Bent, But Not Broken
(Our nation in mourning)
Today I am so weary, my head is bowed so low
Troubles are surrounding, everywhere I go.
I see such devastation, shattered lives and broken dreams
Heavy hearts are all around me, their loss is clearly seen.
I may be bent, I am not broken, evil shall not win
I know my Lord is near me, He will triumph once again.
Today when I am weary, I will bow my head down low
Talking to my Lord, as through the day I go.
In all this devastation, He will hear me as I pray
My spirit will be lifted with every prayer I say.
I may be bent, I am not broken, evil shall not win.
I know my Lord is near me, He will triumph once again.
I must open up the shutters, I must face this day with faith
I will comfort those around me, those with fear upon their face
For I know there is a warrior that is standing by my side
He will fight my battles, He will not run and hide.
I may be bent, I am not broken, evil shall not win
I know my Lord is near me, He will triumph once again.
Hazel Williams-Jann
© Sept 11, 2001
....“These shall make war with the Lamb, and the Lamb shall overcome them: for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings”.... Rev 17:14
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Packing school lunches
I read a Facebook comment on trying to pack school lunches this morning. What memories flooded my mind. I wonder how many could begin to relate to the time I was in school and my mother packed my lunch.
In the early 1940's we were tenant farmers growing most of what we ate. There was no choice in the matter, that was just the way it was then. There were few trips to the grocery store. I recall several occasions of sitting in the back seat of the old family car with my two brothers and one sister while mother and daddy went into the store to purchase things that would be needed for putting food on the table. I remember they had to purchase some things with ration stamps as we were allowed only so much coffee, sugar, gasoline and other products. It was the time when America was dealing with a deep depression and two world wars. Everyone was called upon to tighten their belts. Our first concern was the men who were fighting to protect America. They needed our support. They got it without argument.
At the cost of 5 cents, a loaf of "store bought" bread was a rare thing. It was just not possible to justify that when mother could make biscuits for breakfast and cornbread for dinner and supper. The remembrance of the loaf of bread brings to mind one of my most embarrassing moments. Because 'light bread' was a rare thing being the consumer of the heal of the bread was based upon which child "called" it first. On this one occasion when I was about 9-10 years old I had waited all day, thinking of that piece of bread.
We lived about a mile off the road where the school bus picked us up and dropped us off each day. It was quite a walk to the old farmhouse and being the youngest I was usually last to get there. It can be assumed I was not going to reach that piece of bread before the other kids got home. This day I decided I was going to have that tasty morsel, no matter what it took. I would remember to "call" it before anyone else thought of it. Oh, what that bus load of kids must have thought when, before stepping off the bus I yelled; "I get the bread tonight!" Of course I got the end piece of the coveted store-bought bread, but at what price! I don't recall ever needing that particular piece bad enough to yell it out the second time in hearing distance of all my peers.
It was not that we did not eat well, we did. We grew what we ate. During this season of the year we were busy canning. We started the summer by planting a garden. It was an ample garden for a family of six. An acre of ground will produce lots of potatoes, corn, tomatoes, green beans, carrots. beets, turnips, sweet potatoes, cabbage and other things that could be preserved for the winter months. We would make trips to the near-by woods to pick blackberries. Now that I am older, I know my mother was a sneaky person. She had her reasons, of course. I never understood why it was so important to wear boots, long pants, long-sleeved shirts and let her lead the way sporting a walking stick. I know now what that was all about. Did you know SNAKES live in berry bushes??? Well, I sure didn't. Had I have known, I would have had to been dragged kicking and screaming into those woods. Mom was smart. She kept us involved in seeing other things. I remember the smell of the May apples as we passed by a tree. Now don't ask me what a May apple is, I really have no idea. But I do know it had one of the sweetest smells ever. As we walked along looking up to find May apples was her way making sure should a snake slither across the path we would not be seeing it. Sneaky, smart mom. I have to smile.
When all the canning was finished it was time for school to start. I miss those days of anticipation that held my sister and I captive as we sat under a shade tree shelling beans by the bushel. I didn't even mind the long walk to the bus. Now I would need a motorized vehicle for that task. The years do take a tole.
The school had a lunch room, but that cost money that was not available. Mother packed our lunch every morning. Folks, we didn't even have little brown bags in which to carry a sandwich. Mother used old newspapers, or cut up brown grocery bags tied with string to wrap things. I never gave it a thought. It was just the way it was. I noticed others with lunch pails, but I wasn't jealous. I was happy with what I had. Inside that paper tied with a string I would find a fried egg sandwich on a biscuit, or peanut butter and jelly on a biscuit. I remember one time, mother made cornbread and brought it to school for our dinner. This was when we were in a one-room school around Plain City. I recall the kids wanting to trade their lunches of lunch meat on light bread for our plain ole biscuit and egg. I thought they were weird. How could anyone prefer what I had to eat every day over a real sandwich? It was beyond my pattern of thought. At times we would have a treat of homemade jelly on a biscuit. That was the extent of dessert. We never had carrot sticks, or celery sticks like some of the others. I don't recall taking anything to drink. It is amazing to look back at those times now. It is totally foreign to today's youth to live with so little and be happy.
So, now Facebook friend, are you ready to tackle the grocery store? Don't you wish you too was living in a more laid-back time, when life was made up of just biscuits and cornbread? I know, if I were packing a lunch I would be inclined to "allow" my children to see that side of life. I wonder what the outcome of that would be.
In the early 1940's we were tenant farmers growing most of what we ate. There was no choice in the matter, that was just the way it was then. There were few trips to the grocery store. I recall several occasions of sitting in the back seat of the old family car with my two brothers and one sister while mother and daddy went into the store to purchase things that would be needed for putting food on the table. I remember they had to purchase some things with ration stamps as we were allowed only so much coffee, sugar, gasoline and other products. It was the time when America was dealing with a deep depression and two world wars. Everyone was called upon to tighten their belts. Our first concern was the men who were fighting to protect America. They needed our support. They got it without argument.
At the cost of 5 cents, a loaf of "store bought" bread was a rare thing. It was just not possible to justify that when mother could make biscuits for breakfast and cornbread for dinner and supper. The remembrance of the loaf of bread brings to mind one of my most embarrassing moments. Because 'light bread' was a rare thing being the consumer of the heal of the bread was based upon which child "called" it first. On this one occasion when I was about 9-10 years old I had waited all day, thinking of that piece of bread.
We lived about a mile off the road where the school bus picked us up and dropped us off each day. It was quite a walk to the old farmhouse and being the youngest I was usually last to get there. It can be assumed I was not going to reach that piece of bread before the other kids got home. This day I decided I was going to have that tasty morsel, no matter what it took. I would remember to "call" it before anyone else thought of it. Oh, what that bus load of kids must have thought when, before stepping off the bus I yelled; "I get the bread tonight!" Of course I got the end piece of the coveted store-bought bread, but at what price! I don't recall ever needing that particular piece bad enough to yell it out the second time in hearing distance of all my peers.
