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Writings about death, relationships, feelings, and time |
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Expressing my feelings about death, the death of family members and friends, life and life's impacts. I hope to write poems about coping with death, life, family and friends, and getting the best out of life. Every emotion and every thought comes from living. I hope to live through my writings. Hoping to reach out and meet others where they are in hopes that any one of the poems will bring solace on some level. |
| Never say what you will not do. If you are alive, life will bring you to a few things; things that will change you, your outlook, and your life forever. As a young person, I experienced racism in forms that were so horrid; they have affected me even in my adult life. One of them had to do with mandatory vaccinations. In the 50's and sixties, polio, mumps, measles, and chickenpox were real threats to children, and their health. The government did what governments do, that is look for cures or ways to prevent the disease in the first place. Many of the preventions rehired injections. As you can imagine, there were not a lot of Black doctors and nurses running around in the South. So, most Blacks were treated by White doctor and nurses, and most often at the clinics. One day, my entire school was bussed to the clinic to be vaccinated, and treated for these childhood diseases. My last name starts with the letter "W," and I was most always last for everything. Such was the case on that fateful day when it came my time for my shots and vaccination. Instead of taking her time, the nurse just jabbed the needle into my arm. The needle snapped off, and left the point still in my arm. For hours the needle stayed there until the doctor could come in and remove the needle. No sedative. No pain medicine. Nothing. Crying and whispering for hours, the needle was finally removed, and I was sent home with the rest of the day off, and the message, "At least she won’t get one of those dreaded diseases." I was eight *(years old. I've been deathly afraid of needles ever since, and even though I know how to take care of myself now, a white woman with a needle aimed at me brings tears to my eyes. In fact, anyone with a needle in their hand for me brings tears to my eyes. I still see the woman who did that to me, and I still feel the pain in my arm. Hatred of needles of any kind remains alive and real in my mind. I know the pain. Yes, I have had many needles since then. Needles in my gums. Needles in my back. Needles in my hands. Needles, needles, needles, and yes every one of them brought tears to my eyes. Everyone of them reminded me of that dreadful day. So, now, fast-forward to this time in my life where needles play a very vital role in my life and the saving of my sight. Having acquired a disease that I had nothing to do with, age-related macular degeneration (AMD), I must have an injection in both of my eyes once a month to try to prevent blindness, and retain some of my sight. Every day my sight seems to change. Some days, I can see really well. Other days, I see things moving around, darting here and there. Turning my head quickly to see what's there has become a regular routine, at least until I figured out that what was moving was the fluid and blood in my eyes. Then my sight simply started having dark black spots right in the center of the eye. The only way to explain it is to say that if there was a three letter word, I could see the first and last letters. The middle letter just did not exist. For a while, everything was pink, and then I could see a purple shape in the left eye. I could not read anything that was less than 14 points. Reading the menu in the restaurant became impossible. Reading the small print in the Bible just could not be done. I was not blind. I could see it. I could not read it because I could not make out the letters. My life was upside down! My eye doctor assured me that we were going to retain my sight as long as we could, and that had this disease been discovered in my eyes six months earlier than when it was, I would probably be blind already (he did not know God's will for me). This disease in my eyes was discovered purely by accident. My granddaughter came home from New York to renew her driving license. Mine was due for renewal in three (3) months, so I thought I would just get it done and out of the way. To my utter surprise, I could not pass the vision test. Tried it five (5) times. Failed all of them. Almost in tears, I left the MVA and went straight to my eye doctor. He saw me even though I did not have an appointment. After a battery of tests, he called a retina specialist and simply stated that he had a patient that needed to be seen immediately, and that he was sending me right over. It was 5:00pm. The retina specialist said he could not see me until the following morning, but that I would be one of his first patients. After the phone call, my doctor, who had become bright red in the face and neck during his view inside my eyes said, with tears in his eyes, I don't want to alarm you, but we have a serious problem here, however, we