Was It Really Worth It?


There was a shooting at the local Walmart this week. Two men were killed, a police officer was wounded, and the killer was shot by the police and is in the hospital. Last I heard he was expected to survive.

Since I live just south of Memphis, Tennessee, one of the most violent cities in the country, I hear about shootings all the time. The news reports anywhere from one to five shootings a week, or more. But there aren’t many in Southaven, Mississippi, so the shooting was big news. It is still big news, days later, because the Walmart still isn’t open for business.

The reason for the shooting was based on revenge. The shooter was placed on suspension from his job at Walmart because he had an altercation with a customer that resulted in him pulling a knife. He had not been fired from his job, as yet. He stopped the manager outside the store and shot him, then he shot and killed another employee who was simply going in to work. When the police showed up, he exchanged gunfire with the police and wounded one of them before he was shot. So, this guy does something totally unacceptable in the work place, refuses to take responsibility for his behavior, and decided it was the manager’s fault he was without a job. In the vernacular of the young men today, he was “disrespected” by the manager, and to regain his man card, he had to kill him. How utterly immature and ignorant can a grown man be?

What he doesn’t seem to understand is that what he has done will effect the families of the people involved for generations. Let’s start with his family. He has a wife and three small children. He will go to prison, and Mississippi has the death penalty. For a cold blooded, premeditated murder, it is most likely he will get the ultimate penalty. His children, if they ever see him again, will have to do so in the prison. They will grow up knowing their father was a killer, who shot three men in a fit of rage. They will grow up knowing that their dad had no respect for human life, and he allowed his immature feelings to dictate his actions causing unending pain to the families of his victims. And, they will worry about being as violent and emotionally immature as he was for most of their lives.

Then there are the families of the victims. The parents, spouse, children, siblings, and friends of those innocent men will be in shock, pain, and then have to go through all the stages of grief, and I can guarantee that getting past the anger with be the longest and hardest battle they will have. The funerals will come and go, sympathy will come and go, and then the wives will be left widows with children to raise on their own. And that is when the deepest sorrow and loneliness will hit the family. The emptiness in the lives of the families will never really go away. All the suffering was brought upon them by the purposeful actions of a man who refused to accept responsibility for his behavior. Like a two year old throwing a tantrum, he acted out in violence without an ounce of self control. The results of that may have given him back his self respect for all of two minutes, because he then tried to commit suicide by cop through forcing the officers to return fire. Was it really worth it?

Three families destroyed, a police officer left to deal with having to draw his gun and shoot at another human being, and the killer ends up in prison for life, if he doesn’t get the death penalty. The community has to deal with yet another senseless act of violence, creating even more issues around public safety. All because a male didn’t bother to grow up enough to take accept the consequences for his actions. Why. you may ask is this so important to me? Because I am a parent of a murdered child, and friend to the family of the man who died with my son. I know what the families will suffer, what the children will suffer, and that it will go on for generations, because I have seen it in my own family. May God bless the survivors, and may the killer obtain his just punishment – the death penalty.

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Type A or Type B


I realized this morning that I literally had no idea what the date was. I used to be on top of things like that, I had to be with my full organizer and insane schedule of things to do and take care of in my hand. The more I thought about it, the more I realized something odd hand happened to the Type A, over achieving, overly committed, organized person I used to be. I was, heaven help me, turning into a Type B, laid back, unworried, unorganized, uncommitted person. The very kind of person that used to drive me crazy when I was the real me. How could I allow that to happen? How did I become such a slacker that I had no idea what the date was, even if I did know the day of the week? (As a Tuesday, I didn’t have dialysis, so I knew it was Tuesday – or a Thursday – or the weekend.) GASP!

When I was involved in Scouting, then in college, then working, I was always organized. I had things planned weeks and months in advance – all carefully written in my organizer and calendar. I had lists of things to do, lists of things to buy, lists of people to contact, and lists of when my lessons were due and papers needed to be turned in before exams were scheduled to be completed. I was never late to any event, and always prepared for my school work. I would sit down with each syllabus from each class and write everything down at the beginning of the semester. I would bookmark each and every story or article I had to read for each class – color coded no less – with the date written on each post it note. I was the champion of organization.

