Hogmany

A gift given on New Year's Eve.

A Scottish custom that has a great significance for me.

We all have made resolutions. Usually they are passing fancies about giving up or getting rid. They rarely last beyond a few weeks at best.

I see the Hogmany as something else. It can be a token actual gift, placed in the hand of friend or family. I think of it as something given from the heart and meant to be kept in same.

Love Light Humor are important. Don't lose them this coming year. Things could get grim and when they do, you will need all of those aforementioned things you can muster.

From my heart to yours, Happy New Year. Not a hohum passing wish. A real thought born in the heart and the mind.

Live the dream. Make it work.

Beard

The only beard I need. Not the kind to cover up something as it were!

Haven't had a beard for a while. I got tired of shaving so my facial hair has been growing.

I look like Poopdeck Pappy.

Guess it's keeping my face warmer though.

Lately, I've felt like the little guy who turns off the light in the icebox. Wet penetrating cold. Ugh.

Sound depressed? Not really. Just getting my second wind.

Winter can be a time to regroup. Nature sleeps, but underneath is the waiting bloom.

I'm tempted to stay wrapped up in my baggy sweats and let my beard grow to my knees.

I'll probably shave it off soon and get my wardrobe ready for Hollyweird.

Appearance is not everything. It helps sometimes. Working at home is a plus, but sometimes ya just gotta get out in the world

The world might come knocking anyway, but if you don't make an effort, you might just wither away.

These midwinter thoughts are brought to you courtesy of my slowly thawing mind.

Prohibition

It's for your own good.

How often have we heard that in the last ten years or so, let alone a statement that has risen like a slimy monster from a primordial bog since before history.

Now the food nazis have risen in the wake of the smoke nazis and the grope and scope nazis at the airports.

It's true some things aren't good for you, at least in great quantities. But in a constitutional Republic, we have the right to determine those things for ourselves. Peopke should be encouraged to eat and drink right, exercise and in general take care of themselves.

No one has the right to tell us what to do. If we harm ourselves it is tragic. If we harm others that dfalls under the realm of 'your rights end at my nose' as it were.

The people allowed the DC government to legally prohibit alcohol sales and consumption. What an egregious unconstitutional and downright criminal act. then again the same renegades compromised our gun rights soon after with the NFA '34.

There is no stopping the juggernaut, unless we stop it.

Though Prohibition was repealed we still have to deal with the ridiculous fiat rules of the ATF and other agencies in the guise of acting for our own good.

How collectivist and how traitorous to usurp our self determination!

Take the time to peal back each onerous statute, expose it and go on to the next.

Strike them down and reestablish the Republic!

Otherwise, can civil war be far behind to remind the criminal element who runs this country?

All Prohibition did was cause organized crime to excel and as a result the NFA '34 and other enslavements such as regulation of distilling alcohol (none of the fed's business-I'd love to make a few gallons of squeezins -s-) were promulgated.

Unpromulgate or we will fire you!

We must act in our own best interests.

Magnum P.I.

One of my favorite shows.

And this 'action-adventure' program is much more than it seems.

It ran eight years and was the proverbial perennial favorite. So much so that when it was apparently over at the end of season seven, with Magnum presumably dead, walking into the light, fans clamored and they came back to tie up loose ends. It wasn't slapdash either. They did a bangup job. There were conclusions but still enough questions to leave room for a movie etc.

Magnum was living a teen boys fantasy. He worked when he wanted, had a seemingly endless supply of beer and babes and lived on an estate at the invitation of its owner as a 'security consultant'.

As I said, there was more to it than that.

He was a Vietnam vet, former specops and Naval Intel, as well as a graduate of the Naval Academy.

His and his friends portrayals of Nam vets gives this show a big thumbs up. Instead of the obsessed or crazy war vet, we see caring human personalities emerge who try honestly to cope with their experiences.

Part of his reasom for being where he was amounted to a need to get away and think about his life. He wanted to have fun, something he hadn't allowed himself for years.

Though he had resigned he was called back several times to work intel and his war buds Rick and TC helped. Often at odds with the manager of Robin Masters' estate, Higgins, they formed a comeraderie over the years.

He thought he lost the love of his life, Michelle, whom he had married. In turn she had been married to a North Vietnamese general who turned out to be actually trying to free the people.

He had a daughter with Michelle named Lily who came to live with him at the end of the series.

Throughout the series, we see Magnum grow and mature at the same time as having fun. That's a neat trick that people should attempt more often. How often many of us get stuck and end up joyless or can become wastrels and totally deep six responsibility.

The acting is great from the company players and guests. It's like getting free lessons in how to act, write direct and produce a show.

I could go on but I suggest that for entertainment with a twist ie something to think about re human nature, check out Magnum.

Infidel

A much bandied word.

Unfaithful. Someone who is blind to faith. Faithless. And there are worse words -s-.

Used by both sides in the Crusades.

Before one uses the term one should look at oneself.

Otherwise, that is how Inquisitions start.

All religions can go to extremes, usually for pride and fear that someone else threatens a power base.

The socio-political replaces living faith. It becomes corrupt and inward, an inbred caricature, a nightmare cartoon.

You decide. Compare who is right.

The word today is bandied about by people who call good evil and evil good. Reveling in violance, they seem to have a blood god instead of a supposed god of compassion. Woe to those who shed the blood of innocents, willfully murdering.

Terrible things happen in war. Innocents do die even accidentally. Collateral damage, acceptable losses occur. that can be an excuse or the grim reality that war brings pain and death. War is hell.

But the willful murder such as terror bombing or shootings at schools, that is evil.

We'd better think twice about the cost of fighting. But remember that if we do not, the real infidels may win. Will win if we do not oppose them.

We do not go into war glorying in death, though it can be romanticized, thus taking the sting away.

Once committed, we must not stop til we are again Free.

There are indeed rough men who sacrifice much.

Remember Davy Crockett. Remember what he said.

'Be sure you're right, then go ahead.

Xylophone

I used to play with a xylophone at a friend of my Grandpa's home.

I say play with rather than play because I didn't learn to use it as a musical instrument. I was merely interested in its noise.

Perhaps I actually tinkled out a tune once in a while, but I was mainly interested in the sounds.

My curiosity has always been peaked. I never have been one with blinders on.

I never shuffle head down like a beaten slave or fearful subject. I look around and look people right in the eye.

I was a little shy as a kid. I got over it. Had good role models there.

It's why I knew certain people in showbiz and am meeting more. It's why I have lobbied so to speak at the State House for the rights of noncustodial parents and the 2nd Amendment.

It's why I have stood up for myself and then later my kids, teaching them the very same thing.

No matter the slings and arrows, I keep on keeping on.

I'm learning the guitar now and I used to play the 'jew's harp'. Who knows. Maybe I'll actually play some tunes on the xylophone before it's over. -s-

Hiding Behind

I'll never forget one particular New Year's Eve night.

The kid's Mom was out feeding the neighbor's dog, as they were away. She also was trying to comfort him because, being New Year's Eve, there were lots of booms, which sent ol Buzz into a panic.

The neighbors, one house down were whooping it up.

They happened to be illegals. We found this out through events that unfolded over a span of months.

Now illegal or not they had firearms. The man of the house, a capungo if there ever was one, looked at her and fired several rounds off in the air.

She didn't flinch and brought her 45 round and rested it on her front thigh.

His eyes got big, he blanched and hid behind his woman, then segued into the house.

The rest of the night was quiet at least there.

I loathe people who hide behind others either literally or figuratively.

Weasely, duplicitous and a host of other words of scorn come to mind. Think up some yourself -s-.

I've seen it in the form of a young guy who uses people. Particularly, without any positive male role models, he hides behind his aunt and mother. He lacks initiative and is not what he pretends to be. Sociopathy runs rampant.

Politicians often hide behind slogans instead of using them to provoke thought. They are all blow and no show.

Rather than take a stand, they and others rely on platitudes and waffle from pillar to post.

Most use scapegoats unless actually caught in a direct lie or compromise.

The time for hiding is over. The time for the masks to fall is here.

Let the chips fall where they may and stand up. There is no hiding for us. We must face will all candor the issues that destroy Freedom.

And for the hiding behinders, let's make sure we have a gun to defend ourselves for they may try to take us when our backs are turned.

Capungos indeed.

Bill Of Rights Day

Hope it doesn't become just another national commemorative.

People brush aside Independence Day, usually calling it the 4th of July. They forget the reason for the fireworks.

Christmas has become a crapfest of gimme for many.

Even Halloween is greed for candy instead of a reminder of the night before All Saints' Day.

A certain amount of fun is healthy and many of the evolved customs do not hurt unless they are an end in themselves.

No matter your faith, no matter just about anything else, Bill of Rights Day is for All Americans .

It serves as a reminder about the restraint on government. It reminds those we hire that we are the boss.

Or it is ignored or at best is a chance for compromising posers to huff and puff out their chests to show they believe in 'fill in the blank'. Example: 'I believe and endorse the Second Amendment.' Then they qualify it.

Don't let Bill of Rights Day be anything but a reminder of Freedom and what the cost could well be again.

Wanted Dead Or Alive

One of my all time favorite Western shows.

Recently, my daughter and I have been watching it again, as well as the James Bond Series and what else but Danger Man/Secret Agent and The Prisoner.

Anyhow, there was a particular ep of Wanted that struck a chord.

Josh Randall (Steve McQueen's role), the bounty hunter comes into a town looking for stolen Army horses.

He happens on the thief who is behind bars. The guy pleads for Randall to help him.

All seems quiet, too quiet. Actually, it's run by a Marshal who rules with an iron hand.

He was brought there ostensibly to clean the town up. It apparently had been raucous and lawless. The citizens, passing the buck, hired this moke.