are going to fight this together!" Now, I am really scared. I was already scared because I could not read the charts that I have always been able to read from the bottom up. The right eye was better than the left eye, but they both were missing the letters. I could only see the big "E" with the left eye. He hugged me tightly with tears in his eyes, and said, "Don't worry, this doctor knows his stuff, and we are going to work together on this problem." Of course, I made it to the other doctor's office the next morning, and he confirmed that something awful was going on in both of my eyes, the left eye more than the right, but both were in trouble. That was October 2012. Since then, I have had needles in both of my eyes, on a regular basis. January 2014, I went more than a month without the shots. I attended my brother's funeral in Florida, and canceled my appointment. Then I had a crisis in North Carolina, and canceled my appointment. After those injections, I noticed that my sight had deteriorated a lot! I had not paid a lot of attention to the improvement of my sight with the injections, even though things were not moving as much, nothing was pink any more, and the dark spot was smaller, I still could not really see like I wanted to or had seen before, so it was no big deal until I could not see as I had before I missed the injections. When I returned home, I called my eye doctor and begged for an appointment (the injections are only done on Mondays). He got me in, and asked what was the problem, as if he did not already know. I stated matter of fact, I need an injection in my eye now! He smiled, and of course had to check my eyes to see what was going on. The bleeding was back and more intensely than before. I had regressed. I was devastated, but I knew something bad was going on, and that it was because I had missed those shots. Since that fateful realization, I have not missed a shot. I go faithfully, and cry myself through the process, but I go. On my last check up, a week ago, we discovered that I was seeing better than I had seen in months. I could read almost the fourth line with my left eye. No, I can't see the entire line, but I can see a lot more of the letters, and can actually tell when there is something there that I am not seeing. Do I still hate shots, per se, yes, I do, but I have come to think of them differently. I actually recognize what happened to me many years ago, should not have happened, and someone should have recommended counseling and/or I should have taken myself to counseling for just that issue so that I could move on from that place. I did not, but now, I am having to move on to save my sight, and I am glad for that even as I wish that the incident that created my fear had never happen. Side note. I told one of my girlfriends of my eye issue, and the shots that I was getting in each eye, and she said "I would rather go blind than let someone stick a needle in my eye." Several months later, that same girlfriend called me to say that she had been declared legally blind in one eye, and that they were recommending that she get shots in her eyes to possibly save her sight. Yep, she is getting shots in her eyes, AND she has to have major surgery on one eye. Today, I went to see my doctor, and got that needle in my eye! Never is a very long time, and maybe, just maybe, we should never say never!  |
| When no one else will tolerate you, and the things that you do or have done. There is someone who loves you, with her heart, mind, body and soul. Just because you didn't do what you were asked, and trouble found you and latched on. Someone out there will be there for you, No mater what the cost or what the price. Many of us are still blessed to have that kind of love, Still with us on this very special day. For most of us it is our very own birth mother, But there are others who are also celebrated today. So, if you are loved so very much by someone that's special, Today is a very good day to let her know you feel that way. For when she is gone, and there are no word to say, You will only feel her spirit, on future Mother's Day! Happy Mother's Day to all of the Mothers alive today, We have the chance to truly celebrate with you. For those who have gone on home to get their heavenly reward, We thank you for the love, the memories, the happiness and the joy. |
| Thoughts drifted in and out today as I tried to go back to sleep. However, the questions that continued to plague me as I lay there thinking about how sleepy, I am was were "Why do some people turn out the way they do? Why did I turn out the way that I did?” Looking back over the first ten, even fifteen years of my life, I believe that I experienced lots of things that today the world would probably find a reason to lock me up, lock up my cousins, lock up my friends, and even lock up my Mother. For example, when I was much younger, kids got into fights. We did not fight nice or pretty. We were taught that everything around you was and could be used as a weapon. We were told, "You better not come home talking about someone beat you up.” If you did, you got another beating, and sent back out to get whoever got you. Nowadays, children are allowed to fight