It seems almost unrealistic that nine years have passed since Muslim extremists slaughtered almost 3,000 Americans and citizens from other nations on the morning of September 11, 2001. Collin Raye has a song with the line “Jesus will forgive, but a daddy won’t forget.” I am neither a “daddy” nor am I male, nor do I have a relative who was murdered, but I won’t forget.

September 11, 2001 began as a routine day for me. I was on the floor of my living room, exercising. I heard radio host Hugh Hewitt state “thousands are going to die.”  My then naïve brain could not process what he was stating. I thought that somehow I had missed the anniversary of the first attack on the WTC.  It did not occur that we were dealing with murderers whose motto was apparently “if at first you don’t succeed (as well as you hoped), try again.” This time, they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. The murderers and their handlers had wiped out a broad spectrum of US society, but mainly ordinary folks going about their business.  By the way, how is that “72 virgins for murder” deal working out, for the murderers, in their version of the afterlife?

This slaughter took us by surprise. We were in a war, but no one sent out a bugler or a text to let us know “cowardly Islamist terrorists have declared war on innocent citizens.”  My initial reaction, after the shock of seeing bodies coming down from the buildings, seeing the second plane hit, seeing the Pentagon attacked, was white hot anger.  I wanted to hunt down someone and make him pay. Instead, I turned into a fundraising machine, and a writer. I can safely conclude that those two activities saved my sanity. As long as my God grants me breath, I will continue to be vigilant and informed about the activities of those who are in the business of murdering the innocent, in order to satiate their lust for unlimited sex in the hereafter.

In the ensuing months, we all were New Yorkers.  China kept manufacturing those American Flags, almost as fast as the demand was for them.  Nine years later, the Flags are pretty much gone from the cars and houses. Soon, some in the media decided that the gory scenes from the massacre were to be removed from our sight. Had those sights lost their “if it bleeds, it leads” drawing factor?  It was time to “move on.”

The Financial center that was the World Trade Center was reduced to rubble. Nine years later, a fitting memorial to those murdered, has not yet been completed. In to fill the vacuum, are plans to build an Islamic mosque, two blocks away. A battle royal has ensued. Should the mosque go up, instead of appreciating the presumed beauty of the structure, I will view it as minaret pierced directly through the physical and psychic wounds of the survivors, the dead, and the families of the dead.  Some of us value human life, and do not “move on” that easily.  

Who were these folks who were thrust into immortality by some sex-crazed zealots? Who were the fortunate ones who survived? What has been their reaction to surviving while others perished? I decided to check with my friends to see if they could fill in some of the gaps. Joyce Romano led me to her cousin Mike Romano, who provided me with a powerful tale of survival.

 Initially, Joyce responded:

He was in shock and couldn't sleep for months because he had nightmares.  Wouldn't get on a plane, for at least a year or so.  He still feels the anxiety from it.  But to exorcise his demons, he's written a novel about the future and the results of terrorism, with a note of hope for a more peaceful world...  Amazon.com: Tomorrow's Savior (9781439249321): Mike Romano: Books

Then I heard from Mike Romano himself. I felt compelled to share his story as written:

My 9/11 Story

I work in the insurance business. My job in 2001 involved traveling to New York City to have business meetings with insurance agents. On September 11, 2001, I left my home in Hillsborough, NJ for lower Manhattan. As I drove to the train station in Harrison that day, I remember thinking what a great day it was for traveling. The weather was nearly perfect in New Jersey and New York that day.

As my train pulled into the World Train Center stop, I checked my watch for the time. It was 8:45 AM. I had fifteen minutes before my first appointment on William Street. I exited the train and went up the first escalator. At the top of the first escalator was a public restroom. Next to the restroom was a Port Authority Police substation.

I stopped in the men’s room before heading up to street level. While I was in the men’s room, I heard a large explosion coming from somewhere above me. The room shuddered and dirt and dust fell from the overhead air conditioning ducts. Everyone in the men’s room looked at each other and I remember commenting out loud that it sounded like a bomb. That seemed to get everyone moving. We ran from the men’s room.

At the same time, all of the police were running out of the Port Authority Police substation, and as I left the men’s room, I overheard a voice shouting on one of their walkie-talkies that there was a large explosion on the upper floors of the North Tower, with major injuries.

I went up the long escalator to the mall level and stopped to see which way I should go. To my right was the short escalator that I usually took up to street level. To my right and behind was the hallway to the towers. I saw people running toward me from that direction with looks of shock and horror on their faces. I knew that whatever happened had occurred back there, so I turned left and ran down a short hallway where I took an exit out into an alley on the side of 5 World Trade Center.

Once outside, I noticed a lot of debris on the ground. I started asking the people outside what happened, and someone said that a plane had crashed into the North Tower. I took a closer look at the debris, and I saw small pieces of the plane on the ground, along with other debris from the building.

I proceeded to the end of the short alley onto Church Street. I crossed Church Street and stopped in front of the Millennium Hilton Hotel, where I had a clear view of the towers, directly across from where I was standing. I saw thick black smoke pouring from the windows, roughly twenty floors from the top of the North Tower. My first thought was, “how are they going to fight a fire up that high?” At that point in time, the thought that this was an attack never crossed my mind. I, like everyone around me, thought it was an accident.

After about ten minutes, I started to become very uncomfortable. Something didn’t feel right. I felt that I needed to get away from the spot where I was standing. I decided to continue on to my appointment and decide what to do once I got there. I walked down Fulton Street, crossed Broadway, walked another block to the corner of Fulton Street and Nassau Street and stopped there. I turned to look back and saw that I still had a pretty good view of the towers.

It then occurred to me that I should try to call my wife. She knew that I was going to New York that day and this was sure to be on the news. I tried dialing her work phone number a couple of times but I couldn’t get through because the grid was overloaded.

I stopped dialing and looked back up at the towers. At that point I saw the second plane hit the South Tower. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to react. I remember seeing the flash of the explosion and then feeling the shockwave, even though I was three blocks away from it. At that point, I knew it was a terrorist attack.

To give you an idea of what took place next, you have to imagine watching an old sci-fi “B” movie, where there are monsters or space aliens wreaking havoc in some city, and watching thousands of panicked people running in all directions. In those old “B” movies, you could see how phony it was, but September 11, 2001 was not a movie. It was real.

Upon seeing the South Tower hit, everyone, me included, began to run. I don’t even think we knew where we were running to. I heard people screaming as I ran. This was the only part of that day where I have a mental block. I remember turning to run. I also remember dropping my cell phone and then scooping it up before it fell down a sewer. After that, my next memory is standing in front of Pace University, near the Brooklyn Bridge. That’s several blocks away and usually takes five to ten minutes to walk to under normal circumstances, but it seemed to me to happen almost instantaneously.

There was true panic in Manhattan now. Both towers were burning out of control. Emergency vehicles were still pouring into the area. A woman had come out of the building I was standing in front of and she was crying uncontrollably. I tried to comfort her as best I could. Then someone else came out of the building who knew her. This person helped her so I moved on.

At this point, I began to realize the magnitude of what was happening. I also wanted to help. People passing by asked me if they could use my cell phone. I let them use it but it was useless. No one could get through. I was still trying to call my wife, but could still not get through either. I considered going back to the towers to see if I could help. I knew that the emergency first responders were going to be overwhelmed, and I wanted to do something to help.

I finally made the decision to get out of the neighborhood. This decision did not come easily. I had already begun to feel guilty about fleeing the site of the attack. This “survivor’s guilt” would stay with me for months afterward. I didn’t want to cross the Brooklyn Bridge. It was the wrong direction for me, there were thousands of people crossing the bridge by foot, and it occurred to me that the bridge would be a target if any more planes were coming in. What is interesting is that at no time did I break down emotionally. My emotions seemed to just “shut off”. I can’t explain how that happened, but it enabled me to keep my wits about me.

Since there was no way I was going to get back to New Jersey, I decided the best course of action would be to go to my mother-in-law’s apartment on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. At this point, I was behind City Hall, still near the Brooklyn Bridge. I walked back to Church Street and then began walking north.

Finally, after walking roughly 8-10 blocks, I was finally able to get through to my wife on my cell phone. I almost casually asked her if she heard what happened. She was more panicked about the situation than I was. That was understandable considering that she was seeing it all unfold on television. Not knowing precisely where I was, but knowing that I was somewhere in the middle of that chaos, she began to assume the worst. I asked her to call her mother on a land line to let her know I was coming. She asked me where I was at that moment. I told her that I was still on Church Street. We spoke for another minute or so and then we hung up so she could call her mother.

About ten seconds after I hung up the phone, the South Tower collapsed behind me. I was far enough away that I was not engulfed by the dust cloud, but my wife didn’t know that. I only told her I was on Church Street, but I didn’t say where. I frantically tried calling her again but couldn’t get through. It took me about forty five minutes to walk to her mother’s apartment. By the time I got there, the North Tower had also collapsed.

