Music Of My Life


I grew up in the late 1950’s and 1960’s. I listened to music on the radio all the time, and my parents played and sang with a band my whole life. Artists like Sam Cook, The Platters, Neil Sedaka, Bobby Vinton, all of the early Motown artists, and early rock and roll stars along with country singers were the mainstays in my home. As far back as I can remember, music was the way I expressed my feelings and learned to understand what others were feeling.

I fell in love listening to the pop and rock of the 1960 and 1970 hippie era. The first song I dance to with the love of my life was Never My Love by the Association. It still makes me want his arms around me when I hear it. Today, when I listen to songs from that era, memories overwhelm me. And it is always the man who became my best friend, lover, and husband who is forefront in those memories.

I remember rocking my babies to music from the mid 1970’s, and singing to them along with the radio in my car right up until they were nearly teenagers. I did the same to my grandchildren, and now, great grandchildren. Recently, I was listening to music on satellite radio. I ran across the Elvis station, and every song they played was one I could sing word for word. Funny how that works, I don’t remember a conversation from a week ago, but I know the words to a song I learned when I was nine years old. Maybe it is because the music makes us feel something, maybe our brains are wired to respond to rhymes and rhythm so it is easier to remember the lyrics. I don’t care, really, I simply want to always remember songs that lift me up, make me cry, long for my love, or feel joy.

Today I was listening to a song list of love songs I compiled. I put it together to help me concentrate as I worked on my newest novel. I didn’t realize how powerful the music was until I found myself trying to type with tears in my eyes. It was a song by Bette Midler. The Rose is the song I associate with the loss of our oldest son. The last lyrics are:

When the night has been too lonely/And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only/For the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter/Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun’s love/In the spring becomes the rose

Because I believed with all my heart, that beneath the bitterness of his loss, we would all grow and one day, with the love of the Son of God, spring would come to our hearts and lift us out of our sorrow and bitterness. Years have gone by, and we have begun to see the spring around us and the rose is his beloved daughter and her daughter that brought life back to our sorrowful hearts.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I am all alone at home. My beloved is visiting his brother. I didn’t think I would miss him so much. Now I am spending the evening listening to music that reminds me of him and the times of our lives. I want to wrap each memory up in a song and put it away in my heart like the gift it is meant to be.

This is the newest song we dance to. It’s by Chris Stapelton, More of You. Because even after all of these years, I still want more of you, my beloved.

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Treasure


Addie: What you doing Nana?
Me: Cleaning out the coat closet.
A: Why?
M: Because we need to get rid of the things we don’t use and take them to the charity shop.
A: How do you know we don’t need it? What if there are treasures in there?
Me:(Thinking, that most of it was probably junk) Well, if there are treasures we will keep them somewhere better than the coat closet.
A: Well, maybe they are treasures to someone at the charity shop just not to us.
Me: That’s possible, as I put in a coat four sizes too small for Addie into the give away bag.
A: What’s that? As I pulled out a hat and gloves that used to fit her mother. Can I have It for my dress up box?
Me: It’s a hat and glove set from when your mom was a little girl. Does that make it treasure?
A: For me it IS treasure! My mommy used to wear it.
Me: Here you go. Don’t lose the gloves.
A: Rolling her eyes at me. Nana! If YOU kept them for SO long, I can keep them safe too!

I didn’t know if she was commenting on her mother’s age or my ability to hang on to things. but she got her treasure, and she reminded me that even hand me down clothes can be treasure to those who can’t afford anything else for their little girl. She’s smart that way.

Where I’ve Been


On July 16, 2018, I had a heart attack. I wasn’t ill, in fact I was feeling pretty good until I started throwing up and couldn’t stop. I thought I had food poisoning, but I was getting dehydrated and went to the hospital. They made me stay there and the next morning, I had a stent installed in a tiny vein in the back of my heart. That back pain I thought was a pulled muscle, well it wasn’t it was a clogged up artery. A small one, but it still caused all sorts of trouble. I was sent home straight out of ICU later that day.

