Rolling Stones

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The Snow Queen                                                                                                                 

Chicago. 1967. It was cold, but not too bad. The low temperature had been twenty-seven degrees but hit fifty during the day. Not bad at all for Chicago. The Cook County Hospital welcomed Laura Gail Wesson into a world full of change. The Vietnam War was in full swing, and protests were growing. The “long hot summer of 1967” had seen riots in Newark and Detroit. President Johnson nominated, and the Senate confirmed, Thurgood Marshall as the first African American to sit on the Supreme Court. History ushered in hopes of a different world for Baby Laura Gail to grow up in. Fifty-Eight years later, it’s still changing. So has Laura Gail.  

I didn’t know her way back then. As a matter of fact, I’ve been with her for only a tiny fraction of her life. My time with her is still just a cup of cool water compared to the whole bucket of life she’s lived. I can tell you a few things I’ve learned about this woman from being here for even such a short time, however. First of all, she’s usually right. About just about everything. I’m not kidding, either. I’ve learned that when she says she doesn’t know, she don’t know. Sure, she’ll occasionally try to bluff to save face (who doesn’t) but ninety-nine percent of the time she’ll admit it. When she says she knows, though, she knows. Disagree with her if you must but bring evidence. Because she’ll call you out on it every time. 

Secondly, she will work you to death if you let her. I mean this in the nicest way. She’s independent and self-sufficient and she didn’t get that way by being lazy and complacent. She outworked every husband until me, or so I thought. She retired from a regular job four years ago, and I figured she’d relax. Turns out that being a Gigi is about as hard a job as they come. She works hard to keep these grandkids healthy and happy. Plus, she’s still taking care of me. When it doesn’t interfere with the grandkids. I appreciate that. My own cooking sucks. 

Third, but certainly not lastly, she is fiercely protective and loyal to those she loves. It’s beautiful and scary at the same time. I’ve seen her in “attack mode” only a few times in the past decade and I can assure you that you don’t want to be on the wrong end of that one. Yes, I have been. And she was right about that, too. Thankfully, she still loves me. Even when I don’t deserve it.  

There’s not enough space here to say all I want to say about Laura Gail. My heart is too full, and she is too complex to explain in a lifetime, much less a newspaper column. The best way I can express my feelings are in the lyrics of the John Legend song “All of Me”. These selected verses sum it up: 

“What would I do without your smart mouth” 

“Drawing me in, and kicking me out” 

“Love your curves and all your edges, All your perfect imperfections”  

“You’re my end and my beginning, even when I lose, I’m winning” 

“Even when you’re crying, you’re beautiful too” 

“I give you all of me, and you give me all of you” 

You get the picture.  

Footnote: Although the day she was born wasn’t too bad, weather-wise, she was barely two months old when Chicago was hit with its worst blizzard in history. In the early morning of January 26th snow began to fall and wouldn’t stop until it deposited over twenty-three inches by the next morning. Nearly two feet of snow in barely over a day. It paralyzed the city. Laura’s mom and dad decided they’d head back home to Tennessee just as soon as they could after that winter. God was on my side there. I may have never met her if it hadn’t been for that blizzard. Chicago lost out, and I gained a “Snow Queen”. That cold woman warms my heart.  

Happy Birthday, Laura Gail! 

God Bless Y’all!

I’ve worked in a rehab hospital for the past five years and previously worked at a long-term nursing facility for a decade. Yes, a nursing home. I’ve seen and interacted with people in the end stages of their lives. Everything from early onset dementia, full blown Alzheimer’s disease, cancers of all kinds, muscular degeneration, and just plain ole Old Age. The oldest person I encountered was “Mama Macon”, who was somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and six years old when she passed away, depending on which family member you listened to. I’ve seen folks scared to die, and I’ve seen folks that looked forward to it. Regardless of either reaction, we all get to the end of the line eventually. The Big Guy designed us to have an immortal soul, but these bodies will give out in the end, no matter how well we care for them.  