Once in my mother-in-law’s apartment, I was able to call my wife from a land line to let her know that I was safe. I was safe, but far from okay. Now that I was out of immediate danger, my emotions began to come out. I didn’t cry or get upset. I became very anxious. My mother-in-law later said that I behaved like a “caged tiger”, pacing in the apartment.

Now I became irrational. I wanted to get out of Manhattan, by any means, regardless of the consequences. My mother-in-law tried to get me to stay. She had plenty of room where I could stay the night if I wanted. But I wanted out.

After a couple of hours, I saw on television that an emergency evacuation plan was implemented on the Hudson River. If I could get to the 34^th Street Pier, I could get a ferry back to New Jersey. Miraculously, some of the subway lines were still running, so I was able to take a subway train up to 34^th Street.

I waited nearly three hours in line, with thousands of other people wanting to get out of Manhattan. I finally boarded a ferry to Hoboken. When I got to Hoboken, the fire department pulled aside everyone who had dust on them, me included, and hosed us down to get the dust off. After that, I was able to get back to my car in Harrison, and drive back to Hillsborough, where I got home at approximately 7:30 PM.

The immediate crisis was over, but my ordeal was just beginning. After just a few days, I found that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Loud noises bothered me. I could not be in any room with a lot of people. I became very nervous. I refused to travel to any big city. I refused to fly. Every time I saw a plane in the sky I’d watch it, to make sure nothing was going to happen. I had really bad nightmares for months.

I realized that I needed help. I went to post-traumatic stress counseling for nine months. The counseling ultimately helped me. I say “ultimately” because it did not help right away. It laid a foundation for me and put me on the right path to recovery, but that recovery would take years.

The emotional stress from my experience began to manifest itself in other ways. Within a few weeks after 9/11, my personality began to change. I became more outspoken, more opinionated than I ever was before. My marriage began to suffer. I began living every day as if it were my last. I reacted very angrily whenever 9/11 was mentioned.

I also dreaded each anniversary of the attack. Each year, as 9/11 approached, I would retreat into an emotional shell, something I still do to some degree.

Very slowly, I began to get control of my life back. The initial phobias that developed began to lessen after a year or so. My wife and I worked hard to resolve our marriage problems and we became a happy couple again. I took control of my emotions and began to calm down.

By 2007, it seemed that I had gotten as much closure as I was going to get. My personality had changed permanently, but it seemed that everyone had adapted to that, including me. I still had issues with the 9/11 anniversary, and I became angry when I began to hear people make general comments that 9/11 is old news now. I began to hear the phrase “move on” much more than I cared to. It seemed that people were forgetting. I know people who died that day. I saw people die that day. Then a friend helped me put it in perspective, when she said, “the only people who can fully understand the emotional impact of the attack are those that experienced it themselves.” That helped me cope with it better. Whenever I begin to get angry, I think of that phrase and it helps me calm down.

Then, towards the end of 2007, something very unexpected happened. I began thinking about all of the children who lost a parent on 9/11. I tried to picture in my mind what kind of people they would grow up to be with that tragedy in their past. What kind of occupations will they have? How will they live their lives? How will they treat other people? 

Out of those thoughts, I began to envision a man in his early 30’s, whose father died on 9/11, when the man was a child, roughly the age my son was on 9/11. I injected some of my post-traumatic stress into that man’s childhood, and the result was a character that I thought would make a very good basis for a novel. This character was not someone I wanted to be. He was a character that I wanted to respect.

So, I spent the next fourteen months writing about this fictional character. The title of my novel is “Tomorrow’s Savior” and it tells the story of a man named John Longo, who cares enough for humanity to do everything in his power to save it from self-destruction. The story takes place nearly thirty years after 9/11, and gives an interesting perspective of how humanity can find the silver lining in the cloud of that tragedy.

What was unexpected was how therapeutic the writing experience was for me. It gave me closure to 9/11 in ways I never expected. A lot of my strong emotions that stemmed from 9/11 were transferred to the characters in the story, and as a result, the story is very emotional. The result was “Tomorrow’s Savior.”

September 11, 2001 changed my life forever. I still struggle with the anniversary to a minor degree. I still occasionally feel a ping of survivor’s guilt. However, I feel that I’ve become a better person, a stronger person than I was before. It’s my hope that anyone who has had a direct connection with 9/11 can find their way through it like I did.

Mike Romano

September 3, 2010

I read through this riveting story twice, feeling as I were at Mr. Romano’s side, invisible to him, as he walked through experience on the day of 9/11. What is especially striking is how one can leave one’s home for a routine workday, and by nightfall, one’s life could be changed forever.  I am not ashamed to admit that I probably would have fallen to pieces. He walked through that valley of debris and dust, and survived.  It is for him, the other  survivors, many with physical, emotional and mental  reminders that will live with them forever, and  the murdered,   that we must keep September 11, 2001 in our hearts and memories. Sure we continue living our normal lives, but “forget and move on”? Never! Remember Who We Are!

The latest news on the debt that the US owes triggered the above title. Will all generations currently alive in this nation, including newborns, be saddled with debt past their death? On hearing the news, the thought occurred that the US government is going to keep running up debt until this leads to the death of the country – not death in a literal sense – but “death” of the “shining city on a hill,” into to a third world dump, where dumpster diving becomes the norm.

This national debt situation is becoming like a bad marriage, and making “we the people” feel like breaking those marriage vows “till death do us part.” The politicians have turned that “contract” into “until debt do us part.” An overgrown monstrosity  is the description used to describe the US government. King Kong, probably the most famous “overgrown monstrosity,” at least loved the blond, and was willing to kill for her. Our overgrown monstrosity does not love the average American citizen. In true vampire style, it wants to suck the lifeblood out of us all.

The politicians, the puppet masters of our overgrown monstrosity, must sit around plotting, “how can I tax thee? Let me count the ways.” I plead with them, “no need to count the ways...you already have us from cradle and beyond the grave.” Whenever I read yet another story of the family of a small farmer, having to sell the family farm to pay taxes on the farm that Farmer John worked himself to the bone to leave for his family, my heart breaks all over again. Why? How could his own government do this to a citizen?

I thought that I wanted to file for divorce before? This headline TARP Billions Shipped Overseas, almost sent me looking for a good divorce lawyer! Truthfully though, how does one “divorce” one’s country, unless one gives up one’s citizenship? I am not giving up my citizenship and make it easy for the scoundrels who are trying to destroy this country! It would be so easy to run for the exits, as some fellow citizens are doing, and escape the financial raping of the American taxpayer. Really, practicality would dictate that one should put an end to being one of the most abused species in the western world. In what other western country do taxpayers pay to support about half of the country, about 20 million interlopers, and a bunch of leeches, going by the misnomer “leaders”?

Placed in perspective, party time at the People's House , is minuscule in comparison to the national debt, but it is still troubling to know that these sums are being spent while too many of the subjects of the nation, are going without. I will not even discuss the vacation in Spain of my fair lady. These, according to this article, are the latest figures on the national debt and spending. You newborns, you have been betrayed. Under normal circumstances, we who preceded you into this world, usually try to leave a better country for you to inherit. Nothing is “normal” anymore. We are going to leave a legacy of debt. You may end up in debtors’ prison, figuratively speaking, if China and those other creditors, decide to call in the national debt. The word “sorry” is woefully inadequate.

Speaking of the national debt, when I saw this headline, “U.S. debt to rise to $19.6 trillion by 2015,” I almost joined that dead farmer who left his family farm for his survivors. Currently the budget deficit is around $165 billion? Does America still belong to those people known as “Americans”? Debt or deficit – that is not stopping the drunken government from committing to this pledge. Mama mia! I was just calling on Mama, I should be calling for Daddy also! The drunken government is now in the mosque building business! I guess some places of worship are “more equal than others.” Why is the US government not in the business of building synagogues or churches?

President Obama has been going around making speeches about cars, ditches and “drive.” Respectfully, Mr. President, when you are about to go over a cliff, as this economy is, “drive” is not going do it, unless you are intent on committing suicide. I somehow do not get the impression that too many of my fellow citizens, want to commit financial or other suicide. I think that “R” for reverse, as in reversing some of the idiotic economic policies, could be a better driving maneuver. No wonder two of those economic advisors already bailed out of that economic hybrid car. While we are at it, someone may want to inform the vice president that his “recovery summer” has turned into a “discovery summer” – discovery that the financial cliff is nigh. There will be no recovery until young, in between, and not so young, who are seeking jobs, can find them. Remember: “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Start with this article.

I have a suggestion for helping to dig the US out of the China hole it has dug for itself. All those leaders who are telling the rest of us to “sacrifice,” should take their advice. How about if they voluntarily give back about 25% of their base salary? Plus, give up 50% of the perks and 100% of the pork, also known as earmarks – and any other extras that we the serfs do not even know about. These lawmakers could probably comply, without even noticing that they have given up anything. That could put at least five mil back in the Treasury, I am guessing. I could be wrong. It could be more. That will be one small step for mankind. Well, maybe not all of mankind, but at least for the economy of the US. Members of the ruling class, prove this writer wrong. Assure me that this observation is way off base.