It was not that we did not eat well, we did. We grew what we ate. During this season of the year we were busy canning. We started the summer by planting a garden. It was an ample garden for a family of six. An acre of ground will produce lots of potatoes, corn, tomatoes, green beans, carrots. beets, turnips, sweet potatoes, cabbage and other things that could be preserved for the winter months. We would make trips to the near-by woods to pick blackberries. Now that I am older, I know my mother was a sneaky person. She had her reasons, of course. I never understood why it was so important to wear boots, long pants, long-sleeved shirts and let her lead the way sporting a walking stick. I know now what that was all about. Did you know SNAKES live in berry bushes??? Well, I sure didn't. Had I have known, I would have had to been dragged kicking and screaming into those woods. Mom was smart. She kept us involved in seeing other things. I remember the smell of the May apples as we passed by a tree. Now don't ask me what a May apple is, I really have no idea. But I do know it had one of the sweetest smells ever. As we walked along looking up to find May apples was her way making sure should a snake slither across the path we would not be seeing it. Sneaky, smart mom. I have to smile.
When all the canning was finished it was time for school to start. I miss those days of anticipation that held my sister and I captive as we sat under a shade tree shelling beans by the bushel. I didn't even mind the long walk to the bus. Now I would need a motorized vehicle for that task. The years do take a tole.
The school had a lunch room, but that cost money that was not available. Mother packed our lunch every morning. Folks, we didn't even have little brown bags in which to carry a sandwich. Mother used old newspapers, or cut up brown grocery bags tied with string to wrap things. I never gave it a thought. It was just the way it was. I noticed others with lunch pails, but I wasn't jealous. I was happy with what I had. Inside that paper tied with a string I would find a fried egg sandwich on a biscuit, or peanut butter and jelly on a biscuit. I remember one time, mother made cornbread and brought it to school for our dinner. This was when we were in a one-room school around Plain City. I recall the kids wanting to trade their lunches of lunch meat on light bread for our plain ole biscuit and egg. I thought they were weird. How could anyone prefer what I had to eat every day over a real sandwich? It was beyond my pattern of thought. At times we would have a treat of homemade jelly on a biscuit. That was the extent of dessert. We never had carrot sticks, or celery sticks like some of the others. I don't recall taking anything to drink. It is amazing to look back at those times now. It is totally foreign to today's youth to live with so little and be happy.
So, now Facebook friend, are you ready to tackle the grocery store? Don't you wish you too was living in a more laid-back time, when life was made up of just biscuits and cornbread? I know, if I were packing a lunch I would be inclined to "allow" my children to see that side of life. I wonder what the outcome of that would be.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I am not a Republican
I am not a Republican, I am not a Democrat. I am not a conservative, nor am I a liberal. I am not a Communist, Marxist, or any other stereotype written and talked about on TV and the radio. I am not a puppet of Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly, or Sean Hannity. I am not a right-winger nor a left-winger. I am neither white, nor black, red or yellow. I am not African-American, Hispanic, Muslim American or of any particular country. I don’t think there is such a thing as Muslim-American because the Koran teaches if you serve any god other than Ala you are an infidel, therefore must be killed. I think if any one tacks another origin to their name, they are only half American. I don’t even know what the word Hispanic means. I also think the black people should ‘get over it’ as the Indian and Japanese people have. So, there were slaves in you family. So be it. I was not a slave owner, you are not a slave and using that as a talking point says forgiveness is not in your nature. It is over, get on with life. It just might be if you didn’t call yourselves black American others would be able to accept you as just plain American. If Hispanic was not used, maybe America would accept you as American. I am not a racist, terrorist or illegal. I don’t care what color our president might be. He could be pink polka dotted for all I care. What I care about is what is being done to America.
I am an American! Because of this I am concerned about what is happening to our country. American people speak English. Those who came here for a better life, back in the day, did not ask for their former country’s language to be used here. They learned to speak English. They did this because they wanted to be Americans. I don’t think they asked for a handout when they docked at Ellis Island, nor did they expect others to build them a home. They did this themselves. Yes, they spoke their native tongue when they were in their own community as they learned English. No problem there. They did not ask for school books in their native language or teachers who spoke it. They adapted to the American way of life. These people came to America not to change us but to change their way of life to a better one. When they came here they did not all press together in overcrowded living condition to save money to send back to their native land. They lived here, paying their own way in order to have better than the place they left. They did not come to try to destroy us. They came to help us build a great nation. They didn’t sneak across borders with fake passports, or obtain a fake ID to keep their nation of origin a secret. They obeyed the laws of the land. They farmed, they did wood working, they became bakers, butchers and even candle stick makers. They contributed to America. They did not come to take away from America.
I am fed up with the blame game being played out in Washington. I am fed up with politicians who run for office on the pretense of wanting to serve their community. I am fed up with the bulging deficit this country has. I don’t care who caused it. We owe too much money to foreign countries. No one seems to see what is being done. Why is that? I am not a genius, nor am I stupid. I am intelligent enough to understand if I break the law, I must pay the price. I have eyes. I see what is happening. Jobs are being given to people who are in American illegally because they can be paid less money by their employer. This is taking jobs away from Americans who, if paid a good wage for what they do, would be more than happy to do the job. Families are losing their homes because the government enticed them to buy things they could not afford. That, I feel, is a shared problem. Americans have become used to living beyond their means, thinking they need the latest of everything. Why can’t people see what they are doing to themselves when they buy with a credit card? I talked with a woman recently who was happy about the new finance bill. Her only comment was now the credit card companies have to put the interests rates so people can see them. Well, duh! Did they think the banks are not going to make a profit? Did they not read the fine print? It has been on every application I received, that the interest rates may and, in fact will go up after a certain period of time. Getting you hooked is their first priority. It is up to the card holder to know what they are getting into. As with anything else, it is buyer beware. I would think no one goes into a restaurant to eat without first checking the price tag on their chosen item. That should be done everywhere, including accepting a credit card. I guess it is easier just to blame others when it is time to pay the reaper. Once again, the blame game.
I am fed up with those elected to serve thinking they have the right to TELL me what they are going to do. I have yet to have a job where I told my boss what to do. If they are working FOR the people, then stop trying to make decisions the people don’t want. Taxing the people to pay off a debt the people did not want made is not my idea of serving. It is a way to manipulate the people. Why should I be expected to pay for schooling, housing, hospitalization and food for an illegal? I am against them being here, so I surely have no desire to pay their bills. See if this makes sense: Fill a bird feeder with food. Watch the birds fly in to enjoy something they would not have without my having purchased it as well as placed it in the feeder. Do this for a month. Watch how many birds make it a habit of coming to eat three - four times a day. Now, empty the feeder. Let it sit empty for a month. You will see a huge difference in the amount of bird poop you have to clean up. They just quit coming. So why is it the companies that hire the illegal is not being held accountable for their behavior? They should be fined so heavily they would happily stop hiring them. Cut off the supply! The illegal then goes home. Simple as that.
Stop giving away what others work for. I have never been to Mexico or any other foreign country except Canada. If I went to a foreign country I don’t think I would be given anything. If I wanted something I would have to buy it. If I came in illegally I would be given a jail term. So why can’t America do the same? Note, I am saying ILLEGAL, not immigrants. I have absolutely no problem with immigrants. They obey the laws. Illegals break our laws while getting paid to do so. What’s with that?
Then there is the passing of bills, just to get them passed. Never mind what is in them, that can be sorted out later. What message do we get from the people who think that is a good thing? We are not in a race to see how quickly the American way of life can be destroyed. That seems to be what is happening in Washington these days. Again, this is not a ‘party’ problem. It is on both sides. Votes can be bought with the promise of something extra for the candidate who votes the way someone wants them to vote. I think any politician that does that should be immediately thrown out of office. He/she SAID they were running to help the people, not themselves. What has happened to honesty? What has happened to morals? It does matter to me what a person has done as a private citizen. If a person does not have a clean record then how can I trust them? I can’t, simple as that.