As a man of sixty I’ve thought long about what happens when we leave this mortal shell behind. I believe in the Good Book when it tells us of heaven and hell. I’ve given my heart to Jesus some decades ago and I know I have a place in heaven. Not to get preachy, but my faith is in the Son of God and the sacrifice He made in coming to this world and being the Master Teacher and sacrifice for my life and my sin. He lives in my heart and no matter how bad this old world gets, I know He always holds me in His hand. Gods got me.  

That being said, I’d like you to know that I still wonder about what eternity will be like. I’d like to think that we retain our individuality and what makes our soul unique. The experience of transforming into an eternal form is exhilarating, even while being a bit scary to contemplate. I wonder how it will happen. What will it “feel” like? Will we even still “feel”? Being in the presence of God will, undoubtedly, be awesome, but right now it’s totally unfathomable. My mind has no point of reference that even comes close. Movies and books can only touch the outer realm of understanding the eternal. It boggles the mind.  

My biggest fear isn’t death. It’s a part of our story, our lives, just as a book has an ending. My biggest fear isn’t the pain and suffering that may accompany the end process. I’m excited about where my soul will go when I’m finished on this earth. I’d say that my biggest fear is leaving this world without full knowledge that I made an effort to tell those around me that they, too, can spend eternity with God. Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself and to love God with all your heart, mind and strength. I want you to know that He loves you enough to die for you. And He’s taken care of your sin and brought you into a place where all you have to do is accept Him. Then you can spend eternity with Him. Without Him, eternity will be a dark and lonely place. A place of never-ending fear. Fear itself.  Think about it. Pray about it. He’s right there, waiting for you. No fear.  

God Bless Y’all.  

---

                                                                                                           

The neighborhood was quiet. The inner-city noises of light traffic and the rumble of the occasional airliner taking off and landing in the distance were interrupted by the sudden thump-thump of a helicopter that “appeared” over the roof of an apartment building. Ropes were thrown out of open side doors and the dark figures slid quickly down onto the roof. They were armed with assault rifles, and they wore black balaclava masks over their faces with only the eyes visible. As they entered the roof access door and headed into the building, weapons at the ready, cars, trucks and vans surrounded the building with dashboard lights flashing. More masked men and women, wearing jackets labelled “ICE”, “FBI”, “DEA” and “DHS” piled out and either covered the exits on the ground floor or entered the building. Minutes later the armed masked men brought out men, women and children, hands zip-tied behind their backs and put them face first into the yard and began searching them. Some were led to vans and trucks afterwards; some remained on the lawn. The cries of children and a few screams punctuated the noises of agents shouting commands as they sorted the people into those who would, and would not, be taken away. This is Chicago.  

Armored vehicles roll down the ghetto neighborhood, National Guardsmen packed inside. State Troopers have set up a checkpoint to stop traffic. They’re writing tickets and checking documents. A van marked “ICE” sets off to one side, waiting for another customer. The tip of the Pyramid could be seen off in the distance, shining in the sunlight. This is Memphis.  

A small crowd, carrying signs and chanting “no kings, no fascists!” is gathered in front of the federal building where undocumented people are being brought. Some in the crowd are dressed in costumes. Frogs are dancing in front of armed men wearing riot gear. They spray him with mace. It’s ludicrous. Naked bicyclists in the dozens ride through the streets in a protest of federal policies of oppression and tyranny. It’s surreal. This is Portland.  

President Lincoln looks down into the Reflecting Pool towards the World War Two Memorial at the other end. On either side of the water are the Vietnam and Korean War Memorials. Across the nearby Potomac River is a bridge that leads to Arlington National Cemetery. The ghosts of the fallen speak to him daily as Abraham watches the National Guard patrol the streets and back alleys of the city. As Federal agents of various departments make arrests and soldiers rake leaves and pick up trash, they whisper to Old Honest Abe “this isn’t what we fought and died for.” This is Washington, DC.      

Over seven million Americans who love their country and believe in the Constitutional rights of everyone in America peacefully protested this last Saturday across the country. They believe the current administration is turning our beloved United States into a tyrannical oligarchy led by a dictator. When Abigail Jackson, White House spokeswoman, was asked by the media for a response to the protests she said, “Who Cares?”  This is why I fear for our country’s and, especially my grandchildren’s, future.  