If you do not voluntarily give up the pork, then we may be forced to adopt, what I am calling the “Bell Model.” This is nothing like the Bell Curve. The Bell Model has to do with what the citizens of Bell, California, accomplished on the road to righting the financial ills of their city. It turns out that Bell had been “artfully” shaped into a city of two classes, the haves, and the have nots. The Ruling Class had voted itself salaries as high as $800,000, plus, plus, while the average salary for the peons is around $24,000. What a difference a few zeros make! When the peons found out, they stormed City Hall, and extracted change that they could believe in. The high salaried ones began toppling like dominoes, or like rats abandoning a sinking ship. They resigned and are now in line to collect their high dollar pensions, which peons in some others cities are largely responsible for paying, as part of a pool arrangement. There are now investigations going on.

Later, it was also found out that the homeowners of Bell had been overcharged for years for their property taxes. I am no longer going to demean foxes by using the description “fox in the henhouse,” just as I no longer use “spending money like a drunken sailor.” The substitution is now “politician(s) in the henhouse,” and “spending money like a drunken government!”

Alas, my fellow laborers, that voluntarily put back by the ruling class, is not going to happen. So, enjoy your Labor Day. But come Tuesday, September 7, 2010, get back out there. You have a country to support. As a matter of fact, you have many countries to support, plus a ruling class.

“He ain't heavy, he’s my brother”? The 2010 version is: “He is damn heavy, and he ain’t my brother!”

In 55 BC, Cicero advised Rome:

"The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled,
public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be
tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be
curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work,
instead of living on public assistance."

Rome did not listen. Hopefully, we will. Let us prove that we did not give up one King George III for 500 plus kings and queens, give or take about a hundred or so honest ones, who do not bother to disguise their disdain for the serfs. In case you need some visual incentive, this ought to help. September, as has been the case with most of this year, is going to be a write off. But there is hope for change, millions of us can believe in. “Surf’s, Serfs up” – enjoy your November!

I searched my heart after Madame Pelosi stated that those who oppose the building of the mosque at Ground Hero should be investigated , for the source of their funding. She is correct, and I am going to begin with myself. I simply want to ensure that unlike the Health Care Bill, that had to be passed, in order that we could know what was in it, that I won’t be found guilty, before being able to read about the charges with which I was charged! Why don’t I make it easy for Madame. Here is my confession.

Since my recent illness, friends have been very supportive and sent me small financial gifts. At first, I thought it was because they felt sympathy for me in my illness, and relative scarcity of funds. Now I know the real reason. They were sending these amounts, not to keep me from starving, but for a purely nefarious purpose. They wanted me to regain my strength so that I could be penning articles condemning the “wisdom,” to quote President Obama, of building the mosque at that particular location. These friends must be psychic. They knew ahead of time, that an uproar would break out, and I would unblinkingly come down on the side of the naysayers. I am so guilty.

So Madame Pelosi, please send the funding police to break down the door of the place where I am holding out, at my not so secret disclosed location, and take me away. It will be good for me to get away from these bad influences, called friends. You will save me from “ginning up” those funds, and further more from becoming a drunk, by hitting the gin bottle, because of my guilt!

While I am confessing to my “crimes,” I may as well confess that I am a black racist. Madame, before your intervention, I misguidedly came out on the side of some of those white folks, and some blacks, who were criticizing our president for his incompetence in handling just about everything. I admit it. I dared to criticize him for his handling of this same mosque situation, with his stance of “first I was for it, then I wasn’t, now I am in limbo, waiting for the weather vane to let me know which direction the wind is blowing!” I also criticized him for the monstrosity, I mean the health care plan. I wrote back then that I was prepared to be imprisoned, rather than purchase health insurance. If you carry through with your plan, it will be like killing one bird with two stones!

Further, I lambasted the president for taking excessive vacations, placing his feet on the desk in the Oval Office. Let me retract. It was this guy  who busted the president for all of that partying at the People’s House. If I am going down, I am taking that writer with me! I still maintain that the president should not have his feet on that sacrosanct desk. I refuse to bend regarding that opinion.

Back up here. Maybe I should research this racist term before I cop to it. According to the dictionary, a common meaning of “racism  is "hatred or intolerance of another  race or other races.” Nope. I am not a racist. I am a black woman, and some of my best friends are white, black, and every variation in between. Sorry Madame Pelosi, I recant my confession on that score.

Damn, I am talking myself out of jail time! Wasn’t the idea to plead guilty? Ah, I have it. I am a bigot because I am protesting the building of the mosque. Isn’t it great when a “criminal” can serve as her own prosecutor? Again I have to consult with the dictionary to find out the meaning of that bigot word. A bigot is "a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion,"

You got me on this one. I am utterly intolerant of anyone who thinks that a fine specimen such as I am, could have evolved merely from a single cell. I am fanatically intolerant of any adult who satiates his depraved desire to rob children of their childhood by sexual abuse, and marrying girls as young as six years young. As a matter of fact, I have had, on more than one occasion, when reading news reports about such acts, had to restrain myself from rushing to practice “surgery” on that person, and turning him into a soprano! I am guilty, guilty! I can also be accused of openly demonstrating intolerance towards those who practice elder abuse. Are you catching the drift of my intolerance? I cannot tolerate abuse of the defenseless. Speaking of the defenseless, this article and this article , sent my intolerance meter off the charts!

I have provided sufficient material for the prosecution to successfully put me away. However, in the interests of a fair trial, I should try to put up at least a modicum of a defense. I am a bleeding heart liberal, conservative. I became deeply entrapped by the stories that came pouring out from the media, about all of the death and suffering of the slaughter of 9/11. This gallery of photo images bears some responsibility for my failure to develop tolerance to the murder of fellow citizens. Image #5 really brought out a sense of intolerance and vengeance in me. I wanted to rip the hearts out of the surviving planners of the massacre.

Am I supposed to be so forthcoming in my intransigent attitude towards depraved behavior? That may not be good for my defense. I made the mistake of checking out this site , especially the ad where a few surviving family members discussed their loss. Their suffering so broke my heart that again, I wanted to seek vengeance. Only the admonition of my God, who stated that vengeance is His, held me back. If you are going to investigate these grieving families, for their source of funding to stop the desecration of the memory of their murdered family members, please take me in their stead.

Madame Pelosi, I am a lost cause. Send the squad to pick me up. My Post Office box is residence #1 of my four residences. I am usually picking up my mail between 9 a.m. – 11 a.m. PST, on either Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. But if I am going down, I am taking down this fellow , and the other “perps,” whom he named in his column! If I were you, I would take a look and a listen to this ditty . While you are investigating the source of the funding for all of these “malcontents,” you should also investigate the source of their talent and passion! I would look Heavenward.

I almost forgot. While you are busy investigating me and the other opponents of the mosque at Ground Hero, you may want to take a look at this Website , identified by the headline of the story as a “Muslim Extremist’s Web Site.” If this gentleman is deemed to have First Amendment rights to free speech, then your case against me and my fellow “miscreants” could fall apart. Here is an interesting article about the mosque builder, and an enlightening statement.

This article is even more interesting. The wife of the mosque builder, as part of her effort s at “outreach,” overreached in labeling Americans as practicing “metastasized anti-Semitism.” Isn’t it ironic how “anti-Semitism,” a term used to describe the suffering inflicted on Jews can be hijacked into the conversation, when the stated desire of many of Ms. Khan’s religionists, is to push Israel into the sea? I found out from this interview that I am suffering from “Islamophobia.” All of this time I thought that the only phobia I have is of enclosed spaces. Maybe there is a direct link between both phobias. That particular mosque, being pushed to be built two blocks from where fellow human beings were slaughtered by Islamist terrorists, is an enclosed space.

As for “hate of Muslims,” she has me pegged incorrectly. “Hate” is a very potent emotion. No one on this earth is worthy of my hate. I love my God, the One True God with unabashed fervor, but He does not expect me to express my love for Him by hating anyone or going out and slitting the throats of fellow human beings, even those who malign Him. However, should I be found guilty, I just came up with a great suggestion for my “rehabilitation.” May I become an “outreach ambassador,” with all of its perks, like these two? I could do an ambassadorship with Americans in America, since many of them, are feeling exploited and alienated. Their pockets are cleaned out to pay for all sorts of exotic programs, and they get very little in return, especially if they were born in the US.

Just so you know Madame Pelosi, you may also have a hard time going against Mayor Bloomberg's assessment  that an investigation into the funding of the project would be “un-American.” Strike that from my defense. He meant an investigation into the source of the funding for the mosque, would be “un-American.” Since he is gung ho about the building of this mosque, you may have common ground after all. It is “American” to go after Americans who are opposing the building of the Ground Zero mosque. That is now plain to me, thanks to the “firm” of BP. Oops. Did I just subconsciously link Bloomberg and Pelosi to the BP oil spill? I think that I just added another charge to my list of infractions!