to the death. The motto is “I will get you before you get me, and that usually means I will kill you so you can’t come back to get me. As awful as it seems, when in a fight, and you are on the ground, you were taught to get some dirt in your hand and toss it in the person's eyes to get them off of you. If that did not work, take the beating, go get your cousins, and get even. Blood doesn't let blood get beat down, and nothing done about it. We were taught, that you don't start a fight, but if a fight got started and you were the target, then you better finish it. No one fought to the death. There was always a point when the person surrendered and the fight was over. Many times, the fighter were friends or became friends after the fight. If you lived in the country/rural area or even in the so-called city, there were plenty of trees, bushes around, and any one of them could produce a switch. A switch could beat you, your friend, and anyone else deemed out of line. Switches sting and leave some serious marks or welts where ever they landed. In fact, if you did not get any welts on you, when you during the beat down, you were more than likely to get another whipping when you got home. Growing up as a child was brutal. The culture of the day said spare the rod and spoil the child. Days were set aside to beat you for the old and the new. That day was usually Saturday. Parents did not beat clothes. In our modern society, those parents would be LOCKED UP for child abuse. Food was not to be wasted. If they put it on your plate whether you asked for it or not, you were to eat it. All of it! “Those starving children in Africa would be glad for the food, and here you are trying to waste it. Waste not, want not. Those were the words used in almost every scenario. Today, you are not supposed to force a child to eat things s/he does not like. Of course, food fights are okay, at home and at school. We laugh at them. If you were at school and you did anything that was not acceptable by the teachers and/or the principal, you were disciplined at school. No, they did not send you home. First graders were not expelled. Detention was appropriate, but no matter what, you went to the principal’s or vice principal’s office and discipline was administered on the spot. Many of us recall the ruler and the hand, and sitting in the principal’s office waiting for your name to be called. Of course, the discipline did not end there. A note was sent home to your parents, and there was another beat down coming because you had dishonored the family. Try that now! The parents would storm the schools. The principal and teacher(s) would almost be lynched, and they certainly would be banned from teaching in addition to being charged with a criminal case. The above are just a few examples of how parenting differed in the 50s, 60s and 70s from today. Fast forward. Those folks in charge of laws saw all of the above as child abuse abuse, and definitely unnecessary. They created and passed laws that said, parents could no longer do those types of things. No, the law did not say that you could not discipline children, but it did not help parents understand the difference between discipline and abuse. So, parents walked away from raising their children, saying they no longer had the right to discipline their children, and children started doing things that were never done by children before, without any serious consequences. None. Even when the laws took this position, they, the lawmakers retained the right to executions, lethal injection, lifetime incarceration, and on and on. Someone believed that these alternatives were better for children and adults than strong discipline at home while the children were learning acceptable behavior in our society. Today, parents rarely discipline children for anything. Children are feared at schools and in classrooms. Teachers pass them on from grade to grade just to get them out of their classes. We are told by the news media of the horrific crimes that children are doing. They show us the child’s room, and it is obvious that the child’s room is off limits to the parents by its very content, and the parents are always surprised that little Johnny or Suzie would do such a thing. Neighbors always come on television to say what a good kid s/he was, and that they never noticed anything. No one ever mentions that the child’s time was spent playing some of the most violent video games for hours and days. Few talk about the child bullying kids in the park. Few ever mention the confrontation with the parents about the things that they’ve seemed little Johnny or Suzie do when the parents were not looking. Even though there is research out there, we allow our children to watch hours and hours of unmonitored television. Most of the programs, including children's programs, teach disrespect, and bad behavior. We think the children don’t try out what they learn at home, at school, and in other public places? THEY DO! When the research is done, and the façade begins to break down, we see a very different picture of little Johnny and Suzie. They lived in a disturbed household. No father lived there. Mom worked two or three jobs, and was never home. Little