Call Me Lumpy

Or something.

I had a colonoscopy 6/16.

The Doc removed some polyps (noncancerous).

He also found something pressing from the outside of my colon.

He was puzzled and brought in a colleague who was equally nonplussed.

I'm going for a CAT scan soon and then we'll see.

Now, I'm not panicked, nor am I asking for sympathy as it were.

But, if you want to shoot a prayer heavenward or keep me in your thoughts, please feel free.

TIA

A Nation Of Guns

That liberty sucking blowhard Daley is pursuing inanity again.

He said, in response to the USSC decision that centered on guns in Chicago that 'we are a nation of laws, not a nation of guns.

Whoa.

Leave it to a tinpot dictator to minimalize Freedom.

We are very much a nation of guns and laws.

Unfortunately, too many socalled laws are statute aberrations that either distort the BoR etc or are blatant violations.

Even now, Daley's thugs aka the City Council are nitpicking just how the 'law' can still be applied to Americans unfortunate to live in the Windy City. They have spoiled a wonderful town.

I used to enjoy going to Chitown. Sewed many a wild oat there. Great memories. Not anymore.

The proposed gun ordinance is a bureaucratic nightmare.

The details are onerous, insuring a red tape extravaganza.

Look it up. It's easy to find. David Codrea has a report at War on Guns.

I don't have the stomach to go into detail here.

They are leaving themselves wide open for suits.

El Bloato Daley and henchmen said 'it's the people's right to sue'.

It's the arrogance of ignorance and the ignorance of arrogance.

Another nail in the coffin not of tyranny, but of such corrupt gasbags as Daley.

He fears our nation of guns.

He should.

For there is a reckoning coming.

Stool

Stool.

Ever like the way a word sounds?

Not only is it a popular medical term for poop, it is part of the term 'stool pigeon'.

Originally from Old German and Old Church Slavic meaning chair, seat, throne.

I remember being at The Lumber Company basement bar after a session at the Nationa Weather Service. That was in conjunction with my job as a DJ long ago.

There was a wedding party that had segued among us.

Some of them were so blitzed, they actually balanced stools on their heads (not for long -s-). Thus, the pasttime of 'stool dancing' was born.

Stoolies are a dime a dozen in government. They exist among Freedom fighters.

They are the cause of much pain.

There are several reasons people stoolies/sell out.

Often, getting past notions of revenge or some kind of 'loyalty' for the other side or even commitment to the 'principles of collectivism, it boils down to two things: greed and money.

They can be separate though one serves the other.

People who succumb to greed, bribery or blackmail are of course weak.

They lack principle. They cannot weather the storm of scandal when false or lies/truth are thrown their way.

They don't stand and say 'you can't blackmail me. My life's an open book. They don't even try to spume or cover up like sever criminal;s in chief of late.

They simply give in.

So it is with those who covet wealth or what they perceive as power.

Be true to Restoring the Republic.

Don't let the turkeys shoot you down.

Be honest, though it's sometimes hard to face yourself and others.

Then the only stool around will be those turds who sell us out for gain.

There will indeed be a day of reckoning for them.

Truth will out.

Hello

I remember driving to a late night job start on an inventory.

I was in the company of Schluepy, my painter friend and sometime employer.

The roles were reversed as he was assisting me this time.

On the road, in the dark cold we suddenly heard that Rick Nelson had died in a plane crash.

It stunned us and saddened us to hear it.

Nelson's music was a staple for both Schluep's generation and mine.

Hits like 'Hello Mary Lou', 'It's Late', 'Travelin' Man' and many more were part of my growing up.

Though not deep mostly and simple smooth tunes, Rick Nelson made himself part of the music scene in the late 50's as he was showcased on his family's show, 'the Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet'.

He is overlooked by some. But his down home style and sincerity struck a cord with many.

His music spoke of humanity, pure and simple.

I don't care to guess who is a great artist here.

I merely wish to say how something like Nelson's music is a comfort in dark times.

We need all the help we can get.

Rick Nelson will play tunes in my head for the tough times to come.

Blue Blood

Nope. Not the Tom Selleck series.

It's strange how notions get planted in people's heads.

Blue blood is a classic.

English idiom for nobility from sangre azul because the Spanish royal family etc claimed to be of Visigothic descent, contrasting the Moors. Go figure.

It distinguishes an upper class whose veins showed blue through their pale skin.