He clened it up and cleaned it out. No one was to wear a gun within the town limits. There was to be no consumption of liquor except at the local bar the owner of which had a deal for this exclusivity at the price of a cut of course.

Josh tries to get the leaders such as they are to fire the Marshal. They try but he and his bully boys (Brown Shirts?) kill one of the town council and declare a curfew immediately.

Josh organizes a revolt and they get the upper hand, Josh killing the Marshal in a gunfight.

Randall tells the moke he doesn't want to kill him,though he has the drop on the Marshal.

The moke's response was to say either he would kill Josh or Josh would kill the Marshal. Of course Randall shoots him dead, freeing the town.

In the aftermath, the grateful townsfolk want Josh to be the new Marshal. He did most of the work ridding them of the previous guy. And I noted these townies still were not wearing guns even when they had gotten them back.

Josh refused, leaving them to whatever fate they decided for themselves.

What can I say? The analogy is obvious. It's just like the attitude of many today.

Let the other guy do it. We have cops and military supposedly qualified to protect us. Many have forgotten just as the townie shad , that the resposibility is in their hands, in spite of the fact many were 'family men'. That was a prime excuse on the show when action needed to be taken.

Good God! I'm a father. My responsibility, though the kids areone grown and the other nearly, is to protect and teach them to protect themselves.

Well to those who buy protection I say get out of the frakking way. Leave me to do my part. And by God, don't you dare try to disarm me.

The rest is obvious to real men and women who know we must take up the security of ourselves and band with others to secure it for the US.

They don't make shows like that anymore.

But we can show our kids the way.

And hey, get em to watch shows that are thought provoking. Boy did my girl lambast the townies, realizing the situation as it has devolved.

For those who choose to go unarmed and not defend themselves, they have chosen their path. Good luck.

Surprises

When I was a kid, I loved surprises. Of course, I tried to find out what I was getting for my birthday and Christmas. But something out of the blue, a new toy or Vernors Ginger Ale, whatever, made my day. I was pleased and grateful. None of this 'world owes me a living' crappola.

There are bad surprises that could range from anywhere to somewhere. Am I grateful for those? In a way. I believe we can learn from everything that happens to us.

Just the other day, I learned Aaron Zelman died. That was a very bad surprise. Of course, it led me to remember my talks with him and advice etc. It also reenforces my commitment to Freedom and speaking out. That's the gist of surprises that rock your world. You get past it and go on, no matter the adversity.

And the surprise attack at Pearl Harbor stunned us, but that day many fought back and the resolve that galvanized us saw us through to victory.

There is a real school of hard knocks that many of us are taking post graduate courses in, that people always have endured.

I remember another trinket of a surprise from what were dime stores when I was a kid. They were the 'dollar' stores of their day, with greater and better variety, including some with lunch counters which, at least where I grew up, were pretty good.

There were 'surprise balls' for sale near the door. These were simple balls of paper and sometimes a little cardboard wrapped in twists. Every so often, there was a trinket, cheap toy etc that would be uncovered. For the preschooler, it was a cute little treat. Now I guess, the jaded gimme attitude would laugh and scoff at such simplicity.

And maybe it wasn't the cheap toys as much as it was the thought that counted. Also, appreciation for what you had counted a great deal then.

I can also tell you that though we lived well and I received good toys including a bunch of toy guns etc, I knew my Dad worked hard for the money that paid for them. Another thing that seems to be lacking from the gimme bunch. There was no playing with a toy then tossing it aside. Nope. Each was well used and some were given to kids who didn't have as much.

Giving then was in the spirit of helping hand. There was no false sense of entitlement, nor at least with us and many others we knew, there was no superior pat on the head to the poor.

A lot of people had pulled through the Depression and appreciated work and its benefits. Then a surprise might have been an extra apple or orange now and then or at Christmas.

I've spoken of 'sticktoitiveness'. Seeing things through to the possibly bitter end can be like those surprise balls. It might not seem like much, but you know what you get and can go from there.

You might take the plunge and think it will not go well, then be surprised how well it actually went. Same for writing this blog lol!

Don't settle for what some would call 'their lot'. America is all about getting better.

Then you might just make your own surprise ball and supply it with something better than you started.

Each person might actually have the chance again to make it better.

What a surprise awaits the enemies of that idea.

Apology

What it really means.

Words have lost meaning or gained. They have been deemphasized and overdone.

As collectivists strive to rewrite the matrix of the Republic til it is no longer one, words always play a great part. How and when they are used.

Here's the straight dope on apology

It has become an instrument to admit error as when the prof apologized after using the word niggardly. It is a means to be pc and kowtow to whatever loonie leftie crappola flavors the day.

It can be used that way. But it also has more meaning.

Martin Luther, the Protestant Reformationist, 'apologized' to Rome. He didn't use the aforementioned method. He merely made clear what he was saying re faith etc.

Must have been quite a surprise when he defended his stand and then let the interp of Scripture stand for itself.

Mike Vanderboegh, David Codrea and the now sadly deceased Aaron Zelman (still tough to take), have been apologists for Second Amendment rights. Of course they delineated the reasons we are Free and all that many of us know. If you happen on this and don't, then go toa search engine and type in there names. You'll see what apology is all about.

We needn't be sorry for our stand for Freedom.

We might have to make excuses though if we wait or stand by and do nothing.

And re Aaron Zelman. He had a way of getting people to think.

So, carry the torch. Your turn!

Blocks In A Wagon

One of my favorite all time toys was a set of building blocks I inherited from my brother.

They were very solid and durable and stained with years of handling.

They came in a wooden wagon complete with wheels.

Man, my imagination took flight with those things and I made a lot of things happen. Mostly of course, they contributed to building walls and forts.

From the Alamo, to cavalry forts, to castles, the blocks were tools fueled by my imagination.

Legions of plastic soldiers fought and died in and outside those block walls, reenacting actual history and a lot of fictional encounters.

I played with em all my childhood.

I guess I was a storyteller with my toys.

I'd think up scenarios, even plots, including backstories and bios, assigning 'parts' to kids I knew.

With a huge collection of toy guns, I devised plenty of play that was never dull.

toys should be tools for the imagination. They are props for plays, stories that unfold perhaps simply early on but with more sophistication as I got older.

It's one of those things I passed on to my kids, who had some magnificent scenarios. Will had a huge bunch of oatmeal boxes and there was quite a parade of things made from them. Same for Erica as they built with Duplos and other next generations of blocks.

Blocks can represent thoughts that can be carefully constructed into ideas.

I'll leave it with the 'gentle readers' of this missive to figure out where we can go.

The only limitation is indeed on oneself.

In The Still Of The Night

In the still of the night, all is so quiet, one could hear an angel breathe.

In the still of the night, cold makes us gather more closely.

In the still of the night, you can hear yourself think.

In the still of the night, doubts come to haunt the mind.

In the still of the night, cheer comes and warms away the doubts.

In the still of the night, time seems suspended like a pocket of hope.

In the still of the night, hope seems to vanish like a broken promise.

In the still of the night, promise is born anew to break the silence.

In the still of the night, they like to come and steal.

In the still of the night, one little light times many shines on them.

In the still of the night, time runs out.

In the still of the night, there is still time still.

Thin As A Dime

The walls are thin between worlds.

Sounds and odors emanate from invisible places. Good and bad vie for preeminance.

Dreams and wakefulness coalesce.

Time and space change places, like twin rivers coarsing to a mysterious outlet.

I had a view of our ancestral castle above the river on the rise. As I hiked, I thought of those who had trod here in the past, who made today possible. There had been a lot of blood, tears, toil and sweat to get where we were.

The hills were green, though as it happened in Scotland, a cool morning as in I could see my breath.

I remembered my forebears for we are the sum of all our yesterdays. And as I did so, it was as if things spun in reverse. I'd forgotten about the solar eclipse, but was piquantly reminded as the sky darkened.

How it must have mystified some of my ancestors, maybe frightened some who had a thin faith.

The sky grew black and the wind seemed to swirl round me. i was in the middle of a vortex that appeared to swallow time and space.

I stood my ground and weathered the storm.

As I did, I realized it had become still. The light slowly returned. I look to and fro and much looked the same except for one thing. The castle on the high hill was not in ruins. It look fresher and I saw banners flying with my clans crest fluttering over the land.

Just as quickly I heard horse hooves and voices, along with hunting dogs wailing in pursuit of game.

I was knocked flat as a powerful horse came to a halt near me.

Looking up I saw a face so familiar from a portrait that hung at the castle and was in several booksw in my own library.

'Who are you that would trod these grounds?'

I gave my name.

His ears prickled as I said the middle for it was the clan name he bore.

'I am Henry St. Clair, master of this place. You must be a visiting cousin. Come let me help you up afore Help and Hold maul you.'

I heard the hounds approaching and remembered that indeed, Henry's dogs, gifts from Robert the Bruce, were called Help and Hold.

Henry called out for his men to restrain the hounds and he summoned one of his aides to see to me.

'Come, Michael, let me take you home.'


The above is an idea brewing and thought I'd share it as part of a larger story to be done in 2011.

Thanks And Thanks A Lot

My list is pretty long for thanks. Maybe a lot longer for thanks a lot. below is a sampling.

Thanks for my son and daughter, joy mixed with pain lol.
Thanks for many friends, who inspire and strengthen. Hope I give back as well.
Thanks for my work. It focuses me so I can be more effective.
Thanks for endurance, without which I would be ended.
Thanks for Freedom, without which we cannot live!
Thanks for The Founders, who laid the groundwork.
Thanks for others letting me know I'm far from alone in the fight.
Thanks for shedding light on child exploitation.

And the thanks a lot crowd? Mostly the usual suspects.

Thanks a lot to the current marxist in chief for continuing the tradition of obstruction of justice and continuing the death of the Republic.
Thanks a lot to congress for the same.
Thanks a lot to people who cry hate when they themselves are actually hating.
Thanks a lot to those who use social causes to further socialist agendas.
Thanks a lot for wrongfully imprisoning innocent folks.
Thanks a lot but no thanks!