When it came to cleaning and organizing my house, I had a set schedule for each room and what had to be done when. I spring cleaned and fall cleaned every closet in every room in my home, every year without fail. I would shop for groceries once a month, and planned out every single meal I was going to cook ahead of time. I would have lists for those meals for the fresh things I would need every week, and I kept a running list of things I ran out of so I would always know what to buy at the grocery on those weekly trips. I knew, at one glance, what needed to be done next, and I kept the laundry just as organized and set up to be done efficiently and quickly. I was the one woman dynamo who kept my family just as organized. Until my boys became teenagers and I decided they just had to fend for themselves since they wouldn’t cooperate with my schedule. That worked too.

Yet, somehow, somewhere, over the past ten years, I lost my organizer, I quit working, I got sick, I got well, and I got old. I learned to stop over planning and allow life to happen on its own schedule. Then I realized that it didn’t matter if I was organized or not. Because I had no schedule, my closets would still be there to sort when I got healthy or determined enough to clear them out. I decided playing with the grandchildren was more fun than cleaning house or grocery shopping, or even cooking. And one day, BOOM, I became a Type B personality. It is shocking, it is hard to accept, but here I am, nonetheless. Now the only thing I schedule are doctor appointments and dialysis. In fact, if I didn’t have those things to go to, I would have NO social life at all. I guess I will learn to settle into my new normal eventually. It is a bit uncomfortable, like too tight jeans, right now, but I will stretch into the fit and learn to relax about everything as I continue to age.

Life is too important to do it at a full out run. I wonder how many things I missed because I was too busy looking ahead instead of enjoying the moment. I can’t go back and fix that, but I can change how I do the future. So this Type B, laid back, unorganized old woman is going to spend more time with my Mr., listen more to my children and grandchildren, and do more fun things like paint with my great granddaughter and write stories from my heart. And when I occasionally panic over losing the Type A part of myself, I will learn to laugh at myself and go do something totally unimportant, like have a cup of tea and a cookie.

Worrying


I saw a meme on social media that basically encouraged the reader to remember back to the days when they had no worries and simply played barefoot in the sunshine. I suddenly realized that I never had days like that as a child. In fact, I can’t remember when I didn’t worry about things in my life. It was, I think, a built in reflex, like breathing. I even worried in my sleep, come people call them nightmares. Now I wonder, is that normal, or is it something specific to me?

I can remember always worrying about being late for school, even though I don’t remember it ever happening. I was always afraid I would have to walk into a classroom late and draw attention to myself, making me open to ridicule and teasing from the other students – and heaven help me from the teacher. I worried about failing subjects, I worried about making a mistake, and I dreaded, above all, making myself a laughing stock. Nothing upset me more than for other kids and adults to laugh at me.

I worried about forgetting to do things, or doing things and messing it up. I worried about homework, chores, and taking care of things that were my responsibility. In fact, I still worry about those things. I worried about doing something or saying something that would upset other people. Even worse was trying to express myself and messing it up. So I just didn’t say anything to anyone most of the time, even if I did know the answer to a question, or had a different opinion than others. That has completely changed now, I say what I want, when I want no matter what others may think. But, back when, I was always self conscious and fearful of consequences, so I simply didn’t speak up.

I worried a lot as a young wife and mother. I worried that the Mr. would fall out of love with me and in love with someone smarter, prettier, sexier, and more interesting then that plain old boring girl from nowhere Oklahoma. I wanted to be everything he needed in a wife, but always felt insecure in my value as his wife. I was always aware that his parents never thought I was good enough for their son, and it made me both angry and frustrated. I always worried he would believe the gossip and idiotic nonsense spread around by those who didn’t want me in his life. But somehow, we found our way back to each other time after time.

I worried that I wasn’t a good mom to my boys, fearful that they would be bratty little monsters around others and fingers would be pointed at me for being a bad mom. I worried about their health, eating habits, and all the other things mothers worry about when trying to be a positive influence on their children. I worried when my oldest started driving and hanging out all night with his friends, I worried that my youngest would follow in his footsteps, but he never did. I always worried that I would lose one of my boys, and when we did, it nearly tore us apart.

So, no, I don’t remember playing in the sunshine without worries, because I have always been a worrier, and that hasn’t changed much over the years. Only now I worry about my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. I worry about the Mr.’s health, I worry abut being becoming decrepit, I worry about my mother living on her own at her age. I worry about the state of the country and the America haters who wont’ live elsewhere, but still hate what we stand for as a country. I worry about money, health care, and getting old. And I still worry that the Mr. will find someone prettier, smarter, more interesting, and younger that he will fall for. Silly of me, but it is a bad habit left over from years of worry. Folks say, “Don’t borrow trouble.” I always look at worry as a way to be prepared for what ever might happen. Then I am prepared for the worse, but joyful for the positive things that happen, no matter how much worry I put into it.