This is contrasted with the working class, agricultural peasants who got very tanned working in the sun all day.

It's probable, and I know my St. Clair ancestors were among them, using silver utensils and some people apparently got a bluish cast to the skin (argyria), though I don't think the St. Clairs did. But they bathed, were literate including the women and beat devastating loss during the Black Plague.

Veins appear blue because the subcutaneous fat absorbs low frequency light, permitting only the highly energetic blue wavelengths to penetrate through to the dark vein and reflect off.

It's the impressions and labels people apply that really interest me.

Most of this relies on people not thinking, just accepting.

Sounds familiar huh?

Suffice it to say it was promalgated that nobles and commoners are different.

Utter nonsense.

Except that conditioning makes people certain ways.

If we accept that we are different, then it appears so.

If we have a Constitutional Republic, we see those differences shift.

We of course, have rich and poor and middle class.

But, we all should have a chance to improve our lives as we see fit.

Government has interferred with this such as the war on poverty, to create a divide of haves and have nots to pave the way for a collectivist 'paradise'.

The secret is to teach that we are free. Free in the heart is the start of giving each person a chance to do and be better by teaching self reliance.

No blue bloods.

Only red human blood, which has and will be shed again for Freedom.

Pitiable

Below is the beginning of what is developing into my contribution to the 'vampire' stories' that are all the rage now.

I told my daughter I'd give my version of one just for the hell of it.

Also, some have asked if I were going to write anything 'creepy' like those shorties I did last year late.

What I have in mind may have a few surprises re Freedom imbedded.

Well, here's the start:


'I'll live forever', hummed the long haired young woman as she circled Pendo.

Her dark looks were accentuated by high cheekbones, a full mouth (called 'pillow' lips by some), and clear hazel eyes. She looked Irish and Hispanic.

'We all do deary.'

A young man had appeared quietly near her side and startled her reverie.

'Oh', she cried out, then seemed to settle down as she checked this fellow out.

He looked like a yuppie bent on clubbing downtown, complete with black jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket.

His complexion was a little pale in the streetlight, but he seemed quite handsome and healthy, with dark hair and blue eyes offsetting a lean face with what used to be called a 'patrician' nose.

'Sooo dude, don't sneak up on a girl on the street, ok?'

He laughed and said, 'No way. I'm just light on my feet.' He danced a couple of moves.

She laughed again. 'It's dangerous downtown after dark, even with the crowds.'

He swept his hands around. 'What crowds?'

She flinched a little but kept moving. The streets there were angled enough that light from round a corner might be cut off til you came to the intersection. This was a little strip of 'wasteland' between blocks of bars and clubs.

'Where you headed?' she asked hoping to keep him talking and not doing as she increased her step.

'Wellllll', he paused and watched her speed up, 'I was planning on going to Speeders.'

Speeders was a popular bar in the 'bar district' downtown.

There was a space of several blocks between the one section and the main area where much of the action was.

It was quiet as well, the din of nightlife dwindled in this 'no man's land'. And, though it had just turned to night, it seemed that sound dissipated there.

'I promise I'm not a weirdo. Name's Paul by the way.'

Without stopping and continuing her increased speed, she said, 'Peg.'

'Ah, 'peg o' my heart. Um, old song. Not cool.'

She smiled a little but found it wise to keep going.

'I hate this place. There is no way to get to the main drag without going through here. Where the hell are all the other pilgrims?', she suddenly added, looking to and fro.

'Don't know. Must be something keeping them. But we're smart to keep to the street. I wouldn't cut through an alley for anything.'

There was a pause. Just the click clak of heels and loafers (Wood souls? Bally suedes?).

We get to Speeders, I'll buy you a drink Peg. Ok?'

'Sure'. She liked the idea. But, she still kept apart and walked with as much speed as possible.

They seemed almost lost in the fading light.

Seen from above, downtown was starting to look like some kind of starship ready to embark to parts unknown.

Night had come. Then darkness fell.

I had settled for a while at Speeders, a sports bar where many a Lothario met up with fair damsels and vice versa. It was a meat market.

The music was a mix of contemporary pop and rock with occasional old standards.

I sat at the island bar and ignored most of it. I was watching the people intermix.
It's kind of a hobby of mine. Oh, the stories I could tell lol!

The usual mix of college kids and business types mulled around, endlessly chattering in mostly vapid tone and substance. Bar chitchat.

I found the time for deeper thought was in the afternoon, when the lunch crowd thinned and some old stalwarts lingered and drifted in.

