My Yard Is For Freedom

Who cares about political affiliations except for those who think the Civil War is still being fought? Actually, that ordeal is and was a total embarrassment; a Country declaring war against itself with winners none. That chapter is thankfully gone, but in its place was

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supposed to be born the beginnings of a brand new liberty and freedom. What happened to that freedom? Hard for me to tell and I live on the prairie where the wind whispers free and unemcumbered. It is for this reason, peace of mind, that I am taking a Facebook break. I am a writer, a northern, Republican, Catholic, American writer, and I know what real freedom tastes and feels like and cannot and will not settle for less.

If you are looking for me, this is where I will be; although, I will continue to share with FB but I imagine my posts will be DOA on arrival. Love to my friends and family, and you will be hearing from me.

 

A Song Bird Flies Away

On the day after my first Chemo treatment for a highly curable form of cancer (Lymphoma) which my Onocologist says he can put in remissission in two months, the news flash came on that Lady Soul, Aretha Franklin, had slipped away and passed into her heavenly home. Although I never had the honor to know this immense talent while she walked among us, I sure knew her in another. We both hail from Detroit, have a burning passion for music, absolutely love Motown and remember when it was a force to be reckoned with and the playground of the Midwest, and if I listen real hard I can hear her footsteps going down the sidewalk leaving the old Hitsville Building from my perch across the street knowing in my sixteen year old heart I was watching a star.

A solitary tear somehow slipped down my cheek, not for me but for songbirds that cannot stay but are destined to spread their wings and fly to the sky.
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The Little Train That Could; a history lesson

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By 1862, slaves freed by Union troops made their way north to Camp Defiance, a Union Stronghold established at Cairo, Illinois. This small camp became a gathering point for freed slaves, although, Illinois state law prohibited black migration into the state, Camp Defiance fell under martial law which allowed a large alliance of African Americans to seek shelter and refuge there. Every day the Illinois Central Railroad carried carloads of African-Americans north to Chicago, Rock Island, and other urban centers. Thus, a small northern railroad, hundreds of Union Soldiers, and our very first Republican President, Abraham Lincoln, ensured that thousands of African American slaves would not only be saved but prosper and multiply.

In time, the Illinois Central Railroad disbanded and became ‘The City of New Orleans/Amtrak’, Camp Defiance closed down and became a park with a memorial to mark the spot, and the Cairo Bridge was built to span the Mississippi River between Illinois and Missouri. The state line was placed in the middle of the river so that neither state could claim ownership. So important is Cairo, Illinois and the Camp Defiance Park in American History that when the Mississippi River threatened to flood the area, the levees were blown forcing the floodwaters southward, and Memphis, Tennessee was flooded to save Cairo.

I make no inference here other than to say it was Union soldiers fighting under the American Flag, a small Union Camp flying the American Flag, and a small northern railroad line traveling under the American Flag that aided and saved so many freed slaves that an accurate count could never be obtained. How ironic it seems the descendants of those freed slaves are currently using that American Flag as a protest of perceived wrongs against their peace of mind and toppling states to commemorate a great turning point in American History. Perhaps, what is really called for is to get off your knees and run for a history book. It does make one wonder what educators are teaching students when clearly they are impervious to the selfless struggle and dedication that defines the principle ‘All Men Are Created Equal’.

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A New Look For The New Year

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To my flock of admirers:

I dug out my combat boots and thinking cap, went to work straight away, and updated my blog page. Come check me out, and let me know what you think. Happy New Year’s to all my friends and family.

My Dirty Little Secret

I tried to be a woman of the world, and did a pretty good job of it; but, the awful truth was I did not know how to put gas in my car so before I could go anywhere I had to send the husband to the gas station with MY car. And this he did.

To rectify this short coming, I stated watching YouTube videos on ‘how to pump gas’, and learned some rather interesting trivia in the process. You never have to guess which side of the car your gas tank is on because there is a little arrow in the gas gage pointing to the side of the car corresponding to the tank, you take the gas cap off with two clicks and put it back on with three clicks, and in the State of Oregon it is illegal for any private citizen to touch the gas pumps and all the stations have attendants to pump the petrol.

After two days of viewing YouTube, I hauled the husband to the car and drove him to the gas station so he could watch me pump gas to make sure I did it correctly. The next day, I repeated the same procedure with the other car. I would do it again, but I’m fresh out of vehicles and the ones we have are full to the point of overflowing. He says there will be no more gas purchases this week because gas is at an all time high due to the hurricane in Texas, but I don’t know how that caused the gas price in Illinois to spiral upwards but it did.

I am currently watching basic auto maintenance videos but I don’t like getting grease on my hands so I am uncertain if I will try to check the oil or not. I still my not be a woman of the world, but at least I can get gas in the car and travel from one gas station to the next.

Such is life on the prairie.

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Let’s All Fight With Statues!

Years ago while sitting in a café in Argentina, I watched as a group of drunken Americans staggered through the door. It was not hard to tell they were Americans; they were rude and crude and seemed to think they were deserving of special privilege that did not include courtesy to other patrons.  While I sat there watching them, this is the conversation heard from the booth behind my head:

Patron One: “Now you know what the term ‘ugly Americans Abroad’ means.”

Patron Two: “What do Americans know anyway? They live in the only country in the world to declare war against itself.”

