"The comparison to hell is hardly fair," letter home from a WWI soldier.
What is American?
Baseball, Mom and apple pie.
That's the way it was ...
Who is an American?
Now? ... read on.
The graphic above remains my favorite, have used it almost from day one - beautifully prophetic.
Several heavy duty thinkers here and funnies - laughter is necessary - there's even a little chocolate for dessert.
What is an American?
Edited slightly (the first
paragraph required at least two takes to be clearly understood), author was unknown at the time. I
still have no easy way to contact him, even if the info received is correct. From Tia, "... not sure
if in fact this name is correct, this is how I received it. 'By Peter Ferrara, an
associate professor of law at the George Mason University School of Law. (September 25,
2001 9:20 a.m.)'"
Be all that as it may, my significant (to me) edits caused quite a discussion with one reader. I added her comments below as well as moving the sig. ed.s to the end instead of using inside the article. I had not realized, they did interfere with "flow" and I did appreciate it being brought to my attention.
You probably missed it in the rush of news last week, but there was actually a report* in a Pakistani newspaper about a reward offer to anyone who killed an American, any American.
I just thought I would
write to let them know what an American is, so they would know when they found one.
An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian,
Greek, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab or
Pakistani, or Afghan.
An American may also be a Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navaho, Apache, or one of many other
tribes known as native Americans.
An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there
are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America
they are free to worship as each of them choose.
An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God,
not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.
An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that
prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God-given
right of each man and woman to the pursuit of happiness.
An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the
world in their time of need. When Afghanistan was overrun by the Soviet army 20 years ago,
Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country. As
of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor
in Afghanistan.
An American does not have to obey the mad ravings of the ignorant, ungodly and
cruel! American men will not be fooled into giving up their lives to kill innocent
people, so that savages may hold on to power. American women are free to show their
beautiful faces to the world, as each of them choose.
An American is free to criticize his government's officials when they are wrong, in his or
her own opinion. Then he is free to replace them, by majority vote. Americans welcome
people from all lands, all cultures, all religions, because they are not afraid. They are
not afraid that their history, their religion or their beliefs, will be overrun, or
forgotten. They know they are free to hold to each as they choose.
And just as Americans welcome all, they enjoy the best that everyone has to bring, from
all over the world. The best science, the best technology, the best products, the best
books, the best music, the best food, the best athletes. Americans welcome the best, but
they also welcome the least. The national symbol of America welcomes your tired and your
poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These in
fact are the people who built America. Many of them (or their descendants) were working in
the twin towers September 11, earning a better life for their families.
You (binny boy wannabes) can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did
General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and every bloodthirsty tyrant in the history
of the world. But in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are
not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human
spirit of freedom. Anyone who holds to that spirit, anywhere, is an American.
So look around you. You may find more Americans in your land than you thought were there.
One day they will rise up and overthrow the tyrants who trouble too many lands. Then those
lands too will join the community of free and prosperous nations. And America will welcome
them!
Reader comment: "I don't mess with religion or
politics. I do spend money that says 'In God We trust.' And in court, if I have to
testify, I'm going to have to raise my hand to swear to God. If you
have a problem with this author, or any other author mentioning God, or any religious
deity, shouldn't you just forego running the piece, rather than feeling the personal need
to clarify?" TSG
I want all to be covered, not just those who
believe in the one usual God. I see God
in my own way, which is many views. I feel very strongly that no one has the right to kill
in the name of religion or that anyone should be subject to attack for any belief.
An American is also free
to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or
to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.
Significant edit #1: This is obviously a standard
religious opinion, which is fine, however, needs this add-on: whomever, whenever, wherever
will answer to whom or whatever they happen to believe in. Ya see, herein lies the problem
... holy war is an oxymoron. Or morons are oxys and maresiedoates eat ivy or however that
one goes ... gettin' my drift about people needing to leave other people alone about their
religions, thoughts and practices? The original author does say it a little better below.
An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that
prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God-given
right of each man and woman to the pursuit of happiness.
Sig. ed. #2 - Birthright
(however we arrived) covers a wider field.
*Was there a report? Was it true? I think by now my regular readers know how I feel about media BS. Beth, who reads more papers in one day than anyone else on the planet does in a year, including a long list of foreign publications, confirmed the "bounty on any American" story (circa week of 12-01).
Incidentally, after I edit anything and before publication, I check for author approval when possible. I don't do it to screw around with other's thoughts because I have nothing better to do. Experience has give me a certain amount of skill for improving impact and readability (brevity, clarity) upgrading or rearranging a few words here and there. In other words, my intention is never to rewrite, but please do not submit if you can't handle constructive criticism. You might want to check http://www.therealmartha.com/editingetc/index.htm first, however, it is always best to record whatever comes into your mind immediately, while the fire is hot.