I wonder, am I too old to play barefoot in the sunshine and learn to leave the worry behind for a few blessed moments in time? Now I will probably worry about that too.

Toxic Male


I am married to a toxic male. There, I said it.

And I thank God every day for him. I know it isn’t the in thing to want to be with a man and not feel required to change him from an uninhibited male, but something between gay and a metro-sexual pretty boy. But he is exactly what the real woman in me needs and wants in my life.

Let me tell you some of the things my toxic male does that drives the far left folks insane.

He has a job. A real job that pays all the bills and then some. He has held a job every day since we got married nearly 48 years a go. During all the years he has worked, he has built his career in such a way that we will always be provided for, and when he retires we will have a small business to keep him busy and provide income. To him, it is the responsibility of a man to provide for his family.

He was a hands on father and is an involved grandfather who loves all our progeny. He has taught them to be strong people who are able to think for themselves and determine who and what they are in life without depending on popular culture to tell them what to do. Because of his leadership as the head of our family, our children and grandchildren come to him to talk over their decisions and life issues. He gives them advice then gets out of the way and lets them follow their own paths. Because he believes that is how a man should treat his family.

He is my equal in all things. Not only does he work outside the home, he helps me in the home. He has always helped with the kids, but he also helps with the housework, especially since I have had health issues. For decades, he has always done the dishes. I cook, he cleans. He does laundry, and cleans when needed. And he does all the vacuuming of the floors, since it is a chore I hate doing. In short, he takes up my slack, and being a man, he takes care of me. Above all, my toxic male has encouraged me to do what I wanted and supported me in all things. He is my biggest fan and he believes in me when I falter in my goals. He thinks I am something special, even when I don’t. He loves me, and treats me like I am a treasure because he believes no man is complete without a woman who loves him as much as he loves her.

He protects our home and family. He believes it is his responsibility to make sure we are safe from harm from others. He made sure all of us are trained in how to use weapons to protect ourselves if he is not present. He made sure that our home is protected by installing alarms and equipment to insure our security. And he stands between all of us and the evil out there in the world, ready to take up arms and do what must be done to ensure our safety. Because that’s what a man does, he protects his home and his loved ones.

He is religious, believing in his God and in the church in which he is a member. He stands as the head of our family, holding me by his side as his equal as he teaches our family how to stand firm in their beliefs as well. Although we do not expect our family to follow blindly, we do always offer them a place to learn and worship as needed. He does this because he firmly believes a man must set an example for others to follow, and he must stand by that example – always.

Like many toxic males, he loves guns, rides motorcycles, loves the outdoors, and enjoys hanging out with other males, mostly his brothers. He is political, staunchly conservative, patriotic, and loves America for all it stands for and does for the world. He is unwavering in his standards as an American. And he is this way because that is what a man, a strong independent male, does.

My man is a toxic male according to the leftist agenda. I can guarantee every single woman out there who has to put up with the cry baby males of the left envies every last one of us women who has a real man in her life who isn’t ashamed to be an uninhibited male. I know I am thankful to have mine.

A Girl and A Horse


On Saturday our Addie had a great day. She is quite horse mad right now, and wants riding lessons. Its a long story, but the other grandparent with whom we share custody, isn’t keen on the idea. To help Addie learn about horses and have the chance to be around them, we try to get her to events that will give her hands on experience.

The woman who trained our granddaughter and her horse in the hunter/jumper events put on a program for her younger students called a play day. The girls got to groom and bathe a small horse, lead and ride a horse, and play together in the outdoors on the farm. It was, as Addie said, “Totally Awesome!” And for my husband and myself, brought back happy memories of her mother learning horsemanship from one of the best trainers in our area.

There is something magical about being around horses. I know they seem huge, and they can be scary to little kids, but give them a minute or two with a horse sniffing them, nuzzling them, and kids just fall into love with the animals. There is nothing more sweet that seeing a child reaching up to hug a horse, and the horse all but climbing in their lap to hug them back.

Horses are wise, gentle, ornery, funny, goofy, spirited, and stubborn, just like people tend to be. A good match between rider and horse is a beautiful thing to see. It seems girls are more drawn to ponies and horses than boys, and it isn’t unusual to see a young girl out in the pasture with her best friend lying across his back and telling him all her troubles.

