Memorial Day 2012

Questions for Memorial Day – from the Judge

What if the government could hire thugs to keep you safe? What if it gave the thugs uniforms and badges and sent them to airports? What if it gave them rubber gloves to wear and told them they could touch you and your children and your parents however and wherever they wished? What if these thugs touched the private parts of little babies and old ladies and intentionally restrained those who have criticized them while the rest of us just watched and let this happen?

What if, on Memorial Day, when we think of those who died for our freedom, we end up recognizing that the freedom they died for is dying?

Judge Andrew P. Napolitano asks.

Who answers?

“It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.” — General George Patton

What My Chief did before work yesterday…

Korean Vet laid to rest after more than a decade.

National Day of Prayer

His Faith Overcame His Pride ~ Guideposts

I’d spent over a decade building this log home in rural Maine. You bet I wanted to see everything he was doing, to see if his expression was as grave as his voice. To see if this dream had gone horribly wrong.

“Is it bad?” my wife, Debra, asked. For months she’d been telling me the wood was rotten. But I’d stubbornly refused to believe her. We’d suffered so many setbacks already. I couldn’t accept that God would have this in our plans too. No way. But finally I’d agreed to call this inspector.

As always, inspirational writing – something we expect from Guideposts. The difference here is that Bill Irwin is a Hero among long-distance hikers. This is the short-story version of why we feel that way.

Paul Revere’s Ride ~ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,–
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
>From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!

Aw, Davy…my heart hurts today…

A recent performance…

Life Lessons from the Monkees…

Go with God, Davy Jones…your work here is done…thank you for every joke, every smile, every song, from a woman who’s a little girl again when she hears your music…

Happy Birthday, Mr. President

Random Acts of Everyday Angels

It’s too easy to overlook the kindnesses performed daily on our behalf. But where would we be without these Earth Angels?

By Colleen Hughes, AOE Editor-in-Chief, New York, New York

As appeared in 

Ask me if I’ve ever seen an angel, and my quick answer is, No. I just love to help bring to life the angel stories people tell us. And that’s what I was doing the other day when the phone rang. “Hey, Colleen, it’s Angelo. Your Subaru’s ready to go.”

Every morning I jumped out of my car and ran past Angelo’s garage, high-tailing it to catch my bus at the corner. “Can’t be late for work!” I’d yell. This particular morning I had to let the bus go by and tend to the rattle in my car. Angelo promised he’d get to it ASAP—and here it was, finished. Too bad I wouldn’t get there in time to pick it up and pay him before he closed up shop for the day.

“I’ll stop in before my bus comes in the morning, how’s that?”

Angelo laughed. “You’ll be rushing, Colleen. Key’s under the driver’s side mat. Take your car and come see me on the weekend.”

“Wow, thanks!” I said. How often did a car mechanic care so much about his customers getting to work on time?

I returned to my angels reading. But Angelo’s kindness kept coming back to me. In his busy day he’d gone out of his way to consider me and my needs.

Then I remembered the grocery store clerk who’d rummaged around for a 10% off Thanksgiving coupon from a circular I hadn’t seen. “I know you like saving as much as I do,” she’d said. And the lifeguard who’d put aside the prescription sunglasses I’d left behind on the Fourth of July. Or the spring afternoon I’d found the postman fixing the red flag on my mailbox. All these people taking an unexpected interest in my everyday life.

As I thought back over the past year, I made a resolution for 2012. Ask me again if I’ve ever seen an angel. Yes, I have. Countless times.

Read more inspirational stories at Guideposts.

The “Football Experts” said he’d never play successfully in the NFL.

Right. I’m not going to predict that the Denver Broncos will get to the Super Bowl or anything, but they’re now so far beyond what anyone SAID would be possible with Tim Tebow as quarterback, I’ve decided to stop paying attention to the dumb jocks who pass for experts on tv. What a balls-to-the-wall football game it was!

Found this at The Daley Gator, thank you:

“May we hope that Tebow has another miracle in him,” he (Rev. Gregory Cleveland) said, referring to Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow, a devout Christian and mystical game manager.

From my Friend at et cetera*, posted with thanks:

Just one play into overtime, the Broncos shocked the Steelers with an 80-yard touchdown strike from Tim Tebow to Demaryius Thomas.

Overtime…Steelers must not have been TOO beat up. Number One Defense in the NFL, eh? Yeah, here’s a quarter, call someone who might believe you. For a guy who supposedly couldn’t throw, couldn’t run, wouldn’t do well in the NFL, would never be a success in the NFL…whatEVER! Tim Tebow is busting expectations all over the country. From a 1-4 record to 8-8 and then a playoff win, I think the ‘experts’ should all have to eat the pages their blather was printed on. In public.

Sometimes the good guys come out on top, and no one does it better than than young #15 of the Denver Broncos.

Thank you, God.