Don't try to outguess yourself - often the only fixes are simple punctuation errors, grammar or for generally unknown weird "style" bugaboos which vary case to case and make no consistent sense. Gotta love 'em though, once they start to stick, you'll never read a newspaper or book again without finding the inevitables that slip by. I happen to blessed with eagle-eyed proofer Rexanne too. Makes the ol' teach proud whenever I'm caught :) By anyone, "elves" and experts alike, who all know who they are and how much I appreciate them. And then of course, only the best in CYA: Please be advised any errors contained within this publication are intentional. I strive to offer something for everyone, including those who enjoy looking for mistakes.
Original version
- presented as reference.
You probably missed it in the rush of news last week, but there was actually a report
that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper there an offer of a reward to anyone
who killed an American, any American. So I just thought I would write to let them know
what an American is, so they would know when they found one.
An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or
Greek. An American may also be African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Australian,
Iranian, Asian, or Arab or Pakistani, or Afghan.
An American may also be a Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navaho, Apache, or one of the many
other tribes known as native Americans.
An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there
are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America
they are free to worship as each of them choose.
An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God,
not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming speak for the government and for God.
An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world. The root of that
prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God-given
right of each man and woman to the pursuit of happiness.
An American is generous. Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the
world in their time of need. When Afghanistan was overrun by the Soviet army 20 years ago,
Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country. As
of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor
in Afghanistan.
An American does not have to obey the mad ravings of ignorant, ungodly, cruel, old
men! American men will not be fooled into giving up their lives to kill innocent
people, so that these foolish old men may hold on to power. American women are free to
show their beautiful faces to the world, as each of them choose.
An American is free to criticize his government's officials when they are wrong, in his or
her own opinion. Then he is free to replace them, by majority vote. Americans welcome
people from all lands, all cultures, all religions, because they are not afraid. They are
not afraid that their history, their religion, their beliefs, will be overrun, or
forgotten. That is because they know they are free to hold to their religion, their
beliefs, their history, as each of them choose.
And just as Americans welcome all, they enjoy the best that everyone has to bring, from
all over the world. The best science, the best technology, the best products, the best
books, the best music, the best food, the best athletes. Americans welcome the best,
but they also welcome the least. The national symbol of America welcomes your tired and
your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed.
These in fact are the people who built America. Many of them were working in the twin
towers on the morning of September 11, earning a better life for their families.
So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did General Tojo, and
Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and every bloodthirsty tyrant in the history of the
world. But in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are not
a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit
of freedom. Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, is an American.
So look around you. You may find more Americans in your land than you thought were there.
One day they will rise up and overthrow the old, ignorant, tired tyrants that trouble too
many lands. Then those lands too will join the community of free and prosperous nations.
And America will welcome them!
I think the following is real, the points ring true and
are certainly interesting. In any case, the line close to bottom is right on about media.
(Big doubts about Geraldo - that was an awfully convenient dramatic dive in front of
shaken camera. Either that or he's just too stupid to know when to get the hell out. Not
impressed here, at all. Bub says it was authentic - "bombing noise" - Bub's not
a cynic. Can we say audio tape?) I am almost past believing anything I hear, see or read
unless I wrote it myself. Good ol' Ernie (site newsletter where this originated) is
entirely too rude, crude and socially unacceptable to publish anything but non-PC, a.k.a.
the unvarnished truth.
-----------------
Forwarded Message:
Subj: A Recon Marine Speaks
Date: 12/07/2001 6:50:02 AM Central Standard Time
From: ernie@ernieshouseofwhoopass.com (Ernie's House of Whoopass!)
Now you all know it wasn't *me* who took the expletives out of this, but I forward it on
intact as it arrived. Some words from a warrior at the front. It's
not very long and full of reality.
I also received a different intro from someone else, (an extra bit from that version follows the first - any wonder why I question all?). My edits on both limited to punctuation.
Dear Friends: Don't read the following if you are not
familiar with or are offended by four-letter words and their highly-descriptive and
pungent meanings. If you'd like to get a sense of what's going on the ground in
Afghanistan, from the perspective of a 21st century USMC trooper, read on. From the Sully
and Scooter (Radio KOGO in San Diego) Show on Nov. 17: Just outside of Ab Gach, in the
northwest panhandle of Afghanistan between Tajikstan and Pakistan, November 11, 2001.
Bizarre,
It's (expletive) freezing here. I'm sitting on hard,
cold dirt between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush mountains along the Dar
'yoi Pomir River watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave. Stake out,
my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles.
I also glance at the area around my ass every 10 to 15 seconds to avoid another scorpion
sting. I've actually given up battling the chiggers and sand fleas, but them
(expletive) scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod. Hurts like a bastard. The antidote
tastes like transmission fluid but God bless the Marine Corps for the 5 vials of it in my
pack.
The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they are human beings,
which means they have to eat food and drink water. That requires couriers and that's
where an old bounty hunter like me comes in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel
entrances and storage facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates
up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the hardware, we bash
some heads for a while, then I track and record the new movement. It's all about
intelligence.
We haven't even brought in the snipers yet. These scurrying rats have no idea what
they're in for. We are but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the
eradication to begin. I've said it before and I'll say it again: This country blows,
man. It's not even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's
no government. This is an inhospitable, rockpit (expletive) ruled by 11th century
warring tribes. There are no jobs here like we know jobs.
Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the opium trade or join
the army. That's it. Those are your options. Oh, I forgot, you can also live in
a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose
with stomach flu if that's your idea of a party. But the smell alone of those
"tent cities of the walking dead" is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to
cheerfully scrape bulbs for 18 hours a day.
And let me tell you something else. I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks and
Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtins for over a month and a half now and this much I can
say for sure: These guys, all of em, are Huns. Actual, living Huns. They LIVE to
fight. It's what they do. It's ALL they do. They have no respect for anything, not
for their families or for each other or for themselves. They claw at one another as a
way of life. They play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into
human cockfights to defend the family honor.
Huns, roaming packs of savage, heartless beasts who feed on each other's
barbarism. (Expletive) cavemen with AK 47's.
Then again, maybe I'm just cranky. I'm freezing my (expletive) off on this stupid
(expletive) hill because my lap warmer is running out of juice and I can't recharge it
until the sun comes up in a few hours.
Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor, Bizarre. Write a
letter to CNN and tell Judy and Bernie and that awful, sneering, pompous Aaron Brown to
stop calling the Taliban "smart." They are not smart. I suggest CNN invest
in a dictionary because the word they are looking for is "cunning." The Taliban
are cunning, like jackals and hyenas and
wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless and, when confronted, cowardly. They
are hateful, malevolent parasites who create nothing and destroy everything else.
Smart.
Pfft.
Yeah, they're real smart.
They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very good one, as books
go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil. They're
still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter. Talking to a Taliban warrior about
improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually
he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it. OK, enough.
Sun'll be up soon so I have to get back to my hole. Covering my tracks in the snow takes a
lot of practice but I'm getting good at it.
Please tell my fellow Americans to turn off their TV sets and move on with their
lives. The story line you are getting from CNN is utter (expletive) and designed not
to deliver truth but rather to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials. We've
got this one under control.
The worst thing you guys can do right now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over
here because you have no idea what we're doing and, really, you don't want to know. We are
your military and we are doing what you sent us here to do. You wanna help? Buy some
(expletive) stocks, America.
Saucy Jack, USMC
I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him with my boot on his throat as I spit a bloody ear into his face and plunge my nickel-plated Bowie knife through his frontal lobe. But you know me, I'm a romantic.
Here's a what's-funny: Found an answer to a baffle on still another copy of the above. The first two read " ... snuffle will be up soon," not, "sun'll be." Thought it was a reference to binny's boys or I dunno, they matched so I didn't question. Snuffle? Sounded good to me like snivel ... Ha, might be and someone changed it to sun up - this is what makes editors crazy :).
Dear Mr. Pitts,
Your column was forwarded to me by a friend who lives near the NY area. She did not lose
anyone herself but had friends there and some of them wait to hear about family members. I
apologize for the length but consider it the drawback for having written such a wonderful
column.
Your words made me cry all over again. There are so many times in the
past years that my husband and I have decried the politics of our nation. We even,
jokingly, spoke of moving to another country or at least a mountaintop where we would be
far from the whole crazy world. And I know we aren't the only ones ... What was always in
the back of my mind, at those times, though, was that we had the ability,
and the right, we had the freedom to speak in this
manner. And that alone, Mr. Pitts, kept me right here where my children can be raised as I
see fit.
Our very diversity and argumentativeness is what makes us so very special. Have you ever
just sat at a mall and engaged in some people-watching? It makes me smile to do so. And,
when my foreign e-mail penpals attempt to establish what my skin "complexion"
is, I again smile. I tell them that here we are all Americans but our backgrounds are so
complex. My children are of French heritage, and German, and Norwegian with a touch of
Native American thrown in just for fun. My husband's family has long since lost touch with
their faraway roots. They are now just, well, Americans.
I live in Minnesota. Two years ago my family rented a 34-foot RV and started out to
explore a very small part of our country. I had never had the opportunity to travel and
one of the things I learned was that I could do this for years and
never begin to touch all of what makes up this huge country. Not just the main attractions
we all go to see, although those were magnificent enough. Niagara Falls alone was so far
beyond anything in my imagination that I will remember it for the rest of my life. But I
was humbled, truly humbled, when we reached Boston. We proceeded on foot along the Freedom
Trail and we went into an old cemetery where one of the stones still shows signs of musket
balls shot at it by the British. I looked at the dates on the stones in awe, because our
state has nothing to compare. We are babies next to these colonies. And it came home to me
for the first time just what it took to make this country what it is now. I always hated
history but that is because I never understood it. And there, at the age of 41, I finally
got my biggest history lesson of all.
One of my sons says he regrets our decision to not go into New York City at that time.
There was just far too much to see and we sighed as we passed the turnoffs knowing there
just wasn't time to accomplish everything in the guidebooks. And now, along with so many,
many other Americans, we will never see the sight of those twin buildings towering over
their neighbors and that is sad. But we are so immense and so full of resources here that
this will not drag us down. There are many more wonderful things in our country and we
will create even more in the future. We will always be a leader of the world. Destroying
two major buildings has not destroyed that.
