While Caralyn’s blog post dealt specifically with her response to the current turmoil between people regarding the leaked opinion on Roe v. Wade, I’d say her plan could easily be applied to almost any circumstance in which one finds him or herself at passionate odds with another. I encourage you to give it a read:
“This speech-policing is profoundly clumsy, creepy and wrong, often reinforcing bias. Invasive tech like this undermines privacy, freedom of expression and increasingly freedom of thought.”
— Read on legalinsurrection.com/2022/04/google-rolling-out-function-forcing-inclusive-language-on-users/
It seems the up and coming young lawyers are a bit confused as to how freedom of speech is one of our civil liberties….
Recently turned seven-year-old me lays on the floor of my brand-new bedroom in our brand-new house in Alvin. This room is so much bigger than my old bedroom in the little wood rent house on the other side of town. It has clean white walls that smell of fresh paint, and avocado green carpet—a tightly sculptured carpet that feels rough against my cheek if I lay my head down without care. In the years to come, I’ll suffer more than one carpet-burned knee while playing on the floor with the baby sister who will make an appearance when I’m almost ten.
Along the wall facing the street is a single window underlined by a window seat. The seat intrigues me, but sadly it’s too high to actually sit on. Over the years it will serve a multitude of purposes: a place to display books, toys, and knickknacks. At one point, my bed will be situated under that window seat and late at night I’ll hold my breath when I think I hear footsteps in the grass outside. I’ll finally figure out it’s the sound of my hair rubbing against my pillowcase, and I’ll feel mighty foolish. For now, though, the seat is unadorned and ripe with potential.
I am most excited about the closet across the room from where I lay. It’s a walk-in closet. I’ve never seen such a thing, especially a closet with a BOOKCASE built on one wall. The shelves are empty now, but I imagine all of my books filling those shelves once Mama and Daddy bring everything over from the old house. I’ve already brought one of my books: The Grimm Brothers Fairy Tales. Mama said I could read in my new room while she and Daddy took care of business. I carefully open the red clothbound book and begin to read the story of The Six Swans to the best of my first-grade abilities.
Recently turned fifty-three-year old me lays on the floor of my old bedroom in my old childhood home in Alvin. It’s been a long year of budget conscious renovations and a lot of sweat equity after inheriting a house that showed every bit of its forty-six years. The brand-new carpet is beige and much softer than the sculptured stuff that insulted my knees so long ago and the walls have been freshly painted a neutral shade chosen by my forty-two-year old “baby” sister. Our decisions and hard work have paid off: we have a buyer.
There’s no evidence of the federal blue walls I had when I was twelve, or the cream walls trimmed with dark green woodwork my sister chose when she switched rooms after I left home. With paint brushes and rollers, we have erased the painted purple clouds sprinkled with glitter meant to cheer her kids up after the three of them moved back home for a while following her divorce.
My mind wanders back through the years as I rest my chin on the back of my hands, staring at the crisp, clean white painted baseboard no more than a foot from my face. The room is as empty as it was when I was seven years old, and I wonder what the new owners will do—how will they make it theirs? I roll over and look across the room to that bookcase in the closet. It occurs to me that all these years I’ve called it a bookcase, and it was probably meant to store shoes and purses and folded clothing.
I hope the new owners call it a bookcase, too.
“Some ideas are so stupid that only intellectuals believe them.” —George OrwellThere is nowhere to run or hide from the growing observations that the closer we come to universal vaccination rates in many countries, the worse the pandemic has become. We have always known that leaky vaccines have the …
— Read on www.theblaze.com/op-ed/horowitz-the-vaccines-are-working-exactly-as-they-were-designed
I don’t know why I keep being surprised by this nonsense. And why people are so willing to be ruled by these megalomaniacs.
I remembered this evening that I have a blog, and discovered this bit of unfinished business in the drafts folder, sitting there quietly since October 2016. It’s a bit of nostalgia, a bittersweet remembrance I don’t want to lose, and therefore I am sharing it with you four and a half years since scribbling it.
After a busy day at my desk trying to get some business things resolved, I drove up to my mother’s house to paint some trim work for a few hours. We are definitely making progress, but sometimes we feel as though we’re spinning our wheels trying to get the house finished and on the market.
I managed to get a second coat of paint on the trim around the kitchen window, the utility room door, and three doors in the hallway. I had greater ambitions when I initially arrived, but getting up and down from the floor to do the lower bits was taking a toll so I called it a night. Remembering three things I needed to drop by the post office mailbox, I headed across town before turning toward home.
The “new” post office (which has been there for decades) is right down the street from the old Wellborne Shopping Center. As I passed by the empty parking lot that stretched for several blocks along the length of what had been the preeminent shopping destination for Alvinites, I was overcome with nostalgia, mingled with more than a little sadness. In the dark, I could see brightly lit signs announcing an auto parts store, and less bright signs for a little strip center church, a Mexican restaurant, and a Hispanic grocery store.