We used to live near a stable and on Saturday the parking area was filled with cars, trucks, and trailers as a gaggle giggling girls between six and womanhood took lessons, competed in events, cared for their horses and spent time making friends and enemies. Between the horses, dogs, people, teachers, and competition it was a noisy, joyous affair.

Girls learned responsibility, and how to work hard because their horses needed them to be able to understand and be aware of problems. Horses learned to work with the girls, treating them with gentleness and making them earn their respect. Having a horse is a lot more work than most people expect. It is an every day responsibility, and there is always something to take care of, be it making sure they horse stays healthy to keeping up with the maintenance of the animal. Brushing, shoes, trimming, checking for sores, cuts, making sure their teeth are in good shape, it is always something. Then there is the equipment that requires care. A good trainer will make sure the girls know how to keep their saddle and bridal in good condition, how to choose the right bit for their horse, and how to get their horse ready to ride.

Some girls have full board horses, where farm hands feed and water the horses, and clean the stalls for them. Personally, I think it is important that a horse owner take care of their own horse every day themselves. Nothing like cleaning out a dirty stall to teach a child hard work. Hauling in hay, grain, and water gives them a chance to understand horse nutrition and health. Overseeing the horses makes them more than a weekend owner, it makes them understand the needs of their horse and how to relate to him better.

I always get a kick out of watching a girl learn to make her horse do as she asks instead of doing what he wants. It gives a girl courage to face down a stubborn 1500 pound animal with nothing more than grit and her 100 pounds of determination. I have seen girls take a jump and go head over heels off a 16 hand horse, just to get up, brush off the dirt and climb right back on to try again. No tears, no self pity, just hard core determination to learn how to do things right. It is a beautiful thing to watch.

So, our Addie isn’t taking lessons, yet. But she is learning her way around a horse and how to care for one from the hooves up. One day we will watch her compete like her mother did, and bring home a blue ribbon. But the point of competing, to us, isn’t the winning, it is learning how to cope with losing, and still getting back on her horse and trying again until she conquers everything ahead of her. And until then, she will have fun loving on horses every chance she gets. I love being a Nana.

Childhood Memory


One winter, when I was about six years old, every kid in my family came down with a series of diseases. Measles, followed by chicken pox, followed by mumps. For three months my mother was stuck in the house with four little girls covered by some sort of bumps and dealing with a fever. We were hot, itchy, cooped up, and miserable. We all fell ill, like dominoes, one after the other. How my mother kept her sanity is beyond me. And to make things even more stressful, my dad was out in the field with the US Army and we were stationed in Germany with no family to help. I don’t remember a lot about that winter, except for one shining moment.

I got well first. I cannot tell you how great it was to not itch, and to be able to go outside. For Christmas, my older sister and I got our first bicycles. We were too sick to ride them for weeks after Christmas. I got to ride my bike before my sister got to be outdoors. I remember riding it up and down the sidewalk outside our flat, looking up at the third floor window where my sisters all stood watching me. As the second child, I rarely got to do anything first. I was chuffed beyond words. All three stood scowling at me, and I have to admit I was feeling pretty cocky that I was out and they were still in itchy hell. I was six, give me a break and don’t judge. As an adult, I know it was cheeky and rude, but as a child, I just felt empowered.

It wasn’t long before all four of us were well and back to running in and out of the house like we usually did. The memories of being miserable faded, and my special moment did too. We were finally back in school, and I know my mother was happy beyond words to have survived the winter of illness. Spring came and we were outside more than inside the house. In fact, we didn’t want to be indoors if we could avoid it. With spring came our usual battles with the Jones kids. We hated the Jones kids, they were bullies and meaner than a ticked off snake. Debra was the only girl, and she decided she was going to make my little sister’s life hell. Her closest sibling was Billy, he was twelve, my older sister was seven, and I was six. It was our job to look after the two younger girls. Billy would pick on us every time his sister started being rude or hateful and we put her in her place. I have always been, and will always be, a sarcastic smart mouth.

