Odd

These past couple of days I’ve been getting some odd “likes” on my blog. People with handles containing lots of random letters and numbers similar to “xton1235.ocwdx.com” and “strsex9542.swrdp.com.” Note, I didn’t use actual links, lest I trigger some response.

These “likers” never comment on my posts, so I don’t have an opportunity to mark them as spam, but they seem to follow even my comments on other posts, “liking” things I like and the comments I make.

Are any of my blogging friends seeing similar occurrences? I feel like something isn’t right with this sudden onslaught (there are at least ten different odd handles clicking the like button on my posts) am I being paranoid or should I be concerned?

Peace, people!

A Pink Bicycle

I might have been five. My parents had taken me shopping at Sears in Lubbock for my first bicycle. There was one I really wanted. It was bright pink and had purple streamers attached to the grips. It was the most beautiful bike I’d ever seen.

My mommy and daddy tried to get me interested in a different bike. I don’t remember what it looked like, only that it had a lack of streamers. I’m sure it was more in line with their meager budget, but at the tender age of five budgets didn’t matter much.

I turned my back on the offensive bike, and I’m sure I stuck out my bottom lip and crossed my arms in protest, striking a petulant pose in the middle of the busy department store. When I turned back around, I was by myself. I thought my parents had left me because I was pouting about the bicycle. Suddenly all my anger evaporated and I began to wail.

A kind woman came and took me to customer service, but I was sobbing too hard to tell anyone my name. When my parents realized I hadn’t followed them out of the bike section they hurried to customer service to find me inconsolable. They hugged and fussed over me and finally I was able to calm down. They’d been “missing” for maybe five minutes. I’m 61 and I remember the separation like it happened yesterday.

So, let’s think about these children being separated from their parents at the border, their cries haunted my dreams last night. Let’s think about the trauma our trump-led government is inflicting on innocent children. Let’s pray that the harm we are doing isn’t permanent.

We will pay for what we are doing. Maybe not now, but we will watch these young people reach adulthood with righteous anger in their hearts. And we will deserve the consequences.

By the way, I got the plain bicycle, but Daddy put streamers on the handlebars and added a squeaky horn and a white wicker basket onto the front. I embraced it. I had a change of heart.

Peace, people.

Moving

It’s been a little over a year since the world lost Chris Cornell. I’ll confess that I only knew of him through my daughter’s sweet sister-in-law Steph, who adored Chris and his music. Since Chris’s death I’ve paid attention to his incredible talent.

Yesterday I was listening to Howard Stern on SiriusXM when they played a song released by Chris’s daughter, Toni, for Father’s Day. I sat in my driveway and sobbed. It’s beautiful and so poignant. Hopefully you’ll be able to utilize the link below to hear what moved me so.

https://youtu.be/6YB9M8aB6b8

Love your people. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

Peace, people.

What a Patriot Dreams

Heart wrenching. Please read this piece by Stephanie Harper at silharperpoetry.com.

SLHARPERPOETRY

Desert Flags2
What a Patriot Dreams

I saw the flags come down—
in a scene that scrolled in slo-mo,
& from multiple vantages—
their masts falling like the trees
flattened by shockwaves
in those clips of old footage
from military nuclear bomb tests,
spliced into documentaries
for high school history classes;

except, my dream version’s vivid images
weren’t the projected celluloid etchings
that teenagers confined to plastic chairs
could summarily cancel from sight
with one hand motioning No
in the universal vernacular.

From a sweeping arc of floodlights
that rendered the indigo skyline
of an early-summer dusk starless,
the flags all vanished at once—
their wingless, red-white-blue heaps
crushing in on themselves, darkening,
& dropping like torn parachutes.

Sleep’s last claim on my consciousness
was that horizon of empty haloes
the mass plummet had left behind,
before my eyes fluttered open
to this morning’s first, grainy insinuations
that breached the blinds’…

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Golf on TV

There was a time when I could only groan when forced to watch sports on television. Since we had just one tv until I was a teenager I became resigned to watching one sporting event or another every weekend.

Depending on the season, Daddy had the old black and white RCA tuned to either football, baseball, basketball, or golf. I didn’t mind football as long as I could watch the Dallas Cowboys play, and back in the day the networks showed the bands performing during halftime.