Johnny and/or Suzie were raising themselves. Teachers were always sending notes home, but got no response. Parents did not attend PTA, PSO or any other kind of school activity. Parent teacher conferences never made the calendars. Neighbors better not try to discipline little Johnny or Suzie. In fact, do not bring that nonsense to my house about my child throwing eggs at your car or marking up your sidewalk with bad words. For real, for real, you should mind your own business. No, the village is not expected to help raise the children unless they are contributing financially or supporting the grieving mother or father when the child is being hauled off to jail. Then they want letters of support or for you to come to court and stand up for their child’s character. Yes, we create these monsters. We have given up our rights to discipline children, to teach them the golden rules of life such as “Love thy self as thy neighbor.” Spare the rod and spoil the child.” God first. Others second, and self, last. Let’s not forget manners and respect. No longer are these important elements of life. Manners are gone by the way side. Please, thank you, and may I are not in the vocabulary. Emily Post, Miss Manners, and Dear Abby, were never heard of and certainly not taught. Sure changes were needed on some aspects of our older culture, but did we need to toss the baby out with the bath water? I don’t think so, however, we are a nation of extremes. First, discussions about sex were taboo. Now, anything goes. Children were expected to go to school, but also to help out on the farm or in the store or other places as determined by parents. Today, children are not expected to have any responsibility. The list goes on and on. You know exactly what I am speaking of in this paper. So, why are we surprised when eleven year olds want to have babies and are sexually active? Why do we cringe in terror when too many teenagers get together? Recently, I learned that there are parents who are afraid of their own children. Why? It seems that our children are drinking, drugging, and doing all kinds of things that makes them easy prey for jails and prisons. We have raised children without limits. Fight to the death. Kill. Kill. Kill. No respect for life. No respect for laws. No respect for their elders. Self-worth and values do not exist. Respect for others only kicks in when it is advantageous. Morals are a thing of the past. Integrity is on permanent vacation. Manners? What’s that? Yes, the baby boomers can take credit for a lot of things, and we do, but we do not take credit for our failure to teach our children the necessary life skills and values that they needed to do all the great things that they are doing, but should be done in decency and order. Instead, the baby boomers have created monsters. People who are shallow, disrespectful, liars, superficial, unskilled, and basically get-wits who will get with anything so long as it makes them feel good. They are not taught to work hard, save their earnings, and pay for their needs before buying what they want. Instead, they buy what they want, and beg for their needs. Many are drains on society with no redeeming hope. Without major changes, our society is doomed, and the values that we treasured in our free society will become things of the past, and only memories. I thank God daily for the values my Mother instilled in me. As brutal as the beatings sound, they were NOTHING compared to the character they built! Thank you Mom. |
| I guess, the saddest thing I have learned in my long life is that I cannot predict my future! What a surprise! How disappointing. I can conduct trend analysis; make predictions, share my general thoughts, but I cannot predict my future. What a nasty blow, and I so thought that would be helpful in my planning. Who would have dreamed that my health would be so delicate at this time in my life? Who would have thought that my finances would be what they are today? Woke up this morning in my right mind. I hoped, prayed, and even expected to wake up, but I did not know that I would. Such uncertainty. At twenty-one, I never gave such matters much thought. Now, I think about them often. However, beyond my sadness is the joy of not knowing. I am not sure that being able to predict my future would make me a better person or a happier one. At this stage in my life, a little uncertainty makes life a little more interesting. It actually challenges my mind to try to get in all the living I can now, today, this very minute because I do not know what the future holds, and I want to be sure that I am ready to meet my maker when my time comes. It pushes me to be a little more loving, a lot more forgiving, and a little less judgmental of everyone else. My daughter told me that her husband spends six months minding his business, and the other six months staying out of other people's business. Not a bad idea, if the time is spent making you a better person! God's divine purpose got me here, and I am sure it will sustain me as long as I remain here. So, I guess I will just have to perk up, and get with it because so far, I have today! That's just enough time to make a dream come true, create a legacy, stop by and see a friend, or just sit here and write. My future is in my hands today! |