But at night, the atmosphere changed.

It was more intense. People were seeking partners for trysts. Maybe a few wanted more, but dating with the object of scoring was the main agenda.

I knew the bartenders and I didn't even have to say what I wanted usually.

My taste had changed over the years and I segued from sippin whiskey to Scotch (Though I can be a very versatile drinker -s-).

These days, it was single malt, mostly Scapa (The breath of the Orkneys).

I was finishing said 'kiss o' the isles' and preparing to head elsewhere, when two striking people came gliding through the door.

They seemed about the middlin' age, maybe late twenties, though this place attracted a cross section of ages and professions, or lack thereof.

Both dressed in black and both a little out of breath.

She had long dark hair, high cheekbones and it turned out, hazel eyes. Her dress was about midthigh, with lace bodice and heels that accentuated a pair of 'endless' legs to die for. I could have fallen off my stool, except I was standing. I wondered if she liked older men lol.

He was dark haired too and looked like he came from an old family. His jeans, jacket etc looked like an outfit I had at home. Guy had good taste in clothes and girls -s-.

What was most striking was their seemingly effortless way of gliding to the bar.

It was as though they were walking on air. It reminded me of a couple of girls my son and I had encountered many years ago.

Reminded me of the way the Cullens in 'Twilight' traipsed about. By the way, I don't dig the vampire jazz too much.

My daughter read Twilight and saw the movies. She watched Vampire Diaries on tv and read a plethora of vampy type books (Somehow managing a 4.0 anyway.).

Though I watched some of the stuff with her, I was more the Bela Lugosi/Christopher Lee type of fan. Classics. And oldies. I intended to stroll over to Retroz, where yes, they played hits and obscurities from the 50's, 60's etc.

I ordered another Scapa, thinking these new arrivals were interesting.

Apparently, the girl thought I was too.

They settled nearby and after ordering, she strolled over and asked me to dance. !!!

'Would you dance with me?' Her expression would melt the heart of the nastiest curmudgeon in Creation.

I looked down a beat and said (incredibly),'I hate dancing.'

She touched my arm and it was like a mild shock. She cocked her head. 'Please?'

I looked in the mirror behind the bar, then sideways and said,'Ok.'

I slid from the bar, taking her hand and led her to the dance floor, turning to her and taking her hand up and my other hand round her waist. Air Supply's Even the Nights Are Better was playing.

Yes, I know how to dance. I just don't care to.

She looked up at me. 'I hope I'm not a bother'.

I thought, um no and said so.

Then she dropped the bombshell.

'You um, uh, looked safe.'

Thanks toots. Reminded me of Rio Lobo where the girl told the Duke he was 'comfortable'.

Well, I don't hurt easily. I asked,'What's wrong?'

'I think someone's stalking me'. Those hazel eyes looked down, then up as though they looked right through me. 'There's someone out there, in the dark, watching. I even feel it now.' She shuddered and it told me she wasn't kidding.

'It's not the dude you came in with then?'

'No. I just met him on the way here. To be honest I think he felt it too.'

'Hmm', I turned with her and looked her in the eye.

They were crystal clear and though there was concern, there was strength.

'It's your lucky day, maybe. I'm a private investigator. Bonded insured and reliable.' I smiled and seemed to almost fall into those eyes.

She smiled back.

'I knew I could trust you.'

I shrugged, off put by her heat and her scent. It seemed to exude lilac and roses.

I thought about when I was younger. Could she have trusted me then?

'What's your name?', I asked matter of factly.

'Call me Peg.', she smiled.

'O' my heart? What's the whole monniker?'

The song ended and I escorted her to the bar.

'Everybody says that. And yes, I know the song. My Dad used to sing it to me.' She smiled and tossed her head slightly. 'Margarita O'Brien.'

I immediately thought of Charles Bronson's character in the Magnificent Seven, Bernardo O'Reilly. And the child actress I saw once in a play (In a nightgown. Quite an impression for a 12 year old boy.)

'Mark Hazard.'

She lifted a dark winglike eyebrow and her full lips shifted.

'Ok. I tell people that sometimes because they make fun of me being a private investigator. So, I put them on a little.' I half smiled. 'It's Mike Hammer.' I said it deadpan, thinking this 'kid' wouldn't know who the hell Spillane's character was. Plus, her fear was palpitating. Disarm the potential client and calm them with humor. My trademark -s-.