The controversy is raging on whether a mosque should be allowed to be built just two blocks from Ground Zero. I am frankly puzzled that less than a decade after Muslim extremists/Islamist Terrorists slaughtered almost 3,000 human beings, in the name of the religion of Islam, that we are having this conversation. Why a mosque at Ground Hero? Why the “christening” to be held on 9/11/2011?

Americans are supposed to sit around the Kumbaya campfire singing verses about the important of “tolerance.” I am all for tolerance, if it is being practiced by all concerned. “Tolerance” already allowed two attacks right at that site, with the ultimate destruction of the Twin Towers. What is left to tolerate or to give, the lives of the rest of us?

Mayor Bloomberg stated something about showing the “best of ourselves,” by allowing the mosque to be built. I think that “we” represented by our fellow human beings, already showed the best of ourselves. I remember over 300 firefighters selflessly going towards danger. Yes, I know that they were “just doing their jobs.” Back in 2001, the National Enquirer had the names of the firefighters, and on a daily basis, I used to pull out that issue of the magazine and read a few names, wondering about them and their families, and saying a prayer for the families. I still have that issue and will keep it until it disintegrates.

A listing of the names of all of the victims can be found in this Fox News article . The youngest victim is two-year old Christine Hanson. I remember reading about that child who appeared to have a very vivacious personality. She and the others, according to this article , are having their faces metaphorically spit upon, by those who have conveniently forgotten the massacre. I concur. Once again we have conclusive proof that the dead have no power. They would have spit back, or worse! The Bravest has a heartbreaking conversation with family members of some victims of 9/11. Are we going to spit on their grief in the name of “tolerance”?

 Mayor Bloomberg has been eclipsed as the most prominent supporter of the mosque. President Obama, I guess as part of his continuing apology tour, has now come out in support of the mosque. As usual, he began with his four favorite words: “Let me be clear.” Lookout – his clarity is not always clear to the rest of us! This time as forcefully as he enunciated his position on “right to,” I got the message, that he meant what he was saying. In this variation of “if things take a turn for the worse,” he is categorically stating that he is with the Muslims, and not with the families of the victims of his fellow citizens. Is that clear enough? He stated:

"This is America, and our commitment to religious freedom must be unshakable."

I totally agree. So let us build a synagogue, a Christian church, a Buddhist temple, and even a church for those who worship pot-bellied pigs! I will put up the first dollar bill. That is all I can afford at this time. Why should that “hallowed ground” be restricted to only a mosque? If there will be frolicking in a swimming pool around the scene where my terrified fellow citizens fell or jumped to their deaths from those very tall buildings, why shouldn’t it be “interfaith” frolicking?

As usual, the president, who suffers from a lack of brevity, especially when “Tom” the Teleprompter is standing by, ponderously continued:

"Our capacity to show not merely tolerance, but respect towards those who are different from us - and that way of life, that quintessentially American creed, stands in stark contrast to the nihilism of those who attacked us on that September morning, and who continue to plot against us today."

Again, I am in agreement with “tolerance” and “respect.” We already gave at the office on 9/11/2001. Should I read the names for you, Mr. President? As for the nihilistic ones, they have our number. They know that we are being led by speeches and pronouncements, are being infiltrated at the highest levels of government. They may not even have to plot another 9/11. We are doing a fine job of self-destruction. By the way, my “quintessentially America creed” is to keep my head attached to my body. I have grown rather fond of that configuration.

“Respect” should be a two-way street. If we are expected to show respect to “those who are different from us,” then we expect the same. And, isn’t this supposed to be about “e pluribus unum,” “out of many, one”? What we have here is the opposite. What happened to all of us being Americans first, and whatever variation second? If respect is not reciprocated, it becomes subservience or submission. Coincidentally the meaning of Islam is “submission.” For the record, I am making a very public declaration: I will never submit to any variations. My religious allegiance is to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. That is non-negotiable. My national allegiance is to the United States of America. That is not for sale.

The Muslims behind this mosque are supposedly within their legal right to build the mosque, on the land that they half own. Is there a window of wisdom to be located in the grand plans, that although they have a “right” to build this mosque, that out of respect for the families of those victims who were murdered by members of the Muslim religion, that some tolerance and respect can be found for those family members, if for no one else?

I would be mightily impressed with that small gesture of humanity. Let us all hope that they can find it within the teachings of their religion to be magnanimous, even when in a position of being “right.” Let us hope that magnanimity is forthcoming, especially in light of the magnanimity of US taxpayers via the US State Dept in funding the Middle East trip of the imam behind the Ground Zero mosque. America, what a (generous) country…except for its own citizens, who are not “different!”

It turns out that once again, the president’s “clarity” was not clear to the rest of us. Although, I thought I understood perfectly what he meant, based on the words that he used. Now, he is apparently implying that the rest of us misunderstood his “Let me make it clear” statement. The rest of us, the dunderheads, did not understand that he was not discussing the “wisdom” of choosing to build the mosque at the hallowed site of Ground Hero. I give up. Down here in the valley, we are having a difficult time trying to interpret the pronouncements from Mount Olympus. Maybe someone should poll the Muslims at the Ramadan dinner at the People’s House, to get their understanding of his speech. I bet they are included with the rest of the dunderheads, in “misinterpreting” what the president meant. This writer sees the president “stuck on dhimmitude.” I will not even try to mount a defense for him. With his track record, he could prove me wrong by the following day.

I am going to be absolutely clear, without prefacing my sentence with “let me be clear.” My opinion, as a citizen of this United States, is that there should not be a mosque, or for that matter, a house of any singular religion, built at that site, not now, not ever! I am here in my little corner respecting and tolerating, and I expect the same courtesy. I am tired of hearing the same practitioners of one religion, endlessly whining about not being tolerated!

Not being tolerated? How many Muslim houses of worship have been built in the US, a Christian nation, no matter what this president has made “clear”? How many Christian houses of worship have been built in the nations that are Islamic? I rest my case. This article  does not offer hope of much tolerance towards non-Muslim religions. I learned quite a few things, According to the following paragraph, as a Christian, I am considered a pig.

“When Muslims schools teach pupils that Jews are apes and Christians are pigs, they are relying on the wellspring of hate already in the Koran. A non-Muslim country holding an event to mark any aspect of Ramadan is as mad as sheep celebrating their own slaughter.”

I hope that those who consider Christians to be pigs, think of me as a pot-bellied pig. Those are cute. A friend described me as “God’s pet,” because He has been pouring blessings on me, in my time of need. I have been jokingly referring to myself as “God’s Chihuahua.” By the way, I have yet to meet a Jew who is an ape. As a matter of fact, I have met some rather attractive Jews. If any of the Muslim faith, as this article states, sees me as a pig, it does not offend me. Put some lipstick on this “pig” and she looks pretty cute! I have faith that my God, the One True God, sees me as a human being. He created me. I see Muslims as fellow human beings, also created by that same God. I am too secure in my sense of self as a child of God, to reciprocate by assigning animal names to Muslims. They are p-e-o-p-l-e.

I am ready and willing to do my part in spreading tolerance and respect. I extend an invitation to anyone who is technically an “American,” but despises the country, (I call such a person an AINO – American in name only), to give me a call, when there is the urge to assimilate, respect American traditions and culture, and show some appreciation for this country. Being an American is not about taking what the taxpayers of this country are forced to subsidize, and giving very little in return, except grief.

I would be a great tour guide. I was not born in this country, but I have been described as more patriotic than some native born, or is that natural born, as in the case of the president? Whatever – I am ready to be your fellow citizen. Your cup will overflow with tolerance and respect from me, as mine should from you. We can have a Virgin Pina Colada Summit!

Judge Susan Bolton is being castigated for her decision to emasculate the main provisions of Arizona's SB 1070. This article lays out a pretty clear cut case against her. I see a positive in her actions. I believe that Judge Bolton could turn out to be a pivotal figure in the struggle of “we the people,” to free ourselves from the tyranny of the judiciary, and the other branches of government.

My case has just been bolstered with a ruling from Judge Vaughn Walker who struck down Proposition 8, which declared that marriage is between a woman and a man. According to this wise judge, "limiting marriage to a man and a woman serves no legitimate purpose." This was apparently yet another case of a single judge versus the voters of California, and the voters lost. I am with Judge Walker, though. If anybody and anything will be free to marry, I am marrying my Mustang, although it has a drinking problem. It is a gas guzzler. However, that car has been more faithful than some husbands. I give it an oil change, or rather the mechanic does. I put some gas it in when it gets thirsty. It purrs. It runs. I am happy.

It might not be a bad idea for folks of the same sex to marry. States are looking for revenue. All of those new licenses can assist in revenue enhancement. Moreover, when those same sex ones get a taste of what opposite sexes undergo in making a marriage work, the divorce rates will go up – more revenue. But I have severely digressed.