The bigger government gets, the more corrupt politicians we have in office. Why must I pay for the salary of unnecessary Czars, committees on committees, staff members to fold papers, staff members to answer the phone, staff members who work for the staff members. How many people does the first lady really need? I am just using her as one example. There are plenty others who have way too much help. If they would stay in their office doing what they were elected to do, they would not need so many. O, of course you say that is creating jobs. It is not creating jobs for the common folk. It is just doling out money for things the fat cats don’t want to do. It might take away from their golf time, or shopping with a government provided credit card for frivolous items. Sometimes these cards have even been used to buy an escort. As I say, morals do matter. They are costing us money because the level of honesty in our government leaders has diminished to what used to be found only in back alleys and brothels. God forbid!
Where has patriotism gone? How many have noticed the amount of people who never stand when the flag goes by? How many have noticed the younger generation can’t even recite the Pledge of Allegiance? Why is this? It is because it has been taken out of the schools as though it does not matter anymore. Listen, this is America. I don’t care who is offended by saying the Pledge. If you don’t honor the flag, leave the country. This is not where you belong. Go to the country that waves the flag you like. I will not miss you. I imagine there are others who will not miss you either. If you came to America it should have been because you like our way of life. If you had another reason then by all means find a third-world refuge and stay there. I take offence at people walking around with their faces covered, only their eyes showing. Americans don’t dress like that. If you like that dress, there are countries that can accommodate you. Mind you, I am not anti this or that. I am just pro American.
Those who came here struggled to make America a good place to be. They set to work forming the Constitution. Now we have leaders trying to change that. LEAVE IT ALONE! It is what makes America, America. Your job is not to change us, it is to uphold what the framers have already done.
There is one thing I am besides being an American. I am a Christian. I am one who believes in something I have never seen. Because I believe I will one day be in Heaven with God. If you don’t believe, that is your right. You are not made to believe. You also do not have a right to tell me I can not speak of what I believe. Contrary to what our sitting president says, we ARE a Christian nation. The ‘rule book’ was used in writing our laws. I don’t care if you are the ACLU, NAACP, a tree hugger, or animal activist, that is your right. If any of you start trying to take away MY rights, then I come out fighting. You can say what you want, you can hang onto your ways. You will NOT take away my freedom to speak.
I have read the end of the Book. I realize persecution is inevitable in the end times. The more you persecute me for my beliefs, the more sure I am that those times are fast approaching. I am ready. I know where I am going. I have no fear of this world. I do have a very healthy respect for the One who created it.
I will state my thoughts, I will tell others how I feel. I can do all of this without losing my grip on reality. Yes, I am upset with what is happening. Yes, I think things need to change back to the smaller government. All in all, so be it. God is in control. I know He sees everything that is going on. Will I lose sleep over all these things? Hardly. I have learned that praying is something Satan does not like. So when I lay me down to sleep, I start praying. Soon I wake up realizing it is morning. I can’t even remember where my praying ended and sleep came. It usually does not take very long. I just so enjoy upsetting Satan.
I am an American! Because of this I am concerned about what is happening to our country. American people speak English. Those who came here for a better life, back in the day, did not ask for their former country’s language to be used here. They learned to speak English. They did this because they wanted to be Americans. I don’t think they asked for a handout when they docked at Ellis Island, nor did they expect others to build them a home. They did this themselves. Yes, they spoke their native tongue when they were in their own community as they learned English. No problem there. They did not ask for school books in their native language or teachers who spoke it. They adapted to the American way of life. These people came to America not to change us but to change their way of life to a better one. When they came here they did not all press together in overcrowded living condition to save money to send back to their native land. They lived here, paying their own way in order to have better than the place they left. They did not come to try to destroy us. They came to help us build a great nation. They didn’t sneak across borders with fake passports, or obtain a fake ID to keep their nation of origin a secret. They obeyed the laws of the land. They farmed, they did wood working, they became bakers, butchers and even candle stick makers. They contributed to America. They did not come to take away from America.
I am fed up with the blame game being played out in Washington. I am fed up with politicians who run for office on the pretense of wanting to serve their community. I am fed up with the bulging deficit this country has. I don’t care who caused it. We owe too much money to foreign countries. No one seems to see what is being done. Why is that? I am not a genius, nor am I stupid. I am intelligent enough to understand if I break the law, I must pay the price. I have eyes. I see what is happening. Jobs are being given to people who are in American illegally because they can be paid less money by their employer. This is taking jobs away from Americans who, if paid a good wage for what they do, would be more than happy to do the job. Families are losing their homes because the government enticed them to buy things they could not afford. That, I feel, is a shared problem. Americans have become used to living beyond their means, thinking they need the latest of everything. Why can’t people see what they are doing to themselves when they buy with a credit card? I talked with a woman recently who was happy about the new finance bill. Her only comment was now the credit card companies have to put the interests rates so people can see them. Well, duh! Did they think the banks are not going to make a profit? Did they not read the fine print? It has been on every application I received, that the interest rates may and, in fact will go up after a certain period of time. Getting you hooked is their first priority. It is up to the card holder to know what they are getting into. As with anything else, it is buyer beware. I would think no one goes into a restaurant to eat without first checking the price tag on their chosen item. That should be done everywhere, including accepting a credit card. I guess it is easier just to blame others when it is time to pay the reaper. Once again, the blame game.
I am fed up with those elected to serve thinking they have the right to TELL me what they are going to do. I have yet to have a job where I told my boss what to do. If they are working FOR the people, then stop trying to make decisions the people don’t want. Taxing the people to pay off a debt the people did not want made is not my idea of serving. It is a way to manipulate the people. Why should I be expected to pay for schooling, housing, hospitalization and food for an illegal? I am against them being here, so I surely have no desire to pay their bills. See if this makes sense: Fill a bird feeder with food. Watch the birds fly in to enjoy something they would not have without my having purchased it as well as placed it in the feeder. Do this for a month. Watch how many birds make it a habit of coming to eat three - four times a day. Now, empty the feeder. Let it sit empty for a month. You will see a huge difference in the amount of bird poop you have to clean up. They just quit coming. So why is it the companies that hire the illegal is not being held accountable for their behavior? They should be fined so heavily they would happily stop hiring them. Cut off the supply! The illegal then goes home. Simple as that.
Stop giving away what others work for. I have never been to Mexico or any other foreign country except Canada. If I went to a foreign country I don’t think I would be given anything. If I wanted something I would have to buy it. If I came in illegally I would be given a jail term. So why can’t America do the same? Note, I am saying ILLEGAL, not immigrants. I have absolutely no problem with immigrants. They obey the laws. Illegals break our laws while getting paid to do so. What’s with that?
Then there is the passing of bills, just to get them passed. Never mind what is in them, that can be sorted out later. What message do we get from the people who think that is a good thing? We are not in a race to see how quickly the American way of life can be destroyed. That seems to be what is happening in Washington these days. Again, this is not a ‘party’ problem. It is on both sides. Votes can be bought with the promise of something extra for the candidate who votes the way someone wants them to vote. I think any politician that does that should be immediately thrown out of office. He/she SAID they were running to help the people, not themselves. What has happened to honesty? What has happened to morals? It does matter to me what a person has done as a private citizen. If a person does not have a clean record then how can I trust them? I can’t, simple as that.