One last thanks: to God for all things for it is from all things we learn.

The Blood Is The Life 1

I felt the blood coursing as I ran.

Pounding through my body, my temples throbbing and heart beating like a tympani gone wild.

There was no going back. This track was a one way course. Running. Running for my life in the dark.

Earlier, the sky was light, although it threatened to cloud, bringing a chill Fall rain.

I was a runner for health and by hobby. I participated in a number of charity run/walks. I didn't really compete. I simply ran against myself.

I'd just slowed down my morning run and was walking at a clip to begin 'running down'. It was unwise to just stop, kind of like pacing oneself scuba diving, so the bends didn't set in.

As I trotted up the steps to my brownstone condo, one of my neighbors came gliding into the hallway.

'Morning Tracy. How goes it?'

'Not bad' She paused and looked at me head tilted. 'Wanna come to a party?'

I thought, Hmmm. I don't dig parties. 'Where is it?' I thought again if she says 'It's in my pants....'. Nah, just kidding. She was a good kid. Just my warped sense of humor talking.

'At the old Brentwood house. You know, over across town past the north side of the square. Some guy bought it and was inviting townies for a house warming.'

'And the guy's name is.....?' Tracy got excited and left out details sometimes. Nice kid though.

'Guy de Maupassant. Honest. He's some kind of artist, writer. Says he wanted a quiet place to retreat. Can't get any quieter than here huh?'

'Probably a pseudonym. And you're right Tracy, this is pretty much the end of the line.' I meant that in a good way since I as well, had sought out the town for much the same reason.

'Huh', said I. 'I don't cotton to gatherings. But if you are going, kid, I'll tag along.'

'Bodyguard, eh?" She just smiled and lit up the day. I went in and didn't give it any thought.

That evening I heard a rap on the door.

There was Tracy in a pair of jeans that might have been painted on, with a flowered dark top, sleeves at the elbows flaired in lace, with a black sweater over.

'Ready to check out the newbie?', she asked in her bubbly way.

Ok, Tracy, I'm with you', as I grabbed a tan jacket and out the door.

We decided to walk, as the evening promised a cool presence if not balmy.
There was a hazy cast to the sky and a bit of moon shone, halolike, to light the way.

'Ok, Tracy, here we go off to see what this dude's up to.' I was not as said much on parties. Tracy was a party animal. Any chance to gather was good for her.

The town was small enough that we didn't take long to get to the Brentwood house. It was old, well for these parts, over a hundred years. It had some of the gothic features that appealed to bigwigs at that time and to goths now.

The yellow lights glowed like an ancient mariner's beacon, lighting the path to our evening. There seemed to be life in the old place again.

As Tracy and I approached the door, there was the din of music and talk. Not too loud, it wasn't sedate either. As we came to the door, the only curious thing was, well, a kind of neutrality. It just seemed dry like there was something ...elusive.

Anyway, we knocked with the old brass knocker shaped like a bearded face. The sound, not hollow, a little muffled, just neutral again, announced our presence.

Not long after, the door opened, spilling light. It created a backdrop with a figure centered framed with light and then the doorframe.

'Hi! Welcome to Guy's place!' The girl was young, probably early twenties, rather like Tracy. She stepped aside and waved us in.


Part 2 will come this December. It's creeping along......

Patterns

Is it my imagination or do I see a running horse on the wall? Is that one of Casper's 'ghost brothers'? And what of the row of faces on the bottom frame of a door panel?

I have always seen patterns, images and symbols. Are they there or does my mind project meaning on some random globs and warps in paint, wood and paper? Or both?

Actually, it's common for people to discern patterns. Most Psych 101 texts have a few pics covering it. Like the color blind number test or what do you see a rabbit or a duck etc.

Personally, it evidences talent and imagination to see things that otherwise blend in. It's too easy to let things drift by, to have the senses dulled.

Just like the events of our world huh? Then again myopia has always been a problem. All the better to control us (The wolf in Grandma's nightie trying to loll Red Riding Hood comes to mind.)and thus we are taught not to see what is in front of us.

Just be a force for seeing beyond the mundane. It is infectious.

This coming winter that can be the best contagion of all

4F

That was my final classification under the old Selective Service aka draft.

I had a hereditary shoulder bone that was thin where it should have been thick. It slipped out of the socket. The solution was to staple it together. Thus, I was deprived by genetics of serving my country militarily.

I have survived. I have adapted. My life went a different way than some of my classmates and fellow citizens.

Some who went to 'nam never came back. Others came back physically, but were lost upon return. Some came back changed physically. Such is war.

Many came back and lived healthy lives. So goes life.

I actually was sorry I couldn't serve. I wanted to be in Vietnam. Most guys who came back told me I didn't miss much. Maybe I was spared death or something else. I reconciled that a long time ago. Time marches on.

There are many ways to serve the Republic.

Be honest, and I don't mean be good and pay your taxes aka eco extortion. No. be open to setting brushfires in the minds of men as Sammy Adams said.

Being truly patriotic, not just a flag waver, takes commitment. just as much commitment as shouldering a rifle or driving a truck or operating a myriad of equipment in uniform does and maybe more.

More because you don't sign the paper or take an oath. Oaths can be taken for various reasons, but I talk of a silent giving of yourself to a cause, specifically the casue of Freedom and even more, Restoring the Republic.

That silent surrender to stand may not remain silent for long. For, if we don't speak out, well I think we all see what is happening and historically as well when we don't act.

Prickle the employees. Be prepared to backup yourself and others with readiness.

The fact that now more than ever those of us making a stand are being ridiculed and reviled, some even getting arrested for simply reminding the state we are the boss and we demand they do the will of the people or we change things.

They bring down the iron fist of tyranny to quell us.

I don't know about you or maybe in some instances I do, but I'm plenty pi$$ed at these 'rascals' and criminal usurpers including the placaters who try to 'rule' us.

For what must inevitably come, there is no worry about a bad classification.

We are all 1-A's now.

James Bond

As has been suspected, I am a fan of said character. From before day one.

We were a family that had books floating around the house before they became famous/movies. Never had a library nor an office. Just books. And an insatiable hunger for knowledge.

Bond is too broad a topic for just a blog entry. Books have been written and college courses devised concerning our 'gentleman secret agent'.

Yet, I'm compelled to tell you what I think.

He is the White Knight. He avenges wrongs, not just against the state, but against the people. He has a conscience, though he must sublimate feelings to accomplish a mission and is not as he says just a 'blunt instrument'.

His personal vices are set to make him look like he is less than worthy whereas he is more than worthy. Thus, Fleming mirrored himself. He was brilliant in his simplicity and that simplicity was convoluted.

James Bond is a great many things to many people. He could be an everyman in defining how we think of situations, how we react to either tyranny or embracing it.

Ok some of you think of him as the bludgeon of the state. One way to look at him. I see him as did Fleming. He is a man of few virtues except patriotism and courage. His job calls upon him to kill in the line of duty. He kills only those needing it aka the villains.

The plots are a mixture of fantasy and actual procedure. Fleming makes it entertaining because often the life of an intel op gets boring or at best is very hurry up and wait.

Vicarious entertainmet yes. Morality plays? I think they are to a degree.
Fleming used the books as a coping mechanism for encroaching middle age and marriage. Yet he actually lived some of the stories again masterfully mixed with fantasy and plenty of fiction.

We have real life heroes. Yet the literary/cinematic reach and can teach on a broad scale. They can be a gateway to lead people to the reality of a situation.

Heroes can be drawn from history specifically as in those who have died for Freedom and those who established our Republic. They can be based in historical context yet license is given to tell a tale.

History can become legend and legend can become myth. It is up to us to gain the core values, to see where the story goes. Keep digging.

I'm not reading more into James Bond than is there. The sun doesn't rise and set for me with those stories.

But they can be food for thought. There might be an inkling of the fight between good and evil. After all life is lived on all levels, ie body, mind psyche (from god or outside us) and spirit.

Remember, most knights were not nor are they now saints. Very earthy and flawed, as are all of us to a degree.

We must resist deifying our heroes. But we must also draw from them the inspiration to continue and set forth in reality to right the wrongs that oppress us. We must look to those best qualities and strive to be the best we can be.

Having some guys and gals on the inside as it were can't hurt. Skilled agents who are loyal to Freedom, who want to Restore the Republic can do a lot of good.

So lose yourself in the world of James Bond for a couple of hours. Then come back to reality and realize we just might share those traits he bore.

Patriotism and courage.

Throw in faith and you have an unbeatable combination.

It's My Life

I'm not a big fan of Bon Jovi. He's an antigun liberal, that being a deciding factor.

But the song It's My Life has a ring to it and seems appropriate for Veteran's Day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3jmef6sffA

The movies depicted are of course fiction though the first is modeled after real events in the battle for Bataan.

I remember I had a classmate in grade school whose Dad was a survivor of the Death March.

He was a quiet unassuming guy. His son was a good kid. So it goes.

When I die as it were or whatever you want to call it, I'm requesting they play the slow version particularly.

I take credit for myself whatever that may be.

If those after me want to celebrate my life so be it.

I'd rather they live their own lives.

If I have given them the wherewithal, then it's up to them.

It's their lives.

Novel Idea

Now I'm writing books. They are novels to be specific (echoing my English and History teachers/profs).

I'm not going into much detail since they are ongoing and I guard my copyright. They started out as kind of a dare to myself. It's also a response to my daughter, voracious reader of all things vampire, to write a 'vampire' story, with my twist to it. And there will be a Freedom theme.

I've been writing for quite a while. This blog is just one place, but an important one for me. It's given me courage and has helped develop my skills. It is a place that I can express my feelings and resolve concerning the Republic and what I believe we should do to Restore the Republic and to right all the wrongs running rampant today.