The Founding Fathers tried to place all kinds of safeguards in place to prevent all three branches of government from assuming absolute power. Even they probably would not be able to fathom that one federal judge could give an assist to the executive branch in attempting to crush the will of the people of one state, and come out firmly on the side of the leader of a foreign country and his citizens, who are occupying the US, with his blessing and assistance. This is like a bloodless coup against Arizona. We in the other states are caught in a dilemma. Do we support Arizona, or treat that state like a pariah? Do we support los dos presidentes of Los Estados Unidos and Mejico? What is a US citizen to do? We have a decision to make.

In the meantime, in Arizona, Sheriff Joe Arpaio, as usual, is showing that like Gov. Jan Brewer, he has coglioni to spare! Protestors showed up. Sheriff Joe and his deputies did their duty. It was really interesting that about 100 protestors outside of the US Embassy in Mexico City, applauded the judge’s decision. There is something really odd about all of this. Your fellow citizens invaded a country for a “better life,” and do not want to return to your common country. You have no shame that your country is apparently such an inhospitable country, that not even the threat of being jailed in the invaded country and then deported, is enough to make your fellow citizens want to return? Is there anyone wise enough in Mexico to try to examine the national psyche to determine what needs to be done to correct this psychosis of an ungovernable country, in which the poor are “exported” so that they can send money back (to the tune of $18 billion plus annually), to support the rest of the country in the style to which those remaining have become accustomed? Where is the national pride?

One group in Mexico, the drug cartels, apparently has a lot of money to spare. Some of that money is being used as an incentive to kill Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who must be doing something right in support of American citizens. He has a bounty on his head. Quite frankly, if I were given the choice between having the president of the US, the president of Mexico, the US Justice Dept, and Sheriff Joe, to protect my personage, it would be a no brainer. Sheriff Joe would win without any percentage points going to the rest of the competition! He is definitely not all talk and no action.

I would not want to be a law enforcement person in Arizona, at this time in history, not so much because of the illegal problem, although that is bad enough. My unease would be caused by the fact that the federal government is treating the entire state of Arizona as a state of personae non gratae, with no right to be part of the Union, unless here illegally. My heart was breaking as I read the headline: Our Own government Has Become Our Enemy. Sheriff Paul Babeu of Pinal County in Arizona, was forced to that conclusion by the actions of the federal government, which is not treating Arizona as a sovereign state of the Union. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place – Sheriff Babeu did not escape his share of death threats from the same Mexican drug cartels which are targeting Sheriff Joe.

On the streets of America, the slaughter of American citizens by illegals, continues unabated. Illegals know that they own the streets, if not yet the country. A Catholic nun was helped on her journey to Heaven, by an alleged drunken illegal who struck her down. This illegal had been released by the federal government, free to roam the streets again, and unfortunately to kill this nun. According to the State Department,  watch your back when travelling to Mexico. Darn it – just as I was planning to move to Mexico to escape the carnage on the streets here!

Did I mention about illegals owning the streets? Yes I did. This other story, although there is no proof that the two men involved are illegals, at least show that the American Flag has competition in Citi Field in New York, where two men ran out onto the field with Mexican Flags. That is one way to make friends and influence people! We sit back not wanting to offend, being politically correct. Men such as these two, rub our noses in the flag of a foreign country at an American ballpark, because they can. Who owns America?

Illegals may be released back on the streets to create more mayhem, but I doubt that these Utah state employees will be so lucky. They were busted for “exposing 1,300 illegals.” These employees decided to take matters into their own hands and provide a list of illegals to the media and law enforcement. I do not condone what they did. But, I can understand the level of frustration that led them to take such an action. For the first time since becoming a citizen, I feel unprotected, and cannot shake the feeling that should I be killed by an illegal, I will be just a tax-paying statistic that unfortunately, must be removed from the revenue-providing rolls. It will not be “we lost a valuable citizen,” because like my fellow citizens, my life is now apparently worth less than the life of an illegal, in the eyes of my government. That really hurts.

Judges Bolton and Walker have provided yet other examples to us that “we the people” are on our own. The members of the ruling class ignore our wishes although technically, we are their employers. They may or may not follow the US Constitution, which more intelligent and wiser men put in place. We are going to have to reassert our rights and not betray the legacy of the Founding Fathers. For the record, I stand with Arizona. Also, contrary to my quip about marrying my Mustang, I firmly believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman, and not any other variations.

So my fellow Americans, how about it? Like your government, are you ready to turn over your country to the invading hordes, or are you ready to force the ruling class, by peaceful means, to address border security and effective immigration policies? Are you willing to stop this desecration? God knows, I am an immigrant myself, and I have empathy for those who truly come here for a better life. But, this present situation where foreigners take up residence, no one knows who is here, and the borders of a supposedly sovereign country, have a “come on in” sign, is untenable. I did not come here for a better life. My life would have been immeasurably more financially rewarding if I had remained in the island of my birth. There, an educated person is a valued commodity, and rewarded accordingly.

I came here because I believed, and still believe, in the noble ideals of the country founded two hundred thirty four years ago. My heart is tearing into pieces as I witness the bastardization of those ideals, by a ruling class not worthy to gaze on a portrait of those courageous men who founded this country. Only stubbornness keeps me here. I intend to remain and fight for the preservation of this, the last bastion of liberty!

Radio host Hugh Hewitt had a special Independence Day show in which his reading of the Declaration of Independence replayed at the top of each hour of his three hour show. Of course, who hasn’t read the Declaration of Independence, with its crafted stance of defiance, logic, assumption of divine gifts, and indictment against a despot? I have, but I still listened to each replay of the reading, as if hearing those words for the very first time.

By the third reading, it dawned on me that some of the charges of which King George III was being accused, sounded very modern, like a “déjà vu all over again,” moment. We are now reliving those times, that caused the signers of the Declaration of Independence to take a courageous stand, and pledge:

“And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”

We are living under the aegis of “King Barack Hussein Obama I.” I would like to be the first to address the new king. King BHO I: “When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another,” etc., etc., The new king should know the rest of that paragraph, because presumably a learned man such as he is purported to be, has certainly read the Declaration of Independence, right?

So what are the charges I would like to bring against King BHO I, I mean what are the similarities that I see between the actions of King George III, and the actions of this new king? How about, “deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed”? I did not vote for King B, so in fact I did not consent to be governed by him. However, as the majority rules, I fell in line with the majority vote. But while running with the herd, if I come to the proverbial cliff, and I am supposed to jump off, the falling in line for me stops there. Actually, we are at that point of jumping off of a cliff, that I am dubbing “Cliff death of the republic.” Call me “peculiar,” but I firmly believe that the tenets of governance are enshrined in the Constitution of the United States. I expect those governing, to adhere to those tenets, and not “transform” this democratic republic, into another failed socialist (non)paradise.

“He has refused his assent to laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good. He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.”

The first action of King BHO I, that comes to mind vis-à-vis that charge of refusal of “assent to laws,” that springs to mind, is that federal lawsuit filed against Arizona, a sister state. That smacks of the imperial powers that King George III inured to himself, especially with his maneuverings against the English Parliament, in the decade or so prior to 1776. Felipe Calderon, leader of a foreign country, gets more coddling than a sovereign state of the US, with King BHO I technically the leader of all 50, (not 57, King US states? I think that I was confused? My confusion multiplied when I read this article , detailing that a lawyer who used to represent alleged terrorists, has been lined up against Arizona. The fog of confusion cleared sufficiently for me to come to the conclusion that increasingly, it is becoming rather unpleasant to be a taxpayer or state of the United States of America. We are the new enemy.

The position of president of the US is considered to be the most powerful in the world. El presidente de Los Estados Unidos, oops, there goes my confusion again. I meant to type, the president of the Unites States, has brought the full force of that position against the governor and legislators of AZ, seemingly taking the side of a foreign potentate, and the citizens of that potentate, his citizens that he “exports” here for a “better life.” King BHO I, part of that “better life” appears to be drug smuggling, human trafficking, murder, rape, and robbery – of your fellow citizens. You are safe in the People’s House, protected by well-trained Secret Service agents, who will take a bullet in your stead. Who did Rancher Krentz and Jamiel Shaw have to take a bullet for them? They had no one. They are dead – murdered – by folks here illegally. I did not personally know either of these two victims, yet I cannot get their murders out of my mind. Their blood, and that of the other Americans slaughtered by folks who have no legal right to be here, is on the hands of every single official, at whatever level of leadership in this country. King B may want to take a look at this list of some of his fellow citizens.

I have a question for King BHO I. What would be your reaction if you had to change places with the families of these victims? Would you be sanguine, magnanimous, willing to bring suit against your fellow citizens, on behalf of illegality? Or – would you be running through the rooms of the People’s House, tearing your hair out, bawling your eyes out, replaying in your mind what you could have done differently, swearing vengeance, inconsolable? The families of these victims have gone through that horror.I would not wish that on you.

Finally, my spirits were lifted when I read this Kris Kobach article. If a real lawyer is on the side of Arizona, then Arizona may yet save the rest of the nation! “Your love has lifted me higher!” That is the song that came to mind when I read that citizens who agree with the courage shown by the governor and legislature of Arizona, have put their money, $500,000, where their sentiments are. The donations in support of Arizona are pouring in! “We the people get it.”