Five years ago we lost a son under tragic circumstances. I have learned so much from that
experience such as you don't "get over it." This is not a bad case of the flu
that simply goes away with time. This is part of your heart being ripped out forever. I
remember very, very vividly sitting with the funeral director choosing a casket for my
freckle-faced, 14-year-old son who should have been sitting there with me with his huge
blue eyes and his enormous grin. Funny, I called him my "All American Boy." The
rituals assigned to our good-byes in this country are either designed to keep us busy or
designed to make us crazy. I am not sure which to this day.
All I know is that there were so many decisions to be made: what clothes he would wear (his Boy Scout uniform), what food to offer, what to have on the memorial booklet, what cemetery to use and then which plot to purchase, what songs to sing at the service, etc., etc., etc. It went on and on until I could have screamed. I remember after the funeral finding myself out in my yard picking up small bits of garbage from the grass that the lawnmower had pulverized. My house, my home, my sanctuary, was full of all these people and I wanted to just be alone. And I wanted my son back.
Shawn will never be coming home again and so, on Tuesday, and ever since then tears have streamed down my face ceaselessly because I know, firsthand, what lies before all these families. And I know, months and years from now, while we all go back to our lives, when the rubble is cleared and this is no more than a tragic page in the history books, there will be thousands of my fellow Americans who will be still missing that little part of their hearts. They will smile at you and say, "Oh, just fine," when asked how they are. They will grocery shop, clean their houses, go to work, and take in an occasional movie. But, they will never be "fine" again.
Late at night, when you are sleeping, they will be sitting in chairs hugging photos to their chests sobbing unrestrainedly. Maybe this is a good time for our society to learn that there is never a time limit on grief. There are no rights or wrongs here. And it never, ever goes away. And this, is why I can't stop crying. For, because of this misplaced hatred, so many, many people have joined the ranks of the bereaved. And so, months and years from now, don't ask that question. Just know they still hurt and they don't forget. Don't be afraid to bring up the name of the dead. We want to talk about them because, in this small way, they live on.
Remember anniversary dates -
for the rest of their lives because you can be sure that they do. And don't ever be afraid
of making them cry and remember. So many times I have heard that - I didn't want to upset
you. Hey, I am already upset! I am already depressed. I am already sad and I already cry.
I just no longer do it so publicly. Nothing is better now than to share that with a caring
person even years down the road.
I already know those who died are at peace. It is for those who must live on that I
grieve. My prayers are now that each and every one of those left behind are lucky enough
to find caring, supporting people to help them through this, not just now, not just for
the next few weeks, but for the rest of their lives ...
Sincerely,
Laurie J. Crist
Minnesota resident and proud citizen of the USA
NorthMom@aol.com - Laurie invites comments, please use "Leonard Pitts column reply" as subject line so "I don't delete as I am a bit more fussy lately with opening mail from those I don't know."
Start thinking of
yourself as a success.
Believe in yourself.
Know in your heart, that you can do the job you've set out to do.
If you think you can, you can.
Author Unknown
Meet my "home guard"
Text and frame courtesy of Marisa, K9WebWorld@aol.com - always an entertaining and informative read - right now the holiday graphics are some of the best out there
http://www.therealmartha.com/toottoot/index.htm - Toot-Toot from Buster, doing his part for the Red, White and Blue! The Boston terrier is the one and only true, pure American breed (no offense to the German shepherds and Belgian Malinois on duty in our adopted K9 unit). Bostons are known as the American Gentleman, more recently, American Originals - the previous was a bit sexist. I swear Buster is well aware and proud of his heritage. That don't-mess-with-me strut just kills me.
In fact, the first time I walked him after the 9-11 attacks, it struck me how a dog reacts to an interloper. "Not in my back yard" - that simple. Home dog does everything in his power to make sure it never happens again, with as mighty a show of force as necessary. I'm by no means making light of the comparison, it's an interesting, relevant basic instinct to consider. To take it a little further, most Americans are mutts. I am, everyone I know is, albeit some more of a mix than others - none of which matters when it gets down to the nitties - we all "got" the basic fight drive to keep the freedoms already so dearly won. Our ancestors came here for a reason - nobody ever has whupped us, and nobody ever will.
The few who refuse to learn from history, and continue to be unappreciative of our collective past are no better than ticks. Just bloodsuckers along for a free ride - good for nothin' and not worth any more attention than it takes to annihilate any other parasitic species. Stoooooooooopid - bye, bye ...
The Daffodil Principle
Several
times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come see the daffodils
before they are over."
I wanted to go, but it
was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. "I will come next Tuesday,"
I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.
Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove there. When I
finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren, I said,
"Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and
there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see bad enough
to drive another inch!"
My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."
"Well, you
won't get me back on the road until it clears, and then I'm heading for home!" I
assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car."
"How far will we have to drive?"
"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this."
After several minutes, I
had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "By way of the
daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "Please turn around."