I started throwing up again later that night and ended up back at the ER. Guess what, I had an allergic reaction to the dye they used to figure out what was wrong with my heart. Not something that is all that common. It bunged up my kidneys, caused my blood sugar to get totally out of control, and made me sick as a skunk eating dog. Holy cats, NO ONE should be that sick, ever. And to make it all just ducky, I got a terrible migraine to add to all the misery. I ended up staying as a hospital guest for three long miserable days before they let me leave again, It took that long for my kidney function to recover. The details are pretty disgusting, so that is all I want to say about that.

I went to the nearest hospital, The Methodist Hospital in Olive Branch, Mississippi. Its a pretty new place, kind of out in the country, small but up to date with all the new gadgets and such. Clean, quiet, quick to get in and out of the ER, but the best part of the entire place is the staff. From custodians who had to clean up after me more than once, to the nursing and technician staffs, to the doctors who actually take time to have a conversation and answer questions, to the hospital chaplain who came more than once just to talk to me about how I was coping, every last one was kind, compassionate, genuine in their concern and care for and of me. And they were that way to each and every single person for which they held responsibility. Amazing and wonderful for someone who was feeling grotty, and yes, terrified of dying. When I mentioned that to the Chaplain after sharing a prayer, he smiled kindly and said, “Dear Sister, I saw a long list of things you still have to accomplish. Trust in the Father, he only has great love for you.” Yes, I cried. It was a good thing. Healing tears in the face of deep fear.

In 2011, I faced death more than once from a horrific infection at the sight of open heart triple bypass surgery. It resulted in two more open heart surgeries within three months. That was followed by nearly a year of recovery and several more years of regaining mobility and strength. I think of myself as strong willed and determined, but I knew I was very close to dying and my doctor confirmed the fact that he didn’t think I would make it through that final surgery. I thought I was doing everything right and never expected to have another heart attack. Not when I felt so healthy. I think I was beyond shocked, and went from, “Why am I throwing up?” to “Am I going to die?” at the speed of sound.
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I couldn’t sleep that first night. A young nurse was assigned to me. About three in the morning, she came into check on me and found me unable to express my fear. Patting my hand, she leaned over and hugged me. We chatted a bit, and when she left she said, “I wish I had a Nana like you. Mine died when I was little. I know you’ll be okay.” Yes, I cried. It was then that I made a decision.

I was going to tell every single person who came into my room how much I appreciated their help, their willingness to do a difficult job, no matter what it was, and that all they did for a patient made them a ministering angel and God’s hands here on earth. I did exactly that. I thanked everyone, I told them how valuable they were to me as part of a group who pulled together to help me survive and heal. I prayed with a few, I cried with a few, I laughed with more, and I was openly loving and sharing with everyone. Those that know me, know I don’t open up like that – ever. When I left, every single nurse and aide on the floor hugged me. Before I made it to the elevator, several others stopped us and said thank you and wished me well.

When I got home, I was still worn out (Never go to the hospital if you want to rest), but so grateful for the love I felt, and even more for the love of my family – especially my husband’s love. A few days later, a letter came for me from the hospital. It was a card, signed by all of the nurses who cared for me, thanking ME for allowing them to be part of the process of healing. Yes, I cried.

Once again, Thank You:

Taylor, Jason, Bobby, Sibel, Lauren, Terrinay, Mariah, Jennifer, Bernie, June, Ms. Dee, Miss Ruby Rose, Dr. Patel, Dr. Showkat, All the Surgery Team, Respiratory Team, Blood Team, ER Staff, Laboratory Staff, and X-ray Staff, and especially Brother Earl for reminding me that God never ignores those of his children who are in need of his attention.

You are indeed ministering angels and God’s helping hands on earth.

A Childhood Memory


When I was a little kid, my family went to a parade. It was wonderful. All the men marching in step, the tanks rolling by, all the armor, jeeps, and first and foremost, the flag flying high over everything. I remember the sky was bright blue, making the colors of the flag stand out, each color brilliant and fresh. A band marched by, playing loud and proud. When they passed us, they were playing Grand Old Flag. It was all so exciting. My mother kept us kids under control, but the entire crowd was cheering, like they were welcoming heroes home. It was the Fourth of July and we were in Germany in the early 1960’s. Somewhere among those marching men was my father.

I was too young to recognize the importance of that post WWII and post Korea moment. I grew up in the military, I thought everyone’s dad marched in long lines and wore a uniform if they were American. It was normal. All the kids I knew, except for the few locals in our area, had dads who wore uniforms. The women and children in our house area waited for dads and husbands to come home from “the field” just like we did. And everywhere we went, from the school to the doctor’s building, there was a flag with the same bright colors flying above it. It was normal.