God Bless Y’all.  

    A tiny human is a fragile being. It depends on others for everything. Food, shelter, cleanliness, and emotional comforts are necessary for a baby to survive on this cold, cruel planet and it’s up to the parents to provide it all. For years. For decades. Some of it for their entire lifetime. Being responsible for another living person from the beginning of their life until the end of time is a position of great honor. It’ll also scare the heck out of you.  

   If I’ve ever known real fear in my life, it’s been as a parent. There’s no way to love with all your heart and not have instances of horrifying fear. It’s the yin to the yang of it all. You can’t have one without the other. Babies are the most beautiful tiny things. They’re also the most fragile little folks. You worry about them constantly. Hold up the head. Cover the outlets. Put baby locks on the drawers and doors. Don’t drop ‘em. Don’t step on ‘em. Don’t let ‘em eat the dishwasher pods. And all million and six things else that you’re scared of doing, not doing, or keeping them safe from. It’s exhausting.  

   Chris fell off the top bunk of his bunk bed when he was about four. Busted him right in the mouth. There was a lot of blood. I should’ve had a rail there. I didn’t. Candice fell out of a willow tree and broke her arm when she was around eight. Greenstick break of the radius and ulna that looked like something from a horror movie.  Had to be set at the ER with a sudden and audible “snap” that made her shriek in pain. My fault. I should’ve been watching her. Micheal had to have his adenoids taken out at about three years old, and tubes put in his ears. He later had some teeth growing into each other that required the dentist to pull a couple of healthy teeth. They didn’t want to come out, but I watched the dentist (and heard it) pull those teeth like a mechanic yanking rusty bolts out. Probably very related to that event, he also needed braces in his early teens. Not as dramatic, but still scary. Also my fault. They were my genes, after all. Timothy broke his ankle in a three-wheeler accident when he was little. I was told at the time it was a “tree climbing accident” because he wasn’t allowed to ride three-wheelers. My fault. I should have been supervising him better. All these things are common in parenting. It’s the reality of children that nobody tells you. It’s always your fault. Even when it’s not, it is. You brought them into this world and it’s up to you to see that they’re safe, clean, housed, educated, fed until they can fend for themselves. A more frightening situation I cannot imagine. If parenthood doesn’t scare you, when you are a parent, then you’re not doing it right.  

   The benefits outweigh the fear, so calm down. There’s no better feeling in the world than to see those same little knuckleheads that used to put pennies into the light sockets become responsible human beings, and even parents themselves. To see them grow up to be good people that care about other people and watch them live, love and be awesome human beings is worth all the headaches, tears and fears. It even gives you hope that one day they might be able to take care of YOU when you’re old, fragile and needy.  Or maybe not. THAT’S another kind of fear. I felt a chill just then. Didn’t you? 

God bless Y’all. 

 

   It was the dark of the night on an Arkansas highway. The pitch black was broken by wood rows burning off to the left, their eerie glow casting shadows that danced in the field. On my right sat my wife, Sam. She was talking non-stop since the day before yesterday. She suffered from bipolar disorder and had stopped taking her meds sometime in the last week. My mind was tired, and my body exhausted from both trying to get her help and listening to the stream of ideas, accusations and anger that spilled from her lips. I just wanted her level, balanced and thinking rationally. She wanted me to leave her be. She was fine, in her own judgement. Anyone who spent more than ten minutes talking to her could tell otherwise. The scarry night drive wasn’t frightening because of the shadowy figures dancing in the fire-lit field. It was the person I loved next to me being unrecognizable that struck fear into my heart.  

   The hospital ER had no problem evaluating her. She talked in random tangents and sudden questions. Her charm and intelligence were still there, as she laughed and quoted both scientific facts and bible verses at the psych doctor. He recommended she go to a psychiatric hospital for further treatment and reevaluation. The problem was two-fold. The only bed he could find immediately open was two hours away, and there would be no transportation available. She was a non-emergency case. I could drive her, he said, if that was possible. I’d been awake for most of the past three days. I resigned myself to assenting. Of course I could drive her. No problem.  