BTW I'm going to open another blog soon where you will find my stories etc. Not that this place isn't appropriate for them. I'd rather have a separate stage for my works.

When these novels (It's developed from two to a three story arc then to a fourth and now, gasp, a fifth retro) get published, they may not be the quintessential TEOTWAWKI, but they will have elements both surprising and I hope entertaining as well as informative and thought provoking.

At least, you can't say I'm at a loss for words lol!

It's been an exercise as well to see how I do writing books as opposed to scripts. These books will however be developed into scripts too!

For weal or woe, I've plunged into this. It is exhilerating. It's energized me and I have never felt so alive re my work or purpose.

As to how they are received, well that's up to anyone who reads them.

I will let all know when they are available.

I hope they provoke thought, entertain, perhaps shock some in the right way, not luridly and give a message of hope for people everywhere.

Eke 2

To gain or supplement with great effort or difficulty. To increase or make last by being economical.

For me, to chip away until I have sculpted the work of art at hand. To make use of the chips in another project, so there is very little waste.

I sculpt with words from the clay of my mind. It takes skill, born of time and tribulation as well as triumph.

It takes experience, whatever roads I've travelled so far and whomever I've encountered count.

My life path has taught me to make something from nearly nothing.

That's a quality that may well come in handy on all levels and very practical ones soon.

Fabian Socialists work constantly, slowly to undermine and destroy our Freedom. If they suffer a setback, they figure they have time. Gradual gain is the name of the game.

I've suggested we fight an enemy that never sleeps. therefore we must sleep less. And as they have DEconstructed, let us REconstruct, eking out not just an existance, but our future.

Be patient and resolute on the side of light!

Yin Yang

Republicans and Democrats.

People still fall for the polarization scam. One's good and the other's evil, from either viewpoint. Sheesh!

I guess Lincoln's old bit about fooling the people applies here. No further comment on the 16th President at this time. Some people can be fooled all the time, or else we would not have the idiotic contention we experience and so piquantly at elections.

I have said before and will say again and again, that one of the tactics used to control people is to keep them divided.

Opposites are a constant however. Obviously it is for more than variety that we have them. Male and female are the best example I'd say. Without both sexes there would be no humanity. Good and evil, well, that's a big kettle of fish. But one thing is clear. The dynamic of the fight between good and evil is part of the fabric of humanity.

I'm not gonna try to elaborate on all the nuances. Again, this blog is not the place for that. I'd have enough material again to do several papers or even theses complete with footnotes on all the ins and outs.

Yin and yang is another example. It has several subtexts. Not only good and evil, though that can be subdivided even more from Eastern religion/philosophy. And here is not the place for a study of comparative religions. Nor who is right. I have my beliefs, so do you. If you want Freedom of religion, better realize united we stand, divided we fall.

I talk of these things merely as I have done before. It is to get some who have not been thinking to do so, and to add whatever perspective I can offer.

Part of the point of this exercise is to show that indeed there are differences. Yeah the cliche is how boring it would be if all were the same. It would be more than that. Without innate differences, we would lack that singular quality of the Republic. That is individuality. And combined with free will, we choose to live for a common purpose. From many one is more than our motto. It is a testament to the fact that people can pull together for Freedom.

For if we are Free, then individuality is secured. It's a perfect circle.

And many differences as with male and female, if not equal can complement.

IOU

Nothing.

The world does NOT owe you a living.

Want Money etc? Get it the old fashioned way; earn it.

I'm not talking of venture capital or a loan that can be paid back.

I'm not talking of parental obligations. Nor am I talking of getting someone in a position to help himself.

If you get a loan, be prepared to pay it back.

If you get a grant, be worthy of its use. It doesn't have to be earth shaking. Just do, as in do, what is required as a kept promise to use the money for its intended use.

If you think the way I do, spread the word. Reeducate the reeducated. If people have been programmed they can be deprogrammed. Might be loborious, even onerous, but every soul won back from the stupidity of collectivism is a soul who can help.

Let it be like a small brushfire in the minds of men as Sam Adams said. They will connect and erupt into a purging flame.

Even reminds me of that line, paraphrased and extended, from Scarecrow of Romney Marsh where Dr. Syn talks of tiny cuts at tyranny. Little pinpricks of resistance as it were, that alone would be futile. But together and adding up become a hundred then a thousand then thousands and so on til tyranny is bled dry.

IOU nothing. Except to do my best to bring back Freedom and it's mate Responsibility.

IOU a helping hand in helping to bring this Republic back.

It's all you owe me

Get going.

Comes The Morning

After darkness comes light.

In olden days, the fires fended off fear and evil, and dawn was anxiously awaited.

Finally, dawn came, the vigil over. But what then? I wonder if people made plans to use the daylight.

For as the day rolls on, it becomes apparent that night is coming again. It is a constant cycle.

Day by day it's easy to just anticipate then get lost.

I suggest one makes use of the moment. Work in both day and night.

For, past the analogies and metaphors is reality.

Day follows night follows day til the end of time.

If it sounds like I'm talking in circles, I am. We chase our tails or we work on what's before us, within time.

After all the hubbub, and results, what will be done?

Will there be smug satisfaction, MOS?

Now is the time.

Either we use it or lose it.

And anticipation becomes just a hollow hope instead of full sharp action.

Lady In Red

It was just before dawn on a Sunday morning as I strode past the cemetery.

I was new to the area and had never been there before.

It was a cool Spring morning, with clear skies and a curious light fog drifting about like a willow-the-wisp.

I can't remember what was drifting through my mind then. But I remember seeing a strange sight.

As I glanced into the cemetery, I saw a woman slowly strolling past a row of stones.
Her back was to me.

The mist was thin enough that I made her out fairly well.

She was of average height, fair skinned with fair hair that cascaded like a golden waterfall down her back. She wore a red dress. It was like a party dress but from another time, perhaps Ante-Bellum.

As I looked, a little freaked and wondering what someone would be doing cavorting in a graveyard on a predawn morning, she turned to face me.

I looked directly at her. You'd think something like this would give you the creeps. Not here. She seemed calm, if a little confused. Her skin was pale almost porcelain. Her eyes seemed blue and her nose was aquiline with full cheeks and lips, very much looking a lady.

I turned my eyes for a moment, not from fear, more to sort it out. When I looked back she had vanished. It was impossible for her to have fled so quickly. It was as though she had literally disappeared.

I ventured on, resisting the urge to search the rather large necropolis. I wondered who she was and why she was there.

That night I had an answer.

As I lay waiting for sleep, I couldn't get my mind off the Lady in Red. My eventual sleep was fitful and I tossed around.

Something was nagging me. She was bothering me, perhaps more than she should be.

I began searching and the mists rose.

I saw, no thought, I saw her ahead of the mist, but it was illusory.

She was there. Then she was not. I saw her then I didn't.

Then there she was, striding as she had before as if on a cloud, seemingly searching.

'Miss', I tried to get her attention. 'Miss, please wait.'

She slowed and stopped turning as she had done the previous morning.

This time I didn't look away. I wasn't afraid and I accepted this woman as she was.

She held my gaze and I didn't know if looking away would give her opportunity to vanish or if my gaze delivered some kind of encouragement. There was no feeling that she was 'draining me nor trapping me in any way.

'I've lost my way', she said smiling, slightly embarrassed. 'We were having the most wonderful time, then things got dark and foggy. I'm fearful I might hurt myself. Could you come to my aid sir?'

She seemed truly confused. I endeavored to help.

'Of course. If I may ask, where were you Miss?'

'We were having a soiree on the grounds of Waverly Manor. Somehow I got lost in the early evening fog. Everyone must be worried.' She smiled more in questing doubt than in comfort.

'You're dressed strangely, sir. You must not be a party goer.'

I could have said the same thing about her. The beautiful red dress was indeed very 'ante bellum' appearing. Her hair, so golden, was hanging down swept away from her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes sapphire blue. She seemed distracted as if trying to remember something, while her good manners kept her looking at me and inquiring politely.

'I'm just out for a walk, Miss...?'

'Julia Fairchild, sir', she smiled amiably.

I gave her my name and nodded, saying, 'A pleasure to meet you.' I smiled back.

'I must have fainted, for I cannot remember where I am.'

I took her hand briefly. It was cold but oddly warmed to the touch.

'Think back Julia. You were at the soiree. did something happen suddenly? could someone have hurt you?'

Her expression was grave, solemn.

'I, um, I remember a flash of pain and falling. Then I was wandering in the fog, lost, the noise of the party receding and silence taking its place.'

She seemed vexed, both afraid and unsure.

"Julia', I searched her eyes, 'Could you be wandering looking for a doorway?'

'I remember seeing a very bright place in the mist. Then, it vanished. There was the tinkling of bells like crystals. Then, silence.' her head dipped down and her upper lip quivered and she sobbed. 'Oh Dear God. Am I ?'

I smiled and nodded. 'You are just lost dear lady.'

I closed my eyes and felt warmth.

'Look, Julia.'

Yonder was a doorway, trimmed in gold. Light poured forth from it and the sound of crytal bells grew stronger.

'Let me take you there.'

She smiled and hesitated but felt encouraged by my gentle insistance.

The door grew brighter, not blindingly, but embracing us.

'Go Julia. They await you.'

As I spoke, the sound of laughter and music came forth from the portal. Then figures were clearing and smiling, waving her on.

'Thank you sir. You have helped me find my way.' She kissed my cheek and I felt an incredible warmth, the kind that melted fear.

Julia entered the door and the music gently swelled, reaching a high point as the portal just as gently dimmed and closed.

I stood alone, no fog and only warmth in the night.

As I woke I heard the crystal bells and heard a sweet giggle of delight as I came back to my room.

Julia found home.

