Help Is Here

This is America. Not the rubbish we see in the papers and on TV, not the over rich politicians who have no idea what it is to be hungry, or have nowhere to rest, not the overpaid sports, media, and entertainment “stars”. These are the stars!

that little voice

I returned home just days following Hurricane Harvey’s rampage through this part of Texas, getting a first hand view of the devastation to some 100+ families, not including the dozens of businesses that were impacted in our small town. The saddest part of this tragedy is most of those affected could not afford these life changing events.

They lost everything…except each other. They have no clothes, no shoes, no food, no furniture,  no school supplies, no homes, no direction…and no money.

Rebuild? How? With What?

Move? Where?

Pull yourself up with your boot straps? Who has boots?

I sat with a restaurant owner yesterday as she handed out grocery store gift cards, clothing store gift cards, and cash to her staff members who have no place to live, and no means to ‘start over’. It was important that the restaurant open because these folks needed to get a paycheck, and that wouldn’t…

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Spitting image

This morning I was talking to my brother in law about my time in the army. It’s not a thing I do very often. When I do, I recall all sorts of odd facts that have been filed in the back of my memory bank.

This afternoon I saw a youth spitting on the pavement, a filthy, dirty habit I abhor, BUT, it did remind me of something I witnessed as a very young trainee soldier, at the age of 16 or 17.

A couple of lads were marching (we were not allowed to walk!) past the drill square (you stepped onto it at your peril, unless undertaking drill practice). One of them spat onto the square.

Immediately there was a terrifying roar of the Regimental Sergeant Major’s stentorian voice.

“You there! PICK THAT UP.”

And he did!

 

From that idle thought this poem popped

 

My mouth is full of spittle and I care no jot or tittle

I am going to spit it out upon the floor.

As my juices flow I find my spittle starts to grow

and, as time passes there is more and more

I know not why it is but my spittle starts to fizz

It is spilling from my mouth and from my nose

So beware if passing by for I’ll spit right in your eye

as I’m covered all in spit from head to toes!

Confabulate – Friday’s Word of the Day

We’ve all confabulated at times, some more than others. There are scary confabulators though. I think you all know who I mean.

Thanks to Kat for this wonderful Word of the day.

like mercury colliding...

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Today’s Word of the Day on Dictionary.com, Confabulate, is an interesting word for our times. Basically, it means to talk casually, converse or chat. It originated in 1610’s, from confabulatus,  past participle of Latin confabulari  “to converse together,” from com-  “together” (see com- ) + fabulari “to talk, chat, “from fabula “a tale” (see fable ).

It has a second meaning though, coined in psychological circles in 1924, that has found its way into our current dialog. Wikipedia offers a comprehensive look:

Confabulation is a disturbance of memory, defined as the production of fabricated, distorted, or misinterpreted memories about oneself or the world, without the conscious intention to deceive. Wikipedia goes on to explain, people who confabulate present incorrect memories ranging from “subtle alterations to bizarre fabrications”, and are generally very confident about their recollections, despite contradictory evidence.

There are several theories related to confabulation but one that caught my attention is the theory that…

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Elysian

This post by Chris Nicholas is well worth reading (right to the end!)

If you are someone who struggles to accept people who are different: try.
You just might learn something new, or even help to make the world a better or safer place.

Love is love. Human is human. And regardless of what some may wish to believe; we are equal. We are all valued. And we all connected.

The Renegade Press

Milk and honey have different colours, but they share the same house peacefully.

  • African proverb

One of the most defining moments of my admittedly short writing career came on December 20th, 2014 when I received my first death threat from a reader. The threat, received via email, was in response to an article I had written which drew comparisons between religious intolerance and a criminological model known as the Broken Windows Theory. Throughout the post, I suggested that the constant defamation of an ideology through misrepresentation and bigotry damages an individual’s perception of a subculture, and creates a rift in our society.

To illustrate my point, I spoke of the Islamic faith and the unjust insinuation that it is a religion defined by violence. I compared acts perpetuated by extremists as stones hurled through the windows of a beautiful monument in an attempt to damage its image and cheapen…

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Twittering Tales #42 – 25 July 2017

It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 140 characters or fewer.

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Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.

Reveille sounds at six they said
but who would dare to wake the dead
the bugle call was right on time
and Mary’s ghost arose sublime!

(130 characters)

  • In 1851, the four-story Marshall House was built by Mary Marshall.
  • It served as a hospital for soldiers toward the end of the Civil War, and during two yellow fever epidemics.

Dead or Alive?

I always thought, when I was young, I wouldn’t live to forty.

My Mother said I wouldn’t do if I was always naughty!

Yet here I am, a pensioner, exceeding expectation

and, now that I’ve passed 69, I look back with elation. 

 

I never thought that I would be a great success in life.

I only wished to have a job, and, maybe, take a wife.

Well, some successes came along, as husband, and as Dad

and very nicely my whole life has left me rather glad.

 

My Mum, of course, was always right; she often told me so!

Her all surrounding love was great , it gave a warming glow.

She’s now long gone, and so has Dad, and even my big sister.

But memories they linger on, and my, how we have missed her.

 

So, when I wake up each new day I thank my lucky stars.

I’m happy with my wrinkles, and with my many scars.

My Mum was right. She always was, as I’ve already said,

but wait a bit! I just woke up. Well, bugger me – I’m dead!

A child of the Army of the Rhine

Read all about this young man pointing in the right direction. You will laugh. Money back guarantee!

Broadsides

Viersen. It must have been a small agricultural village at one time. Set in vast acres of open fields of sugar beet and potatoes which ran all the way to the Dutch boarder. It became a satellite village, or a town, to Monchen Gladbach but I suspect it retained its primary agricultural nature until the coming of the railways. A major permanent way was built across the fields to the south east of the village, with sidings and sheds and workshops and a very handsome bahnhof. The rail line ran all the way into Belgium and Holland and North to the industrial Rhur. It was undoubtedly this that attracted the attention of the occupying British forces at the end of the second world war. It became, with its easy rail access to the ports at Antwerp and Ostend, the perfect place to locate a forward supply depot for the Army…

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