She shot back,'You are a wonder. What's the name really?' She scrunched that sculpted face.

'Mike is right. And Hill is the surname. At your service.' I reached in my jacket pocket and gave her my card.

'Mmmhmm. Hilltop Investigations. Catchy.' She looked at me and said,'This thing is real, Mike. There is someone watching me. Ask Paul.'

'Paul. This is Mike Hill. He's a private eye. Mike this is Paul, um what's your last name?' Sheepish grin.

'Paul Hathaway. Peg tell you about the eyes?' He seemed preoccupied.

'Like being watched. Yeah. What did you see, feel?'

He appeared pensive, and reflected.

'It was like something floating above us. Sounds nuts and I'd had a couple over on the Avenue. But, it was like something peering out of the sky. Gave me the creeps.'

'Hm. Any sign of who it was. Did he/she seem close?'

He paused and his head lurched a bit.

'Yeah. Like ready to pounce. Weird man.'

Peg spoke, 'It seemed someone was stalking like a predator. Did I ever need a drink.' She took a large swallow of her drink. I was impressed. It was whisky neat, of some kind.

'Kinda vague guys. Was there anyone else? You alone?'

"Yep. It was dark and quiet. Kinda strange since there is usually a steady flow from the Av to here.'

"What can I do for you? Doesn't look like much and it is downtown. People watch people all the time.' I couldn't help but smile at Peg, hoping I didn't look like an old lech.

'I don't know. Nothing I guess. Hey, I'm gonna go to Clubnewz. Wanna come Peg?'

'No thanks. Think I'll hang here. See ya round Paul'

He looked a little crestfallen. 'Ok. Later'

He made to leave and I caught him.

'Here, keep my card. If you think of anything just call, ok?'

'Sure. Later.' Off went the black clad Romeo doubtless to seek new conquests.

'Tell you what Peg. I'm headed out. Are you ok? Do you want me to walk you to your car?'

She thought quickly. 'Where you headed?'

I was a little surprised but secretly pleased. 'To Retroz. I like to have a few and a bite and do some final people watching before I head to the barn.'

'Mind if I tag along? I'd like to talk some more.'

She seemed both at home and upset. There was something to her story of a watching eye. But what?

Treasure

There is much speculation what the treasure of the Knights Templar is.

Some say it's gold etc.

Others say it's relics of the saints etc.

Even more say it's teachings.

I'd say it's all three.

Then again, there is speculation just what the Templar Knights were and/or who they were.

Modern interp can mix with ancient legend and make for some Hollywood yarns spun.

There could be a message in the ravioli concerning human nature and what we are made of.

As with accusations against them in the 1300's, there have been portrayals of Templars as evil, devil worshipping, manipulating scum.

They have been presented as heroes and have been the preservers of treasure re relics and gold etc.

There is a degree of Freemasonry called Knight Templar and also there is a modern order claiming descent from the original Order.

One of the legends entails how Friday the 13th became infamous re bad luck. It was the day Jacque DeMolay was burnt at the stake!

Interestingly, he declared that within a year both the King of France, who instigated a purge of the Order and the then current Pope would die. They did.

I believe there was simply more to them than met the eye.

There were circles. The outermost were the warrior monks. There were groups who were increasingly esoteric and some claim there were female members at least adjunct as well.

Like all of us, there were good ones, evil ones and those in between.

As to their function, well, leave it to those who find this page to research for themselves.

Personally, being descended from Templars and their allies particularly in Scotland, I know of their best efforts and support of Scottish Independence from England in the 1300's.

True Templar Treasure to me is that fight for Freedom that foreshadowed our War for independence. They inspired the Founders and they can inspire us.

That is truly Treasure that never fades and born of faith that never dies.

20 Years

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream."
-- Mark Twain
[Samuel Langhorne Clemens] (1835-1910)

It's a good chunk of life.

The last 20 years have, as with most I think, been mixed with joy and sorrow, rising and falling.

I've achieved some things that I consider remarkable.

I am proudest of my children, Will and Erica.

There is nothing to compare to having been a Father to those two.

I think I have supplied the right amount of discipline, education, inspiration and love to get them on the right road in life.

The future of the Republic rests in their hands and the hands of all our kids.

I've been fortunate in my associations in show biz.

Most notable have been Robert Wise, Patrick McGoohan, Mark Lenard, Jeff Corey, and so many others.