One afternoon on the playground, I got into it with Debra again. Billy started in on my sister, and I jumped in with a bowling pin. I have no idea where the wooden pin came from, but it was perfect to beat the snot out of Billy. So I set to, and he went home to whine to his mother. About that time, my mother turned up on the playground, (my next younger sister was always a tattle tale) to see what was going on. Mrs. Jones started shouting out her window at my mother. Mrs. Jones was probably close to six feet tall and weighed in at well over 200 pounds. My mother was five feet four inches tall and weighed about 110 pounds. Mom told Mrs. Jones that if she wanted a fight to get her fat @$$ down stairs and she would be happy to oblige her. She wouldn’t come down, and Mom was more than ready to go up and drag her out by her hair. But the other moms got her to calm down. No one insulted her girls. Now you know where I get my bad attitude and willingness to take on anyone. My sister and I got a reputation for fighting. Most people left us alone, except for the Jones brats and a girl called Rita.

Rita was bigger than my sister and I, since we tended to be on the shrimpy side. One day walking home from school she ambushed us. It wasn’t a long fight, my sister pretty much ended it before it got started, darn it. Rita’s problem was her dirty mouth and the way she thought she could talk to anyone that way. In our family, if we had sworn like that, my mother would have made us eat a bar of soap. The problem was that we wouldn’t put up with it from anyone else either. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well when my parents found out we had been fighting again. We followed the house rule of never starting a fight, but we sure as hell finished one. I guess my attitude was built into my genes. My dad and mother were scrappers in school, my sons were also willing to take on a fight anytime, and at least one of my grandchildren is a scrapper too. Thinking back on those days it is a wonder my dad didn’t get into trouble due to our fighting. Of course, one look at my tiny sister and the almost as tiny me, and every boy we fought with had a very embarrassed Dad since two skinny girls beat the stuffing out of their big brave boy.

I fought less as I grew older, but the years between six and eight were the banner years for my hot temper. I learned to control it better, but I never managed to curb the smart mouth and sarcastic comments that fell out of it regularly. Looking back, I was a bit of a bad ass. It tends to make me smile when I think back on those days.

Play With Any Toy


“Nana?” she asked, “Do I have to play with boy toys if I don’t want to?” I was surprised at the question, she is all girl, and only has pink toy cars that match her Barbie stuff. “Why?” I asked her. “Well, Papa said that sometimes girls play with toys boys like more than girls do. I don’t like boy toys, they’re boring and dumb. I want to play with girl toys because I have fun pretending with them. And I love my babies. (She is crazy about baby dolls.) So I don’t want to play with boy toys.” I assured her that she didn’t have to play with boy toys if she didn’t want to, but if she did she could. It didn’t matter one way or the other. But it had to be her choice what she played with and when. She was satisfied with that and went off to play with her Barbie doll house. Later, I got the whole story from her.

Come to find out, it is a big issue at school from last week. There was a deep discussion between the other kids sitting at her table. There are four of them two girls, two boys. One of the boys was playing “house” with the mostly girl group. He was “the dad” and he was babysitting so the “moms” could go grocery shopping. All normal play as far as I am concerned. They were mimicking their home life. Sounds a lot like our house too. At one point one of the girls said that the boy was silly for playing with a doll because it was a girl toy. This led to a huge discussion about what a boy toy or girl toy was, and why it was fine for anyone to play with either. Except for one small group of girls who insisted that boys who played with dolls were sissies and not acting like boys. Addie, who has been raised in a traditional family that has no such rules was confused. She was raised to think that she could play with any toy, and even if boy toys were boring and dumb, she could still play with them.

The play ended with a young boy with hurt feelings, and several snippy little girls feeling smug and superior. Addie felt bad for the little boy, he sits at her table, and he is her friend. The next free play time, she went to play with him and his boy toys. They had fun wrecking their trucks. Then they decided to organize the baby stuff so that everyone could find it and play with it. They were happily folding “laundry” and putting everything away when another girl started in on the boy again about being a sissy. Addie stepped in and told her she was being a mean bully to the boy. He quietly walked away and played with the boys again. The girl and Addie ignored each other the rest of the week. Apparently, it really bothered her. Enough that she sought out adult opinions from the Mr. and I.

She told me that when she went back to school, she was going to tell the boy and the mean girl that anyone could play with any toy they wanted to, and it didn’t mean they were anything different than anyone else. She was indignant for her friend, which makes me proud of her. My problem is simple, what kind of home life does the little girl have that it gives her the idea everyone has to be the same, and if anyone is different at all, then it is okay to ridicule them and call them names?