"It's all right,
Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
After about 20 minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On
the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign that read, "Daffodil
Garden."
We got out of the car and each took a child's hand. I followed Carolyn down the path.
Then, we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the
most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured
it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic,
swirling patterns-great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon
pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each different colored variety was planted as a group so
that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five
acres of flowers. "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn.
"It's
just one woman, she lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to
a well-kept, A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We
walked up to the house.
On the patio, we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking"
was the headline.
The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second,
"One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little
brain." The third, "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle. For me, that moment was a life-changing
experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than 43 years before,
had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure
mountain top. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed
the world. This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She
had created something of ineffable (indescribable) magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration.
That is, learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time-often just one
baby-step at a time-and learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of
time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too
will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have
accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal 35 or 40 years ago and had worked away
at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able
to achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way, "Start
tomorrow."
It's so pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a
lesson of celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put
this to use today?" Author
Unknown
We convince ourselves
that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are
frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After
that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy
when they are out of that stage.
We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act
together, when we get a nicer car, when we are able to go on a nice vacation, or when we
retire.
The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when?
Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and
decide to be happy anyway.
Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because
you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with ... and
remember that time waits for no one.
Stop waiting ...
Until your car or home is paid off
Until you get a new car or home
Until your kids leave the house
Until you go back to school
Until you finish school
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs.
Until you get married
Until you get a divorce
Until you have kids
Until you retire
Until summer
Until spring
Until winter
Until fall
Until you die
There is no better time
than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination. Work like you
don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, and, dance like no one's watching. (collected)
Sometimes we need to allow ourselves to take a deep sigh,
and relax : )
Take a Positive Pause
http://www.positivepause.com/
Excellent, thanks Rosey
Very cute about Clinton, the rest is unappreciated crap. President Reagan has Alzheimer's - do you also find crippled or otherwise handicapped people amusing?
I fully intend to respond to anything else I find offensive as an American who supports her President's decisions without question.It's worse than I thought!! Why would anyone want to do a thing like that? Is this some local custom I don't understand, or just a little joke?
It is most certainly not a joke. I told you before I don't question (or try to advise) brain surgeons or garbage collectors either, those being two range ends of areas in which I have no experience.
In a word, sucks. As does almost everything else they do. The only people who have anything to worry about are the ones who have something to hide. Notice who is screaming the loudest.What are your thoughts and opinions on the article "ACLU to provide free legal help for Muslims facing FBI questioning"?
The old cow joke, updated
Tongue firmly in
cheek here folks, speech and press freedoms in full force. Get a life if you can't
appreciate the humor and truth.
Socialist: You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You
form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his.
Democrat: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful.
You vote people into office who tax your cows, forcing you to sell one to raise money to
pay the tax. The people you voted for then take the tax money and buy a cow and give
it to your neighbor. You feel righteous. Barbara Streisand sings for you.
Christian democrat: You have two cows. You
keep one and give one to your neighbor. Then you covet it.
Republican: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So?
Communist: You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You
wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.
Fascist: You have two cows. The government seizes both and sells you the milk. You join
the underground and start a campaign of sabotage which ultimately blows up the cows.
Capitalism, American style: You have two cows.You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd
of cows.
Democracy, American style: You have two cows. The government taxes you to the point you
have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a
gift from your government.
Bureaucracy, American style: You have two cows. The government takes them both,
shoots one, milks the other, pays you for the milk, then pours the milk down the
drain.
American corporation: You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an
IPO on the second one. You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are
surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts that you
have reduced your expenses. Your stock goes up.
French corporation: You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You
go to lunch. Life is good.
Japanese corporation: You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the
size of an ordinary cow and produce 20 times the milk. They learn to travel on
unbelievably crowded trains.
Italian corporation: You have two cows but
you don't know where they are. While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman. You break
for lunch. Life is good.
Swiss corporation: You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you. You charge for
storing them for others. If they give milk, you tell no one.
Taliban corporation: You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which is two. You don't milk
them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts. At night when no one is
looking, you have sex with both of them. Then you kill them and claim a US bomb blew
them up while they were in the hospital.
Just so ya don't wait up ... please do feel free to grab the graf for yourself. Then, when the need arises, "These are my cows, now you know why I don't need your bull."
A few more worthy, if irreverent, ponderables
1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, or I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just leave me the hell alone.I happened to be working on a new cookbook* when I found this one: When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste. The rest followed shortly after.
Things I wish I'd known
before I went out into the real world
author unknown
Any and all compliments can be handled by simply saying “Why, thank you.” -
though it helps if said with a Southern accent.
Some people are working backstage, some are playing in the orchestra, some are on stage
singing, some are in the audience as critics and some are there to applaud. Know who and
where you are.
Never give yourself a haircut after three margaritas.
Never continue dating anyone who is rude to waiters and doesn’t like dogs/cats.
You need only two tools. WD-40 and duct tape. If it doesn’t move and it should, use
WD-40. If it moves and shouldn’t, use the tape.
