he got old enough and big enough he challenged the jerk and wound up beating him up several times.  He finally had enough especially since it was starting to be me, the smallest and the youngest, who was getting abused most.  Bob always told me that he had to step in to stop what was happening, that’s maybe why he had been born into our family, maybe why he existed.  He was always coming up with thoughts like that.”

The other wanted to know the rest of the history.  “So what wound up happening?”

“Well,” said the one in a voice now stronger, “the jerk got really mad but couldn’t do anything about it with Bob there so he just decided to leave one day.  He was mad at Bob, said he hated him and would deal with him for good one day; said he hated all of us; called my mom a bunch of names and said he hated her and was leaving.  She cried for weeks and blamed Bob for getting in the way.  Bob tried to defend his actions but she wouldn’t listen and told him to move out.  So he did and he never came back.  He tried to make up with my mom but she would never accept him or his explanations.  He never apologized and he shouldn’t have had to in my opinion- and in his.”

“And the jerk?”

“Ran into Bob outside a bar one night and attacked him with a knife.  Cut him bad twice before Bob got the knife away and wound up killing him.  At least he didn’t go to jail- it wasn’t his fault really, not any of it.  He was just doing what he had learned was right- he was protecting us and, he thought, helping my mom to see what this jerk really was all about” explained the one.

“And Bob?”

“Well, that’s the worst part.  He wound up getting married and having a family.  His wife came to me one day and confessed Bob was abusing his kids the same way the jerk had done.  Can you believe it?!? I confronted Bob and he told me to butt out.  I reminded him that he had once felt differenlty, felt it was up to him to get in the way, to protect our family from harm but that now he was guilty of doing the same things that the jerk had done.  I couldn’t believe it was happening, that I was having to talk to him about it.”

“Wow” sighed the other.  “What did he say?”

“Man,” whispered the one, his voice now cracking, “he said that that was then and this is now.  That he is the one in charge and when his kids don’t listen or misbehave or just do something to bug him that he will deal with it in his own way and doesn’t need anyone getting in the way.  I tried again to make him realize what a hypocrite he was being; I tried to reach him and help, if not him then his wife and family.”

“And?”

“He hit me and shoved me out the door.  Told me to mind my own business and let him mind his own, that he knew better than me what was best for his own family regardless of what he had ever done or said before.  I left and wondered if, one day, one of his own sons would step up and stop him.”  The one put his head into his hands as if to cry.

“Wow” repeated the other.  “Wow.  So sad, so wrong.  Thank God that could never happen here in our country.”

Across America

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I was going to get two entries in yesterday to make up for none on Friday.  Plus it was the first day of day of December so it would have been a good start for the month.  But, again, I didn’t get it done. 

Personal responsibility.  Taking just a bit more of that on would probably be a good thing.  From all of us and for all of us.

Across America today folks are waking up to a new day.  Monday.  Second day of December.  Thanksgiving 2013 is now done and gone and Christmas is now approaching.  I have a lot to do.

Across America people are rising.  They are facing the first Monday in December wondering what they need to get done for the coming holidays.  What decorations need to be put out; what gifts need to be purchased; who to send cards to (if folks even do that anymore); how they will pay for it all.  How will they pay for it?  How will we pay for it?

It seems that in many ways the bills come due regardless of our readiness to pay.  But pay we must.

Seems in many ways that we often incur debts that later seem rather foolish, or at least, not really worth taking on in the first place.  Why do we do that?  Why do we allow it to happen?

People are rising this morning, this day.  People are realizing the debts that are now coming due. 

The brave men and women who decided finally to throw off the bindings placed by another did so at great risk, risk to their very existences.  It was a pay as you go plan.  I suppose in some way they knew that, later on, there would be bills, debts that would fall due.  As it had been said, freedom is not free.

But it shouldn’t cost us in the way and in the amount that it does, now, today.  It has taken me such a long time in my own life to realize these debts that continue to go unresolved.   Debts that were foolish to incur in the first place.

We continue to ignore the fact that, like in any profession or with any sport we all need to pay our dues.  Some would say we do that already with our daily existence, with the myriad taxes that we pay, with the service that we or someone in our family have given over to our country.  Those who have made the ultimate sacrifice of a life are perhaps some of the only ones who can justly say they have given over to the last full measure.