Socialization

Facebook, that phenominon of and for socialization.

Its seems to be anything from a high school social club to a drop off pick up for intel and info.

The whole concept of friends takes on about any nuance conceiveable. It's like a town online.

Supposedly Facebook is for friends family and whatever else spawns from that, to communicate and keep in touch. Good idea. It's the only reason I'm a member.

Some join to either engender business or keep up with associates. I have a couple of industry people I can message. It would have been neat to do that with McGoohan and Wise. I might do so with some others later, though most people in the biz I contact through phone and email.

I undeerstand some have gotten addicted to Facebook. I suppose someone could be conditioned to expect anything. Addiction is too big a topic for here. I'll wait til I go back and get my Ph.D in Clinical Psych then add to my experiences.

Some people have a very open personal policy about allowing friends. Some seem to give just about anyone the green light.

One such just got out of a psychopath stalking her. I have been stalked myself and it's no fun. Maybe she should be more careful, Then again, someone could turn out to be a psycho/bitch, what have you after having them on your list for a while.

I'll keep it for messaging certain people. But I have no desire to see how many friends I can acquire.

My number of close fiends is quite small. I have acquaintances and people with whom I commisserate. Some are one or two topic 'friends'.

Then there are the folks who share my desire to restore the Republic. I may not 'know' them well, but that particular point is enough to bond us.

Now, some are very different than me in some personal ways. You know the drill. 'If we were all alike it would be pretty dull' etc.

Here's a bit of trivia: Sean Connery has 5,000 friends on Facebook. Great for him. Socialist antigun thoughts aside he is a damn fine actor. And those 5 thou must 'know' him in some capacity. OK

I have posed the question how well one might have to get to know somebody to be considered a friend on FB. Guess it depends.

That can be just like 'real' life.

And as for 'socialization' that's a term that can mean one thing or another.

For me and my kids too, it is defined as being able to meet people and communicate with them. We may agree disagree love hate be indifferent. But meeting and greeting remain essential no matter what.

For those who would be our masters it means living as a socialist drone. accepting the whole and vanquishing individuality. As well, it means recognizing a system that dehumanizes 'for the common good'.

The common good is from many, one not diversity nor from each-to each crapola.

So, maybe I'll see you on Facebook. Maybe not.

Be it light or heavy it is a way to get the word out about a host of things great and small.

All I ask of anyone is to be true to themselves and others.

Sherwood Forest

I toured Sherwood Forest as a child. It was exciting for me to traipse where Robin Hood trod.

Yep. I'm one of those who believes he existed.

Perhaps we could at least agree his spirit exists. That which Robin Hood stands for.

A willingness to stand up for what is right and fight against the odds. A resolve to bring justice upon those who have been unjust.

Some claim, as with Braveheart, that people are ascribing modern concepts of Freedom to the legend. I don't think so.

I believe Freedom, though qualified even quantified, is Freedom. That we have a Constitutional Republic of course, is obviously something they were not officially conceiving at the time of 1200-1400.

Yet, one thing leads to another. And Freedom to be has always existed. It was not a common mindset in those days. But it was present and some of us ie ancestors conceived it. Rather I believe Freedom vs slavery has always been a dynamic and it may well be true that 'one thing at a time' was the course.

Now, with the advent of our Constitutional Republic, true independence can be achieved. Self determination is supposed to be the norm. It is our greatest gift to the world.

It has been subverted and has always been opposed by those who lust for power, control.

To be aware of this and to realize Freedom is ours and reclaiming the lost ground as far as the affairs of people are concerned, this is how Sherwood Forest is forever green and alive in heart and mind.

From the movie with Russell Crowe comes 'Rise Robin':

Rise and rise again,
Until lambs become lions.......

Get the movie, rent borrow buy (don't steal -s-)

Learn that it's NOT stealing to take back what is already ours.

The Dukes

A neat film produced and directed by Robert Davi.

It concerns a group of aging Italian doo wop singers who, after fame in the 60's, have declined considerably.

They are trying for a comeback. In the meantime two of them work at their aunt's restaurant.

Becoming increasingly desperate, they attempt a bungled half assed heist of what they think is gold. After this, things of course, look worse.

Then their aunt puts up her restaurant, which they get remodeled and they launch a comeback right at the place.

The liquor board is going to keep them closed, but the guys rally and find the strength to perform. Their aunt encourages them and takes care of the legal problem.

Soon the restaurant becomes a nostalgia palace and people wait in long lines to come in.

They overcome and win the day by persistence, working hard and clear focus on the task at hand.

For anybody who has zigged when they should have zagged, who has felt like throwing the towel in, who has had enough, it can teach you when you are at your last rope to tie a knot and hang on.

Good idea personally and with the situation nationally.

I like and respect Robert Davi even more.

Idols

There are a lot of em.

Political, popular, showbiz, there are lots of idealistic icons to look up to.

I don't have a lot. There are some in each category though.

Political could at least be covered in part by Jefferson and Jackson. There is that General St.Clair who is an ancestor. Not a great statesman nor officer, he served with honor and stood to lose all ie hanging like the rest of the Founders well known and not. He counted many of the better known Founders as friends.

Jackson and Davy Crockett would be included. Interestingly they fell out re an issue concerning Indians. However they were fearless leaders in the true sense and Crockett in particular is an example for me of what to be today in our troubled times. 'Be sure you're right, then go ahead' was a term he lived and died by. I will do no less.

Many of the Freedom fighters in the Texas Revolution were and are examples today. Travis, Bowie and the aforementioned Crockett, as well as Houston come to mind. I'd daresay the defenders of the Alamo in general and many others whose names might never be known we must hold in high regard.

On down the line there is Crazy Horse and several other Indians who fought for Freedom. The Indian Wars have always been carted out aside from slavery, to show how horrible we white folks are and how our history is full of imperialistic trash or some other commie bs. Oh, yeah, I'm part Indian. Not just fashionably but several tribes on both sides of my family and for that matter on both sides of my kids' family and an adoption too.

I've written about red and white before, so suffice it to say that there were mistakes made by many on both 'sides' (Aka another ploy to divide and conquer/control).

As far as popular idols go, I guess I'd have to include anyone ever who supported and defended Freedom in the States and those inspired elsewhere to do so. That saves as lot of space -s-. Included would also be friends like Bob Schluep, the guy who taught me to housepaint, Mr. Meek, my World History teacher in HS and Mr. Wendling, who taught me Russian and German. These guys, among others, gave me a lot to live with and by.

Also, my Dad, Brother and Great Grandmother who were there for me and still really are as it were.

As for show biz folks, I just don't get the big deal about Marilyn Monroe, James Dean or Marlon Brando. Give me Susan Hayward, Steve McQueen and john Wayne any day. Plenty of others as far as acting and singing go too.

But that's it in a nutshell.

And they are not worshipped, merely admired and many beloved.

So, they are not really idols, but examples.

And I guess I do have a lot. At least in that popular category of people who do their duty to and for Freedom.

Sadie

Before Sadie moved into the neighborhood, there were lots of cats, both pets and strays. They started disappearing shortly after she arrived.

The cats had kept the mice and rat population under control. There was a wooded area and a creek that ran through it nearby. The rodents would make their way to the houses and invade the homes in our area mostly in the Fall. This significantly increased as the cat population decreased.

At first, we were all puzzled as to what was happening. A stray cat or two goes missing, that's relatively normal. They come and go as they please. Even a pet can fail to show. Sad, but it happens. And the depopulation increased over a period of weeks.

Proportionately, the rat and mice population began growing at an alarming rate. Just about everyone had a problem.

The only person oblivious to it all was Sadie.

In a neighborhood, especially after living there for a time, you can notice little things that people just visiting even regularly, might miss.

The tree cut down, the rosebush planted, birds' and squirrels' populations shifting. That's the same for raccoons, possums and other animals making their way back into cities.

Things got oddly 'quiet' after Sadie settled in. Oh, there were still 'wild animals', but the atmosphere changed. It seemed stranger, darker.

Negativity seemed to bleed slowly from people's psyches and even the area itself.

Arguments started over seemingly petty things. A couple of fights broke out. Cops were called several times, something that hadn't happened in a long while.

It centered in Sadie.

It wasn't too hard to figure out and after the tragedy of the cats disappearing, made sense.

She was always complaining and hated the pets folks had round her.

It was as though her negativity was contagious. People who were harmonious were at each other.

Several of us sought peace, not at any price, but the expulsion of the source of discord. We watched and waited.

One time after a storm, there was a hazy rainbow that seemed to hang over Sadie's house. It was a house that had been owned by an elderly lady who was the salt of the earth. She was always thoughtful and was first to help, to see what could be done.

Now, in her place, came someone who seemed to thrive and feed on discord, who was happiest when such things grew.

When the rainbow was pointed out to her, she seemed at least to be uncaring, vaguely distraught.

Then, casually, she admitted poisoning the cats. Perhaps it was the rainbow. Maybe she felt 'secure' and thought that such an admission would go unheeded or unpunished.

Nothing legally could be done. There was no proof she had done such a heinous thing. And she had admitted it to only one. It was enough. It was heard by more.

That night, dark, for no moon shone, yet serene just the same, many in the neighborhood dreamt of cats.

Lost pets. Old friends. They appeared, one, two, then more, their mewing and meowing built from a chorus to a crescendo.

Somewhere amidst the growing cacophony, were the screams of a woman, as the cats drowned them out, til there was quiet and purring, purring......

The next morning was bright, sunny and quiet for another reason. It was the quiet of peace. Sadie was gone.

She had disappeared. There was no trace of her. All her things were in the house. Yet it was as if she had fled, never to be seen again.

What family she had came and cleared out the house. They said Sadie never contacted them and the police were completely stumped. She was simply gone.

In time, very short time, cats returned. Pets and strays alike once again took up residence round us.