   The trip was before GPS was common. Heck, I didn’t even own a cell phone at the time. So, I got directions printed off at the hospital for a little hospital somewhere in the middle of Arkansas and headed off into the night. Sam alternated between knowing something was wrong (mainly with me, not her) and trying to convince me that we didn’t have to do this. We could just go home. It’d be better in the morning. She’d offer unrealistic deals that included “being good” and “I’ll calm down” and “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t put me away”. All of which were tempting, but none of them would get her any help. Sometimes it just took her time to burn out. Then she’d sleep for three, or four, days in a funk of depression. None of it was her fault. A chemical imbalance within her brain had to be “helped” into balance. Only medication and treatment would get her back into balance. No amount of love, patience, or understanding would magically induce that balance. She would only rarely get back on her meds voluntarily once she’d gotten off them.  

   When we arrived at the small facility in the wee hours of the morning, the sun was just coming up. She wasn’t happy, but she went inside after only a half hour or so of talking about why she shouldn’t. I was angry. Tired. Sad. All at the same time. She finally relented. She went inside with me. I did paperwork while she talked to the nurse, non-stop, and the tech, and the doctor and anyone who happened to pass by. She was angry with me. She was hostile and resentful. It was me who should be admitted. I was the problem. It was my fault she was here. It was my fault she was this way. All things geared to hurtfulness were thrown my way. All had a smidge of truth to them. Still, I signed the papers. It was all I knew to do for her at this point. They took her away to evaluate, medicate and wait. I went outside to my car and cried.  

   There are some things in this world I fear. Ghosts, goblins, witches and vampires don’t make the list. Me losing control of my own mind is on it. Taking over the responsibility for another grown person’s mental health is in the top five of that list. That’s grown up scary, right there.  It’s the cold wind of winter on your soul when you put someone somewhere “for their own good”. It’s the part of loving someone they never tell you about. I’ll take fictional monsters any day of the week over that kind of scary. You would, too.  

God Bless Y’all.

   I’ve been off social media since last Saturday. It started as a 24-hour break. I began looking at my posts on Facebook (and Tik Tok, and Instagram) as a mass of racing thoughts. They began to look like everyone else’s. Maybe because I was doing a lot of re-posting screenshots of other people’s posts and tagging them with my own byline. Maybe because it’s all just a glob of thoughts vomited on the screen. Maybe it was because all the emotion I was feeling when I posted something wasn’t because I was passionate about it. Maybe it was just that I wanted to be heard. Even more than all of that I wanted it to mean something. But it doesn’t. Not to me, anyway. So, I decided to take a break.  

   I also have taken a break from most news. I read my weekly newspaper this Sunday morning before church. It’s already paid for, after all. But I’ve been staying away from all three of my news apps on my phone. AP, Wall Street Journal and even Fox News haven’t seen my questioning eyes for days now. Guess what? I feel better. My mind’s not racing, or exploding, on a minute-by-minute basis. I kinda like that. If I need to protest later, I will. When it’s time to vote, I will. If I need to vent, I will write it down and put it in my blog. Otherwise, I shall endeavor to persevere. I will “stay calm and carry on” as the British used to say.  

   One reason for the media blackout I’ve imposed upon myself is simple. If I’m stressing over every single issue in today’s political arena, I won’t have time to go to the bathroom, much less write about anything, work, or play with my grandkids. Everything may be politics, but politics ain’t life, ya know?  

   I’m not advocating for sticking your head in the sand and letting the world go to heck in a handbasket while we whistle dixie. On the contrary, do something about it. Posting on social media is a lot like writing on the bathroom wall of a city bus station or a gas station. Sure, a lot of folks will see it. They’ll laugh or think about it for a second, then move on as the smell in the room gets ripe. Just like scrolling. You may even get in a few heated exchanges in the “comments” section, just like yelling at the stall next to you. No matter what, it’s gonna stink up the place.  