There are far too many of us who have not given over enough, if anything.  There are far too many of us who feel that we are owed or entitled to certain rights, certain freedoms, certain handouts…by the very fact that we exist and didn’t ask for that existence; by the very fact that we were born into a very kind and giving country (can you name a better one?); by the assertion that somewhere along the way we or those before us were wronged; by the simple fact that it is the first Monday in December, 2013, and all is well if we are not directly or negatively impacted by all that is going on.  All is well that is not just now unwell for me.

At least some are waking up.  Folks are rising on this day and hopefully realizing that there are bills that are due- in many ways overdue.

I don’t much like this entry but I hope you get what I am trying to get at.  It is important and it is growing more so every single day. 

Expect more, give more.  And take what you have, what we have, in this great country seriously for whether you believe it or not, I believe that it is not impossible to lose it.  Forever.

Wake up America.  Arise America.  The year grows shorter with each passing day.

Coming Home

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Long travel day yesterday and although I wanted to make an entry here I did not get it done. I just didn’t try hard enough. Maybe two today to make up for it.

Time passed both slowly and quickly this past week. A dose of cold reality mixed with some holiday warmth and cheer. We go on; life goes on.

Did you head out to shop yesterday? Did you get into any scuffles and make the evening news? Did you get that bargain you were looking for or were you just out for cheap stuff, maybe for free stuff?

Lots of folks out there looking for free stuff so beware, the competition is rough.

Do you look for free stuff? Do you take it even though something inside says that maybe you shouldn’t? What kind of free stuff do you take?

What kind of free stuff causes people to begin to agree to give up their independence? How much free stuff causes that journey to be complete?

We came home. We came home to a place that we pay for, a place that we built after decades of working and saving and planning and, why yes, a good bit of hope and some luck. But not blind luck. We looked around a long time for the best deals we could secure and then we struck them. We hired people and paid our bills. I think we helped during a time when things in this country were in a very depressed state- maybe not much better now but those times were quite bad. I think that our taxes now- let me be more precise, our property taxes- help out the community in more than a single or simple way.

If I give a dollar I should know pretty much where every penny of that dollar goes and if it goes where I want it to go. If I willingly give that dollar to a charity, to a friend or family member, to a man on the street, then I should know where it goes and if it goes where I want it to go. With taxes that is only partly possible, sometimes not even that much.

If I take a dollar then I should know where it came from and how much it cost to get that dollar to me- who had their cut along the way? I should also know what I am giving up in return for that dollar and if that is acceptable to me. Probably wind up not caring but I should.

If the giver of that dollar knows where it is going and if the receiver of that dollar knows where it is coming from then I would bet less would be wasted or lost along the way. Do you think your charity dollars are spent efficiently? Do you think so as well for the taxes you pay?

Taxes- saving that for another time.

Used to be that a man wouldn’t take anything for nothing so maybe if I take a dollar then I should give that much back by helping a neighbor or doing charity work for my community or another that is need. If I can hammer a nail, cut some wood, dig a hole, trim a tree, wash a floor, vacuum a rug, cook a meal, paint a wall, fix an engine, teach a kid, give a haircut, fix a furnace, clean some windows, shovel some snow, plant a garden, repair a broken chair, patch a coat, wash some clothes, go to the store, fix a hole in a roof, babysit a child, read a story, play a game, offer a positive word or spread some good cheer…all in response for that dollar I have received, not from those I help but from those who have chosen to help me, then I should indeed do so. It is not in exchange, it is in response.

Some call it “shining it on”. Didn’t this country used to be more like that?

But it seems to me that those who get stuff for free, who take that dollar, do not want to do much more than to make sure that the giver is still around tomorrow and the days after that.

But what if the giver is in fact a taker? And what if that taker takes so much from the original giver that there then comes a day when there is no more left to give?

And, then, no more left to take- what then?

All About Giving Thanks

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It’s cold in the mountains this year, for this time. It’s cold but the sun shines today and it seems to warm us all in some small way.

It is the day of giving thanks.

There are many different license plates in the parking lot of our hotel-motel but mostly from Georgia, Florida, and North Carolina. And, of course, one from the late, great state of Illinois. That one would be ours. Of course.

We see family and I think that we give thanks. It is often hard to remember to do so, sometimes hard to remember all that we still do have in our lives for which giving thanks would seem the proper thing to do. Family and friends, health as we have it, lingering freedom as we may still manage to find it, belief in all that we choose to believe in (at least as they would still allow us to express it), and any and all little things that remain with us or in us on this day.