Because of them, I learned so much about myself and my craft that what lies ahead in terms of my work and how I approach it is going to exceed my expectations.

Then again, my idea of success and Hollywood's are often two different things.

I hope to get the word out through my work about our Freedom, what we need to do to renew it and Restore the Republic. There is the obvious dichotomy re two different things.

My bottom line is message received, though making a buck on the way pays the bills -s-.

Also, my associations and friendships among those who seek to Restore that said Republic are invaluable and well appreciated.

David Codrea, Mike Vanderboegh, many of the Examiners, Larry Pratt, Col. Jeff Cooper, Matt Bracken and so many others have made my life a richer experience.

If I'm allowed to live another 20 years, I look forward to the adventure ahead. I have a feeling that fate is taking a hand and will lead to a greater future, one with much work and sweat, but much satisfaction.

I have no idea how much time I have left.

I hope I'm using it to the best advantage.

I will live til I die.

Salaam

Peace.

One thing should be made clear.

Salaam is from the Arabic. It is similar to Hebrew shalom.

They mean peace but are more encompassing.

And something perhaps more important or at least just as.

That Arabic language existed long before the stain of Islam hijacked the term as well as chants and other modes of worship from the Eastern Church.

You may think I am intolerant and too harsh.

I am not.

Salaam as translated/interpreted from Islam, means total domination of all others and submission to the religion of the 'prophet'.

It's original connotation truly means an all embracing peace, from within and without. It is protection, comfort and that wealth of being that God supplies.

It is not a bully phrase, though of course, salaam is salaam in war and peace as the world defines these terms. It transcends both the political and spiritual.

Forcing 'peace' is making war. There is a point where that backfires without faith.

Yes, we must fight for Freedom in all the forms.

And I would say to maintain peace, we must be always ready to fight for it.

However, it's not submission by force but by choice where our strength lies.

If peace is not in the heart, it will fail.

And if we also fail to fight, our very heart as a Republic will die.

Peace would be as an opiate instead of vitalization.

Voice

A shameless plug/brag:

I have been gifted with a basal, well modulated voice.

I just thought about it and I'd say it's sort of an American Richard Burton ie without the Welsh (though I can do his voice. More on that later.).

It has played a major part in my life in and out of showbiz. And I am about to put it to work again.

I feel fortunate even blessed to have this '3 ball voice'. That was a quote from Gene McPherson, who at one time was vice president and general manager at Channel 13 in Indy and later owned several radio stations at one of which I worked.

But voices are funny things.

I have known people with weak voices that have a strong resolve to do what is right concerning this country as well as interpersonally.

But there's more.

It's what you do with what you've got.

My advice is to stop pi$$ing away one's abilities and put them to good use.

I have no idea how much time I have left on this terrestrial ball, but you won't hear me complain. Wouldn't do much good.

And I'd rather do what good I can while I'm here (and likely afterward too -s-).

My voice could be mistaken for leadership and direction if it weren't for the fact I have been a leader and have a hell of a lot of resolve.

It's no mistake.

I am making use of what I have and offer it to this Republic as much as any tech expertise.

I will raise my voice, whisper, or ASL etc to get my point across.

I will write, act, shoot, sing etc to promote Freedom.

As I have said before, and it is a motto for me, I will not waste or spend my time. I will USE it.

It's Real

It's real.

I know it is.

It's real real REAL..real.

Every once in a while, that thought came out almost as a moan as he sat in the corner of his room, head on his arms and knees up.

'He's been like this since we brought him in', said the attending doctor to the psychiatrist brought in for consultation.

'His delusion seems deep set,' the shrink observed. 'This may take time.' He strode confidently to the door.

'Mr. Smith, may I talk with you?' His smile was benign, as though he was looking down at a child who needed guidance. His well modulated voice was meant to be soothing, reassuring.

To Smith, it sounded like sandpaper or fingernails on a chalkboard.

He peeked up, his eyes, bloodshot and caked.

'How could I possibly stop you?', he asked his mouth obscured by his arms.

Seemingly hurt, the shrink said, 'Oh Mr. Smith. Why would you possibly want to? I AM here to help,' he paused levelling his eyes, ever so clear, 'really.'

Smith 'hrumphed' and weakly shook his head.

'I thought after your rest, you might like to talk about your problems, your worries', the shrink tilted his head like a querying dog.

Smith sighed again, 'My rest? You drugged me.'