I don’t believe in forcing my kids to play with gender specific toys, who knows, my girls might want to be mechanics, and my boys might want to be a kindergarten teacher for all I know. It is sad enough that men are denied the opportunity to work with and be around young children because the are automatically suspected monsters due to their gender. Now other children, who have been brain washed, want to control a boy’s instinct to parent by telling them doing so makes them suspected in some way as abnormal. Why? At this rate, boys will grow up to be men who are afraid of being involved with their own children for fear of being labeled as predators, homosexual, or inept as males.

I am proud of Addie for standing up for her friend. I am glad she felt able to come to us and ask about something that really bothered her. I hope we gave her an answer that would help her navigate the social issues of kindergarten children. Most of all, however, I hope that girl has zero influence on Addie’s acceptance of everyone just as they are.

Ornaments and Traditions


Every year since we got married in 1971, the day after Thanksgiving is when we start decorating for Christmas. No matter how broke, despondent, worried, angry, or disappointed our life is at that moment, we begin to build our home into a happy place designed to celebrate the traditions of our families and the birth of Jesus Christ.

Over the years, we have collected many decorations, some made by our children and grandchildren, some bought in the far off places we have lived and traveled to, some handed down from friends and family. Each one is a treasure, carefully packed away every year to be brought out and rediscovered the following year. As time goes by, some of them get a bit worn and tattered, but they still go on the best place for them on the tree. As I see them being hung by my family and myself, memories flow through my mind about how and when they came to be part of our tradition.

I have twelve cloisonne bells that were given to me as a gift when we lived in Hong Kong, each one has a slightly different sound when it rings. I have a set of lovely hand carved Angel ornaments that I bought when we were visiting Bruge, Belgium. And the lace ornaments that I bought in different countries to make a special collection is beautiful. But the ornaments that I love the most are the ones made by my children and grandchildren, and now, great grandchildren. Some were made at school, others were made in scouts or as projects we did together as a family. They aren’t fancy, and they aren’t perfect, but they are unique, one of a kind, filled with love and memories. I have hand prints in paint on plastic bobbles, I have ornaments made of Popsicle sticks, glue, and glitter. I have drawings on paper, hung carefully next to the crystal angel that I bought for my first grandchild’s first Christmas. It doesn’t matter what they are made of, they are more treasured than the most expensive ornament on the tree. Because my babies made them, I would rather have them than any other treasure on my trees.

Now I have two trees, one for my fancy store bought and gifted ornaments. It is lovely to behold. Sparkling and glittering with lights and special stones. I put it up in my home office, where it can be seen from the front of the house. It is an addition to all the sparkling lights outside. The other tree is for all my special treasures from my family. It is in my living room, and it glitters and sparkles unlike any other tree in the world. Each ornament is a memory or a story to pass down to our progeny. Each one is a part of our traditions, sacred, and delightful. Usually, the youngest in the family puts the star on the tree, but the one on the tree is built in now. This year, the youngest will be eight hours away, he is two, the perfect age to start telling the stories about each ornament. Instead, our five year old will do the honors when she comes to visit this weekend. She gets a kick out of decorating the tree her way. Meaning most of the purple ornaments are at her eye level, in one place on the tree. She has a thing for organizing colors that way. If she can’t reach a place she wants an ornament, either her Papa or I patiently position it until she is satisfied. Then we have hot chocolate and play until bedtime.

As the days lead up to Christmas, our entire house is decorated inside and out. While I do the baking creating goodies to share with friends and family, the Mr. hangs lights and swears under his breath every time he has to repair another string of lights. When we are done, our home looks like a place of joy, it smells delightfully of chocolate and fresh baked goods, and the music of Christmas fills the air with both sacred and fun sounds of happiness and celebration.

Traditions bring us together as a family. The stories bring us laughter and teaches us through example. The decorations remind us of the past, the people, and the love we all share one generation to the next. I love Christmas, it completes my life, just as the month of December completes the year. Merry Christmas One and All. God Bless Each and Every One of You.

Is The Screaming Over?


I thought, probably naively, that once the election in 2016 was over, people would go back to being regular Americans and life would go on. That’s how it usually worked all my life. Not this time, politics became a war cry for the party who lost the run for president. And everything went to hell in a hand basket for those of us who wanted to move on and improve our lives and the lives of all Americans.

Here we stand, two years later, further divided by political angst and anger stemming from that loss to the elitist left. The rest of us keep having to defend ourselves from the hatred spewed loud and long in words and actions. Doesn’t matter if we are the most descent people on earth. Doesn’t matter if we didn’t even vote for President Trump, all that matters is that we are not part of the minority of people who loved Hillary Clinton. Even the Bernie voters either had to get on the liberal hate wagon or suffer a constant barrage of anger and threats.

