The Good in Us. We Deserve to Thrive.
Remember that song I Believe? It begins: “For every drop of rain…” We can’t print many words from song lyrics, so I trust you’ll remember that song. Hint, “a flower grows.”
It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude, isn’t it?
First on my list right now is this: "Keep the White House free of dictators living there."
Think of it this way:
The
Republican Presidential Candidate got his trial sentencing delayed
until after the election.
If he wins, he will have Presidential immunity. When his term of office
is over he will be up for grabs again regarding sentencing. Do you think
he would let that happen? There are words in the wind say he wants to
be President FOR LIFE. (And according to the Rolling Stone Magazine, he
has his people at strategic positions in the swing states. Hum. What do
you suppose that means?)
That's a dictator folks!
I don’t care where you are on the abortion issue (Well, I do care, but I’m keeping my mouth shut). Vote for Kamala Harris to keep a dictator out of the white house, then address the abortion issue.
Do you think a woman has a right to her own body, or should the government decide?
Do you like the way the Supreme Court is set up?
Do you think the US ought to send any military equipment into wars outside the US? Remember the Vietnam War? Great protest movements helped grind that to a halt.
Remember the Iraq war? We ended that after 20 years.
Do you believe that we should support our NATO allies?
Do you think it’s OK to insult people who do not have children?
Do you think it’s OK to insult people who have a different Faith than yours?
What happened to the separation of church and state? Is it all right with you to let that go?
Should we argue over climate change or work together to see that everything within our powers is done TO KEEP THE EARTH INHABITABLE TO HUMANS?
Do you think the ones with the money ought to run our country or that people without children should NOT run for office?
Do you think that childless people don’t care about the future?
Do you want internment camps?
Do you think it’s OK for a man who is running for President to say that women are fat and ugly—but he wants their vote?
Do you think it’s alright for a man who is running for President to believe it’s his right to grab the women he considers pretty by their private parts?
Remember the Divine Right of Kings?
Do you think it’s OK to place a man in the white house who wants to abolish our two-term Presidential system? What about the ones who come after him? That edict would still be in place. Our Republican Candidate won’t live forever—unless he knows something we don’t know.
Do you think our Republican Presidential candidate is a Messiah? (I’ve heard of a more loving one.)
Are we OK with our country being run by corporations and that the rich can run the show, or that one man can throw millions into a Presidential campaign to help determine the it's outcome?
Is money speaking for us?
Do you believe that we the people have a voice?
Keep the Present Republican Candidate out of the White House and then address those concerns individually.
We can do it.
This Candidate must win by a landslide, or he will never believe he lost.
If you can’t stand Kamala Harris, grit your teeth and vote for her anyway. WE DO NOT WANT A DICTATOR IN THE WHITE HOUSE.
We are good people. We deserve to thrive.
Do we remember that we have the power to make changes, advance civilization, and get along with each other?
I think so.
"Never doubt that a group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, its the only thing that every has."--Margaret Mead
WE CAN DO IT--PEACEFULLY.
"My wife's cat," says one reader.
And now dear ones, from an earlier time when the living was easier and the air was fresher, the sun brighter, and the heart lighter—like 14 years ago. It’s an excerpt from my book.
Thank you for reading so far. I love all my readers.
It’s strange, I am getting a good number of hits on this site, however most are from out of the U.S. I guess they don’t like me so well here in my homeland. It must have been something I said.
34
On the Road
When Daughter Dear was on maternity leave and her son was two months old, we set out for an eight-state road trip.
We rented a van and loaded Bear into the back and Peaches in the front. The baby had the seat behind us, and thus we took off—limited only by the needs of a two-month-old. It was the best vacation of my life—to do what we wanted, when we wanted, and stop when we felt like it.
I had heart palpitations after going up and down a Colorado mountain too fast, coupled with an area in New Mexico that held both a mental institution and a Prison. Both DD and I felt odd, and my chest hurt all night. Don't ask me to explain it; it seemed like something was in the air, something negative. A person at our hotel told us that area wasn’t good.