| When I first joined WDC, I had no clue what the numbers behind my name meant. Well, truth be told, I did not know what anything on WDC meant, AND I really did not care. I had found a place to write, post, organize, and save my writings. Back then, I did not concern myself with any of the pluses on the site. Just too happy and too thrilled to finally expose my writings to the eyes of others. As per usual, I got that one (1) behind my name. Then Siscok gave me a badge. Then I told a few friends and relative about WDC. A few signed on. Some stayed. I got some more numbers behind my name. This kept happening to me. The WDC Angel Army gave me a plaque, and then another one. Writing. Com Support Staff, and the Storymistress, and the list kept growing. On my anniversary more recognitions were hurdled my way, but my proudest moment came the day I was given my yellow suitcase. Boy did I agree that yellow looked good on me! Today, I achieved my 44th community recognition -- my seventh (7th) merit badge for reviewing. I just thought, what an achievement. I am still working on my reviewing skills, but I am motivated to continue to try to do this particular activity daily -- not there yet, but it is a goal just like trying to keep up this blog that is continuously changing in substance. I take my badges seriously, and want to personally thank everyone that deemed me worthy of them. I have not mastered the art of displaying them and/or my signature from Marci or my reviewing ribbons from the WDC Angel Army, but I will eventually master those skills. What a nice way to recognize members for their contributions to the site. Let me not forget the gift points that I have been awarded over the almost two years that I have been here. They may not be cash, but after a while you begin treasuring them and using them to help others on the site. I periodically purchase a few, but I also earn quite a few, and that motivates me to do other things on WDC. So, what am I trying to say? Simple. I am humbled and proud of the recognition given to me during my tenure on WDC. No pain in this relationship! A hearty thank you to everyone who have made my stay at WDC a pleasure. Now,, write on. WRITE ON! |
| I actually cooked and had a friend over for dinner today. It started me thinking. What happened to my love for entertaining? As a young person, I was the party thrower. I would throw a party just because. Now, I think about it, and more often than not, think, "tho is going to clean up the mess?" That takes care of the party. Well, that thought did not take over today, and I am now cleaning up the mess. Gosh, even small dinner parties are hard to clean up after. My reason today was simple, I have not cooked a meal since December. None. My grandsons were hanging out with me, and I thought "Today would be a great day to cook for them. So, I did." Simple meal. Turnip greens (a gift from a very young friend), candied yams, corn bread, mac and cheese, fresh dinner rolls, barbecue chicken, and a nice bottle of wine. The meal was great. I thought as I prepared it, that I should share it with a friend, and so I did. She was very gracious and brought with her carrot cake muffins. We sat, ate, chatted, and then watched a movie. It was such a wonderfully relaxing evening, and I thoroughly enjoyed the grandsons, that somehow made the clean up much easier. All and all, a very pleasant evening. |
| The more advanced our society becomes, the more we remain the same. Watching the fight tonight with my grandsons (watched first round, and had to leave. Too violent for my taste.), I'm reminded of the gladiators of olden times. They were given a sword, a shield, sometimes armor, placed in a ring in front of spectators, and expected to fight until the death of one of them. Occasionally, one could earn his freedom by being a champion. Today, we do not label them gladiators. We call them boxers or fighters. We call them football players. We call them basketball players. Each a particular kind of gladiators who is expected to play, and defend their titles as if their lives depended on their success and/or failure. They are paid big money just to play in these sports. We set them on a pedestal when they win. We give them trophies in addition to money to show how much we appreciate their skills. Each year we anxiously look forward to the next season to see who will be entertaining us! The players play with injuries, and pain, not for survival but purely for our entertainment Thousands of dollars or paid, wagered, and otherwise spent to watch these modern day gladiators. The more brutal the sport the more we enjoy it, and the higher the stakes. It seems that we will do just about anything to see them play, and then put our children in training so that they too can one day bring home the money. Many of our children suffer injuries that will last them a lifetime. They sustain injuries playing football, basketball, soccer, and yes boxing. Each hoping to be the next $72 million winner. With these modern day gladiators always on center stage, why do we wonder why our children do not value education. Education