Quite honestly, I don’t understand that sort of rhetoric. It seems as if the haters of President Trump will do anything to find a way to twist everything he says. In spite of the fact that he has done everything he promised to do for and in behalf of all American citizens, the left refuses to believe he has done anything worthwhile. The desperation in behavior is shocking in its vehement verbiage. And not only do they blame him for every bad thing in their personal lives, they blame every conservative as well. As if each of us had the time to bother with such things. Most of us are busy trying to pay our bills and take care of our responsibilities.

But, if you didn’t know better, it would seem that every single white man, young or old, is a born terrorist determined to decimate every liberal man or woman in the country. Which is, quite frankly, nonsense. If you listen only to leftist propaganda, every white person in the United States of America is a racist, homophobic, violent, gun toting, vicious, hate spewing, killer. When the truth is, the majority of white people, by far, don’t give a rats pattootie about skin color, who someone sleeps with, or how someone lives their life. We do have guns, to protect ourselves and our families. But so do many people of color. The white people I know don’t spew hatred nor do they want to kill anyone. However, they will defend their rights given by law and the Constitution of the United States by standing firm on their beliefs.

But, because they don’t bow to the wishes of the leftists, and refuse to give into fear of the mob, that somehow makes them evil and corrupt. Corrupt is the governments, local and state wide that are ripping off the very people who voted for them and allowing crime to infiltrate their cities to the point that hundreds are killed in their slums and poverty ridden areas every year. They don’t care, because they already got their millions through selling their souls to those who would illegally gain through the corruption. Most of those local governments are run by democrats. Go figure. Kind of sad for those who voted them in.

Because conservatives live the letter of the law, do their best to be honest and straightforward in their beliefs and wishes for themselves and the country, we somehow are seen as greedy and self serving. Really? See the above paragraph for the meaning of greed and self serving. Strangely enough, conservatives would rather avoid an argument and simply get on with living. But we are often faced with out right hatred from groups such as Antifa and the Hollywierd leftists who support things that we do not. You all know what they are, I don’t need to give you a list. Just because we disagree, doesn’t mean we want to be enemies.

America was founded in the belief that everyone has a right to believe as they wish. Over the centuries, even the most down trodden among us, the enslave, the indentured, women, and children have gained equality and freedom. The poorest can evolve to be the wealthy in our society. (For example, Oprah Winfrey who climbed from poverty to unimaginable wealth in her lifetime. And my personal favorite, Madam C.J. Walker and uneducated daughter of slaves who was the first black millionaire.) All they have to do is work hard and believe in themselves. Now, it seems, it is evil to be wealthy, unless you are a person of color or a female of liberal persuasion. Anyone else who is wealthy must be evil, because they had all the advantages. Unless, of course, they didn’t, like the founder of the Walmart stores. But he was a white man, so he is a natural born horror story according to the left.

All of the suppositions about conservatives is starting to wear on conservatives. Without fact checking, reading history, or using logic against the arguments of the left, folks are buying into the rhetoric. I am so tired of being accused of things I don’t believe, never have or would do, all because I want our country to be run on constitutional law as it was intended to be from the beginning. I am tired of fake innuendo and accusation being used against the truth: Conservatives want everyone to have a part of the American Dream as long as they are citizens of our country. I am tired of having to defend myself from idiotic comments and downright lies and I am really, really tired of having to walk away from decades old friendships because I will not back down from my beliefs, which are, by the way, backed by facts, not emotional knee jerk responses.

Mid term elections are next week. I hope that once they are over, the screaming will stop. But it won’t if the left doesn’t get its way. Like all two year old children who are told no, they will continue having tantrums if they don’t get what they want. And it will get worse, because they can’t accept the fact that folks are fed up with their whining and lies. People get tired of being denigrated when they have done nothing wrong. If however, they win, they will be like a bunch of teenage mean girls, and go out of their way to destroy that which Conservative people hold dear – our country. Will the right march and destroy things? Doubtful. Will they threaten and call for death of the leftist leaders? Not likely. Will we lie down and let the left destroy us? Of course not. We will keep on doing what we have always done. The right thing, for the right reasons, at the right time.

God Bless America, we are going to need it.

Again? Really? This Is Getting SO Predictable.