Both DD and I felt similar negativity in some areas of Hawaii, one of the reasons we wanted to leave. No heart palpitations there, though. I don't tend to get too woo-woo, but when woo-woo strikes, I pay attention.
Clearly, I have an altitude problem. That trip up and down the mountain showed me. Altitude, not attitude. Well, that, too.
A young woman Neil knew from Nikon Inc. told me that if I had walked that mountain instead of driving it, I wouldn't have had a problem.
That woman, a slight person who looked like a runner, climbed Mt Everest to the base Camp. Yes, she did. I was astounded. She said, "You climb high and sleep low." You climb higher than where you plan to sleep and then return to your campsite. That will help acclimate you to the altitude.
While driving in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I declared, "I want to find one of those pottery shops…”
“Like that one?” DD pointed.
Directly beside us was the best pottery shop I had ever seen. It had rows of pottery, beautiful glazes and designs, dishes, pots, wall hangings, and those chocolate tiles Nina bought, carried to Hawaii, and left as the countertop of a bar in her Hawaiian Tiki Room.
Coming home from that trip, we found ourselves 100 miles from Disneyland, DD's favorite place on the planet. Being that close, we had to go. We found a hotel with a shaded parking lot, and as we had a large van, we left the windows slightly ajar for the dogs, walked a couple of blocks to Disneyland, and partied hardy. At night the dogs came into the room with us.
After that Colorado Mountain High, I breathed a sigh of relief upon entering Disneyland, where I noticed a sign at the train station stating the elevation. I thought it said one foot. But when I checked the Internet to verify the elevation, a sign on the train station read 138 feet. Either way, I was comfortable.
Little Boy Darling's first visit to Disneyland, at two-months old, was fun, and he liked the submarine ride where he watched fishes swimming past the port hole window.
We skipped all scary rides.
Once, for the heck of it, way before our grandson was a glint in anyone's eye, and after reading that the Cavalia Horse Show featuring exquisite white horses, a Cirque du Soleil sort of event, was being performed in Dallas, Texas, DD, and I flew there. A pond appeared in the sand on the floor of their mammoth white tent. After their horses had raced through it, splattering water and clearly getting wet, the water disappeared beneath the sand.
Witnessing the love expressed between the horses and the trainer was worth the ticket price, and the girl who came racing into the arena at breakneck speed riding two horses, Roman style, almost had me on the floor.
After we had accrued numerous frequent-flyer miles and often asked to be bumped from a flight on purpose so we could earn more, DD and I used them to go as far as we could. That was to Niagara Falls, where a humongous amount of water separates the US and Canada.
We took the Maid of the Mist boat into the tumultuous mist on the American side. At that time, we didn't need a passport to cross the border, so we drove to Canada across the river to see the Niagara River fall from a different country. On the Canadian side, we ate the best chocolate-covered pretzels at the Hersey factory and, by chance, saw that Madonna was performing that night at the Ontario Sports Arena.
We had to attend that concert.
Our tickets were in the nosebleed section behind a column. From our perspective, we could see Madonna rise from beneath the stage. On giant TVs, we watched that woman sing while doing a handstand, and nary a muscle quivered from the strain of it.
Our seat companion, a young, enthusiastic fellow, had flown from Texas especially to see Madonna's performance, so the three of us were flying high.
We fell in love with Canada—the people and their attitude. They gently suggest wearing seat belts: "Be protected, not projected." They also have "Traffic calming zones" in the city where drivers can pull over and calm down. Some ads alongside the road presented exquisite lawn plantings with the vendor's name spelled out in flowers.
It was strange driving up to the falls; we traveled over the flat country following the Niagara River until, WHAP, an abyss. I had expected to hear a roar before arriving but only heard it when we were practically upon it. A good thing a native, not knowing the falls were there, didn't come along riding his horse at breakneck speed.
But then the horse would have heard it.
💕