The rats and mice, though not completely disappearing, did not infest our homes anymore.

And at night, they would singsong, like they were crooning to the moon and stars. And in the daytime,after rain, they sang of the rainbow.

99

My Dad would have been 99 on October 9th.

I think of him every day.

I almost could leave it at that. But even though it's been years since he crossed over, and I know he's ok, I still miss him.

That may be true for most of us. We miss the face to face, the touch. I wish I could have a beer and cigar with him. Yet the other night my son and I did so. Life goes on.

And of course, It's more than a beer and cigar. It's being with someone I love and respect. Someone I learned from and wished I could have learned more from.

No one can take his place. Yet, I am not lost in loneliness. It's because I had my Dad around that I'm not.

There are folks who have suffered greater loss, some not even knowing their parents. Casualties of war and disease have taken their toll. Maybe that's why I'm here with my kids. I've been allowed to take part in their lives and from what they tell me meaningfully. I will be forever grateful for that.

I cherish every moment, even the pain of the long haul and the teenage angst -s-.

Don't know about making it to 99, but I will live til I die.

It's all I can ask for.

Train Whistle

The sound of the train whistle, especially at night means so much to me.

It is not a hollow sound, maybe a little lonely. But it is the sound that signals we are not actually alone, that we push on in the dark, in the quiet.

The whistle, all alone, declares that it's on it's way. It conversely makes it less lonely, at least it did for me as a kid listening in the otherwise quiet dark.

It always seemed brave to me, that in the night, there was this sound like a silver sword cutting dark threads. I could imagine the boogey man shrinking and cringing in fear and repulsion.

It's said that the sound of church bells repells the demonic. I think so. Music can be a powerful defense and of course gives us so much pleasure. It liberates and strengthens.

That train whistle is music to my ears still.

It never fails to calm and comfort even now. It is also a call to go forth into the dark and bring light.

Be that as it may, I'll leave it to whomever reads this to figure out what kind of light and how much.

Whistle blow, call me in the night
Feed me with might that I will not take flight
Til the cockrel crows bringing me to morning

Birthday Surprise

Following the passing of Steve the dog, comes my birthday. Made acutely aware of life and death, each year should be celebrated. I don't dread em, just, as I've said before, not using them. There is no ticking away of a ratchet as it clicks one notch closer to the banana peel.

But today, I remember the past. Birthdays should be a time to celebrate past, present and future.

So,I am taking a trip back to, well the year is unimportant.

Let's go back to my third birthday.

I was up early, excited about my big day. We were having a nice dinner later and presents and a cake. I couldn't wait!

The weather was a cool pivotal October day. The sun was out, but the breeze was cool, so Mom made me wear a jacket outside. I used to play not just in our yard, which was small, but the neighbor's as well and the sidewalk to boot. We all knew each other then, so the Hiland kid wasn't a problem when he wanted to play cowboys and Indians or soldier and use their hedge as a wall or cover from arrows or guns. Sometimes I played the Indian. It was in my blood after all lol.

I could stay occupied for quite a while and that was playing by myself, since there were no kids my age around. I got good at it over the years. I think it helped my acting later on -s-, devising scenarios, roles and names for the characters I played. But today life wasn't complicated. I was Three!

Mom called me in for lunch and I had some vegetable soup with a pimiento cheese sandwich. She cut it in quarters for me. Sure, I was a little spoiled, but I turned out ok, more or less -s-.

She made me take a nap after lunch, but I was too excited to sleep. Aside from the hubbub of my birthday, I was a hyper little stinker. And visions of capgun fights danced through my head......

So, after about a half hour of staying prone (How did I do it? I've always had willpower -s-.), Mom released me from my servitude of slumber and back out I went to burn more energy, of which I seemed to have a generous, if not endless amount.

About two o'clock, here came my Dad, sporting a boat cake in his arms. Roselyn Bakery used to do specialty cakes. This was shaped like an ocean liner and festooned with mint lifesaver portholes. My other fave they made was a hamburger cake. Orangish brown icing outside, with white cake inside and divided by the 'burger', chocolate filling complete with a bumpy outside like a real burger.

Excitement mounted as my sister and big brother returned home. They were being very mysterious. Dinner was cooking and filling the house with the customary fragrance of Mom's cooking. She was the angel of the kitchen, whipping up from scratch, miraculous meals every day (She quit making breakfast when I got to high school. She deserved a break -s-.).

I was watching afternoon cartoons. We had Popeye, Bugs Bunny etc with a dose of the Three Stooges. Those were the days of culture, especially compared to the pablum viewing now. One eye on the screen and one peeled at the clock.

When Mom said dinner was ready, I jumped up and went to wash my hands. I did that sometimes without being told lol.

The dining room was decked out with balloons and everyone was there. Mom, Dad, my sister and brother and Great Aunt Estella, who was the sis of my Grandma Dola, Dad's mom.

At three, I hadn't gone haute cuisine and besides, Mom's hamburgers were better than boughten as she said. Everything on em and her homemade fries. Coke with ice was the beverage. These were my favorites at three. No matter how old I get, no matter where I eat, we have a hamburger night once a week. That won't last much longer withthe kids going their separate ways. but I will have one for myself. My burgers are pretty damn good too.

The piece de resistance was the fantastic boat cake. Out it came and Happy Birthday sung. three candles blown out and Miom dished the cake with vanilla ice cream. This was smooth and rich homemade stuff, not the generic bland stuff of today. And the Cake (!) was always moist, the icing thick and rich.

As the evening wound down, my brother sauntered by me and nudged my arm. In his hand was a package of circular caps for our top break capguns. Hehehe! Capgun fight!

And minutes later, in the dark bedroom we blasted away, the flashes enhancing our mock battle. Soon the smell of capgun powder filled the room, a heady perfume that I enjoy to this day, mostly with the real thing -s-.

Dad finally broke it up and we reluctantly got ready for bed.

Just before we hit the sack, Aunt Estella gave me a card with money in it, kissed my cheek and bade goodnight. A couple of toy guns rounded out the gifts. My lifelong love of firearms was nearly that!

Then, my sis came back from the drugstore that was about a block away. We had neighborhood stores then, owned by people, not corporations.

With her own money, she bought me a green rubber tractor. I don't remember why, but I had seen it and wanted it.

That was a birthday surprise. But the best one was better.

Dad was home (He often travelled.) and Bud and Susie stayed home that night too. Aunt Estella was a sweet lady and her presence was appreciated.

That was the true Birthday Surprise!

That love will never be forgotten either.

Steve

Our family member, friend, companion and protector, Steve the dog, went to spirit October 5 in the evening. It was a long time coming. He had suffered long enough.

The family, ex and kids, have been reminiscing about our 'baby boy'.

It was 12 years ago, on March 24th that one of the neighbor kids brought a sick puppy to the door. It had been found seemingly tossed aside in a yard.

The runt of the litter we thought, we soon found out he was a he. Dusty handed over the sick pup to my then wife. He clung to her as she held him to her chest, where he was warm and could feel the beating of her heart.

March 24 is Steve McQueen's birthday and we were watching a biography of the star. Then and there we decided to call the pup Steve. He even had blondish fur and we figured was a tough doggie. Besides, McQueen had a dog at one time named Mike. So we figured it was tit for tat lol.

Yep, Steve was tan furred with white feet and a white stripe down the top of his snout. He had some dark highlights down his back and the tip of his tail was white.

Poor guy was malnourished and had apparently been eating dirt, resulting in worms. We took him to the vet the next day and started deworming him and feeding him.

Needless to say we had some nasty soft poop to clean up which was laced with worms. Will vividly remembers that because he helped deworm Steve. The kids both did their parts.

He responded to the love and the care, becoming a strong young pup.

I remember little things and some significant times. He used to walk past the bed with his tail up. I'd say 'Steve, Stevie!' and the tail, the only thing visible would bob. He would come and put his head on my thigh while I sat at the computer and I'd pet him. The corners of his maw would upturn in a doggie 'smile'. He would 'doggie kiss' my hand and I'd make a kiss noise in return. Then there was his well mannered standing and looking at me, waiting to be fed. He would just stand and put his head on the edge of the bed, gazing at me til I fed him. If we play wrestled or if, as on occasion, our voices would be raised, he would rapidly bark in protest.

As a boy, Will could talk to Steve and he would listen, well at least pay attention. Steve was good at that -s-. Yes we paid attention to our kids, but there is something to be said about a boy and his dog.

Then there was the time the drugdealing stoned pedo tried to grab Erica. Steve lunged at him, snapping. The idiot tried to kick him, giving Mommy and me time to deploy with our guns, driving the scumbag away.

Steve was a very good judge of character, not just the above moment, but other times he warned us and conversely when he received attention from strangers. He loved the Armed Informed Mother's March in Chicago Mother's Day 2000. And so many times walking him and just meeting people.

Like his namesake, he had an eye for the ladies, well for him the girl doggies. He made friends easily lol.

So much life and love was shared. It was so at the end of his time here as well.

It was a solemn time and that quiet as he passed was intense. I wonder even in the din of battle if there is a moment of quiet that's undetectible but always there no matter how sudden socalled 'death' can be. A moment of transition.

Steve's transition made me for the umpteenth time acutely aware of the fact we all go sooner or later. Life in a corporeal body is limited, be it canine, human or otherwise.

It has renewed my resolve to use my time. My hope is to get some of my stories told, to do my best to play my part in Restoring this Republic and be there for my kids. I will treasure the time I have.

We love you Steve. We always will. Love never dies.

Mr. K

Mr. K was a quiet man. He owned his own business, a drugstore in the middle of an inner city neighborhood.

Perhaps if you happened into his store you would see a little white haired man, unassuming and going about his business. As he hands over your purchase, his sleeve might ride up on his wrist revealing the tattooed numbers. It was a reminder mostly to himself, 'nie wieder', never again.