When my dad left the military, I was shocked to see buildings without the flag, people without uniforms of any kind, and complete disrespect for any sort of organization. It was hard to become a civilian, I missed the comfort of normal. I missed the feeling of security I had always had, even in the midst of the cold war that could send us on a bus or train with one bag for our whole family at a moment’s notice. I was never unsure, I was never alone, as long as there was a man in a uniform like my dad wore.

One day, I was at school very early for some reason. I was wandering around waiting for school to open when I saw the janitor come out of the building. He unfolded a flag, and pulled it up the flagpole. There, against the bright blue sky, the colors of my flag unfurled. As the wind caught it, the flag waved proudly above the land around it. In my mind I heard Grand Old Flag, as the janitor stepped back and saluted with all the dignity and honor of a soldier. Tears came to my eyes, because to me, he no longer wore a gray shirt and pants of a janitor, he wore a uniform of a soldier, and I knew as long as there were men who had served, men who knew the value of freedom and sacrifice, we would be safe.

Today life is very different in our country. But still, men and women serve to protect what is ours, and our freedom. No matter what politics you hold, no matter what lifestyle you profess, no matter where you live, the military protects you. The flag some spit on, burn, and trample still flies proudly from front porches, flag poles, and buildings. Be it against smoke from a riot, storms, or skies of bright blue, the flag still watches over our land and our people. The little girl in my past and the old woman I am today salute them. In memory of all those who have served to protect our homeland from the Revolutionary Founders through today, Thank You and God Bless America.

Oh Brother…


There is a vast difference between stating my opinion and offering advice, telling someone what to do, or how to think. However, apparently from the attempted dressing down I got from someone on social media, they are exactly the same thing. Unless, of course, I agree with everything he says and march in lock step with all others to his commands and demands. In short, I have no right to an opinion, and I have no right to express anything differently than what he says. He would be a great socialist/communist comrade for the snowflake agenda. Devoted to everyone being exactly the same, but only if people like him are there to tell everyone what to think. I suggested he move to Russia or China, or better yet to go educate those in the Middle East or African countries who live under violent rule. He wasn’t amused. How can these people walk and talk at the same time without coming to physical harm? Have they ever read the Constitution and the reasons why America separated herself from England?

Today they scream oppression or racism at every turn. They haven’t a clue what oppression means. They have never suffered the likes in the USA. Young, semi educated, well fed, healthy snowflakes think they are being oppressed if their latte isn’t perfect or cell phone coverage is spotty. They get offended just hearing any adult tell them they can’t do or have something they want. They have no idea how to wait and plan for something instead of having a hissy fit if they don’t get it immediately. But they still feel offended, unappreciated, and furious at the world when told to wait their turn. They DEMAND respect, and they DEMAND they be first in all things.

I will appreciate you if you do something worth appreciating. I will think highly of you once you stop putting yourself before everyone and everything else. I will want to have a conversation with you when you stop swearing and yelling at me when I state my opinion. I will respect you when you learn to respect others who have lived through a life of ups and downs, raised kids, adapted and over came all sorts of difficulties. I will listen to you when you are willing to listen to me. We can disagree and still cohabit this earth. You are not the be all, end all of this world. Only in your mind are you that important.

I am an old woman, I have seen your behavior many times before. People like you either grow up, get a career, or job, that pays the bills. Take some hard knocks, and learn how to get along with all sorts of people, or they end up being 40, 50, 60+ immature whiners who live off others and encourage young mush brained brats like you to grow up to be just like them. Because who else are they going to feel superior to? The only exception are the spoiled rich kids, politicians, and performers who actually think their opinions are prophecy to the idiots of the world.

So, my former friend, I will tell you the same thing I told my boys when they were about fourteen (Your approximate mental age), “Grow the hell up, son, and get over your damned self. You aren’t that important to the world. I love you, I will always love you, but I am not your nursemaid or servant.” Yes, it ticked them off too. They got over it. You, however, have left it a bit late.