   It just might be better to call/write/email your congressional and senatorial representatives. Write your newspapers, care of the “opinion” sections. Go to a city hall, or even a town hall, meeting and ask questions. Stand on the corner at city hall with a group of like-minded people and protest specific issues in a peaceful manner. Vote. Use every tool at your disposal to make your voice heard. Be active. Be passionate. Be respectful of others rights as you exercise your own. Be the kind of American that you want your pastors, your teachers, your mayors and your congressional representatives to be.  

   It’s hard to put all of that in a meme, a gif, or a post. I can’t think of any time I ever heard a president (or anyone) say “I saw a meme on Facebook today that really changed the way I think about this issue”. Maybe I’ll see you later, somewhere on social media. Maybe not. We’ll see.  

God Bless Y’all! 

I found my eye this weekend. I had left it in a small container, filled with a sterile lens-cleaning solution, that I had put in a box that ended up in my office at home. I had been cleaning up some of the “debris of life” that I horde, boxing it up and storing it in my office out in my shop. That keeps my wife just a little bit happier than having stuff stacked up in our bedroom and closet. She doesn’t go out into the shop, much less my office, except on rare occasions. I try. 

I misplaced the eye way back at the beginning of this year. I had already talked myself into believing that I’d thrown it out accidentally, because I actually have been throwing a lot of stuff out. Unbelievable, huh? This newfound ability is, unfortunately, combined with a growing loss of short, and long, term memory that comes with age. I forgot where I put it and assumed I’d thrown it away. It happens more often the older I get. Forgetting, not losing the eye.  

I got a new prosthetic eye earlier this year. I finally decided to replace the one I got when I was seven years old. It was a surreal experience. The new one is very close to my natural eye color and feels great. Your eye color changes as you age, and this sucker has been with me over fifty years. It was a much lighter shade of blue than the new one. I really mourned it’s loss when I discovered it was missing. It’s been with me through every single event in my life since I was seven. It’s seen everything I’ve seen. It knows me like no one else does. There’s not one other thing I have in my life that’s been with me as long as it has been. It’s a friend. Okay, it’s a hunk of ceramic polymer, and is in no way alive. I’m not crazy. Just allow me a little poetic license, will ya?  Thanks. 

So, now that the original is back, I have two prosthetic eyes. The new one I wear daily; the other is back to my bedside table. I have several ideas about what I want to do with them when I leave this world. I could have them made into necklace talismans to give to my kids. I know Candice would wear them! The boys, probably not. I could put them in a small display case with a closed lid and write a promissory note to anyone who opens the box. Something along the lines of “if you dare to look into the eyes of Gramps he will answer your questions of life” kinda thing. I could even write a story to go along with it. Maybe an ancient curse kinda thingy. I like that. My current favorite idea is just to pick my favorite headshot photo, have it enlarged to approximate life-size and have the eyes imbedded so that I can “keep an eye on everyone” in the family through the generations. That’s one heck of a creepy family memento, don’t you think? Yeah. I love it! I could continue to freak out Stones for many years to come. It’d be interesting to see the kids fight over who will, and who won’t, want that sucker hanging in the living room. Or maybe the bathroom. I spent a lot of time in that place in my life. I’d be okay with that. It’s a sure-fire way to keep the “how much longer are you gonna be in there” times down, huh? If you have any other ideas on what I can do with my “mementos” feel free to write me, care of this paper. I’m sure there’s some ideas I haven’t come up with. Halloween’s coming up soon, and I know you want to get your spooky-creative juices flowing.  
Eye look forward to hearing from you! 

God Bless Y’all! 

