Ride, Citizens, Ride (News Silent about 2 Million Bikers converging on DC)

Our news media decide what stories they will follow, and often I wonder why they promote some things, like stories of violence and death, but positive things or stories that may be right wing or not politically correct seem to be strained like a gnat, and have enquiring minds surfing the internet to find what is actually happening in America.  Why do news reporters ignore such a large convergence on DC.  Riders are coming in peace but numbers.

Houdini Socks (deft dryer)

Houdini Socks

Houdini was a famous escape artist that was famous for getting out of impossible situations such as locked chains and closed chambers.

I think my socks are even more talented than Houdini at making escapes.  I can count 6 black socks, 3 mated pairs, put them in with a load of clothes in the washer.  Whenever the washer stops I put the ENTIRE load into the dryer which is immediately above my washer.  Whenever the dryer timer sounds, I remove all the clothes and put them in a basket, carry to my made bed and dump them out to sort and fold.  I fold all the clothes and mate the socks, but there is one of them missing.  Only five socks.  I retrace my steps to the dryer and look carefully inside.  Empty.  I remove the lint trap, it is full of lint but no sock.  Then I reach into the washer and turn the gyrator and feel underneath.  I even shine a flashlight inside, to no avail. Nothing.  My sock must have escaped to Houdini heaven where all errant socks dance and laugh at us.  At least every six months this ritual is repeated.  Maybe the sock manufacturers pay a reward to Houdini Heaven since someone has to replace the missing argyle.

Grands are grand!

What a joy to spend four days with my 2 yr old granddaughter alone at my home.  Every minute was filled with adventure and wonder.  Making a bed, cutting out cookies, reading a book, or counting objects are all games with oohs and ahhs and laughter.  At two you can bribe them into taking a shower or brushing their teeth, even picking up toys, by promising them a treat.  And the treat can be anything from blowing bubbles to playing dress up with Grammy’s scarves. 

I look at her reflection in the round mirror attached to my dresser while she stands on my chair wearing my beads and scarves and looking up bright eyed. For a moment I am taken back fifty some years to myself as a litle girl standing in front of the same dresser and looking up at my mother while she combs her hair.  History repeats itself.  We all want to please our parents or grandparents and to emulate them.  I can see my mother’s smile in her eyes, and I thank God for the memories.

Faith in Freedom

Capricious rebellion raises its ugly head
taking one down paths of sequestered faith
of ancient lies of philosopher’s memories.
The faith of those who lie six feet in soil
of foreign lands for freedom’s redemption
is taught by mothers who receive telegrams
or phone calls which leave an incurable wound.
The seed of freedom is planted deep and       

enduring is the tribute they deserve.

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