doesn't pay. Teaching is one of the lowest paying jobs in America. Police officers and firefighters are also not paid very well for protecting us and saving our lives. There is no money in honest work and honest living. Our Congressional representatives believe that paying $13.10 an hour will upset our delicate economy. However, no one blinks or bats an eye when one person boxes for less than three hours and gets paid $72 million or when one basketball player gets paid $53 million plus deals and more for one season of basketball. We want our children to value education; to appreciate are; participate in the classicals, and be a functioning part of society, but we know that if they are not exceptional in some way, they will be forced to give up their dreams. So, each year, some of us become soccer moms to start our children on the path of future gladiator or basketball moms hoping for the next Michael Jordan. I do not believe that I have ever heard of a teacher mom or an artist, mom or even a doctor mom (and some doctors actually make bank). If society is to value all of its people, then something has got to change. From my vantage point, there is nothing more valuable than education. We know that education, open doors. In addition, we know that if there is to be change, then change must start with us. Let's not shoot our modern day gladiators, but let's stop valuing them as the only hero worth modeling after, and hold up some of these great writers on WDC, and some of these struggling artists in our community. They are great hard working role models that I am proud to be associated with, and count among my friends. |
| Totally wiped out with things going on in my life, the life of my children, grandchildren, and other family members. It seems that the best position these days is flat on my back, in the dark with my eyes closed, and in deep prayer. 2014 has been the year that was, is, and is not finished yet. I know that God is in charge and that He is following His master plan, however, I am feeling overwhelmed, and unable to compete. The world is feeling very unsafe. Horrible things are occurring everywhere. People are becoming more embolden to act out any way they please. Respect is a lost cause. Our youth have no clue that they too are heading toward old age, if they live long enough. The world seems to be spending out of sync with what is right and what is wrong. Where does that leave me? In a quandary! |
| Prompt 1: I liked all of the prompts for this contest, and will eventually write on all of them, but today's blog is on my gift from my Mother Is there a talent that has been handed down through your family? Did you inherit your writing skill from your grandparents? A talent for drawing from a great-aunt? A love of public speaking from your uncle? Share their talent with us. My gift of gab comes directly from my father, but the use of that gift came from my Mother. My Mother was a very quiet and wonderful woman who spoke softly, but commanded your attention. Recognizing my need to talk when I was very young, she insisted along with the rest of the community that I would speak, and speak well. To develop my ability to speak, and speak in front of an audience, I was required to learn numerous Scriptures and poems, and be required to recite them for her first, at church second, and in competitions throughout the State of Georgia. First, I would learn a verse or two, and then entire passages. In Sunday School, I would be required to recite them from memory. Then our Sunday School class would compete with other Sunday School classes at the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World (PA of W) conferences and conventions. While learning Scriptures was important to my Mother, she loved poetry, and loved hearing them spoken. She insisted on me learning such poems as Thanatopsis, The Creation, Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening, The Raven, The House by the Side of the Road, Twas the Night Before Christmas, and many more. Each poem had to be learned and spoken with the right emphasis, and with the right diction for each. Competitions for these were always held at the schools, and prizes were to be won. Yes, I represented the classes at each grade level, but I represented my Mother at all levels all the time, and she was always in the audience. I was taught how to stand. How to walk on the stage. How to find someone in the audience to talk to as I presented my passages. Mother always said that it is natural to be frightened for the first few minutes, but if you know your subject matter, you will get over the freight and settle right in, just as if you were having a conversation with someone. She must have been right because I almost always walked away with the coveted blue ribbon for first place. Second and third places were not acceptable. No, there was never any money, just the experience, and the development of the skill to speak in public. My training did not stop at home. Mother routinely and regularly showed up at school to make sure that when there were opportunities for me to speak, I would be given the chance to do so. I honed my skills in the classroom, at church, at conferences, conventions, and