The five most essential words for a healthy, vital relationship are “I
apologize” and “You are right.”
Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
When you make a mistake, make amends immediately. It’s easier to eat crow while
it’s still warm.
The only really good advice that I remember my mother ever gave me was, “Go! You
might meet somebody!”
If he/she says that you are too good for him/her - believe it.
I’ve learned to pick my battles; I ask myself, Will this matter one year from now?
How about one month? One week? One day?
This one is my own: Never fight for the sake of a fight, just seems like I gotta do it
all my way. I’m comfortable with good or bad results as my own doing or fault, which
equals/translates to not being able to blame someone else or having to give credit when it
isn’t due. Selfish? Could be one way to look at it, I consider it self-preservation.
And, taking pride in anything accomplished on my own. With credit given to whomever may
have helped a victory along the way.
Never pass up an opportunity to pee.
If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You have another chance!
Living well really is the best revenge. Being miserable because of a bad or former
relationship just might mean that the other person was right about you.
Knowing how to listen to music is as great a talent as knowing how to make it.
Work is good but it’s not that important.
Never underestimate the kindness of your fellow man.
And finally ... Be really nice to your friends. You never know when you’re going to
need them to empty your bedpan.
*The new book is "Good Goop" - featuring easy recipes, from my rather huge collection and others - which is what is I really do, as opposed to the WAR series which I still have no idea where any of the thoughts/ideas of my own are coming from. I do know publishing is my best attack on whatever ails me. The Whispering Activist personality continues to be cathartic. Anywhich, had GG started, zipping right along as a matter of fact, a week or before 9-11. We were in OKC, of all places, but that's another story, while Mike was in school for the FAA ... when I realized most students have to fend for themselves, as do the near and dears they left behind. I have to go with Mike if a class lasts longer than a week (far more entertaining ways to spend the money he would waste eating out - or he would, indeed, starve left to his own devices). So what the hell, things will calm down, more time for testing. No matter what is happening at home or anywhere, we all gotta eat, somebody has to cook. It was a "normal" thing to do at first, as previously noted (early WAR page) in queen of kitchen calamity mode.
Diary of a Mad Politically
Incorrect Cook, http://members.aol.com/MsAtte2ude/diarymadpicook.index.html
is one place to start if you're an adult beginner in need of a general survival guide, or
check out Holiday Lifestyles of the Culinarily Inept, http://members.aol.com/AltMartha/buythebook.index.html
- great gift for anyone who can use a break. Details on overall ridiculous OKC occurrences
below (in green).
Back to book genesis: It's no fun lugging groceries back and forth, or certain bare
necessities. Equipment provided in school housing is, at best, pathetic. The culinarily
inept truly need a running start to get anywhere. Even though, based on numerous less than
perfect conditions due to a variety of LTP circumstance, I am pretty sure I could come up
with something edible if only a hot rock was handy. Still haven't poisoned anyone, and
somewhere along the way managed to hone the fine art of can-ivorism (using cans and
otherwise conveniently packaged ingredients to prepare meals). All valuable practice for
coping with current challenges. Always have made my own no BS, emphasis on non PC, KISS
(keep it simple sweetheart) path - no time like that present to put it all
together.
Tell me what you're doing, shortcuts you've developed and so on. I'll send you a free book if I publish your contribution. It'll be a while before it's ready, however, I do have the start up difficulties tended to and most of the recipes are just scaled down, altogether easier than my usual. Depending on which way the wind blows ... might be done sooner than expected. I'm a hint junkie too, all kinds, free book offer goes for NOOMs (new ones on me) too. Or, "Holiday lifestyles" is still available.
Those who've been through that war tend to appreciate the humor and it's the only place in the world my infamous secret bean recipe is printed! You'll never know if it's you or the beans they want but you'll never lack bring-something invitations.
Lifestyles is not just about the holidays - chapters include The Generic Party, Casual Indoor/Outdoor, Turkey to Tacos and miscellaneous tips, trickery and lots more stuff you won't find on any of my cooking pages.
Quickie note about being surrounded by FAA people at "home" - most not green kids - and Bub going to school in a Fed. building. It was unnerving - especially the first few days after 9-11. When/where the next hit might happen? A lot of intelligence to take out in one or two good shots. Now, back in my a quiet little St. Louis 'burb, I don't feel the 'noids or any overt suspicion - couple of idiots in this condo for neighbors but they limit themselves to nerve-jangling horn blasts. Still, nobody knows who is really who to worry about. Possible enemy or not, no behavior is predictable. Anyone can go postal, any time.
I was tempted to take out/rearrange some of the cry lines in a particularly good piece, Are you a grief victim or grief survivor?, see http://www.therealmartha.com/WA%209-17%20both/index.htm. However, for several months weepy spells had/have been sneaking up, driving me batty along with the cerebral rot that's well under way at "this time of life." On top of the current stress, it's getting to the point where the bathroom is the only room I really know for which purpose I arrived. I am not kidding. If I'm talking to myself, Mike now knows not to interrupt. Pulled a doozy in the kitchen this morning, whatever it was though, I do not now recall. I was about to tell him it'd be just a few more minutes on dinner - oven had been on about long enough - baking dish still in the fridge when I decided to check. Neither episode was any big surprise, but I do try to limit the major blunders to one a day. You may find a whole new form of relief by exploring my easy cooking pages (link above). Warnings are included, covering the most common mistakes, based on a vast store of experience.