Yet another idiotic meme was posted on social media today. One that, once again, compared President Trump to Adolf Hitler. A blatant attempt to sway weak minded, perpetually offended, left leaning, uneducated people that the legally elected President of the United States is evil. She attempted to defend her stance by repeating the usual nonsense about his personality and his behavior, and that he was obviously mentally ill. I responded with this.

T (the person who eagerly posted the meme), stop a minute. So he (President Trump) doesn’t meet your standards for polite language, and he is rough edged, What makes him fake if that is true? It seems to me that people who say what they mean and mean what they say are often viewed as harsh or outspoken and use less of the polite passive aggressive verbiage than those who are just spewing rhetoric.

What makes you think he is crazy and needs evaluation? The propaganda you read and the hate that you spread without proof, from non medical anti Trump advocates, or do you have a medical degree that would give you the right to attest to that statement?

If you read something other than propaganda from the hate Trump crowd, you would know that he DID have a mental evaluation when he had his last physical. Guess what, it showed that he was perfectly normal and he has no mental issues at all. That tells me it is the folks who hate him who really have the mental issues. They are so filled with ire they can’t be bothered to actually think for themselves, read something beyond propaganda, and take a step back to see just how much he HAS done since he has been in office.

In fact, he has managed, despite Congress doing their best to stop him with their stalling, to accomplish almost all he promised to the REST of us. Those who want someone who isn’t a professional lying politician to make American great again. Heaven knows the Obummer managed to make the world laugh at us long and loud.

All of the nonsense you have spewed thus far, my friend, is pure propaganda repeated over and over and over by the leftist media and hard line haters. Truth doesn’t matter to any of them, only getting that cow Killary in office matters. It doesn’t matter that she is a criminal and hates all of us deplorable underlings.

Look, T, you simply need to take a minute to stop hating and see all the good that has happened for most of America since he took office. Starting with more folks working than ever before and more freedom returning to our lives. Stop hating, learn for yourself. Don’t be a cog in the hate machine. Be an independent individual. It takes courage, but you are smart enough and talented enough to do it.

Typically, all I got in response from T and her cadre of perpetually angry and offended, hate filled, so called friends, was personal insults, unexciting verbosity, and repetitive vomiting of the standard “we hate Trump” hits. It makes my eyes cross with boredom, kind of like listening to the same five notes of a screeching diva aria.

I can’t believe people are so afraid to think outside of the prison of the liberal progressive thought box and socially acceptable actions. It is as if they have a list of what is and is not the right thing to say and do when they hear the word Trump. Someone says that the job market is booming thanks to his tax cuts, and the leftist run to their menu and pick a response for column A for feeling offended, column B for knowing they are superior to all the facts, and C what names to call anyone who says, “Good! More jobs for the under employed, minorities, and legal immigrants.”

It all starts to blend together in an unending “wawawawa” like the teachers in the Peanuts cartoons. I see more and more Constitutionally Conservatives rolling their eyes and refusing to engage in such petty nonsense. The odd thing is, when Conservatives stop talking, responding, or arguing with such people, the leftist actually think they won the debate or changed someone’s mind to come over to the dark side. Those folks actually do not understand civil discourse, irony, or common facts. They don’t care what the facts say, they hoist themselves on their emotion filled self righteousness and expect the world to bow down to them.

Well, we see what that brought to us when our then president bowed to the will of every single anti American leader in the world. Now we have even more people trying to use our country and its people for their gain. Sundering our generosity as a nation and as a people, we have become the laughing stock of the world, expected to apologize for our strength, our ability, and our business acumen. I would say that they still want to be in our schools, but with the way the leftists have taken over all the liberal arts universities, that is no longer so, as we drop further behind in educational prowess every year.

So, to T, and to the few progressives I bother to speak to any longer: Just because I refuse to engage in this unending, whining, round robin argument it does not mean you won the battle. If anything it means I no longer feel you have a grip on reality and nothing I say will bring you back from the abyss of ignorance and hate that permeates your lives. I love you, I care about you, but I am no longer going to let you be the negative in my world. I will go around, ignore, climb over, stand above, adapt and overcome your incessant complaining and hatred toward a hard working American. A man whom you hate because he is successful and makes the lot of you look idiotic in your constant propaganda laden, unthinking lemming-like devotion to lies, distortions, and venomous tautology concerning his presidency. In short, no one is listening and we are all moving on.