It was a simple observation of those diners, and I had forgotten the words until recently when Americans went to war with the statues left behind from that war. The thing is I don’t care one way or another about a civil war statue because I only see them for what they are; statues that are very old and commemorate a chapter in our history that was not pretty but history rarely is. However, if you need to beat up a statue to feel self worth, then go for it. But what happens once the statues are broken and lying on the ground as so much rubbish, and the supply of statues runs out?  Who then fulfills the wrath of a mob intent on vigilante justice, and we can but hope they don’t start looting civil war gravesites in search of long dead soldiers on both sides.

The real travesty of the statue thing is, I don’t have to travel abroad these days to watch ugly Americans on display. I only have to turn the television on.

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What Happened To Common Courtesy?

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Imagine this scenario, if you can.

The above dog is but a picture, but for a moment pretend this is a real dog, and it is being mistreated, insulted, and ridiculed for no other reason than its breed or looks. It’s not a bad dog, but there are those who would take delight in inflicting pain, insults, and injury on this dog. Not only would they take delight in such acts, they would gang up on this dog and do as much physical and emotional harm to this dog they could, and walk away in smug self-righteousness with big smiles on their faces as the dog is lying on the ground mortally wounded and crying.

Would it surprise you to know this a scene that is being repeated across the nation on a daily basis, not to dogs but to people, and sadly, God’s creatures are being systematically brutalized for nothing more than their personal choices and value systems.  Essentially, they are being treated as the misfits of society.

No way! Don’t believe it? It’s absolutely true, and here’s why. The above dog with the sad look on his face is a Republican and voted for the 45th President of the United States, Donald J. Trump; therefore, he is a subhuman life form and worthy of any and all disdain and punishment that can be heaped on him.  Any questions?

Where Is My Wayward Cloud?

I type on a Japanese computer protected by a Russian Anti-Virus program, and use a cell phone and tablet manufactured in Korea. All three companies have their support staffs in Indian staffed by personnel that speak English that is not recognized as such. ohio-114092_960_720

Add to that mix that I live off grid, and my internet connectivity is mounted on a silo in a cow pasture. This is where my internet journey begins; on that silo with cows walking around looking at it because they know it is filled with grain. I have no idea where the cows come from, but they eventually end up at the slaughterhouse as they are beef cows. I assume they are American cows; however, they could be Russian spies for all I know. Also, due to this strange arrangement, I cannot determine exactly where my cyber cloud is, but I know its not in my house or hanging out over the silo. It’s just out there somewhere.

My cyber footprint is large, and it causes me to wonder how the cloud thing works. I have a Facebook Account, of course, a blog site, I publish digital books through Kindle which are sold through Amazon, belong to the KDP Kindle Network and several other writing sites. All of those transactions occur somewhere in an invisible cloud that apparently travels around the world.

I believe the cloud spans the world because of my blog site which includes a map that is updated daily, and illustrates what countries have visited your site on any particular day. Today when I logged in, it was not hard to tell that someone had visited my blog site from China because that country is represented in bright orange, and covers most of  Asia. Although I have included comment boxes on my pages, my visitor left no comment but looked at my pages, read my content, looked at my books, and moved on. They were just visiting.

It’s a good thing to have visitors, especially foreign visitors because you know your content is getting out there, but never forget what goes into cyberspace stays in cyberspace. More importantly, always remember people around the world can reach out and touch you anytime they want, and sometimes, their intent is not friendly.

The Tale of Two Cities (a story about human frailties):

old-age-360714__340No one saw the old man shuffle in and sit down at the end of the counter, or knew how long he had been sitting there. He ordered a cup of coffee, stirred three sugars into his cup, and sat alone, although, he was surrounded by people. He smiled at a woman leafing through magazines. She turned away. A small boy appeared beside him to look at the pies in the glass counter. His mother snatched him away, and dragged him back to a booth. No one saw the old man leave, or noticed he left two one-dollar bills beside his cup. Another man sat down, saw the bills, and pushed them across the counter to the waitress saying whoever sat there before him left them as a tip. The girl put them in her pocket replying it had been some old bum.

The old man walked on enjoying the warmth of the sun. Every now and then he would smile at someone, and each time they turned away aghast that a street bum should be smiling at them. No one noticed when the old man in the dingy clothes sat down on at the bus stop, except for the woman he sat next to who stood, and walked to the other end of the bench. He walked on, and found himself inside a drugstore, not that he needed anything in the drugstore but someone in the drugstore needed the gift he had to give.

The small boy sat in a high wheel chair, a mass of twisted limbs and jerky movements that caused his little body shudder. Today was a bad day, and the boy looked up at his mother. She smiled down at him, and turned back to the pharmacist. The old man approached the boy’s chair, and smiled at him. The boy smiled back, his small face twisting with the effort. The old man reached out and grasped his hand, and turned away. No one saw the old man leave and only knew he was gone. Gone from cold distant stares, and people who refused to acknowledge his presence, save but for one small boy confined to a wheel chair. He was going, and as he went he heard the mother’s screams as she turned back to her stricken child now standing upright before her. He could not help but linger long enough to hear the small boy assure his mother, “Do not cry, mother. It was an angel.”

Brand New Look

 

To my flocks of admirers:

In keeping with the occasion, I got my hard hat out, and pulled my favorite flapper dress out of mouth balls, and went right to work updating my blog page. Come check me out, and let me know what you think.

To my friends and family, a very happy New Year’s Eve.