Ain't this American ...
Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, "I'm tired, it's getting late, I think I'll go to bed." She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day's lunches. Rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and prepared the coffee pot for the next morning. She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the wash, ironed a shirt and secured a loose button. She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the telephone book back into the drawer, watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a towel to dry. She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom, stopping by the desk to write a note for the grocery store and to a teacher, count out some cash for the field trip, sign a birthday card, address and stamp the envelope - then pulled a textbook out from under a chair. Mom then washed her face, put on moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth and filed her nails.
Dad called out, "I thought you were going to bed."
"I'm on my way," as she filled the dog's water dish, changed the kitty litter, then made sure the doors were locked. She looked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamp, hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks in the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up still doing homework. In her own room, she set the alarm, laid out clothing for the next day, straightened up the shoe rack, added three things to her six most important things to do list, said her prayers, and visualized the accomplishment of her goals.
About that time, Dad turned off the TV and announced to no one in particular, "I'm going to bed." And he did.
PCs were invented for women lacking sufficient homemade mania provisioners - so whaddya gonna do? Eat more chocolate! See below :)
The pig test
Draw a quick sketch of a pig - don't look below until you're done.
Really, don't look, you'll ruin it ...
No self-control?
Call a friend ... actually, it is interesting to compare with a partner.
That should take up enough screen, just in case ...
If the pig is at the top of the paper,
you're an optimist. If the pig is in the center of the paper, you're a realist. If the pig
is at the bottom of the paper, you're a pessimist.
If the pig faces left, you're fond of tradition and family. In addition, you're friendly
and loving, and you never forget birthdays and anniversaries.
If the pig faces right, you're innovative and active, but you don't have a strong sense of
family or tradition and you never remember dates.
If the pig faces the front (toward you), you're direct, and you enjoy playing devil's
advocate. You neither fear nor avoid discussions or confrontations.
If the pig has many details, you're analytical, cautious, and distrustful.
If the pig has few details, you're emotional and possibly naive. You miss a lot going on
around you, because you don't pay attention to details, and you have a tendency to take
risks.
If the pig has less than for legs showing, you're insecure.
If the pig has for legs showing, you're secure and stubborn. You like to stick to your
ideas.
The size of the pig's ears indicate how willing you are to listen. The bigger the ears,
the better you are at listening.
The length of the pig's tail indicates the quality of your sex life.
I'm not about to spill on which one missed me by a mile
- the rest is uncannily accurate.
http://petitchoux.tripod.com/index.html - The Harmonious Multiracial Man ~ "Is Alive and Well in The United States Of America"
http://www.worldlynx.net/soberbyker1/index.html - Proud to be an American, and http://www.worldlynx.net/soberbyker1/fof.html - POW page
http://www.nyfd.com/ - The Unofficial Home Page of New York City Fire Department. The page is a Wow! as in great job - these numbers are a staggering wow: From 1865 until 2001, FDNY lost 774 members in the line of duty. September 11th cost an additional 343 members. More than 6,000 civilians also lost their lives.
http://memorial.web.aol.com/browse/mo/10/- "The AOL September 11 Memorial invites members across the country to stand together in remembering and honoring those who died, those who survived and those who are healing. You can participate by lighting a candle in tribute." Amazing candle-power display. Hopefully it will remain available. I didn't find it until October '02 while catching up old mail.Link list will be growing, send your suggestions: MarthaJones1@aol.com - please do not forget to clearly define subject line. See mail details at end of page.
You are most welcome to copy and paste any or all of the above or below (including graphics - more to added), with link back here so others may find updates too - thanks! http://www.therealmartha.com/WARWhatisAm/index.htm
Whispering Activist Record main
link/update page
My
proud to be American and what the hell is wrong those who aren't comments in general - not including foreign supporters of course,
find several amazing tribute and 9-11 memorial page links from those friends
(American-made too natch) on WAR awards page: http://www.therealmartha.com/WARAwards/index.htm.
Regular WAR pages cover media lies and hype warnings (by example/proof), veterans and POW/MIA focus, and much, much more.
http://www.therealmartha.com/WAR/index.htm
"The Whispering
Activist" a.k.a. Martha Jones - Opinions and ideas, mine and from others, that
everyone can use to get involved, make a difference and lighten the load; a little bit of
this and that, used with permission and credit attached when available. Find hoax busters,
media hype alerts, timely info, controversy, common sense, commiseration, empathy,
household tips, easy recipes, critter stuff, variety links, and a little humor along the
way.