The Spider


This afternoon, I went out on the front porch to retrieve a box the postman delivered. As I bent down to pick it up, I saw a spider. Not an bitsy spider, nope, a big spider. About three inches from leg to leg. I did the spider dance, and nearly shut the door on my foot in my haste to Get. Away. From. The. Spider. After nearly hyperventilating myself into hysteria, I peeked out the door. It hadn’t move at all. Not even with my shrieking and door slamming.

Not trusting anything with eight legs and a billion eyes, I carefully stared at the damned thing for a full minute – or ten. It still didn’t move. I wasn’t going to touch it. Maybe it was dead, maybe it was trying to trick me into getting close enough to jump on me. Not going to touch it, not going on the porch, not going, nope, nope, nope.

When the Mr. got home, I asked him to come look at the still unmoving creature. “Oh, he said, That’s a fake spider.” So calm, so unruffled. I wanted to strangle him. “Who the HELL put that on MY PORCH?! The decibel count went up with each word. He shrugged, “I guess either Addie or I left it on the porch last weekend.” For about five seconds I was speechless. Then the words hit the fan, so to speak. I was profane, I was loud, I was nearly stomping in fury! He did the man thing, and went out to the porch, took the spider, and put it in the rubbish bin. The he quietly found something to do upstairs in his office while I calmed down.

I was a good wife, I didn’t burn his dinner as a way of saying I was sorry for losing it. I know he was upstairs laughing at me. I know he snickered and chortled. I know it. He does that when I get all girlie on him. But, people, it was a SPIDER! A big, black, ugly, creepy spider, right next to the package. I could have TOUCHED it! Ew! Ick! Shudder. I think I am traumatized. And he thought it was no big deal. Men! Geesh! Whoever made plastic rubberized creepy crawlies as TOYS needs to be tossed into a pit of nasty living things for eternal punishment.

The Unemployable Children


I am so sick of being labeled a racists just because I look white. My DNA says differently. I am so tired of the whole hate thing the BLM crowd wants to toss around to make them feel empowered, and the uneducated, unemployable, boys and girls (because true adults don’t act like they do) who destroy their own neighborhoods and the lively hood of those who do work for a living. Because the unemployable are having a fit of pique over the legal killing of a heroin dealer who tried to kill two police officers, St. Louis burned and other unemployable children took to the streets across the country to destroy things. The thing is, not one of those unemployable children really knows what racism is at all.

As an American who lived abroad and traveled abroad for years, I know prejudice when I see it, or hear it. It can be as subtle as a look, or as loud as an argument, but Americans are constantly barraged with it. Of course, many bring it on themselves by being loud, overly aggressive, not taking the time to understand the laws, customs, or language of the country they are visiting or living in. They deserve the contempt thrown at them by the people around them. Having said that, many people in other countries simply have a deep dislike for Americans, because they seemingly have everything most folks want.

When abroad, there are rules to follow, and unlike here, if you break them, in any way, you go to jail or pay a huge fine. (Never chew gum in Singapore, for instance.) By being singled out for disobeying a rule, you are not being attacked for being an American, but keep acting like you own the world, and the laws and rules don’t apply to you, and you will end up in a very unpleasant jail for a very long time. And American tourists generally make fools of themselves enough to end up being looked at with contempt, if not laughed at behind their backs. And get this, it doesn’t matter how dark or light your skin may or may not be. It is simply that you are a rude, loud, demanding American that makes you disliked.

For instance, once we were visiting Paris on a short holiday. There was a small movie theater on the Eiffel Tower for tourists to attend to know more about the history of the tower. A large, loud, American guy was trying to find out the times for the next show. The poor clerk was trying to explain, using European 24 hour clock time (1300 hours is one P.M.). The tourist didn’t understand what she meant, and got louder, the louder he got, the quieter the clerk got. She was speaking good English, but the girl got more flustered and less clear in her language. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and stepped in to explain to the tourist guy what she was saying. The moron said, when he understood, “Well why didn’t she just tell me in plain English what time she meant.” She did but he was too much of an arrogant tourist to listen, or to learn that a lot of Europe still runs on a 24 hour clock. The clerk thanked me profusely for helping, but I can bet she hated to see rude American tourists for a long time. Had he taken a few hours before leaving home to learn about the way things are done abroad, he wouldn’t have made an ass of himself.