The bigger government gets, the more corrupt politicians we have in office. Why must I pay for the salary of unnecessary Czars, committees on committees, staff members to fold papers, staff members to answer the phone, staff members who work for the staff members. How many people does the first lady really need? I am just using her as one example. There are plenty others who have way too much help. If they would stay in their office doing what they were elected to do, they would not need so many. O, of course you say that is creating jobs. It is not creating jobs for the common folk. It is just doling out money for things the fat cats don’t want to do. It might take away from their golf time, or shopping with a government provided credit card for frivolous items. Sometimes these cards have even been used to buy an escort. As I say, morals do matter. They are costing us money because the level of honesty in our government leaders has diminished to what used to be found only in back alleys and brothels. God forbid!
Where has patriotism gone? How many have noticed the amount of people who never stand when the flag goes by? How many have noticed the younger generation can’t even recite the Pledge of Allegiance? Why is this? It is because it has been taken out of the schools as though it does not matter anymore. Listen, this is America. I don’t care who is offended by saying the Pledge. If you don’t honor the flag, leave the country. This is not where you belong. Go to the country that waves the flag you like. I will not miss you. I imagine there are others who will not miss you either. If you came to America it should have been because you like our way of life. If you had another reason then by all means find a third-world refuge and stay there. I take offence at people walking around with their faces covered, only their eyes showing. Americans don’t dress like that. If you like that dress, there are countries that can accommodate you. Mind you, I am not anti this or that. I am just pro American.
Those who came here struggled to make America a good place to be. They set to work forming the Constitution. Now we have leaders trying to change that. LEAVE IT ALONE! It is what makes America, America. Your job is not to change us, it is to uphold what the framers have already done.
There is one thing I am besides being an American. I am a Christian. I am one who believes in something I have never seen. Because I believe I will one day be in Heaven with God. If you don’t believe, that is your right. You are not made to believe. You also do not have a right to tell me I can not speak of what I believe. Contrary to what our sitting president says, we ARE a Christian nation. The ‘rule book’ was used in writing our laws. I don’t care if you are the ACLU, NAACP, a tree hugger, or animal activist, that is your right. If any of you start trying to take away MY rights, then I come out fighting. You can say what you want, you can hang onto your ways. You will NOT take away my freedom to speak.
I have read the end of the Book. I realize persecution is inevitable in the end times. The more you persecute me for my beliefs, the more sure I am that those times are fast approaching. I am ready. I know where I am going. I have no fear of this world. I do have a very healthy respect for the One who created it.
I will state my thoughts, I will tell others how I feel. I can do all of this without losing my grip on reality. Yes, I am upset with what is happening. Yes, I think things need to change back to the smaller government. All in all, so be it. God is in control. I know He sees everything that is going on. Will I lose sleep over all these things? Hardly. I have learned that praying is something Satan does not like. So when I lay me down to sleep, I start praying. Soon I wake up realizing it is morning. I can’t even remember where my praying ended and sleep came. It usually does not take very long. I just so enjoy upsetting Satan.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A Patriot describes Memorial Day
Memorial Day
Once a year the masses turn out to pay homage to those who have left this earth to go into eternity. This entails putting flowers on the graves of those that have gone beyond what we know on this earth, the unknown to us. Because we cannot know what is beyond we at times pretend what lies ahead. Some feel sure they know what lies ahead for them, others are mute on the subject. That is one of those inalienable rights given to us by the men who formed our Constitution. With that I will use my right to tell you what Memorial Day means to me.
I was about twelve-years-old when first faced with the death of one very close to me. What I remember of that time. There had been happiness and joy just a few months earlier as I, along with my mother, sister, younger brother and my brother's fiancé gathered into our kitchen to bake cookies, fudge and other treats to put into a box filled with popcorn. This was to be a Christmas gift for my oldest brother, Bill who had enlisted into the Army. He had completed basic training and paratrooper training when he was given orders to ship out to Korea. We were so hoping we could get the box to him before he left California. The box arrived before he shipped out. Inside we had inserted pictures of the gathering so he could feel closer to us. He was only nineteen years old. Then to me he was a man. Looking back I realize he was a mere child, going off to fight a war to defend my freedom.
My next image is of a cloudy day, one that I felt had taken all the sunshine from reaching into the heart of our family. That cold, lifeless piece of news call a telegram was sent to my dad informing him his son was Missing In Action. The joy of that Christmas box gave way to tears that would not stop falling. I was young, not familiar with wars and what the do to families. I was beginning to learn.
I watched my mother bake pies in our truck stop (The Star Truck Stop on Route 40 in Lafayette). She rolled out the crusts with tears streaming down her face. Her look was haggard and gaunt as though sleep had eluded her for months. The truckers came, ate the pies and were gone. Still mother cried. For what seems like years, I watched her grieve. Still, she knew her work had to continue. We had a business to run, and it went on. Because of my concern for mother, I learned her way of baking pies which I have kept alive still today. We had many food items but one of the favorites of people near and far were the dozen or so pies she baked fresh each day.
Then came the day my brother's body was returned from the war zone. The gaping wound of sorrow was reopened as the ritual of burial had to be attended. Because my parents were business owners (restaurants with home cooking) they were well-respected in our town. My dad was known as a very honest man who kept his word, did a good day's work for his pay and treated everyone equal. This trauma changed him. In order to make it through each day, he used alcohol. He never missed any time of work, never shirked any duties, but when it was time to sleep, it was brought on with the help of a bottle of liquor. He steeled against the need to grieve. He had no time to do so. I am sure when he went to his basement bedroom he too cried in anguish over the loss of his first-born son. This ordeal widened a gap of lonliness between him and mother. He was too strong to cry. After all, what good would that do? It would not bring his son home alive. He had faced too many losses. This one seemed at the time to be the greatest.
We all gathered at the Lukin's Funeral Home for services to honor my brother for his service and bravery. The smell of some flowers to this day bring back those memories. The room was filled with the fragrance of about three rooms filled in any open space to put a tribute to Bill. I don't remember much about going to the cemetery, but I do remember being there. This was the same place my dad used to dig graves to earn a living. As we went I recalled the time he had dug a grave and sent my other brother to the house to get us so we could see what an open grave looked like. In those days, the graves were dug by hand. When it was clear we were all on our way back, Bill jumped down into the open pit and lay prone. As we peered over the edge of the chasm Bill jumped up with a loud shout. This brought on gasps and shouts of our own as it was unexpected to have something inside that hole. My brother laughed, my dad laughed his normal way. I don't think I ever heard him really laugh out loud, just a chuckle and smile.
There was a tent with chairs sitting in front of the casket, which had never been opened. My brother was sent home in a body bag and due to the elapsed time viewing was not possible. How badly he was mutilated, we do not know. We only know his death was among most of his fellow soldiers that were sent up Porkchop Hill to dig in. They never got to dig in as some Second Lieutenant left behind to set off flares did not wait long enough for the men to get entrenched. I learned this from a soldier years later when my husband was stationed in Lawton, Oklahoma at Fort Sill. The soldier was there, but not with the outfit that was sent up the hill. I can only imagine the anguish in this man's soul from that day forward. I was told he was court marshaled and sent to Levenworth. I cannot state that for sure as I do not know the man's name, only what I was told by a soldier that was there.
I had on a new dress, as did my sister and mother. I don't recall what others had on. I was busy watching my mother. I can still hear the lone bugle playing that haunting tune in the distance. Mother's shoulders were jerking with every breathe as she silently wept into her handkerchief. It was as though if she could hide her face away, this scene would all go away. This scene was destined to run over and over in my mind for years. The sound of Taps brings tears each time I hear them.