Meet my
"adopted" K9 unit in Bosnia: WARK9
http://www.therealmartha.com/WARK9/index.htm
Plenty of links there to send holiday e-greetings to any service member. Which, if you
have not done yet, means you are missing out on the best good feeling available. Yes, that
and this warm fuzzy work jes peachy. Packing a box of goodies -
edibles, silly and useful stuff, treats for the dogs, jingle bells and I forget what all -
set the season rolling along just right for me. Try it, you'll like it. Don't be the last on your block!
New - on the job pics
http://www.therealmartha.com/WARK92/index.htm
You don't have to do anything with any of this - no dire fate awaits. On that subject, give me a break on those type of e-mails, I will not participate. Don't have time and any of that crap is annoying as hell. Even the warm fuzzies. I would suggest a reality meter check.
Now, everyone say it with me ...
And yes, I broke the caps-shouting rule, this needs to be heard LOUD and clear.
I will NOT get bad luck, lose friends, or lose my mailing lists if I DON'T forward an
email!
I will NOT hear any music or see a taco dog, if I DO
forward an e-mail.
Bill Gates is NOT going to send me money, Victoria's Secret doesn't know anything about a gift
certificate they're supposed to send me and Ford will not give me a 50 percent discount
even if I forward my e-mail to more than 50 people.
I will NEVER receive gift certificates, coupons, or freebies from Coca Cola, Cracker
Barrel, Old Navy, or anyone else if I send an e-mail to 10 people.
I will NEVER see a pop-up window if I forward an
e-mail ... NEVER!!!!
My phone will not MYSTERIOUSLY ring after I forward an e-mail.
There is NO SUCH THING as an e-mail tracking program, and I am not STUPID enough to
think that someone will send me $100 for forwarding an e-mail to 10 or more people!
There is no kid with cancer through the Make-a-Wish program in England collecting
anything! He did when he was 7 years old. He is now cancer free and 35 years old and
DOESN'T WANT ANY MORE POST CARDS, CALLING CARDS, or GET-WELL CARDS.
The government does not have a bill in Congress
called 901B (or whatever they named it this week) that, if passed, will enable them
to charge us 5 cents for every e-mail we send.
There will be NO cool dancing, singing, waving,
colorful flowers characters, or program that I will receive immediately after I forward an
e-mail.
I do not need debt consolidation, home financing, refinancing, credit cards from the
internet nor will I ever apply on-line so stop sending me these!!
I am glad you just turned 18 and want everyone to see your naked body but not in my
e-mails! Go to the local jailhouse where they will appreciate you.
The American Red Cross will NOT donate 50 cents to a certain individual dying of some
never-heard-of disease for every e-mail address I send this to. The American
Red Cross RECEIVES donations.
And finally, I WILL NOT let others guilt me into sending things by telling me I am
not their friend or that I don't believe in Jesus Christ. IF, big If, God wants to send me
a message, I believe the bushes in my yard will burn before He picks up a PC to pass it
on!
Now, repeat this to yourself until you have it memorized, and send it along to at
least 5 of your friends before the next full moon or you will surely be constipated for
the next three months and all of your hair will fall out ...
Two you can pass along, guilt-free and guaranteed to be appreciated!
My Motto
If it's chocolate, it's
mine.
If it's in my mouth, it's mine.
If I can take it from you, it's mine.
If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.
If it looks like mine, it's mine
If I think it's mine, it's mine.
If you sort of recognize that, it is a take-off on the spoiled pup/kid ditty. Just another little reminder not to give chocolate to critters (and certainly, 2-year-old, 2-leggeds are waaaay too young to fully appreciate the finer things in life). Nevertheless - it's still my motto. You are welcome to borrow it, but don't forget - it's mine!
This is my brain on chocolate: I think I'm ready to think. At least I hope I'm ready to think. OK, I might be ready to think. I know, I'll think about it tomorrow! Now, what was the question again?
Gawd, these little space-outs happen all the time. I just tell Bub whatever'll be back ... sometime ... He always seems relieved, hmmm. If he only knew the wisdom he was missing - that is, if only I could recall the wisdom.
1648: The first London chocolate shop opened to sell a drink previously known only to nobility.
Newsflash!
Chocolate is derived from cocoa beans.
Bean = vegetable. Sugar is derived from either sugar cane or sugar beets. Both are plants,
which places them in the vegetable category. Thus, chocolate is a vegetable.
Chocolate candy bars also contain milk, which is dairy, ergo ... candy bars are health
food.
Chocolate-covered raisins, cherries, orange slices and strawberries all count as fruit,
eat as many as you want.
Eating a chocolate bar before each meal will take the edge off your appetite, you'll eat
less.
Chocolate has many preservatives. Preservatives make you look younger.
Put "eat chocolate" at the top of your list of things to do today. That way, at
least you'll get one thing done.
A nice box of chocolates can provide your total daily
intake of calories in one place. Now, isn't that handy?
If not for chocolate, there would be no need for control top pantyhose. An entire garment
industry would be devastated. We can't let that happen, can we?
"Stressed" spelled backward is
"desserts."
Whut? Pass up multitudinously fascinating opportunities to be reminded how ignorant I am every day? Never! Do drop b