After I dropped my letters in the mailbox, I turned back towards the shopping center and pulled into the parking lot. It was almost completely empty. A lone car sat in front of the closed restaurant and farther down the row of spaces, a truck was parked in front of a SnapFitness establishment. Other than that, I don’t think there were any other vehicles. I looked back toward the building overcome by emotion.
The first emotions to hit me were very recent and connected to the little Mexican restaurant. Las Flores. The last time I ate there, I was with my mama. On those days that I took her to M.D. Anderson for doctors’ appointments and the timing worked out right, we would stop and get a late lunch. What I would give to be able to take her to lunch again! It’s difficult to believe that was over two years ago. Before that, my memories are much more distant.
It’s hard to remember the exact order of shops. My memories are from the early 80s’ and before. I can remember general locations, though, and looking at the end of the shopping center where the Mexican restaurant is, I remember Swanson’s Music store, a beauty supply shop, and a Christian bookstore called “The Potter’s Wheel.” My first record album — Donny Osmond — came from Swanson’s. And my best friend used to buy supplies from the beauty supply shop to do her own acrylic nails. One time she was driving somewhere and decided to fix a cracked nail at a stoplight. She opened the nail glue with her teeth, and, you guessed it. Got nail glue on her lip. Fortunately she didn’t glue her mouth shut!
The Hispanic grocery occupies what was once Perry Brothers — a five and dime store where my mama would take me to pick up art supplies, Trixie Belden books, and toys. If I’d done well in school, she would take me to pick out a prize. I’d walk up and down the aisles, looking in the compartments created by narrow sheets of glass held in place by silver metal brackets. Rubber balls, sets of jacks, crayons, Big Chief notebooks — and I think we may have bought one or two Halloween costumes there before we stopped observing Halloween. We’d pick up $5 gifts there for the gift exchange at my school Christmas party, and I’d spy the jigsaw puzzles with disdain, hoping I didn’t get one in return. I almost always did.
Christmas was the best time to visit the shopping center because it was the only one in town that put up Christmas displays in the windows. We would walk past each storefront and pause to enjoy the animated characters moving slowly as “Silver Bells” or “Here Comes Santa Claus” played over a speaker somewhere. Rolls of cotton “snow” covered the tables set up for the wintery scenes, and Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus moved their arms a bit stiffly as a train set ran around an oval track surrounding them. Brightly colored Christmas lights, the large bulbs glowing like illuminated bonbons, framed the windows edged in snow that came in a spray can.
Now the huge sheet glass windows are covered with burglar bars, a complete reversal from the innocent make-believe of my childhood. I never thought of this part of town as particularly dangerous, but I guess they must feel the need. It makes me sad to see what was a happy destination for my eight-year-old self reduced to such an ominous edifice. I hear the engine of the lone car crank up and decide maybe I should make my way home, to a place warm and familiar and constant. Pulling out onto the street, I mentally say farewell to yesterday and continue onward.
Why the Supreme Court Rebuffed Texas Suit Fighting Biden-Trump Election Outcome – Bill Whittle
— Read on billwhittle.com/why-the-supreme-court-rebuffed-texas-suit-fighting-biden-trump-election-outcome/
I suppose it couldn’t last forever, and some might say 244 years is a good run. England’s Magna Carta was signed in 1215, is the basis for English Common Law (criminal and civil), and is also an antecedent for the United States Sixth Amendment right to a speedy trial. Prior to the formation of the European Union, the majority of Western European countries were hundreds of years old. These countries, in my opinion, sacrificed their sovereign status to become “member states” of the EU. In an effort to stay clear of the weeds, suffice it to say the United States, at 244 years, is still a kid.
It appears that at least half of America has been deprived of a legitimate vote in the 2020 elections because their voices have been silenced by those who changed the rules a mere 90 days prior to the election. Fearful of (or perhaps using) a virus that has a 99% recovery rate, a virus that is apparently smart enough to tell the difference between a violent protest and a peaceful rally and a polling location…mail in voting was DEMANDED by the Left with insufficient time to put into place security systems that would ensure the integrity of our votes. And by doing this, the legitimate votes cast in person and by requested absentee ballot (which has been used for many years) were overshadowed by postmark-less ballots and ballots “found” in corners and ballots dropped off by vans in the wee morning hours of November 4.
Welcome to the United States, the new banana republic of North America.
I read the following article a few minutes ago, and my heart aches for this woman and how the Left’s policies have, and will continue to, hurt her and her family. Alas, I fear we are all in line for similar hard times. May God give us the faith to trust Him, the courage to stand strong in that faith, and the determination to reclaim freedom for ALL our fellow countrymen, not just the Leftist Elites who fancy themselves smarter than the rest of us, so much so that they need to have control of even the most minor of our decisions, including how to best use the money we earn through the theft of that money (also called “taxation”).