Basketball was okay, as well, but baseball and golf were both good reasons to go outside and play. Occasionally, though, it was just too hot to spend time outdoors under the brutal Texas summer sun, and I’d end up watching the televised snooze fests with Daddy.

By far the worst was golf. The matches droned on and on while the announcers spoke in hushed voices that invited a good nap. I could read an entire book, put together a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle, and start another book in the course of a tournament. I’m sure my sighs conveyed my utter boredom and disgust, but Daddy couldn’t be coerced into switching to another program.

I leaned who Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino were:

So imagine my surprise when I grew to enjoy watching golf on tv. Studly Doright and I spent most of this past weekend watching the U.S. Open, and I was as glued to the coverage as he was. It helps that our big screen television has vibrant color and surround sound making the experience much more satisfying than the old black and white experience.

Best of all I learned to enjoy watching the tournaments with my Dad before he passed away, and my years of forced watching with him gave me a knowledge of golf’s history that Studly is lacking. I rub his nose in my superiority occasionally, but mostly I just snuggle next to him on the sofa and we give the golfers tips on reading the greens. Sometimes they listen.

Congrats to Brooks Koepka for his back to back U.S. Open wins. He listened.

Peace, people.

Trump Tries a New Story on for Size

A lot from Lydia

“I think Comey was the ringleader of this whole den of thieves. It was a den of thieves they were plotting against my election. Probably it’s never happened like that in terms of intelligence and in terms of anything else — but they were actually plotting against my election.” Donald J Trump June 16, 2017

The man lies knowing full well there is proof on film that he is lying.

https://youtu.be/8mKxeo67fn4

Why does he continue to lie so blatantly? Because it works. His tactic of repeating lies until they are accepted as fact got him elected. And they keep his “people sitting up at attention when he speaks”, just like North Koreans do with Kim Jong Un.

I saw some unsettling numbers yesterday regarding this “Trump, Russerrr investigation”:

  • 59% of voters don’t know about the indictments & guilty pleas
  • Mueller’s approval rating is, at an all time low, 32%
  • Only…

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Unforgivable

From Jan Wilberg’s piece, “The deep and durable harm being visited on border children right now by our United States government is fully and completely intentional.“

Red's Wrap

The kids in the orphanage in Nicaragua where we adopted three children didn’t cry. They’d already done their crying someplace else.

They might have looked concerned but they didn’t cry when passed from one person to the next like a bowl of mashed potatoes being passed at Thanksgiving dinner. In their tiny heads they had figured out the futility of complaint. There was no use crying, it wouldn’t change anything.

They had already lost everything.

Children cope with abandonment. They will appear to cope at least. And how they appear to cope is that they don’t cry. It won’t be long before the little children who have been separated from their parents by American immigration officials, who feel the same as if their parents had abandoned them on the side of the road, it won’t be long before they stop crying. Because crying won’t change anything.

In their minds, they…

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Happy Fathers Day to the Senators Who Take Children

Information at your fingertips. There’s no excuse for not contacting your members if Congress. Thanks to
Alotfromlydia.wordpress.com for preparing f and posting this.

A lot from Lydia

I think it’s appropriate, on this day when we celebrate fathers, to give a shout out to all the members of the Senate who will not sponsor a bill that would stop Donald J Trump’s policy of separating migrant children from their parents.

Happy Fathers Day Senators! Enjoy the day with your children while 2000 migrant children sit, without the protection of their parents, in the concentration camps you played a part in creating.

This list does not include the House of Representatives, which is why you don’t see other familiar names, like Paul Ryan and Devin Nunez.

The following story is hard to read, so imagine what it is to live through.

What’s Really Happening When Asylum-Seeking Families Are Separated? – Texas Monthly

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Happy Father’s Day

Remembering my Daddy on Father’s Day.

Praying for Eyebrowz

This was originally posted on Sunday, June 17, 2016.

Gerald Delane Hall

Husband

Father


Grandfather

Brother

Son

Great grandfather

Friend
A special man, my dad, not perfect, heck, he didn’t even try to be. But he was fun:

–Teller of inappropriate jokes, and a gambling fool.

–Measurer of miles in terms of six packs consumed.

–Lacking political correctness, yet treated everyone as an equal.

–Maker of friends wherever he went.

–Soft of heart.

–My biggest fan.

I miss this man.

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