About twenty years later with one grave between, my husband, Roger was laid to rest in Soldiers Circle. He served in the military and was therefore afforded the right to be counted a patriot. He was only days from being 35-years-old when killed in a work-related accident. In an instant life changed. Three men knocked on my door on a pleasant Tuesday. They were dressed in suits. Their words did not register. They were there to inform me my husband had been involved in a fatal accident. My response to them; "Oh, I am so sorry, was anyone hurt?" They looked at me puzzled. Suddenly the word fatal came to the forefront. I asked if they would give me a few minutes alone. They refused thinking I might do something stupid. Actually all I wanted was to get on my knees and pray for strength and wisdom. I did this while they waited. I knew as soon as that word registered I was going to have to rely on God to walk with me. On my own, I would not have had the strength.
The flight back to London seemed endless. My children and I were all seated in first class where we were free to have tears rolling down our faces without the intrusion of peering eyes wondering why we were sad. I had been down this road before My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. The choking sobs seemed to cause my throat to ache. So young, so full of life. Why had God allowed this to happen? And then I recall my prayer; "God, don't take him until he is a Christian". God had answered my prayer. I had to smile just a little because I knew someday we would meet again. It was not going to make life easier, but it would make facing it alone more bearable. Again, we gathered at the same funeral home, new owner. Chet Greer was the one who took care of all the needs. Again, I was at Soldier's Circle, with one grave and twenty some years between my brother and my husband' grave. This time I was the one who had to accept that folded flag. This time I saw my dad cry. The heart break he felt was just more than he could stand. Again that melody seemed to sear an indelible mark in my head. I could not stand that sound. I wanted to run and never stop. The words - day is done. Not only the day, but his life was done. My four children were now without their father. My oldest was seventeen, my youngest four. I think this was harder for her than all the others. She no longer could look forward to daddy coming home and taking her for ice cream. It was a habit they liked to do when he came back from one of the road trips.
Later, in the same funeral home, now owned by Bill Eberle, my father lay in state. At the age of 80, he was laid to rest in the same cemetery where we as kids used to play hide and seek amongst the tombstones at night. We were not afraid, we had no reason to be. It was where we lived and how my dad earned a living for a while before we bought our first restaurant. He did not ask for handouts, he found one job or another to earn a living. From a young lad of 11 who had to quit school to support his widowed mother, to soldier to farmer, to grave digger, to Supply Sargent, to entrepreneur owner operator of five different restaurants in the London area. He was a man to look up to, one I would trust with my life.
My mother cries no more. She is resting beside my dad. I will carry flowers to their graves to honor them. To me they are true patriots. My brother gave his life for his country. He knew the dangers. It did not matter. He was proud to be an American. My husband spent two tours in Viet Nam. He too knew the dangers. He was willing to fight for America's freedom. He fought for the American Flag. He would be appalled at our government today. He too, never asked for a handout. He found one job or another to care for his family.
Memorial Day to me is about freedom. It is about the American way of life. The way our founding father's set forth. It takes me back to the morning Frances Scott Key stood in the boat off shore and penned the words that became our National Anthem. I have a copy of that. When cleaning out my garage, I came across this very old, brittle parchment placed in a plastic wrapper. I did not know what it was, but thought whoever wrote this was important to my mother. When I opened it I found the hand-written words of The Star Spangled Banner. The document is at least 100 years old and a treasure to own. It is part of my heritage. My grandmother was Nancy (Nannie) Key, who was a direct descendent to the writer of that document. He was more than just a one-song wonder, but that is all people are taught about him. He was an attorney. He in fact was the District Attorney for the District of Columbia. How sad he would be to see what has happened to our leaders. They seem to have no patriotism for those things to which our country was founded. The men in office today are there because they like the status. Their first priority is for themselves. Well, folks. I tell you, there is a new day coming. There are elections to be held and heads are going to roll. If you don't think that is possible, hang loose. Remember, God is in control and His Word says; James 4:10 Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.
We cannot and should not allow those who want to destroy us to have free reign in America. It is time we stand up for what this country was built on. Changing the constitution to fit a liberal take all you can get way of life is not right. I was asked if I discriminate. My answer to that is yes. When it comes to someone from another country desecrating the American Flag I discriminate. When someone sneaks into our borders illegally, I discriminate. I am an American and proud of it. I refuse to give up my rights to be politically correct. I will call an illegal an illegal, not a generic non-resident. I will call a terrorist a terrorist, not a radical. I will call one who abuses our system a law breaker, no matter what abuse. Yes, I discriminate.
How about it, citizens. Are you ready to stand up and fight for what is our LEGAL rights? If we are struck down for doing so, be it known, it will be for the love of our country. It will be for the soldier who is buried in a grave in France, German and England. We have lost enough. Why do we sit back now and say nothing while our freedoms are being stepped on by our own government. Stand up America. Be a Patriot. Show your flag without shame.
Now you have my reason for celebrating Memorial Day. Long may our flag wave. Long may we honor those who know the true meaning of patriotism.
Once a year the masses turn out to pay homage to those who have left this earth to go into eternity. This entails putting flowers on the graves of those that have gone beyond what we know on this earth, the unknown to us. Because we cannot know what is beyond we at times pretend what lies ahead. Some feel sure they know what lies ahead for them, others are mute on the subject. That is one of those inalienable rights given to us by the men who formed our Constitution. With that I will use my right to tell you what Memorial Day means to me.
I was about twelve-years-old when first faced with the death of one very close to me. What I remember of that time. There had been happiness and joy just a few months earlier as I, along with my mother, sister, younger brother and my brother's fiancé gathered into our kitchen to bake cookies, fudge and other treats to put into a box filled with popcorn. This was to be a Christmas gift for my oldest brother, Bill who had enlisted into the Army. He had completed basic training and paratrooper training when he was given orders to ship out to Korea. We were so hoping we could get the box to him before he left California. The box arrived before he shipped out. Inside we had inserted pictures of the gathering so he could feel closer to us. He was only nineteen years old. Then to me he was a man. Looking back I realize he was a mere child, going off to fight a war to defend my freedom.
My next image is of a cloudy day, one that I felt had taken all the sunshine from reaching into the heart of our family. That cold, lifeless piece of news call a telegram was sent to my dad informing him his son was Missing In Action. The joy of that Christmas box gave way to tears that would not stop falling. I was young, not familiar with wars and what the do to families. I was beginning to learn.
I watched my mother bake pies in our truck stop (The Star Truck Stop on Route 40 in Lafayette). She rolled out the crusts with tears streaming down her face. Her look was haggard and gaunt as though sleep had eluded her for months. The truckers came, ate the pies and were gone. Still mother cried. For what seems like years, I watched her grieve. Still, she knew her work had to continue. We had a business to run, and it went on. Because of my concern for mother, I learned her way of baking pies which I have kept alive still today. We had many food items but one of the favorites of people near and far were the dozen or so pies she baked fresh each day.
Then came the day my brother's body was returned from the war zone. The gaping wound of sorrow was reopened as the ritual of burial had to be attended. Because my parents were business owners (restaurants with home cooking) they were well-respected in our town. My dad was known as a very honest man who kept his word, did a good day's work for his pay and treated everyone equal. This trauma changed him. In order to make it through each day, he used alcohol. He never missed any time of work, never shirked any duties, but when it was time to sleep, it was brought on with the help of a bottle of liquor. He steeled against the need to grieve. He had no time to do so. I am sure when he went to his basement bedroom he too cried in anguish over the loss of his first-born son. This ordeal widened a gap of lonliness between him and mother. He was too strong to cry. After all, what good would that do? It would not bring his son home alive. He had faced too many losses. This one seemed at the time to be the greatest.