In Hong Kong, they have outdoor markets that sell everything from plastic bins, to silk clothing, to knock off watches for tourists. These markets are crowded, loud, and one is expected to bargain, loudly. When a tourist just accepts the price given, because it is very low etc., they are insulting the business owner or clerk. (Inside stores are different, no bargaining there, its rude.) To bargain at an open air market is against everything most Americans know when it comes to shopping. But, if you don’t, I can guarantee prices will triple and the merchants will see a patsy coming from a mile away. They will think you contemptible for coming to Hong Kong without the knowledge to bargain to make your money go farther. It is a subtle contempt, something you might miss, but it is there. So, you will be cheated, because you didn’t bother to learn the customs required before leaving home.

So, here we are, back to where I started, concerning the burning of the neighborhoods one lives in while having a tantrum over a drug dealer dying at the end of a gun fired by a police officer. The guy knew he was breaking the law, he got caught, he chose to fight arrest, he died. Look, people, it is simple, destroying what you have because you are mad that someone else has told you no, or has what you want, is acting like a two year old. Stomping your feet and shouting how much you think someone hates you, without proof or facts to back it up, and destroying your home is beyond ignorant behavior. Like foreign countries, if you don’t follow the rules and laws of the land, you will be confronted, arrested, and put in jail. Doesn’t matter what color you are, that is what will happen.

The BLM crowd of unemployable children says that blacks are targeted because they are black. No, people, they are arrested more often because of their behavior and the way they act. Hanging on the street corner, selling drugs, carrying an ILLEGAL weapon, with your pants down around your butt isn’t normal productive behavior. It generally means you are not a contributing member of your neighborhood or family, and probably up to doing multiple illegal things. Skin color has nothing to do with it, behavior does.

If you follow the law, and do as you are told when a police officer tells you to do something, you won’t be arrested or jailed, unless, of course you are doing something illegal, like drinking booze and driving. That goes for everyone.

Recently, my husband was pulled over along with a dozen other cars for a seatbelt check and alcohol check on a holiday weekend. He has a weapon carry permit, and keeps a gun in the dash board of his car.. When the officer got to his open window, my husband had both hands on the steering wheel, in plain sight, with the car turned off. He told the officer, after handing him his license and carry permit, that he did have a gun in the car and where it was. He was careful to keep his hands visible and still. The officer thanked him for letting him know, looked over his paperwork, handed back his license, and told him to have a good day. That is how you deal with a stop. My husband wasn’t doing anything wrong, followed the rules, and was back on the road in less than ten minutes.

Not so the guy who rear ended me a few years ago. He ended up in jail, not for hitting my car, but because he had no insurance, no drivers license, tried to buy me off so I wouldn’t call the police about the accident, and was found to have drugs and a lot of drug money in his car. Oh, and he wanted to argue with the officer about whether he was under the influence of a controlled substance. Really? The odor of both booze and pot was overwhelming. Yes, he was black. Yes, my husband looked white, but he is a Creek Indian. The difference wasn’t their skin color, the police officer was civil to both of them, it was in how they behaved and what laws they had broken, or not.

Envy is an ugly emotion. Using it as an excuse to destroy yourselves, however is even more ugly. Just because someone chooses not to get an education, doesn’t try to learn a trade, and blames everyone for their poverty and inability to overcome their circumstances, does not give them the right to go about destroying their neighborhoods. That is like burning down your own house because a light bulb went out and the store was closed so you couldn’t get a new one fast enough.

Blaming every white person because you are black and unemployable is based on envy. You want what they have, black or white, and if you can’t get it from the government, you will take it from someone else. If you want to be respected, not via street credibility, but real respect, act like someone who deserves it. Stop blaming everyone, stop being uneducated and unemployable, Stop blaming every white person, or any other person, for your failure to thrive. Step out of your self made ghetto and make something of yourself. If you want to be somebody, then BE somebody by proving you are worthy of respect through good acts, not violence.

Stop killing each other, stop trapping yourselves by refusing to help yourself. And don’t tell me that there isn’t a way out. Education, for those who want it and are willing to fill out the paperwork and work hard, is available for everyone who is disadvantaged. Stop making babies you can’t afford and stop disrespecting the girls around you who don’t understand that love has nothing to do with sex. Stop hurting each other with drugs, and stop disrespecting your clergy, parents, and elderly. Learn to read, write, and a trade if you don’t want to go to college. Do something, anything, instead of blaming everyone else for your current behavior and situation. Stop breaking the laws, customs, and rules of your neighborhood, city, state, and country. Learn to serve others, and stop thinking that you are the be all, end all of the world because you can carry a gun, make babies, and scam the system. In short, stop being an unemployable child, and grow up.