“He has made judges dependent on his will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent hither swarms of officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance.”

The “czardom” that was instituted by King BHO I, is the present day equivalent of the judges that King George III is accused of having “dependent on his will alone.” Even the word “czar” troubles me. No American president should be consorting with “czars.” The whole autocratic, Russian imperialism connotation gives me the shivers. Maybe my big mistake was in learning the history of the real US, the great pains to which the Founding Fathers, who accomplished their job without czars, took to establish a unique nation “with liberty and justice for all.” Had I not done that, maybe my misgivings would not be so deep seated.

Speaking of misgivings, this link – The President's One-Man Death Panel - IBD - Investors.com, and this one , almost sent me over the deep end! Instead of the three “R’s” of “reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic,’ this czar believes in the two “R’s” of rationing and redistribution? I may end up getting caught up in his rationing pool, something like those pelicans are getting ensnared in that Gulf oil spill. But, when it comes to redistribution of wealth, where I am concerned, the laugh is going to be on him, when he finds out that there are church mice richer than this writer!

A thought just occurred to me. If one of the czars went over the deep end, and advised King B, that in order to consolidate his power, the Constitution should be ignored even more than it is now, maybe even suspended and he should assume absolute power. What would be his decision? I hope that my question is never answered by any declarations beginning with “whereas,” followed by “assume.” My poor ticker could not stand the betrayal.

“For imposing taxes on us without our consent..” According to this Examiner article, our wounded troops, who have already given their limbs, in our defense, will have to pay taxes for their prosthetic limbs. They can say thanks to what has been labeled “Obamacare.” This is a bill that double dips in infringements – on the “imposing taxes without our consent” and governing without ‘the consent of the governed.” I am going to desperately try to give King BHO I the benefit of the doubt. Maybe in all of the haste with the reported strong-arming of members of the legislative body, “incentives” for consent to vote for his health care plan, he did not realize what would happen to our heroes.

King B, now that you know, what are you going to do about it? You and your “parliament” have the finest health care that money (of “we the people,” including those troops), can buy. How about a troop confined to a hospital bed, minus an arm or leg, or both, being allowed to concentrate on getting well, rather than worrying about the tax on the device to fill that empty space where his body part used to be? You have the power. Use it for good.

“He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burned our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.” I am afraid that the preceding sentence could be ascribed to King BHO I, with the exception of “burned our towns,” for the fiasco known as the Gulf oil spill. If hundreds or probably even thousands of the wildlife had not already been killed on the “ravaged coasts,” I could have called them as witnesses for the prosecution. In case King B needs a refresher, he should take a look at these photos. The moving at glacial speed to accept the help of other nations with proven and effective equipment to clean up the spill, is still very puzzling. I almost forgot to state, in all fairness, that King B is not guilty of that “plundered our seas” charge – yet.

“And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”

King BHO I, “we the people” are not at the stage where we will declare our independence from you, in the formal words of the Declaration of Independence, by making the above pledge. However, we pledge to regain our eroding freedoms by:

▪ Choosing our own health care

▪ Choosing representatives who will believe that this government is “for and by the people”

▪ Choosing representatives who are not for sale to the highest bidder

▪ Choosing representatives who believe in our right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”

▪ Choosing representatives to whom the corrupting power of absolute power is anathema

▪ Choosing a president, not a king, who believes in and cultivates American uniqueness and exceptionalism

▪ Choosing a president who does not view the US Treasury as a financial warehouse to be plundered

I see that I am not the only one who sees a solid resemblance to a monarchy in the behavior of our president. This writer takes exception to the Internet correspondence of our first electronic media president! “Nullum tempus occurrit regi – Time does not bar the king’s rights.” Initially, that may have worked for George III. It is not going to work for his modern day American successor. Not even a coincidental or manufactured “crisis,” that will not be allowed to go to waste, will stop the tide of “we the people” at the ballot box. If we are wise, it will be a “November to remember.” Some remarkable men back in the 18^th century fought King George III to give us our national rights. We have ceded enough.

Peter began losing weight and apparently having stomach pains.  He still showed up for services, with never a complaint. All he asked was that we pray for him. We did. . Except for that noticeable loss of weight, he looked healthy. He returned to church the Sunday after a scheduled biopsy.  By the following Sunday, while we were in church, our Pastor announced that Peter was back in the hospital. Peter died while we were at the service.  We did not find out until after the service.

Am I sorry that I did not stop and tell Peter how I appreciated his caring spirit? Yes, I am. But, I know that he now knows. He heard from Heaven, the verbal bouquets that circulated, as we celebrated his life at his memorial service.

It turns out that Peter’s early life was one of suffering. Many of us did not know of the trials and tribulations of those early times. His cheerfulness belied this. His family farm in Poland was confiscated by the Communists, as part of a policy of nationalization of private land. He was a mere boy when his family was sent to labor camps in Germany. He could have been forgiven if he had grown up to be a bitter adult. He was not. He would be the first to say that he and his family were fortunate to be able to immigrate to the US.  

They immigrated at a time when all immigrants expected was opportunity, not welfare. The following paragraph taken from the eulogy, encapsulates beautifully, the type of immigrant that America at one time was blessed to welcome.

 “The immigrants came with what little they could carry. Hard work and ingenuity made survival possible. Faith, grateful hearts, and courage kept them going in the midst of great hardship, with no knowledge of the English language and difficult circumstances. They persevered and prospered in their new land.  These were remarkable stories of life.”

Persevered they did. They learned the English language. They contributed to society.  They became a part of, not apart from that society. The times have certainly changed, in terms of the caliber of immigrants who now come to these shores. I wish that the new breed of immigrants could read about the life of Peter Karpik. This new breed could not help but be inspired. I am an immigrant myself, and I am inspired.

Thank you, Peter. By now you have heard “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Our congregation said “goodbye” to Peter and “Happy Birthday” to Lola. Lola reached her 94^th birthday on Saturday, 7/3/2010. I had her pegged at about 80 years old, 85 tops. Her birthday was announced in church. She stood up and told the pastor that she now had the floor. He yielded. “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets!” Lola succinctly and passionately gave us a short talk about her blessed life, which she attributed to God’s presence in her life from the beginning of her life to now 94 years later.

Her speech was not about Lola, but about how she was helped by angels in the form of neighbors, friends, and her church family, sent by God.  Personally, if I did not already know first-hand the wonderful God that we serve, Lola’s testimony would have inspired me to find out more about this God Who saw this lady through to 94 years, 94 years of looking well “preserved,” with still gorgeous skin, a strong speaking voice, recovering from a fall, and able to walk around unassisted.

I get to share a birth month with Lola, and she has now joined the other two ladies I want to be when I “grow up.” Prior to Lola, I had declared my intention to become like 10-year old Hannah and 86-year old Carolyn. Before anyone questions my judgment in wanting to emulate a 10-year old, one would need to meet this particular 10-year old.

Hannah is self-possessed (in a dignified, not self-centered manner). She is gorgeous inside and out. She loves God, family and country. She is bright (she won a Bible verses memory contest), and does very well in school. She is very talented. She plays the cello and has a beautiful singing voice.  Whenever there is Kids Fun Night at church, and the craft session comes up, not being an idiot, and without talent in crafts, I sit next to Hannah and copy her usually well-turned out piece of craft. I then bask in the praise for my Hannah-copied artwork! If Hannah can take the younger kids under her wings, then this slightly older, make that a heck of a lot older version, should be allowed to benefit also!

Carolyn, my other role model is a marvel. She really proves that age is just a number and not an infallible measure of an individual's anima. She is fighting physical ailments, most especially arthritis, yet she is a “demon” on the computer, in researching and disseminating any and all information, relevant to our beloved country. If I had to go into battle, I would want Carolyn watching my back. If she could not physically attack the enemy, she would wither that enemy by the ferocity and logic of her speech!

Lola spoke about her angels. As was Peter, she is one of my angels for her inspiration in setting a wonderful example of leading a God-filled and appreciative life. When it is her turn to depart this earthly realm, and selfishly I hope that it is not any time soon, like Peter, she will be greeted “well done, thou good and faithful servant!”


Peter & his grandsons

If the Founding Fathers were transported forward into the 21st century, what would they think about America, the country they superbly crafted? If they looked at “we the people,” of whom they were part of, not apart from, what would they think of the generations in whose care the country has been placed? Would they be impressed with our patriotism, selflessness, our quest for liberty, sturdiness of character? After all, these and other noble characteristics were generally the norm, when the Founding Fathers were around, weren’t they? Are they still?