We all gathered at the Lukin's Funeral Home for services to honor my brother for his service and bravery. The smell of some flowers to this day bring back those memories. The room was filled with the fragrance of about three rooms filled in any open space to put a tribute to Bill. I don't remember much about going to the cemetery, but I do remember being there. This was the same place my dad used to dig graves to earn a living. As we went I recalled the time he had dug a grave and sent my other brother to the house to get us so we could see what an open grave looked like. In those days, the graves were dug by hand. When it was clear we were all on our way back, Bill jumped down into the open pit and lay prone. As we peered over the edge of the chasm Bill jumped up with a loud shout. This brought on gasps and shouts of our own as it was unexpected to have something inside that hole. My brother laughed, my dad laughed his normal way. I don't think I ever heard him really laugh out loud, just a chuckle and smile.
There was a tent with chairs sitting in front of the casket, which had never been opened. My brother was sent home in a body bag and due to the elapsed time viewing was not possible. How badly he was mutilated, we do not know. We only know his death was among most of his fellow soldiers that were sent up Porkchop Hill to dig in. They never got to dig in as some Second Lieutenant left behind to set off flares did not wait long enough for the men to get entrenched. I learned this from a soldier years later when my husband was stationed in Lawton, Oklahoma at Fort Sill. The soldier was there, but not with the outfit that was sent up the hill. I can only imagine the anguish in this man's soul from that day forward. I was told he was court marshaled and sent to Levenworth. I cannot state that for sure as I do not know the man's name, only what I was told by a soldier that was there.
I had on a new dress, as did my sister and mother. I don't recall what others had on. I was busy watching my mother. I can still hear the lone bugle playing that haunting tune in the distance. Mother's shoulders were jerking with every breathe as she silently wept into her handkerchief. It was as though if she could hide her face away, this scene would all go away. This scene was destined to run over and over in my mind for years. The sound of Taps brings tears each time I hear them.
About twenty years later with one grave between, my husband, Roger was laid to rest in Soldiers Circle. He served in the military and was therefore afforded the right to be counted a patriot. He was only days from being 35-years-old when killed in a work-related accident. In an instant life changed. Three men knocked on my door on a pleasant Tuesday. They were dressed in suits. Their words did not register. They were there to inform me my husband had been involved in a fatal accident. My response to them; "Oh, I am so sorry, was anyone hurt?" They looked at me puzzled. Suddenly the word fatal came to the forefront. I asked if they would give me a few minutes alone. They refused thinking I might do something stupid. Actually all I wanted was to get on my knees and pray for strength and wisdom. I did this while they waited. I knew as soon as that word registered I was going to have to rely on God to walk with me. On my own, I would not have had the strength.
The flight back to London seemed endless. My children and I were all seated in first class where we were free to have tears rolling down our faces without the intrusion of peering eyes wondering why we were sad. I had been down this road before My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. The choking sobs seemed to cause my throat to ache. So young, so full of life. Why had God allowed this to happen? And then I recall my prayer; "God, don't take him until he is a Christian". God had answered my prayer. I had to smile just a little because I knew someday we would meet again. It was not going to make life easier, but it would make facing it alone more bearable. Again, we gathered at the same funeral home, new owner. Chet Greer was the one who took care of all the needs. Again, I was at Soldier's Circle, with one grave and twenty some years between my brother and my husband' grave. This time I was the one who had to accept that folded flag. This time I saw my dad cry. The heart break he felt was just more than he could stand. Again that melody seemed to sear an indelible mark in my head. I could not stand that sound. I wanted to run and never stop. The words - day is done. Not only the day, but his life was done. My four children were now without their father. My oldest was seventeen, my youngest four. I think this was harder for her than all the others. She no longer could look forward to daddy coming home and taking her for ice cream. It was a habit they liked to do when he came back from one of the road trips.
Later, in the same funeral home, now owned by Bill Eberle, my father lay in state. At the age of 80, he was laid to rest in the same cemetery where we as kids used to play hide and seek amongst the tombstones at night. We were not afraid, we had no reason to be. It was where we lived and how my dad earned a living for a while before we bought our first restaurant. He did not ask for handouts, he found one job or another to earn a living. From a young lad of 11 who had to quit school to support his widowed mother, to soldier to farmer, to grave digger, to Supply Sargent, to entrepreneur owner operator of five different restaurants in the London area. He was a man to look up to, one I would trust with my life.
My mother cries no more. She is resting beside my dad. I will carry flowers to their graves to honor them. To me they are true patriots. My brother gave his life for his country. He knew the dangers. It did not matter. He was proud to be an American. My husband spent two tours in Viet Nam. He too knew the dangers. He was willing to fight for America's freedom. He fought for the American Flag. He would be appalled at our government today. He too, never asked for a handout. He found one job or another to care for his family.
Memorial Day to me is about freedom. It is about the American way of life. The way our founding father's set forth. It takes me back to the morning Frances Scott Key stood in the boat off shore and penned the words that became our National Anthem. I have a copy of that. When cleaning out my garage, I came across this very old, brittle parchment placed in a plastic wrapper. I did not know what it was, but thought whoever wrote this was important to my mother. When I opened it I found the hand-written words of The Star Spangled Banner. The document is at least 100 years old and a treasure to own. It is part of my heritage. My grandmother was Nancy (Nannie) Key, who was a direct descendent to the writer of that document. He was more than just a one-song wonder, but that is all people are taught about him. He was an attorney. He in fact was the District Attorney for the District of Columbia. How sad he would be to see what has happened to our leaders. They seem to have no patriotism for those things to which our country was founded. The men in office today are there because they like the status. Their first priority is for themselves. Well, folks. I tell you, there is a new day coming. There are elections to be held and heads are going to roll. If you don't think that is possible, hang loose. Remember, God is in control and His Word says; James 4:10 Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.
We cannot and should not allow those who want to destroy us to have free reign in America. It is time we stand up for what this country was built on. Changing the constitution to fit a liberal take all you can get way of life is not right. I was asked if I discriminate. My answer to that is yes. When it comes to someone from another country desecrating the American Flag I discriminate. When someone sneaks into our borders illegally, I discriminate. I am an American and proud of it. I refuse to give up my rights to be politically correct. I will call an illegal an illegal, not a generic non-resident. I will call a terrorist a terrorist, not a radical. I will call one who abuses our system a law breaker, no matter what abuse. Yes, I discriminate.
How about it, citizens. Are you ready to stand up and fight for what is our LEGAL rights? If we are struck down for doing so, be it known, it will be for the love of our country. It will be for the soldier who is buried in a grave in France, German and England. We have lost enough. Why do we sit back now and say nothing while our freedoms are being stepped on by our own government. Stand up America. Be a Patriot. Show your flag without shame.
Now you have my reason for celebrating Memorial Day. Long may our flag wave. Long may we honor those who know the true meaning of patriotism.
Friday, April 23, 2010
How To Make a Designer Dress
How to make a designer prom dress
First it is very important to have all materials that will be needed gathered together. Don't forget anything as frustration is about to set in.
Materials needed: material, pattern, client's measurements, wine, zipper, thread, more wine, bling and a clear calendar.