                                                                                                                        I went to the West Tennessee Comic Con in Jackson, Tennessee last Saturday and met a childhood hero of mine. Lou Ferrigno. The Original Incredible Hulk! I talked to him briefly at his merchandise booth and got a signed photo of him in his classic “Hulk”ing Out pose. I had known that he suffered from severe hearing loss from the age of four and had just a few years ago gotten cochlear implants that had changed his life. In the past couple of years my oldest son, Chris, has experienced an eighty percent loss of hearing and it’s been a dramatic change on his life. I asked Mr. Ferrigno if he would recommend the implants, and if they truly helped him. He was very sincere and soft-spoken about it. “It changed my life” he told me. “He should definitely get with his audiologist and see if he qualifies.” The interaction was short, but he was a genuine guy about it. I thanked him for the input and the autograph and moved out of the line. Later that day I got to see him again. My daughter, Candice, my nephew, Joe, and three of my four grandkids (Ian, Chelsea and Cayde) had our picture made with him. I’d talked to him at the table (he was sitting, of course) but didn’t realize how big he was until I was standing right beside him. In my best awe-struck, fanboy voice told him “You’re much bigger standing up!” Indeed. What a wordsmith am I. 

Meeting a childhood icon is humbling. I could’ve talked to the guy for hours, if I’d been able to get the lump out of my throat. He was kind and attentive, but also aloof. I imagine it’s not easy to have hundreds, sometimes thousands, of individual interactions with people during an event like this one. People expect you to live up to the image in their heads. I was by no means disappointed but meeting him really got me thinking. I’m sixty. He’s seventy-three. A mere thirteen-year difference. As much as I idolized him back then, I never imagined that I could ever meet him or shake his hand and have a conversation with him. Hollywood is on another planet and his character lived there, but I didn’t meet the Hulk. I met a great man named Lou who took time out of his job to talk to me. Yeah, I was buying his stuff (pictures and signature) but he was still a great guy. He could’ve been cold and distant, but he wasn’t. I appreciated that. It makes me feel good knowing that one of my heroes is a nice guy.  

The Comic Con was a blast, and I’d encourage everyone to go next year. You can dress up any way you like. I took a selfie with Shaggy from Scooby-do, Candy got to wear fairy wings and elf ears, Chelsea and Ian got pockets full of stickers and do-dads (none of which I recognized), and my nephew Joe snagged a cool new Funko Pop “Ghoul” character from Fallout. Oh yeah, Cayde spent about an hour in the bouncy house and had a long conversation with “Elmo” and PeterPrankster of TikTok fame. Aside from meeting Mr. Ferrigno I purchased a Superman #75 “Here lies Earth’s Greatest Hero” and a Howard the Duck #16 “Deadline Doom” which I shall actually read and cherish. Nerd for life. Yup.  

Even if you’re not a nerd like me you’d enjoy the Con. It’s not just anywhere you can walk around looking at everything from samurai swords and custom painted skulls to hand-made fairy wings and comic books as old as you are. You’ll pass superheroes, fairies, elves, transformers, ghostbusters, horror icons (Freddie and Jason) and all sorts of bizarre and wonderful people. Go. You’ll have fun. We sure did. See you there next September!  

God Bless Y’all! 

                                                                                                                        I went to the West Tennessee Comic Con in Jackson, Tennessee last Saturday and met a childhood hero of mine. Lou Ferrigno. The Original Incredible Hulk! I talked to him briefly at his merchandise booth and got a signed photo of him in his classic “Hulk”ing Out pose. I had known that he suffered from severe hearing loss from the age of four and had just a few years ago gotten cochlear implants that had changed his life. In the past couple of years my oldest son, Chris, has experienced an eighty percent loss of hearing and it’s been a dramatic change on his life. I asked Mr. Ferrigno if he would recommend the implants, and if they truly helped him. He was very sincere and soft-spoken about it. “It changed my life” he told me. “He should definitely get with his audiologist and see if he qualifies.” The interaction was short, but he was a genuine guy about it. I thanked him for the input and the autograph and moved out of the line. Later that day I got to see him again. My daughter, Candice, my nephew, Joe, and three of my four grandkids (Ian, Chelsea and Cayde) had our picture made with him. I’d talked to him at the table (he was sitting, of course) but didn’t realize how big he was until I was standing right beside him. In my best awe-struck, fanboy voice told him “You’re much bigger standing up!” Indeed. What a wordsmith am I. 