Normally, I would be getting out the patriotic decorations and hanging them from every available space. I have not caught the decorating bug this year. Deep in my subconscious is the nagging fear that “we the people,” are in the process of allowing charlatans to deliberately scrub this country of the mores, laws, culture and Constitution that have proven to be successful and vital to the preservation of the nation. We are about to sacrifice the Founding Fathers on the altar of political correctness. The charlatans bear their fair share of the blame for the almost inexorable deterioration of a still unique and exceptional country, but more of the weight falls on “we the people.” We have allowed their despicable behavior by our inaction and lack of courage in reining them in. We have forgotten that this is a republic “for and by the people.” We have the power. We cannot allow that power to be diluted by being sedated with handouts of any kind. We owe it to the Founders and the generations to come, to pass on the nations as it was intended to be.

Are we still a patriotic people, nurturing and caring for our country? The dictionary definition of patriotism is: “Devoted love, support and defense of one’s country; national loyalty.” I am painfully aware that I have been witness to very overt evidence of the opposite in some influential people and institutions in this country. I do not need to list on a roster. They know who they are, and they make sure that we, the patriotic ones, know who they are, as they proudly flaunt those actions which convey lack of support for their country. Instead of giving any more publicity to those malfeasants, I will focus on where I could safely bet my life, that I will find the living embodiment of that dictionary definition of patriotism.

I have to look no further than the “cannon fodder” of the Military. These are the enlisted men and women who obey orders that often mean that they sacrifice life and limbs on foreign soil. I am going to have to give special kudos to those brave men and women fighting in Afghanistan, where the rules of engagement are apparently designed to make their lives more expendable, by protecting those phantom civilians, such as in this article? The cowardly enemy, dressing in women’s clothing, knows those rules of engagement, and slipped into women’s garb, the ugly garb that these “men,” force their women to wear, and tried to escape. Thank God it did not work this time.

The enemy is cowardly but not entirely stupid. These enemies know that in a fair fight, they are no match for our troops, so they are taking full advantage of this “gift” of IREOs (Idiotic Rules of Engagement). They have set a record for the month of June, in the killing American and NATO troops. Hopefully the General once labeled “General Betray Us,” will take a serious look at these REOs and slay them as his namesake did to Goliath, and allow our troops to bring Iraq to Afghanistan. For the uninformed, that means effectively using the surge of troops in Afghanistan to work effectively, as it did in Iraq. It is so ironic how this General so reviled by some legislators and segments of this society for his surge strategy in Iraq, is now looked up as the “savior” of Afghanistan. His previous detractors did not let out a whimper at his nomination for taking over in Afghanistan. He was approved unanimously. This time around, no derogatory ads appeared anywhere in the media.

What would the Founding Fathers think about the refusal to let students recite the Pledge of Allegiance? They would perhaps be very perplexed and probably very angry. As a matter of fact, I think that they may have visited that school and tried to reason with those in charge, and lend support to the students who are simply asking to pledge their allegiance to their country. The danger would have been that the logic of these learned men may have escaped the administrators of the ‘no Pledge” policy. Come to think about it. Are the students asking too much, to be able to say the Pledge of Allegiance to the country of their birth? Not to fear though. The Founding Fathers will find that the “reluctants” are overwhelming outnumbered by waves of patriots “from sea to shining sea!”

Unfortunately, “sea to shining sea,” triggered a fearful thought that the Gulf oil spill of almost Biblical proportions, has the potential to change those seas from “shining,” to “sludge to murky sludge.” The Founding Fathers, after making that trip to the “no Pledge” school, may have then wandered along the coast, sloshing in oil, and found out from this article, that it all comes back to politics, according to the writer. As a matter of fact the writer is not shy about placing the “death of the republic” at the feet of the leaders and organizations responsible for ensuring that the republic lives to see another birthday. As the saying goes, “accidents happen.” Presumably the oil spill was an accident. The inertia in fixing the accident may well have reminded the Founding Fathers of the days when the mail came by horseback or buggy, or how it took days for Commanders such as General George Washington, to lead their men into battle. I think they got to the fight faster than that oil spill will ever be cleaned up.

The curiosity of the Founding Fathers might cause them to wonder how we in this present day, think of them. They may find that in some quarters, the reverence in which they are normally held, is rare. Some organizations want to replace the history of the Founding Fathers, to make room for lesser lights. Once again though, the Founding Fathers will find that those of us who hold them in high esteem, still outnumber the louts who try to dishonor their memory. The National Archives gives a complete listing and description of the Founding Fathers, available for perusal by all, fans and non fans alike. We, the majority, are fully cognizant that, no matter the revisionist history, this assemblage of brave, intelligent, determined lovers of liberty will probably not be replicated – ever. Should we lose the country that they crafted, it is over for “we the (little) people.”

After being totally disillusioned by the destruction of the Gulf, the disrespect and ingratitude of some, the plodding leadership, the spirits of the Founding Fathers should be revitalized by the story of the republic in song. I am sure that they would totally enjoy this visual treat courtesy of Colonel Hurley! I became a proud citizen of the USA, to the sounds of “God Bless the USA, by Lee Greenwood. What would be a July 4th without the splendiferous rendition of God Bless America by Kate Smith? Even my spirits are percolating!

Those July 4th decorations that I hesitated to hang? Not to worry. When my fellow churchgoers show up for service on Sunday, July 4th, they will find that I have not lost the decorating touch! Our Fellowship Hall is resplendent in red, white and blue, and Old Glory!

The bottom line, in my humble opinion is that – we will not lose this country! Deep in the souls of too many of us, abide love of country, pride in country, appreciation of country – and – a thirst for liberty that will not be satiated even by a reasonable facsimile. We have a virtual Liberty Tree planted in our hearts, if not in our town square! . If the plan is to destroy this republic, Patrick Henry would be proud to know that there are millions of us who still believe in his “give me liberty, or give me death” mantra. We ordinary citizens are very fortunate that, in our day and age, we get to fight our battles at the ballot box, and not leave our blood on the battlefield. We are gearing up. We are inspired – by Patrick Henry’s example, and those of the other Revolutionaries, and by other men who women who have bled and are bleeding for us – for this republic!

Happy Birthday, “land of the free and home of the brave!” Old Glory, here’s to you, from a proud, liberty-loving, unabashedly patriotic American!

I pledge Allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America
and to the Republic for which it stands,
one nation under God, indivisible,
with Liberty and Justice for all.

God bless America!

One of the members of the opposition party placed a twist on the old saying about the emperor without clothes, by stating that there is no emperor in the clothing, in referring to the president. When Jake, a friend sent an e-mail with the title above, an article presented itself. This US president is certainly bringing out the creativity in the citizenry, if not the oil out of the Gulf.

Plugging the leak, stopping the killing of the wildlife, walking on water, causing the waves of the ocean to rise, bringing the Olympics to Chicago, winning the war on terror, are apparently outside of the purview of the president. Even those who thought that the water walking was next on his agenda, have now disabused themselves of that idea. Even they are asking the tough questions such as why we are now in month two of the oil spill and why the folks and the wildlife, smack in the trajectory, cannot see much relief in sight. I hate to impute any evil intentions to those in the Exxon Valdes oil spill, but they must be rooting for BP, to exceed their spillage damage, in order to finally have their names drop from the “worst” category. Here we are in the 21st century, where one would have thought that the technocrats could solve any technical problem. Are all involved, BP and the US government, really knowledgeable about solving this problem? Is there sufficient determination to solve this problem? I am beginning to feel like doubting Thomasina – with good reason.

So, is the royal clothing missing its emperor? It looks like it, according to this article – The most dangerous president in history. The writer, Mr. Lamb, takes exception to the president’s verbiage about his decision to “inform” the chairman of BP to “set aside whatever resources are required to compensate the workers and business...” Give the president credit for using emperor-speak. Mere leaders “inquire” about plans to set aside resources. Emperors “inform.” The Chairman of BP took the inform (ation) to heart. His company is turning over some $20 billion to the president’s money czar. Turning over money to the president and his coterie is within the comfort zone of BP.

I have no problem with the action of the funds being set aside, even with the crude language of “informing” the Chairman of BP, what he should be doing with a private company. It is the repository to whom these funds are to be distributed – that is the problem. I am not impugning the character of the money man who will be handling the money. It is the “Caesar’s wife principle,” line that appears to be on the way to becoming obliterated. Caesar’s wife was not only to be above suspicion, but appear to be above suspicion. The administration must appear to be above suspicion and not place this money in the hands of an unelected czar, loyal only to the president. This action does not have that democratic republic good government seal of approval about it.

With each passing day, this administration takes another action that gives it the veneer of a third world dictatorship. Again, it is the appearance thing. If an alien being came from Mars and wanted to find out the caliber of the man fulfilling duties of the president, this article suggests that there is a namby pamby in the White House, by the use of the description of a “metrosexual.” What the heck is a metrosexual, anyway? Is it some version of homosexual? I have never researched it before, because I did not care. I am accustomed to being able to identify a man without a second thought.