NO Shame?


No Shame?

Karron J. Combs

I find it odd that the statues of the Confederacy have stood, unmolested and ignored, for over a hundred years, and suddenly they offend everyone. The Confederate flag offends everyone as well. Suddenly the white democratic politicians are crying crocodile tears about how horrid the Confederacy was, and how the white power groups are evil. When, of course, anyone who wants to know history as it happened knows it was the Democratic party that founded the KKK and other white power groups after the Civil War. No shame then.

During the Civil Rights Era it was the people of the democratic party that fought to deny black Americans the same rights as the white citizens of the country. No shame in that behavior.

Then they trapped blacks in the ghettos under their rule via subjugating black men as meaningless to the family unit. They encouraged black women to have children out of wedlock because the more kids they had, the more big daddy government would give them. The democrats created a new form of slavery hidden in their agenda to control the country. No shame there at all.

They even put a black man in the highest office in the world, as their patsy to obtain control over the country. They used him, and he was stupid enough to let the white masters of his political party control his power, bringing America nearly to a third world status. No shame there.

Now the likes of white politicians are standing and screaming how racist all people who aren’t weeping and crying about how evil the Confederate monuments are in their horrid display. Suddenly they feel shame? Not likely. Not at all.

What they are is afraid they are losing their iron grip on the black population. The educated, working black communities are walking away from the democratic party in droves. They are turning their backs on the ghetto slavery of welfare and becoming a large part of mainstream America. Desperation has driven the democratic party to pay “actors and demonstrators” to decry Confederate statues and institutions as the root of all racist evil. When, in fact, it is the political party of the democrats who are the authors of the post Civil War racism they now decry.

Why now? Why such an outcry? Why are they building hatred through their puppet groups like Black Lives Matter and so called black leaders like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson? Well, it is easy to explain the so called leaders, they also know they are marginalized in today’s black communities. The only way to remain in the lime light they have enjoyed for forty years is to prey on the ghetto slaves who are uneducated, unemployable, and involved in gang and drug violence. No shame in using those less fortunate at all.

As for the politicos who control the leaders, mostly white, or marginalized blacks who owe their success to the democratic machine, they have one goal in mind, hang on to the black votes they have owned lock, stock, and barrel for the past one hundred years. No shame in that, as far as they are concerned. After all, they know what is best for their government slaves.

I do not support the KKK, I equally do not support the BLM, both are filled with paid offenders who are unable to get a job, unwilling to learn, and see only what their owners tell them.

I don’t give a damn what color you are, not one bit. I care about integrity, character, and hard work. I care about compassion, acceptance, and willingness to uplift people of all backgrounds. I don’t give a damned who you sleep with, where you live, how much money you have, or how famous you are. At the end of the day you are just a naked human being under all the false narrative, clothing, and blather. We are people. Nothing more, nothing less.

I care, people, that a few hate filled, angry, old white politicians are willing to USE other human beings to gain and keep power. I care that there are people who are willing to allow themselves to be used in such a manner. I care that America is willing to allow a race war because a few old white men and women and their minions scare them with rhetoric that denies the rest of us our humanity. And there is nothing but shame in that.

Really?


We were having dinner at a popular restaurant the other night. The place was packed, as usual. In the section we were in, it was all elderly couples and families. A young 20 ish kid came in alone. To keep himself company he turned on the music feature of his phone. Without ear buds or head phones.

The rest of us were subjected to loud, vile, foul, pornographic rhythmic speech (not sure what it is called these days.) He was surrounded by the elderly and children, as he turned up the noise and started eating his meal. We were directly across from him.

Hal immediately distracted Addie as I exchanged shocked looks with the two elderly black ladies sitting near us. Song two started in, even worse than the first. Look, if he wants to listen to that sort of disgusting noise, fine, but put on the headphones so the rest of us don’t have to.