I am rather tired of getting depressed about what has happened to this great land over the last gathering of years. Inch by inch or maybe more we have moved from where we should have stayed and downwind further still from all that we may have become.

I don’t need you looking after me. I have myself and others for that.

I don’t need you telling me what is right and what is not- I have a moral compass of my own.

I don’t need you teaching my kids about the evils of our past and the created fears for their futures; unless, of course, someone such as you steps in to make it not be so. Oh thank you enlightened one.

I don’t want you peeking in my bedroom window or monitoring every watt of electricity or drop of water that I consume.

I don’t need you at my curb deciding what I can or cannot send to the trash heap.

I can’t stand you in my public square as you proudly remove our simple nativity scene and smile with satisfaction of having advanced society farther still from any lasting trace of God.

I despise your defending every religion except the one upon which served as the bedrock of our independence and creation.

I challenge you to publicly defend the alchemy you pass off as science in support of all of your positions regarding the use and maintenance and future of this earth, the very one that we have been blessed to be born upon.

I defy you to defend killing a baby who has survived the first attempt.

I don’t need you taking from my pocket to pass along to those of your choosing all of the hard-earned nickels of my existence- less the pennies you manage to also secure for yourself in the act of doing so.

I believe that men and women should marry. I believe that this is also the best possible environment for any growing child. I am tired of you telling me otherwise and calling me names in that process.

I am tired of you deciding where my tax dollars are to go- and then demanding more when what we have already not-freely given is not enough to cover all that you choose to squander.

I want to keep my money and send my children to the best school possible and not the one you decide they should attend and not the one that you and your cohorts have staffed and stuffed with those who will further preach your cause and indoctrinate all within their unyielding grasp.

I don’t need you representing me and my country outside of our borders with deference and servility- bow to no man; bow to the Lord, your only savior.

I am thankful but not for you and not for those things that you continue to do against our wishes and against our well-being. And you need to stop and you need to stop it very soon because we are growing very weary and more than a little frustrated.

I am thankful not for these things that I am fast learning to despise but ever thankful for the rights and capabilities, still left to me this Thanksgiving Day, to begin to rise up and express all that I believe.

Those of you still willing and able should consider doing the same. And soon.

Happy Thanksgiving and all the Lord’s blessings to you and your families this day.

And Then We Met Lester

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Lester was great. Probably still is.

He is such a typically friendly and seemingly eager creature of America. Quick to say hello, willing to hang around, perhaps to see if you might need anything or just might need some company.

Maybe should have suggested he visit our mountain man’s mother. They likely would have hit it off.

Wonder what he’s doing today. It’s cold and rainy where he is and while he isn’t homeless he does spend a lot of his spare time outdoors. He’s probably okay doing so if the weather isn’t too, too bad. Today it is. Just thirty degrees, grey and rainy. But for us not bad- it’s only ten degrees back home, wherever that might be.

Still, we are inside and dry and warm while Lester is out there somewhere roaming around as I hear he usually does. He probably has places where he can take cover from the rain and the cold. At least I certainly hope so.

Poor Lester. A product of America these days I’d bet. Likely thrown to the streets after they no longer needed him doing whatever it was that he used to do; left to fend for himself in a world fast filling with others all too much like him.

Where do they go, what do they eat? How do they regain what they once had before? Who will take them in, give them shelter, feed them, provide a roof and some rest from the cold, from the rain?

He seems just a bit all too much like America and the growing number of the rest of us these days.

No hope, no shelter from the storm today or the one that is building up for tomorrow or the next day. The job today being just to stay alive, somehow; to manage a handout of food- Lester turns his nose up at money- or just a kind word or friendly touch to let him know it will be okay, that, somehow, he will make it.

But for now, today, poor Lester and others like him just shiver and shake, trying to ward off the cold. I wish that we might take him with us but it is clear he does live with someone, is looked after by someone, at some times at least. He may be all that they have and together maybe they are better than either alone and off with another. Together they both likely shiver and shake.

We met a mountain man. And then we met his mother. And later that same day we met Lester. The mountain man and his mother have a roof, have a home and fend all for themselves, with no help from anyone.

Poor Lester is not half so lucky. He shivers and shakes.

And his poor leg suffers as well. I notice the leg as he leaves and limps away leaving him with just three good legs. Hopefully they’ll give him a hot dog down the road apiece as I hear they usually do. He’ll go by there but he will not beg. No, not Lester. At least not yet.