Check the pattern to see how much material will be needed. This will directly affect how much wine will be needed. Burgundy satin calls for a burgundy wine. This will assure if any wine spills it will not be noticed. White wine can be used when putting the lining together.
Talk with the client, this one happens to be a granddaughter. See just what look she wants. Designer means a one-of-a-kind, no one else will have it dress. Let her and her mom pick out all the bling and other needs - all but the wine. This you can do yourself. Sending a minor to the liquor store is not a good thing.
Pour a small glass of wine to sip as you read the directions to this never-before-made pattern. Reading the directions with the first glass of wine is very important as later in the process seeing straight might become a problem.
Sew all the pieces together, call the child and have her try it on. Of course it will need minor adjustments as it is not going to look like it does on the front of the pattern envelope. Assure the granddaughter everything will be adjusted to fit only her. Pour a larger glass of wine. Pin where tucks need to be made being careful not to stick the pins into flesh.
Go back to the sewing machine with the dress and the bottle of wine. You can fill the glass as it empties out. Note: If the wine is running low, you may use the white wine now.
Start attaching the bling. Call the granddaughter and ask her just how this is going to work. When she gets that deer-in-the-headlight look, hide the wine. She is too young to drink. Be sure you remember where you hide it. Put it next to the cooking wine, as at this point you will realize that bottle is next in line.
Keep sewing being careful not to fitch your stinger. That's gonna hurt! But, you can ease the pain with another wass of gline.
Take a break. Sit down and watch Fox News. For this you will need another large beaker of wine. Times are getting bad. Since the wine is all gone, close down shop till morning. It is a good thing grocery stores carry wine, you will need an early start.
Before doing more on the dress, have the client try it on. When she mentions it is not EXACTLY like the picture, tell her everything is going to be fine, she will be a trend settter! If she mentions it does not even look like a dress, you give her that whipped hound dog look and start to cry. Tell her you have worked your fingers to the bone, even stuck one with a needle and she is just a spoiled brat with no feelings for an old grandma. Head for the place you hid the last bit of wine and finish it off.
By now it is bedtime. Come morning things will surely look better. Well there might be a slight headache, but once you get another supply of wine all will be better. Prom is only a week away, soon it will all be over. As she dances the night away with her date, enjoy some wine and cheese. You are now an accomplished seamstress having made a one-of-a-kind designer dress. If anyone questions whether it actually is a dress, remind them you are an artist and therefore sensitive. Let them know one day your designs will be among those on the runway with other creations no one in their right mind would wear.
Now you know how to design a prom dress. Cheers!!
First it is very important to have all materials that will be needed gathered together. Don't forget anything as frustration is about to set in.
Materials needed: material, pattern, client's measurements, wine, zipper, thread, more wine, bling and a clear calendar.
Check the pattern to see how much material will be needed. This will directly affect how much wine will be needed. Burgundy satin calls for a burgundy wine. This will assure if any wine spills it will not be noticed. White wine can be used when putting the lining together.
Talk with the client, this one happens to be a granddaughter. See just what look she wants. Designer means a one-of-a-kind, no one else will have it dress. Let her and her mom pick out all the bling and other needs - all but the wine. This you can do yourself. Sending a minor to the liquor store is not a good thing.
Pour a small glass of wine to sip as you read the directions to this never-before-made pattern. Reading the directions with the first glass of wine is very important as later in the process seeing straight might become a problem.
Sew all the pieces together, call the child and have her try it on. Of course it will need minor adjustments as it is not going to look like it does on the front of the pattern envelope. Assure the granddaughter everything will be adjusted to fit only her. Pour a larger glass of wine. Pin where tucks need to be made being careful not to stick the pins into flesh.
Go back to the sewing machine with the dress and the bottle of wine. You can fill the glass as it empties out. Note: If the wine is running low, you may use the white wine now.
Start attaching the bling. Call the granddaughter and ask her just how this is going to work. When she gets that deer-in-the-headlight look, hide the wine. She is too young to drink. Be sure you remember where you hide it. Put it next to the cooking wine, as at this point you will realize that bottle is next in line.
Keep sewing being careful not to fitch your stinger. That's gonna hurt! But, you can ease the pain with another wass of gline.
Take a break. Sit down and watch Fox News. For this you will need another large beaker of wine. Times are getting bad. Since the wine is all gone, close down shop till morning. It is a good thing grocery stores carry wine, you will need an early start.
Before doing more on the dress, have the client try it on. When she mentions it is not EXACTLY like the picture, tell her everything is going to be fine, she will be a trend settter! If she mentions it does not even look like a dress, you give her that whipped hound dog look and start to cry. Tell her you have worked your fingers to the bone, even stuck one with a needle and she is just a spoiled brat with no feelings for an old grandma. Head for the place you hid the last bit of wine and finish it off.
By now it is bedtime. Come morning things will surely look better. Well there might be a slight headache, but once you get another supply of wine all will be better. Prom is only a week away, soon it will all be over. As she dances the night away with her date, enjoy some wine and cheese. You are now an accomplished seamstress having made a one-of-a-kind designer dress. If anyone questions whether it actually is a dress, remind them you are an artist and therefore sensitive. Let them know one day your designs will be among those on the runway with other creations no one in their right mind would wear.
Now you know how to design a prom dress. Cheers!!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wake up America!
If only Americans would wake up and stop looking through rose-colored glassed, get off their duffs and work for a living, our country would have a much needed turn around. But, thanks to the leaders of the past we just keep moving head on into socialism. This trend did not just start. It has been ever so slowly moving toward this since WWI.
People look at me with utter surprise when I say I think Social Security is wrong. They look at me strangely when I say the Welfare system is another attempt at making people dependent of government. But, how would people make it without these things you ask. I say, the same way they made it BEFORE these things.
When the brave people arrived on shore at Plymouth Rock, I do not think any of them were handed a welfare check to help them get started. I don't think any of them were given food stamps to help them with the high cost of food. So, what do you think the people did back then? Do you think they sat around moaning and groaning? Well, maybe they did a lot of moaning and groaning, but it was from aching backs and pulled muscles they received while doing an honest day's labor. Do you think they had houses given to them so they would not be deprived of luxury living? I know of one who lived in the hollow of a sycamore tree for two years and started a family while living there. Yes, I have a picture of the man, his wife and a friend all dressed in their finery standing in front of their 'first home'. The man became a millionaire by WORKING! No one gave him anything. What he gained came by hard work.
I just can't understand why people want to lose their freedom. That is exactly what they do when the let the government take control. I will put it in a way you might understand and see if that opens a few eyes.
Have you ever lived in rented housing? Have you ever worked for someone else? Well you say, of course hasn't everyone! Yes, most likely we all have. When you lived in rented housing were you expected to pay the rent on time, live by the 'rules' of the owner of the house being content with what he chose to do to the house where you lived? It was his property. He had the right to tell you what he would allow you to have for the money you gave him each month.
I have worked for several different employers. My very first paying job - age 11- was cleaning for a neighbor lady. I made $3.00 a week, and that was put in with money the other family members made at their jobs. It was all pooled together so we could purchase our own restaurant. I have been a waitress, I have been a store clerk, I worked in a factory, and while working at the University of Oklahoma my title was staff assistant to the Chief of Orthopedics, Veterans Administration. After moving to Ohio I began working at home as a medical transcriptionist, using skills learned while working for someone else. At each and every one of these places I was told what to do and how to do it. I was told when to show up, what to do when I arrived, when to eat lunch, when to go home. It never changed, the rules varied but the expectations of the employer did not. It was his way or the highway.