I finally caught his eye and gave him the over the glasses stare I perfected while teaching. He waved at me and grinned. While there was a pause in the noise, I said, loudly, “Really/” We have to listen to that crap while we are trying to eat a meal? There are elderly and children here! Surely you were raised better than you are behaving.” The elderly ladies said, “Amen!”

The kid turned all sorts of red, got up and left his meal. (it is a pay first place) Of course, he didn’t leave a tip for the woman running back and forth with his demands – not requests, demands. No, he wasn’t black, it doesn’t matter anyway. If he were black, he never would have done that with to elderly aunties nearby. Black men are terrified of elderly females. The kid was either Hispanic or Middle Eastern.

I am so horrified that we even have to tell someone that age to have some manners. Of course, with the words coming out of his phone, I am not at all surprised that he has no respect for others. Ye gods and little fishes, that downright ruined my meal, and I ended up sick by the time I got home. I need to find a way to wash out my mind.

It Is Over, Finally!


It is over. Finally, We have a new President, a new Congress, and a new agenda. Time to get to work, so just stop having tantrums and act like adults. You have four years to work the kinks out of your complaints and to fix your democratic party. By then, even the most infantile amongst you should be mature enough to understand politics is not personal and have to do with the country, not your feelings.

President Trump is neither a Republican, nor a Democrat, he is an Constitutionally aligned Independent, and as such, has no loyalty to either party in power. Bravo! America First, not the pundits of the Washington D.C. Beltway. As such, he will have an uphill fight against all the entrenched politicians who are stunned that he actually won. I was laughing like a loon once he was sworn in as our new President.

Yes, Our new president. I loathed everything Obama stood for, the very sound of his voice made me ill. Nothing he had to say interested me, I was worried about living day to day under his regime. But, he was still the president, and even if I couldn’t respect him as a man, I could respect to office he held. It was a struggle, but I managed. So suck it up cupcakes, and learn to deal with the present, not what you didn’t get.

Today is the first day of the new presidency. What do we see, what does the rest of the world see? People who should know better out tearing up businesses, burning things, screaming foul language, and exhibiting rude behavior all in the name of an almighty temper tantrum. You did this when your candidate lost, it didn’t change a thing; one would think you would learn from that. Have your tantrum, all it does is make people with an ounce of common sense laugh at you, find you immature, or a paid ally of the true enemies of the United States. Just stop. It will not change a thing, nothing, Nada, and the administration of President Donald J. Trump will go forward.

I am hoping when the histrionics, snowflake crying sessions, thumb sucking, and kicking of feet stops (probably when they get bored, hungry, stoned, or sober), that people will just learn to make a difference in their lives for good and for the good of their communities. Stop playing patty cake with childish behavior, and take another step toward being a grown up. Roll your sleeves up, and get to it.

People of my generation used to protest, but my heavens, we didn’t tear up our own neighborhoods to make a point. We didn’t tear up anyone’s neighborhood. We had to live and work there the next day. This mess will take days to clear up, and people will be out of work because of YOU. Feel good now?

Look, life doesn’t stop for anyone, and all of us have a finite amount of time here on earth, why not use it to build something, make something, grow something rather than destroy what others have worked hard to obtain?

Many people will never like President Trump, eh, so, don’t like him. His job isn’t to make everyone like him, his job is to keep American safe, financially stable, and strong. Your opinion isn’t going to change those things that need to be done. No one is taking any rights away, for heaven’s sake, and heaven knows women have the same if not more rights than any man. I don’t care if you are one of the rainbow alphabet people, or an 80 year old white man, we all need to be safe, financially stable, and have the strength of the military to protect us against terrorism.

We are all people, different, thank goodness, some good, some bad, some peaceful, some angry, but we are all people. Stop pretending to be offended at every little thing, stop pretending to be scared of progress, stop being a damned victim and simply work to be a descent human being. I don’t like some things I see, and I certainly didn’t like Obama at all, but I didn’t cry about it. We tried it the uber liberal way, it wasn’t working. Time to try something new. Crybabies and cupcakes can go to your safe place and sulk all you want, but Mr. Trump will still be president tomorrow. Keep acting out and your safe place might be the county jail, because like with all childish displays of temper tantrums, the adults in the room get tired of it, and discipline happens.

Now, lets see what is going to happen before making the decision to be a brat.