I did look up that word and according to Dictionary.com, it means, “a heterosexual male who has a strong aesthetic sense and inordinate interest in appearance and style, similar to that of homosexual males.” OK. Now I know. Say what you will about this president. If nothing else, his term in office is causing me to learn about subjects and words about which I was hitherto uninformed, somewhat like the Chairman of BP? Let me try to put this all into my own words to see if I have a command of the article that sparked my search for knowledge, and would be able to explain to the hypothetical alien. Currently in the White House, instead of a World War II type leader, all grit and guts, we have either an aesthetically pleasing empty suit, or the emperor without clothes, running things? No wonder that oil is enjoying its un-aesthetical run through the Gulf. Maybe Laura, an e-mail pal, was correct when she quipped: “The clothes would do a better job!”

If the same alien wanted to find out how the people’s money is spent, this article about "drunken" White House parties, could certainly cause some confusion in the mind of the alien. It is causing some confusion in my mind. The President and Mrs. President spent around $10 million in one year partying to the rousing music of 27 musical acts? Are these acts performing for free, or are “we the people” paying for them to perform? Did the clothes contain an emperor at these functions? Is this the American version of Marie Antoinette’s “let them eat cake”? Do dictatorships party this much? Was my invitation lost in the mail?

I am not asking much of my president. He does not have to do anything to affect the rise and fall of the oceans. He does not have to leap tall buildings in a single bound. He does not have to personally find a cure for cancer. Neither should he become a cancer on the nation.

I expect him to project a manly image complemented with an actual record of America first policies. Hint: Stop the damn “apology tour” to tyrants, bigots, crazies, America haters, among other “notables.” While he is at it, enough with the Muslim outreach. Muslims are not stupid. They know that they are being unfairly delineated as being so unsophisticated that they need to be boxed into a special class to be treated like grade school children, lest we hurt their feelings.

Unless I am wrong, they simply want to be treated as equals. Moreover, according to this Washington Times article , the worldwide Muslim outreach has become a “fiasco.” The Muslim world is sick of those cavity-inducing overtures, especially those “how low can you go,” bows!

No, I am not preaching a policy of isolation. As a matter of fact I would like to see relations with allies strengthened. However, Victor Davis Hanson’s – The Great Anglo-American Spat does not make one confident that relations with Great Britain, will improve any time soon. At least not while that oil is “coasting” through the Gulf, and the US president is “informing” BP how to run itself, in very derogatory terms. The irony of the situation is that the British loved this particular American, as stated by the first sentence of the article: “British public opinion was wildly in favor of candidate Obama.” Then he returned that bust of Prime Minister Churchill. Is it good etiquette to return a gift that is given to the president of a nation?

I do not consider this president the “most dangerous in history” – yet. If bodies begin piling up because of “outreach” to terrorists, I may have to take a page from the little girl who called me her “bestest” friend, drop a letter from the word “friend,” and dub him the “worstest” fiend – and president. I love Mark Steyn, but I want the president to prove him wrong. In order to convince me not to agree with the negatives put forth about him, the president and his “cronies” need to stop partying “like it is 1999!” While a good percentage of us are out here, one meal away from starvation, he should at least pretend to care, by revamping the social calendar from the huge outlay of the people’s money on hosting the celebrity flavor of the month, to Netflix night at the (White) House. Remember, it is the appearance thing.

He should leave Air Force One grounded for at least one week each month, and stop spending millions to ferry him around for 10 minute speeches. One positive of those 10 minute speeches is that they say as much as the 90 minutes ones! We have heard the speechifying. There are no more thrills running up legs or any other body parts. The speeches are beginning to fall into the category of “the sound of fury signifying nothing.” We want effective democratic republic action, not action that would make a tin horn dictator proud. There is a reason why this democratic republic has stood for 233 years. It has been less talk and more action. Read about other C-I-Cs, especially those in the earlier days of the republic. Somehow, I don’t think that the term “metrosexual,” would have been apropos to describe these real men.

I could be wrong, but I don’t think that this president wants to go down in history as the president who turned the Gulf of Mexico into a "giant dead zone." He definitely does not want to forever be known as the man who trampled on the vision and execution of the Founding Fathers, by denaturing their democratic republic. To quote another president, probably the understatement of the month, that “would not be prudent.” Oh, we might want to also win that “man-made disaster,” that we used to call “War on Terror,” in Afghanistan. General McChrystal may yet be the winner in this latest crisis. Never let “a good crisis go to waste”? The crises are now one every month. The Taliban, antagonists in that “Overseas Contingency Operations,” must be having a good chuckle, as they watch “Fumble Dee,” and “Fumble Doo.”

I so want a reason to be proud of my president. I leave him with unwanted advice from this Doubting Thomasina:

I have been blessed.  God allowed me to be placed in the care of three fathers, at different stages of my life. Cardinal was my biological father. Joseph was my adopted father (unofficial). Rupert is my stepfather.

I became the direct responsibility of Cardinal when I was about ten months old, as I was placed in his arms and he was told something along the lines that it was now his turn, to move beyond financial support. He placed me with the lady who would become my unofficial adopted mother. In my early years, I remember my father coming to see me as often as he could. I do not remember ever sitting on his lap or being hugged by him.  I sensed that he loved me though.

It is only in the second phase of living with my adopted mother that I came to realize that he was almost a renaissance man. He was a pharmacist by profession. His main avocation was singing in praise of God, with his beautiful lyric tenor voice.  He was a lay preacher. Other hobbies included writing and politicking. I think I know where I got my writing ability. His other children followed him into the medical field and the evangelical field. Some are doctors and nurses and others are pastors. He never had much success at running for political office.  He never cottoned on to the fact that the game of politics is not for the idealist.

I called my father “Mr. C.” I do not remember ever calling him Dad or Father.  I remember Mr. C striding across the street, with his very upright posture, head held high in the air, with a regal look about him. He was cut down by a driver who struck him as he was crossing a street. He did not die from the accident.  Although not immediately killed, he was effectively sentenced to death by that driver.  When I visited on vacation, I could not handle the reality that my vibrant, striding father had been replaced by a shuffling old man. When he died a few months later, I chose not to attend his funeral. I am comfortable with my decision. I wanted to hold onto my version of him, striding across the street, and I have. I know that he can read the following dedication from Heaven, and he understands.

If

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

My father was a man from an early age. He faced up to his responsibilities. He was generous to a fault. He loved God. I am grateful that he or my Mom did not find me “expendable” before birth.

My unofficial adopted father came into my life through my unofficial adopted mother, during my teenage years. The one memory that will forever be in my mind was his declaration to the townsfolk in the small island where I was born,  that anyone who “messed” with me, would feel the ministrations of his machete. I cleaned up his exact verbiage. After taking care of business, his intention was to walk to the police station, turn himself in, and live out his remaining years behind bars. My adopted mother and I were horrified at the thought of him having to carry out his threat. He never had to. Thank God.

High from the earth I heard a bird

He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care,—
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!

Father #3 has now stepped up to the solo filial gig of parenting this very grown woman.  In keeping with my “tradition,” I dubbed him Mr. A. Actually my Mom was the one I first heard calling him Mr. A. When she passed away a few years ago, I told him that he was now “Mr. Mom.” His primary function is to listen to my weekly accounts of the goings on in my life, and give me words of advice. He has been performing this function very admirably. Mom would be proud of him.

He too is a godly man and usually gives me Biblical-based advice. When he had to be placed in ICU about two months ago, I furiously prayed to God to not deprive me of my remaining father figure. God felt my pain and He acceded to my request. Of course, I am sufficiently mature to know that God’s timetable is His timetable.

My Father Was a Farmer

Robert Burns

All you who follow wealth and power,
      With unremitting ardour, O,
    The more in this you look for bliss,
      You leave your view the farther, O:
    Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
      Or nations to adorn you, O,
    A cheerful honest-hearted clown
      I will prefer before you, O.

Mr. A was not a farmer. He was a postmaster. He never followed “wealth and power with unremitting ardour.”  He is not a “cheerful honest-hearted clown,” although he does have a sense of humor. Were he a “clown” in the sense of the poem, I would have preferred him to be that, instead of  what is his polar opposite, a cold-hearted pursuer of wealth and power, at the expense of the milk of human kindness. He is wise and caring.

I remember, as a teenager, telling my biological father that I felt special. He agreed that I was. By ordinary standards, I should not have felt too special, because I was considered to come from a “broken” home. One of my teachers , a single woman, told me one time, that if she had money, she would have adopted me, because of my travels between homes.

Pre-puberty, when I realized that classmates lived in homes with parents who had been together since the birth of those classmates, I yearned for that type of typical Dad, Mom, 2.5 children and white picket fence environment. Maybe my inner child is still yearning for that ideal home, especially as I never achieved that for my adult self. I did not escape entirely unscathed from my childhood travails, as when I became an adult, my greatest fear was of getting married, having children and possibly reliving the custody battle of my early childhood.

However, with age, has come wisdom – and the realization that I am blessed. The child from the “broken” home, was blessed with the love of six adults, my three fathers and my three mothers, four of whom, have already passed away, who loved me unto death,  and still love me from Heaven.  Their love coupled with that of My Heavenly Father? I am blessed beyond measure. It is indeed a Happy Father’s Day!