Meeting a childhood icon is humbling. I could’ve talked to the guy for hours, if I’d been able to get the lump out of my throat. He was kind and attentive, but also aloof. I imagine it’s not easy to have hundreds, sometimes thousands, of individual interactions with people during an event like this one. People expect you to live up to the image in their heads. I was by no means disappointed but meeting him really got me thinking. I’m sixty. He’s seventy-three. A mere thirteen-year difference. As much as I idolized him back then, I never imagined that I could ever meet him or shake his hand and have a conversation with him. Hollywood is on another planet and his character lived there, but I didn’t meet the Hulk. I met a great man named Lou who took time out of his job to talk to me. Yeah, I was buying his stuff (pictures and signature) but he was still a great guy. He could’ve been cold and distant, but he wasn’t. I appreciated that. It makes me feel good knowing that one of my heroes is a nice guy.  

The Comic Con was a blast, and I’d encourage everyone to go next year. You can dress up any way you like. I took a selfie with Shaggy from Scooby-do, Candy got to wear fairy wings and elf ears, Chelsea and Ian got pockets full of stickers and do-dads (none of which I recognized), and my nephew Joe snagged a cool new Funko Pop “Ghoul” character from Fallout. Oh yeah, Cayde spent about an hour in the bouncy house and had a long conversation with “Elmo” and PeterPrankster of TikTok fame. Aside from meeting Mr. Ferrigno I purchased a Superman #75 “Here lies Earth’s Greatest Hero” and a Howard the Duck #16 “Deadline Doom” which I shall actually read and cherish. Nerd for life. Yup.  

Even if you’re not a nerd like me you’d enjoy the Con. It’s not just anywhere you can walk around looking at everything from samurai swords and custom painted skulls to hand-made fairy wings and comic books as old as you are. You’ll pass superheroes, fairies, elves, transformers, ghostbusters, horror icons (Freddie and Jason) and all sorts of bizarre and wonderful people. Go. You’ll have fun. We sure did. See you there next September!  

God Bless Y’all! 

April 11, 2025 

In the predawn hours of this Friday morning Lt. Gen. John Caine (Retired), US Air National Guard, was sworn in as trump’s new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He had never held a four-star rank, or command, and was promoted upon approval by a vote of 60-25. Fifteen senators, including nine Republicans, missed the vote in the wee hours of the morning. “Raizin” Cain claims to be non-partisan, despite a story told by trump himself about the general wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat. He says he’s “never worn any political merchandise.” A presidential waiver was required for him to be considered, since he was not active-duty. He’s the first National Guard member to ever hold the chairmanship of the Joint Chiefs. His last assignment before he retired was as the associate director for military affairs at the CIA.  

His non-partisan claims notwithstanding, since his retirement just last year, Caine has been a partner at Thrive Capital. It is run by Joshua Kushner. He is the younger brother of Jared Kushner, trump’s son-in-law. No questions about this connection were even brought up during the nomination process. Yup. He should be very non-partisan and not a “yes” man at all.  

In July it was announced that the chief executive would personally meet with all candidates for nomination to four-star rank. This is a break with long standing traditions geared towards making these positions non-political and non-partisan appointments. The men who would hold four-star rank in our military will command all of the major active-duty commands in our military and are the highest rank in our military.  

On August 25th of this year, trump signed an executive order directing the creation of specialized National Guard units in each state to be mobilized for “quelling civil disturbances.”   

On September 6th trump posted on “Truth Social” a meme that depicted him as Lt.Col. Killgore in Apocalypse Now (wearing Robert Duval’s sunglasses and cavalry hat, and fire and helos in the background) and the modified quote: “I love the smell of deportations in the morning…” Instead of “Apocalypse Now” it was marked “Chipocalypse Now” in reference to his threats to the city mayor of Chicago and the Governor of Illinois to send troops into Chicago. He also wrote: “Chicago about to find out why it’s called the Department of War.” Posted by the President of the United States of America! 
All of these things are facts. They are easily verified by the daily news. I can’t make this stuff up. If America is okay with this kind of behavior by a chief executive, then we are on our way towards being a very different America, and very soon. It’s been a beautiful idea for 249 years. We almost made it to 250. He might as well call it Year One next year.  

God bless Y’all.  

And God Bless the United States of America.