'No no no sir! You were distraught. You needed to rest and collect yourself. There is no force here', he swept his arms round as if to show a clear path.

'It's real, doc', Smith raised his head as high as he could, squinted and opened his eyes, coming out of his stupor more.

The shrink acted like he was slapped. His face lost some color and he cleared his throat, as if Smith's words were a ball of sawdust.

'Sir, you suffered a breakdown. Please, think, you 'freaked out', in your parlance and jabbered about people getting you. Sir, no one here is your enemy.' he added with concern, 'We are your FRIENDS.' The shrink's hands were held out, pleading.

'Doc even you must know that you're not paranoid if someone is really after you. It's real, doc. The whole damn thing.' Smith held the shrink's gaze and lowered his head, still feeling tired.

'What must I say? You are safe. We want to help you. You ARE safe', no yeling just soothing, reassuring.

'Have at', said Smith, eyes resting on his arms again.

The shrink backed out of the room, and as he left, he ordered a series of drugs for his 'patient'.

'If we can turn him, he will be a hallmark for our work', he stated proudly.

Two days later:

'Mr. Smith, hello', said the shrink in a friendly way.

Mr. Smith stirred, slightly.

'Are you all right?' The shrink asked out of concern, mostly the concern regarding his own work.

" I, I, I'm afraid', Mr. Smith seemed quiet as a mouse.

'It's all right', said the shrink. 'Now, if you will just...' as the shrink bent towards Smith........

'Mphrrrgggingrrr' said Mr. Smith.

'What did you say, I reckon I can't hear you', said the quizical doc.

Smith's eyes rotated toward the shrink. He regarded him like a reverse specimen.

'I'm afraid I did too little too late. There was always more that could be done. I pray it's not too late.' Smith seemed defiant in spite of the rape of his body and mind.

In the background, 'classic rock' was playing. Comforting, soothing,,,,,get it ON bang a GONG.

The songs in Smith's head...........

'And so it goes,' said the shrink as he noted the responses to each and every 'therapy drug'.

'Irrrrrllllllum yeahummmmmmm' said Mr. Smith

The shrink regarded him, regarded the specimun.....

Happy face (shrink), 'So Mr. Smith, how goes it?'

Slowly, creepingly, 'good golly miss molly', um momma poppa tell me son........

The songs in Smith's head gave him what hope he had left.

'kiss my deck...................'

Mr. Smith mumbles,,,,(tutti frutti)

'Yes indeed'.....

'How can I help you? Please, let me help you...'

'Help yourself..... doc.'

'Help yourself.'

Starting Out Or Late Starts

For someone as low on the totem pole in show biz as me, I've had some extraordinary luck in my contacts.

There are those who have given great advice. Some of them have been mentioned before here, so I won't name drop. There is a time and place for that. It's a matter of attitude, place, time and permission of the'dropped names' -s-.

Starting out is more than a desire, more than a passion. Without those, certainly, nothing will get done.

But, without planning, no matter what you want to do, you might as well be the naive kid who jumps off the bus and is determined to be a star within weeks (or win a War Between the States in the same timeframe).

You can carefully craft a career as you go along. A framework needs to be in place though.

Like a story arc, specifics are needed to anchor your dreams.

So it is with Restoring the Republic and in that, it may seem I am again Captain Obvious.

I know there are those among us who are carefully planning, bit by bit to redo what has been undone.

I'm not belaboring that. I'm talking about how it's never too late, even when time may be short.

Whether it's starting anew or picking up threads left undone, it is worth the effort to start, whatever it may be.

And if time is short for some, it is not for others.

Absolutely, passing on what is worthwhile to the next generation is essential.

They will lead their own lives, as it should be.

But, they will either live in increasing tyranny or greater Freedom. THAT is the crux of the matter.

For those making a comparatively late start, it's never too late as said before. For each day spent in pursuit of Freedom makes up for many spent in ignorance.

Some of us have much work to do in a small timespan. Either personally or for the greater good, it is never a waste.

It is only a waste not to DO.

When my life in this house of flesh and blood is over, I hope it is said of me that I did what I could, nay everything I could to better my life, the lives of my children and the life of our Republic.

Dad's Night Out

The doorbell rang.

It seemed odd, as it was almost midnight. So, I cautiously checked it out.

I was in security mode as I asked who it was.

'It's your Dad.'

'Kinda late Dad. Come in. What's up? Everything ok?'