I realized there was a better way to earn a living. I bought my first business, a janitorial business. Now I was the one telling thirteen workers when to show up, what they had to do, when to eat lunch and when to go home. Even so, I still had work that I had to do. I made sure the workers had their paychecks on time and that my clientele were happy with the service they were given. The need for me to work did not stop.
I have now changed to a business which is more suited for me. I still own a business, but I have no employees except myself. I work the hours I choose, still having to please the clientele. I have always had a bent toward the Suzie Homemaker attitude. I like staying at home and working at my own pace. That pace is a bit slower now that my age is a bit higher! The point is, I still have to work. I am not sitting around expecting the government to take over. Truth be told, I cringe just thinking that could happen. I sure do not want the government telling me when I can see a doctor, what surgeries are unnecessary because I am too old and useless to be spending their money. O! Wait! THEIR money??? I forgot. They have no money. They take a lot of what we earn and call it their money. Then they tell us how they are going to spend 'their' money.
America, wake up! The alarm clock has gone off several times. We cannot afford to stay in bed with our heads covered. Our lives are being sucked away by the people we blindly elected as our leaders. Wake up and look around. I shudder when I hear 'it doesn't matter, I have no voice anyhow'. Well, you never will have if that attitude remains. When it does, I wonder who will be protesting the loudest? Yes, it will be those who do not take the time now to learn about the people we elect. It will be those who say our leaders' private morals do not matter. It will be those who are willing to sit back and rake in benefits they should not be getting. We as a nation are on a down-hill slide toward the total destruction of our freedom. This freedom was paid for in blood of our ancestors as well as those who now serve our nation in the military.
I have read the whole 'book' I understand America is not mentioned as a force of power in the end times. It just hurts my heart to know how easily we are being lead to the destruction of our freedom. And for what? America, wake up. God bless America.
People look at me with utter surprise when I say I think Social Security is wrong. They look at me strangely when I say the Welfare system is another attempt at making people dependent of government. But, how would people make it without these things you ask. I say, the same way they made it BEFORE these things.
When the brave people arrived on shore at Plymouth Rock, I do not think any of them were handed a welfare check to help them get started. I don't think any of them were given food stamps to help them with the high cost of food. So, what do you think the people did back then? Do you think they sat around moaning and groaning? Well, maybe they did a lot of moaning and groaning, but it was from aching backs and pulled muscles they received while doing an honest day's labor. Do you think they had houses given to them so they would not be deprived of luxury living? I know of one who lived in the hollow of a sycamore tree for two years and started a family while living there. Yes, I have a picture of the man, his wife and a friend all dressed in their finery standing in front of their 'first home'. The man became a millionaire by WORKING! No one gave him anything. What he gained came by hard work.
I just can't understand why people want to lose their freedom. That is exactly what they do when the let the government take control. I will put it in a way you might understand and see if that opens a few eyes.
Have you ever lived in rented housing? Have you ever worked for someone else? Well you say, of course hasn't everyone! Yes, most likely we all have. When you lived in rented housing were you expected to pay the rent on time, live by the 'rules' of the owner of the house being content with what he chose to do to the house where you lived? It was his property. He had the right to tell you what he would allow you to have for the money you gave him each month.
I have worked for several different employers. My very first paying job - age 11- was cleaning for a neighbor lady. I made $3.00 a week, and that was put in with money the other family members made at their jobs. It was all pooled together so we could purchase our own restaurant. I have been a waitress, I have been a store clerk, I worked in a factory, and while working at the University of Oklahoma my title was staff assistant to the Chief of Orthopedics, Veterans Administration. After moving to Ohio I began working at home as a medical transcriptionist, using skills learned while working for someone else. At each and every one of these places I was told what to do and how to do it. I was told when to show up, what to do when I arrived, when to eat lunch, when to go home. It never changed, the rules varied but the expectations of the employer did not. It was his way or the highway.
I realized there was a better way to earn a living. I bought my first business, a janitorial business. Now I was the one telling thirteen workers when to show up, what they had to do, when to eat lunch and when to go home. Even so, I still had work that I had to do. I made sure the workers had their paychecks on time and that my clientele were happy with the service they were given. The need for me to work did not stop.
I have now changed to a business which is more suited for me. I still own a business, but I have no employees except myself. I work the hours I choose, still having to please the clientele. I have always had a bent toward the Suzie Homemaker attitude. I like staying at home and working at my own pace. That pace is a bit slower now that my age is a bit higher! The point is, I still have to work. I am not sitting around expecting the government to take over. Truth be told, I cringe just thinking that could happen. I sure do not want the government telling me when I can see a doctor, what surgeries are unnecessary because I am too old and useless to be spending their money. O! Wait! THEIR money??? I forgot. They have no money. They take a lot of what we earn and call it their money. Then they tell us how they are going to spend 'their' money.
America, wake up! The alarm clock has gone off several times. We cannot afford to stay in bed with our heads covered. Our lives are being sucked away by the people we blindly elected as our leaders. Wake up and look around. I shudder when I hear 'it doesn't matter, I have no voice anyhow'. Well, you never will have if that attitude remains. When it does, I wonder who will be protesting the loudest? Yes, it will be those who do not take the time now to learn about the people we elect. It will be those who say our leaders' private morals do not matter. It will be those who are willing to sit back and rake in benefits they should not be getting. We as a nation are on a down-hill slide toward the total destruction of our freedom. This freedom was paid for in blood of our ancestors as well as those who now serve our nation in the military.
I have read the whole 'book' I understand America is not mentioned as a force of power in the end times. It just hurts my heart to know how easily we are being lead to the destruction of our freedom. And for what? America, wake up. God bless America.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Flu Shots
Several times this past week as I passed the Health Department I noticed a sign regarding the H1N1 flu shots were being given today. Not knowing any details I thought I should investigate further. I discovered the shots are given from 4-6 in the evening only and one has to 'qualify' to get one. You are right. I don't qualify! It seems I am 'over the age limit' for those who can get the shot at this time. A person has to have a chronic illness also to be eligible. Well, that I have, but the age factor overrides the chronic illness. I was also told the regular flu shot is no longer being manufactured. What's with that?
All this seems a bit odd to me. First, the 'government' should have NO say whatsoever in whether or not I want to be protected, but they do. That wonderful health care plan that Obama and Pelosi have to offer is not yet in effect, and they are already choosing who can get the shot. I feel if they ever get that through the only people that will 'qualify' for benefits will either be illegals or terrorists. That seems to be the ones Obama caters to now, so why would he not make sure they are the healthy ones. Then there is this. Did you know that those who are incarcerated got their flu shots even before the health care workers! It is important to keep those who break the law alive so we can support them in fine style behind bars. What is wrong with that picture?
All this seems a bit odd to me. First, the 'government' should have NO say whatsoever in whether or not I want to be protected, but they do. That wonderful health care plan that Obama and Pelosi have to offer is not yet in effect, and they are already choosing who can get the shot. I feel if they ever get that through the only people that will 'qualify' for benefits will either be illegals or terrorists. That seems to be the ones Obama caters to now, so why would he not make sure they are the healthy ones. Then there is this. Did you know that those who are incarcerated got their flu shots even before the health care workers! It is important to keep those who break the law alive so we can support them in fine style behind bars. What is wrong with that picture?
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