He would never 'shove' this in your face. Neither would he try to hide it. He would never deny it nor would he stand for his adopted country to slide into fascism. Yet he was a quiet man, but action speaks louder than words.

He fought as best he could against complacency and an overwhelming herd mentality. For his efforts, he was captured and became an inmate at a death camp. He survived, escaped and learned the art of guerilla warfare. A quiet man became a quiet soldier.

Then, after the war, he decided to make the US his home instead of Israel. He supported his brothers and sisters there, but preferred to become a citizen here. He wanted to live in the Republic that did so much to help free the world.

Over the years as much as he supported his adopted land, he saw the frightening similarities to what happened in his native land.

He spoke out among his fellow Jews and saw a disturbing similarity in mindset to those who eventually were herded onto boxcars and exterminated. One significant reason for that was the confiscation of firearms, and the shtetl mindset of authority knowing best.

He was never harmed in his store. Many people loved him. But he was willing to protect himself and his property.

This mindset was what helped him escape and fight Nazis. He was prepared to once again do the same in his new home. He would make good his oath as a citizen of the US to protect and defend the constitution by keeping and bearing arms.

He was willing to do what had to be done as he had done before. It should shame those who knuckle under and are ignorant of history. As for those who hate us because we will defend ourselves and others, they are on their own.

I'm not always as quiet as Mr. K was. But I completely agree with him regarding 'nie wieder'.

How about you?

Fear Is The Key

Let's kick off the Month of October with fear -s-.

It's Halloween month and Autumn gets rolling now.

It's my birth month, but I'm not scared of getting older lol.

I'm only afraid of not doing something.

I've spoken many times here and elsewhere about how fear can paralyze us. And I may well wear the frequent 'captain obvious' hat or the broken record baton. But, I cannot emphasize enough how we must NOT stop. He who hesitates is lost indeed.

And it is not just fear of dying that can stop us. It is fear of failure. I know this firsthand, having my share of failure and success, both personally and professionally.

But I know after all this time that if we do nothing, then nothing will happen. Or a great deal will happen. And that great deal would be our doom, as a nation, as people and maybe even our souls.

Tell ya what I'm gonna do. I'm going to meet my goals personally, professionally and in service to our country by helping to Restore the Republic.

Combat vets have told me that courage/heroism is meeting fear and going through it, doing their duty, all without music or fanfare.

I will do my duty no matter the cost, come hell or high water.

Fear is the key.

Let's turn the key, open the door and enter into everything.

Selective Memory

We've all suffered it. Maybe we've done it.

Remembering events in a certain way or picking and choosing what we want to recall.

Of course, some people are just naturals at rewriting events.

That's why it's best to immerse oneself in the facts of a situation. Then you can unmask or expose the erroneous claims etc made by certain 'authorities' and 'experts'.

I know I'm not telling most of you stuff you don't already know. I'm trying to reach those who are either new to this Freedom trail or who are finally getting down to business and getting involved.

Good refs are of course, David Codrea and Mike Vanderboegh. Check out the cross refs particularly at War on Guns.

Get involved, kinda like plunging into the water. Once in, if you get over your head, hold your breath -s-.

Refutation word for word is sometimes necessary. The 'only ones' no matter what station in life like to obfuscate. Deny them this fun and have some of your own. In spite of hwat many a liberal says, they often are exclusive and try to exclude unless you agree with them. Deny them this fun too. If they ignore you, well, take your case somewhere else and let all know they have done this.

I'm not saying it's always a ball, but you can learn to lead the dance and knock selective memory into left field -s-.

Gigolos

I was a bit randy years ago. Well I still am but with texture now lol.

I actually considered being a gigolo when I was very young. Pay for my attention. Pay for my acting/writing? Hmmmmmmm........ Well you get what you pay for.....

At any rate, I didn't go far with that career choice. I never had a problem meeting women but something kept me from making a living at it -s-.

Of course, with elections coming I witness the pimping and people selling themselves. There seems to be a consciousness rising among the people. I hope so. Yet, in order to Restore the Republic, it will take more than just a resurgence. Nothing short of a matrix altering movement is needed.

Unfortunately in Indiana, John Hostettler is being kept from running this Fall. He was in the middle of a three way primary bid which has propelled Dan Coats, antigun RINO and statist to be pitted against Brad Ellsworth, antigun Demo. Ellsworth softsells his liberalism and occasionally votes for something to disguise his liberty sucking tendencies.

Elsewhere, there seem to be some promising races coming. We will see. I suggest not letting up, but continuing to expose, to get masks to fall and never ending pressure for the right thing to be done.

At least gigolos give the women they service something for their money. Mercenary maybe, but what you see is what you get.

Our public servants are not that. They prefer to be served and in lieu of results give nothing back.

So unless and until we get more honor involved, we will get MOS. The left right rhetoric will sing song until bold rascals come to the front.

I'm not saying I want gigolos in office, but it would be nice if more said what they meant. And we unwaveringly saw to them paying us back with results.

No Excuses

Remember Flip Wilson's 'the devil made me do it'? Meant in fun but there are those who use such a thing to excuse their heinous actions under the cloak of darkness.

Let's balance it with quotes from the 'other side'. 'It is the will of Allah'. 'It's God's will.' 'So mote it be'. Maybe. Maybe not.

This can be an excuse for heinous crimes in the name of God.

We are supposed to have free will to decide for ourselves what course to take.

How far can free will go? Does it make us irresponsible? Do we limit ourselves? Are there limits?

These previous examples bring to mind vacuous robots, programmed ciphers.

Could it be there is some kind of meeting place between our will and God's?

I've said many times blaming others is a sign of mental illness. It is certainly an indicator that one is crossing a line.

Responsibility is an awesome thing. Just following orders, be it Light or dark is at least a partial copout. You'd better know what you are doing.

And yes it could be argued that Hitler etal knew what they were doing. But even old Adolf would cop a plea and say he was following destiny.

Destiny is a path that both good and evil follow.

The crossroads are not to be taken lightly.

Just don't use 'excuses' as a crux. Face the facts. Know what you are doing.
Funny. Over the door of Del Floria's tailor shop in the Man from UNCLE, there is a saying, 'Honesty Is The Best Policy'. Interesting.

So it goes.

That Which Waits

Halloween is just round the corner or two. So, here's an offering to start my annual short story horrorfest. The gov is still scarier -s-.

No matter how far flung the barriers, That Which Waits is just beyond.

It's quiet, patient and when you're behind the wall, unseen.

If it's too quiet, TWW sorties out, very low. It might be flies, or a stench of waste or even worse, death, but TWW gives itself away to those who see and hear.

Sentries are trained to detect infiltration. It's almost always quiet, still, whether in the night or noonday. But most of the time, TWW cannot wait long and tries to provoke.

It masks itself as insanity, doubt, fear. But, it is evil. It cannot be quantified.

It's like a cold breath of wind, scurrying, whipping round, chilling at the darkest time, making us want to burrow under the covers, compelling us to lock it out.

Like a silent bell, one feels the vibrations, and each reverberation ripples through time and space.

We are only as strong as the weakest link. We are only as safe as the breach in the wall.

Some are worn down and TWW creeps nearer, stalking decency and spreading murky oily decay.

Not even fitful wakefulness can banish TWW.

That is why we must have our sword always unsheathed. That is why we must outwake the sleepless.

The slithering presence will claim closer and closer til it chokes, smothers light, which must surely dim and die with a quiet last weakened flicker.

Don't wait for it. Forever hunt, always seek. Don't look for trouble, find it and fight it, meet it face to face.

For the limits put upon TWW only give it time to grow.

Specifics

I remember essay questions/tests.

'Be specific' was the common instruction for them. Staying on topic and giving sound support are entailed. Dealing with the facts at hand is another factor.

This was developed early in me. We started covering it in grade school, before the dumbing down began.

All those intel tests, timed and designed to test more than just knowledge. The very principles I mentioned above were analyzed. It was the ability to think on one's feet as it were that was at least as important as the other smarts.

Now, there is a tendency for collective thinking. I wonder why lol.
Preciseness is a hallmark of our kids' education first in homeschool then outside. it is one reason why local educators are agog at how well our kids have done.

Sure there are others who have succeeded and many due to at least outside influence. Then again, some schools are better than others.

The ability to be specific serves those well who would Restore this Republic. Our opponents do just the opposite. They carp and 'Alinsky'to take focus off the truth.

The other day I turned the tables on one such.

Check out the mini dialog below:

me:

This guy reminds me of Bill O'Reilly, little substance and mostly blow, preying on emotions. Right left R or D just points growing very much the same.

she:

No Michael. The only thing in common between this guy and Bill Oreilly is that they both appear as old white dudes. People also say I remind them of Jennifer Lopez. Come now. They're not all alike. There are differences. Stop hating. ;-). ...Also, thank you Marilene. It's true time to actualize unconditional love. Also, it's Yom Kippur: A time to apologize and forgive people we've hurt. Maybe Bill Oreily can start a new life, change for the better, begin approaching the world with a different set of eyes. Maybe we can forgive him for his transgressions. :-p

me:

Perhaps you have misinterpreted Erika. These pundits leave no room for thought nor analysis. Call em left right Demo Repub, they all are becoming just tools of oppression. There is no room for selfdetermination with these guys. Color has nothing to do with it. It's the content of character that is reflected in what they say. No hate here, simply criticism of a system that needs restoration. My prayer is indeed that everyone stops playing the race card and accepts people as people. If you want to talk further, please contact me.

This was all about Ed Schulz, MSNBC pundit.

It's classic re how we approach dialog and how she responded ie nada.

So now is the time to be as specific as can be.

Plain speech.

No backing down.

Rat Pack

When I was a teen, the Beatles were a big deal. There were other trendy things that entranced kids of the time.