yes at home whenever anyone would come around. Mother insisted that I learned several poems, but she also insisted that I sharpen my vocabulary. Back then we could not afford magazines, books, novels etc., but she worked for a number of White families that could, and rather than let them throw their old books out, Mother would bring them home for me to read and practice with all month long until the new ones were available. Her favorite was a Readers Digest because it always had a set of ten new words with definitions for me to learn. In addition to Mother's instructions, teachers at my schools were a vital part of my education. My Sunday School teachers also played a major role in helping to develop my public speaking skills. In fact, in my hometown, children were taught to be their best-no matter what because you represented the community. Each child was expected to develop his or her best skills. Pride was taken in being the best speaker or the best reader or the best drum major or the best speller. Teachers worked with us on our strengths. We were not allowed to focus on our weaknesses. Parents were an essential part of our education. Yes, the village had a role in my training, but my Mother just took it to the next step. Her words were, "If you have a wonderful vocabulary, and you have great speaking skills, you will always have something to say, and not be at a loss for words." Well, I was never at a loss for words, but with the skills she instilled in me, I have been able to speak all over the USA on various topics related to my job. I have been able to speak on my behalf and that of my neighbors and later my residents at conferences, conventions, town meetings, as a candidate for various public offices, and currently as Mayor of my City, Mount Rainier, Maryland. Maybe I did not inherit my talent from my family or from my grandparents, but my love of public speaking was honed and drilled into me by my Mother as she sat back and watched me recite the many poems and scriptures that I have come to love over the years. My Mother was also an excellent writer with great penmanship. In this writing, I've only talked about Mother's love for poetry and public speaking, but she was a writer at heart! |
| I have said and will continue to say, racism is alive and well in America; in, the boardrooms of corporations, in unions, in non-profits, in homes, and in every state in America. It is more subtle in some places than others. , Not everyone is a racist, but there are those who are in the policy making business who are clever enough to throw the rocks of racism and HIDE THEIR HANDS. Every now and then one of them gets caught, and we make big news about it as if we are surprised and we allow them and the news media to distract us from the real issues in our society for a day or two, and then we go on back to business as usual. Who's fooling whom? Why are we so willing and eager to play this sick game? We the people can bring about REAL CHANGE. Disband all of the basketball, football, and soccer teams. Stop buying things mass produced by the billionaire sponsors. Support our local mom and pop businesses, people we know and care about us and each other. RETURN TO SAVING for what we want. It takes longer, but there is no interest, and we will appreciate it more. Get rid of television, the internet for a few days each week. Rediscover our neighbors, our neighborhood, and our communities. Actually allow our minds to float freely as we see the world as a good place and our contributions to making it even better. Bigotry and hatred should not have a place in our world as we become more enlightened, and more educated. More and more people are going to church and more and more we are seeing and hearing about some of the most savage and tragic things occurring in America. When we as a people say that enough is enough, an act in a manner that respects the rights, freedoms, and liberties of others, regardless of their status in life or the color of their skin, we will have created a Country that is worthy of the words in the U. S. Declaration of Independence! The opening of the United States Declaration of Independence states as follows: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness." Those in power and those with the most resources will not be allowed to miss-use and/or abuse their power or resources. They will no longer have the need to be derogatory for there will be no place or need for such behavior, and America will begin to practice what it preaches. When Will the Melting Pot include Blacks? I pray that day will come for you and me during our life times. |
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My condolences.
K.
. I feel your pain. My Jim will be gone two years on July 19th. Sometimes it feels like yesterday and other times it feels like a hundred years ago. Almost immediately after Jim passed I quit eating meat...don't ask me why, I don't know. The human brain is so complicated. I think maybe it was something else for me to focus on, new recipes, new ways to get protein, something I thought I was doing that was good for me. I continue to be vegetarian and somehow it has helped sustain me. God bless... 