'Better than you think, Mike. Let's talk.' He gestured at my study door.

As he sauntered past he said,'I see you're still full of the old stuff', gesturing toward the pistol in my hand and smiling that curious half smile that he and I shared.

We sat in the chairs I keep for clients, facing one another, each with a beer and cigar in hand.

'I'm gonna say this once. I'm sorry I had to leave. You know I had no choice. They wouldn't let me stay and I really couldn't even though I wanted to.'

We both puffed on our cigars, reflecting on what he said.

I looked at him. He seemed no older than 55. He wore a pair of dark green pants, tan shoes, and a red and black plaid shirt, almost a uniform in the old days.

He was full faced and a tan glowed in healthy radiance from his face.

I smelled the familiar odor of Old Spice, which mixed with the cigar smoke. It was comforting as he spoke again.

'Don't have much time. You know I'm pretty busy. But I wanted to tell you, face to face, that I'm with you and for you.' He leaned forward and drank some of the beer and puffed briefly.

A cloud of smoke became a wreath round his head. For some reason, I thought of a corona (pardon the pun) circling the moon.

I started to speak, but he lifted his hand to interject.

His deep resonant voice (another gift from him to me) rang out.

'You have more to do than you suspect. You're doing a good job and those kids, wow! I'm proud of them and you.'

He sat back and regarded the smoke trail and the billows as though watching the clouds.

'I know you have not always had it easy. Actually, that's for the best considering what's happening to this country. You have been steeled for what's to come.' He leaned forward again and looked me in the eye. He'd always been good at that and giving a firm dry handshake. Two early lessons in behavior that have stood me well in my travels.

'You can't do everything, but you can do it all.' He blew smoke straight up and continued.

'You've always been able to do whatever you set your mind to. And now', he smiled, 'you are all set.' He laughed his curious laugh, sort of a hehehe that had always had a hint of good natured prankishness.

'I know you want to talk. Talk to me in your dreams and talk for me to the kids. I'll be watching out for you and looking for you. Take it a day at a time and remember who is on your side.'

He finished his beer and put the cigar in the ashtry. It was just like the one he had by his leather recliner when I was a kid. It was metal, on a long pole/stand, with a handle over a brown glass ashtray, almost like a dish.

As he stood, I hugged him brifly and told him I loved him. Again that aroma of Old Spice and cigar.

'I know. I've always known. And you know I have always loved you.'

He made a ruffling gesture on the top of my head and remarked,'Always full of the old stuff.' His smile seemed to glow as he walked past.

'Stay there Mike. I'll let myself out.'

He sauntered through the door and I heard the front door close.

Later, I awoke.

The smell of cigar and Old Spice lingered briefly as I travelled up to the surface of consciousness.

Always together. In the Light.

I steadied myself for what was ahead.

And I could swear I smelled Mom's baked ham and potato salad wafting from the kitchen.....

Sabotage

No, it's not about how to sabotage in a war nor the history of sabotage, ie, disrupting the enemy's activities as it were -s-.

I figure you all can do your own research.

I speak of how some of us sabotage our lives, our destinies, even when we say we are not.

One might say they want to become an actor (-s-) or a lawyer, or what have you.

Training is started, preparations made and then, poof, the goal is derailed, scuttled.

It may be a combination of internal and external events that cause this.

Take a look at where you are.

Not finishing what one starts is a common symptom of alcoholics and their families.

Sometimes the plans are so grandiose that it's impossible to attain them.

It's best to make plans that are reachable bit by bit, rather like taking back the Republic.

Self control is NOT controlling due to lack of self, which is a common trait among the abused. With self control, one can plan and work out a complete roadmap that can be done piece by piece, rather like a story arc. The lack of self of the abused etc is filled with real purpose andgoals to achieve.

When the sabotage takes place, blame is often sought on others to defray the cost of failure.

Excuses, some well thought out others at the spur of the moment just flow and absent the problem. We can allow ourselves to be 'taken for a ride' and become victims or even accomplices (enablers) to sabotage. Our own plans get caught in the net and we become stranded on that desert isle of hopelessness.

It is often through great pain and hard knocks that we learn to face ourselves and give oruselves the space we need to honestly grow.

If you sabotage, see and ask why. Be honest, even when it might cause more pain before the cure.

If you are the 'recipient' of sabotage, don't let misery loves company destroy your dreams.

'Hold onto your dreams. Don't let anyone take them away. Never give up.' Michael Blake