As for me, I was a fan of the Rat Pack. James Bond of course and spy shows sure, but for music of the period it was what is now called oldies and pop stuff from Dino, Frank, Sammy etc.

Of course, being older, I hope I have my own style. But at the time not unlike other teens, I imitated what I thought was cool. So I wore suits carefully cut, white shirts with button down collars and I even had a pair of suede shoes from Ballys, like the boys in the Pack wore.

Some of my friends were similarly dispose. We had a kind of teenage Indy Rat Pack, with visits to local lounges (Yes I snuck in and passed for 21. Um, is that a retro crime? Better not give Lautenberg any ideas -s-), and record collections reflecting that ring a ding ding taste.

Like just about everything else about me, I thought for myself when it came to my music. Now, just about anything goes, including Disturbed and Dixieland to rock, pop, and classical, Celtic, American Indian and you name it. I'm willing to listen to new stuff and quickly add to my base. Eclectic adds it up.

This probably sounds like part of a bio page either for a showbiz resume or some kind of Facebook/dating service.

Just my way of getting round the red barn to the point.

A different drummer was at work in my youth and is even moreso now.

I have a different Rat Pack to hang with now.

But I apply things learned early on and have matured to include the accumulation of knowledge at my disposal.

It includes communication skills and an ability to spot bs and duplicity that runs rampant in DC and locally.

Time to ring a ding those pundits and servants of tyranny who are not much above a four legged rat pack.

What's cool to me now is Restoring the Republic.

Hey, man, I hope with style along with those crazy cats that are rattling the rats' cages -s-.

Bond Time Warp

Almost called this Bond Fun. Reminds me of the fan club mag for the James Bond American Fan Club in the 80's ie Bondage Magazine.

Just a fun what if post. Nope, not even political or spiritual etc. Just fun REALLY!

If Ian Fleming's character had existed in fiction in the 30's and 40's, who would have been cast in the various roles?

I think Errol Flynn would have been a natural for Bond. He was the quintessential Brit type hero. Maybe David Niven, as Ian fleming had suggested later, could have done it, but I prefer Flynn. Love em and leave em and risk taker.

Louis Hayward or Leslie Howard would have been 'smoother' choices. Think Moore vs Flynn's Connery. Whereas, Stewart Granger would have been the era's Dalton and Douglas Fairbanks jr for a Brosnanlike Bond. Lazenby like could have been given to John Payne the lone American. Incidentally, he optioned Moonraker for a while but it never got off the ground. Nothing against Daniel Craig but I think he is the only one who is purely modern and just wouldn't translate to the past. Maaaaybeeee Richard Denning had the oomph for the part.

As for M, there are several choices.

C. Aubrey Smith might have made a very proper M. He was often cast as upper class English types and had just that touch of stuffiness that suits the head of SIS.

Henry Stephenson could have been a younger interp. Donald Crisp possibly as a stodgier M could have filled the bill.

Villains were legion in the actual films of the era and would have easily segued into evil geniuses and thugs out to destroy and conquer and get Bond.

Basil Rathbone had a smarmy but elegant air about him. He could have played Bill Tanner, M's assistant as well.

Lionel Atwill could have been Hugo Drax, if we transposed time.

Here is a fave that would have provided plenty of creepiness and menace: Bela Lugosi. He was to my mind, a great actor, though he suffered from typecasting and a series of bad vehicle choices. Imagine,'Good evening, Meester Bond', with an evil leer preparing to torture 007.

Martin Koslick had a younger presence suitable for secondary villains/henchmen.

Of course Boris Karloff had the range to play anything from thug to henchman to evil genius. 'Yes, Mr. Bond, I'll give you the brain of the wolfman', lol.

Surely John Carradine would have been employed as a mad scientist/henchman, not to mention Claude Rains.

Throw in erich von Stroheim and Conrad Veidt for monacle wearing monomaniacal villains.

Add Peter Lorre for additional creepiness.

Van Johnson or Franchot Tone as Felix Leiter, Jill Esmond as Moneypenny and Akim Tamaroff as Kerim Bey had possibilities to round out a cast.

Now for the crowning roles aka Bond girls.

Hands down, my fave would have been my longtime crush, Susan Hayward. She could have been one of the smarter, gutsier babes, maybe Tracy.

For lighter fare, there could have been Jean Harlow as Tiffany Case.

For a Honey Rider type, how about Hedy Lamarr?

Acquanetta might have played paula from Thunderball.

Lauren Bacall, Anna May Wong, Olivia DeHaviland, the list is almost endless.

And wow, how about Maureen O'Hara? Vavavoom, as my Dad would say.

Some fun what ifs at the end of summer.

Now back to the things that make us tick and the crappola coming down in this country.

Orders

I've heard and seen a lot lately about following orders.

In fact, I believe that just following orders has been around since the first order was given.

Without order there is chaos. Let's not get into the whole order out of chaos thing here. It is a way of thinking and sometimes situations are created precisely to bring this about. It is also the way of the universe and it was hijacked by the bad guys. It's that old rewriting the matrix of the universe.

And to make a short story long, most orders soundly given and soundly executed stand up to inspection. Of course, they could be orders given to commit atrocities or given to rescue.

Naturally we all think of Nuremburg and the Nazi refrain 'I was just following orders'. It depends on the orders and who gives them huh?

Illegal orders need not be obeyed. However there are consequences and they had better be good the reasons.

Maybe I seem vague but there is a fill in the blank aspect to this. And in war, well it is hell.

May orders in what may come, be sound and true. May we be clear what is significant and worthy of fighting for.

It's not ever going to be perfect, but we can strive to make it so.

Gov

OK. I mentioned in 911, my previous post, that there would be room for another topic.

Here it is.

Government pocket agencies exist. Believe me or not.

And conspiracies concerning 911 alone are a topic that deserves attention.

It is not the gov that brought down the towers, if you go along with the idea that it wasn't radical Muslims. It would be a compartment with in an agency that did the deed. Sometimes special units are assemble for particular assignments. But usually there is a group that takes on certain operations.

They can have considerable influence and budgets, those budgets skimmed and sidetracked. There is a lot of money out there and people willing to finance ops. Maybe they'd like to back one of my movies lol.

Alias, though fiction, touched on this with a rogue agency supposedly a branch of the CIA, but actually ops for a worldwide consortium. Then, a group really within the Company (popular slang for CIA)was formed to combat swimilar interests that were detrimental to US interests.

Again, fiction can present fact disguised. No, I'm not in the pay of Alex Jones, nor those who pay him.

Believe it or not.

And of course, there are those employed who muddy the water, including agents who go round cleaning up messes or confusing issues or pundits who do a similar task for their masters.

That might be a topic unto itself later on.

911

Why think up a witty title? Succinct is better.

There are so many directions where we can go.

Remember.

Whatever you think, whether you think it's Muslim radicals or some gov pocket agency (BTW, that would be a more accurate term. I hate it when people, including me, just say it's the gov. That's a topic for later.), or both, the day itself and the aftermath are where we should focus today.

Pain, horror and horrible death stain the day. So many spirits gone so quickly. They say the US was brought to it's knees that day.

I don't believe it. Also, instead of paralysis, it activated a lot of us. Emotionally, it pi$$ed me off. Didn't frighten, stop, weaken or anything else but strengthen resolve to fight.

Either the gov types and or the Islamofacists or both have a lot to answer for.

Americans always work through the pain. We will succeed.

Instead of a tool to control us, this date can rally us to stand up and shout no.

No to the tyranny disguised as safety/security and yes to Freedom.

Americans can protect themselves.

We don't need to rely on the government.

And we must restore the Republic so that our servants see to our wishes.

That is the real message of 911.

As we mourn, let us give birth to a new era of Freedom.

Rights

Our rights are God given.

Doing what's right can be different. And yes, here comes the explanation.

The radical Moslems are having fun trying to build a mosque near, not at, Ground Zero.

They are legally within rights to build there. But morally they are causing trouble.

It is being referred to as a rabat. Here is an exerpt from the 911 Stop The Mosque At Ground Zero rally in NYC. This is Rosa Leonetti speaking. 'Her sister’s husband, Lieutenant Joseph Gullickson of the FDNY’s Ladder 101 in Red Hook, Brooklyn, perished on 9/11, rescuing the victims of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center.' from Atlas Shrugged and the following:

“It did not matter to the four hundred and eleven emergency workers (who died) what the race, religion, nationality or ethnicity of the men and women and children were within those towers. … We have shown much respect and, above all, tolerance during these very long nine years. … tolerance for a mayor who puts his own business interests in the middle east ahead of the long suffering of family members … tolerance is not reserved for just one religion or one ideology … Do not ask us, the family members, to be tolerant of those who demonstrate selfish self serving behaviors and attitudes.”

“Abdel Faisel Rauf is quoted this week as saying that if we don’t do this right … anger will explode in the muslim world. Well, imam, anger is exploding in America too. He stated that if this situation is not handled correctly, it could become something very dangerous indeed. Does that sound like tolerance to you? It actually sounds more like a threat. Mr. Rauf, Americans do not like to be threatened. Tolerance is not reserved, nor should it be parceled out, to those who use the excuse of building a cultural center when what they are erecting is a rabat. … A rabat was typically raised in the midst of the conquered infidel as a symbol of strength and superiority.”

'Mr. Rauf, Americans do not like to be threatened.' That's a telling statement.
We don't like our rights trampled either, though there enough who stand by as they are.

Here is the link to a great story about the event, how the media distorted or ignored the rally, what the opposition was doing and facts about radical Islamism:

http://www.lookingattheleft.com/2010/09/massive-911-rally-news-distorted-by-establishment-media/

It's explained better than I ever could.

Read please and spread it around.

In this Republic one's rights end at the end of the fist and before it hits someone's nose. Unless it's self defense, which may come as the radicals of all religions press us into it.