Hmmmmm.....the English laguage and Politics.

The following is an email I recieved today from a very conservative friend of mine. I've enclosed the entire thing in quotes marks. I had always kind of assumed that English was just accepted as the 'Official' language of the USA, and that it was no big deal that it had never been voted into law as such. Apparently, by not voting it into law, we're being unpatriotic, disloyal and party-poopers too. I haven't agreed with the Dems for quite some time, but don't agree with the Reps either, so...like most of America, I find myself somewhere in the middle, and feeling like there's nobody in Washington representing me or my best interests. I do agree with the author of the email that things have got to change vis-a-vie American politics, but what do ya'll think? Is this a subject important enough to draw the line at? Or should it be something else, and if so, what?

"These are strong, powerful and courageous words coming from a retired colonel, and read what someone, purported to be Lincoln, had to say at the end.

33 Senators Voted Against English as America's Official Language June 6,
2007. On Wed, 6 Jun 2007 23:35:23 -0500, "Colonel Harry Riley USA ret"
wrote:

Senators,
Your vote against an amendment to the Immigration Bill, 1348, to make
English America's official language is astounding. On D-Day no less when we
honor those that sacrificed in order to secure the bedrock character and
principles of America . I can only surmise your vote reflects a loyalty to
illegal aliens. I don't much care where you come from, what your religion
is, whether you're black, white or some other color, male or female,
democrat, republican or independent, but I do care when you're a United
States Senator, representing citizens of America and vote against English as
the official language of the United S tates. Your vote reflects betrayal,
political surrender, violates your pledge of allegiance, dishonors
historical principle, rejects patriotism, borders on traitorous action and,
in my opinion makes you unfit to serve as a United States Senator...impeachment, recall, or other appropriate action is warranted. Worse, four of you voting against English as America 's official language are presidential candidates: Senator Biden, Senator Clinton, Senator Dodd, and Senator Obama. Four Senators vying to lead America but won't or don't have the courage to cast a vote in favor of English as America's official language when 91% of American citizens want English officially designated as our language. This is the second time in the last several months this list of Senators have disgraced themselves as political hacks.....unworthy as
Senators and certainly unqualified to serve as President of the United
States.

If America is as angry as I a m , you will realize a backlash so stunning it
will literally rock you out of your panties...and preferably totally out of
the United States Senate. The entire immigration bill is a farce...your
action only confirms this really isn't about America , it's about
self-serving politics....despicable at best. "Never argue with an idiot;
they"ll drag you down to their level!"

The following senators voted against making English the official language of
America :
Akaka (D-HI)
Bayh (D-IN)
Biden (D-DE) Wants to be President?
Bingaman (D-NM)
Boxer (D-CA)
Cantwell (D-WA)
Clinton (D-NY) Wants to be President? GOD FORBID!
Dayton (D-MN)
Dodd (D-CT) Wants to be President?
Domenici (R-NM) Coward, protecting his Senate seat..
Durbin (D-IL)
Feingold (D-WI) Not unusual for him
Feinstein (D-CA)
Harkin (D-IA)
Inouye (D-HI)
Jeffords (I-VT)
Kennedy (D-MA)
Kerry (D-MA) Wanted to be President
Kohl (D-WI)
Lautenberg (D -NJ)
Leahy (D-VT)
Levin (D-MI)
Lieberman (D-CT) Disappointment here.....
Menendez (D-NJ)
Mikulski (D-MD)
Murray (D-WA)
Obama (D-IL) Wants to be President? GOD FORBID!
Reed (D-RI)
Reid (D-NV) Senate Majority Leader
Salazar (D-CO)
Sarbanes (D-MD)
Schumer (D-NY)
Stabenow (D-M)

"Congressmen who willfully take actions during wartime that damage morale,
and undermine the military are saboteurs and should be arrested, exiled or
hanged ! ! ! !."President Abraham Lincoln

PLEASE KEEP THIS GOING AROUND THE UNITED STATES UNTIL THE ELECTION."

1968

I was watching TV the other night, and happened on a Tom Brokaw special on the History Channel, 1968. I decided to watch it because I remember 1968 well, and was curious to see what Brokaw would have to say about it;

the opinions, clips, sound bites and interviews. I was interested to find out what he would put together in remembrance of a pivotal time, 40 years ago.

In 1968, I wasn’t yet grown. I wasn’t quite old enough to participate in the “goings-on” of the time, but I was definitely old enough to watch, be aware and form my own opinions. I remember the Goldwater commercial featuring an Atomic bomb, I remember Hubert Humphrey and his promises that sounded so good, but a little too late in his campaign to make a difference. I remember thinking that the death of Bobby Kennedy was unnecessary, and that it tolled the end of the Democratic Party, as it had been.

This was really the year that the WWII/Depression Generation gave over the reins of power to the Baby-Boomers, although it wasn’t really evident yet for several years to come. Our parents had been so hard, they had resolve, a toughness of character that they tried to pass on to us. I don’t think that it would have been possible, no matter what they did. We were a different generation, with different social pressures, but the same “stick with it” attitude that had characterized our parents. I think we all realized that the “American Dream” as such was dead; as dead as the Kennedy brothers, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 1968 was the year of the beginning of the downfall of “America, land of the Free, and home of the Brave.”

The Draft, and the anti-war movement;

Nowadays, we have a “War” or “Police Action” going on in Iraq and Afghanistan. Back then we had Vietnam, of course. Today, kids are protesting the current conflict just as we did back then, and they are being led by some of the same people, but today’s protests are lackluster in comparison. For some reason, they don’t have the energy, the fire that the protests back in the sixties did. Have you ever wondered why that is? If these young college radicals truly believe in what they’re doing, then why can’t they raise enough furor to make their protests catch fire? They are dying as they’re born, each protest in it’s time. The reason for this is simple;

Back then in 1968, we had the draft. We watched the news every day, we saw the body count of US troops escalating daily, we saw the corruption of our own Government, the ineptness, the mistakes, the oversights and money-grubbing by everyone in the Nation’s Capitol from the President down. We saw all of this everyday, and we saw our older brothers being drafted, either right after High-School, or during any break in college lasting more than 6 weeks. They were gone. Gone to the AFEE’s Station, for a physical, then gone to spend 2 years in Uncle Sam’s Army whether that’s what they wanted or not, and then for too many of them, gone to their grave before their lives had truly begun. Of course they could have run, gone to Canada or somewhere, but we had been raised that this was our Country, and that we owed a debt to America. The only way to play this for most of us was to go to school, have some fun and answer the call to duty when it came. Meanwhile we sat in front of the TV every night, horrified at what we were seeing, horrified to know that this was what was in store for us, glued to the tube as if it was a training film and that our lives might depend on it and hoping against hope that maybe, by some miracle they might come to some agreement at the Peace-Talks in Paris, but knowing, deep inside ourselves that they wouldn’t. Our hearts and souls were in the protests of the time, because our asses were on the line. You see, nowadays kids have a choice, the Military is all volunteer. Back then that wasn’t the case. Of course some did volunteer, many joined the Navy, Marines or Air Force so that they’d have some bargaining power. At least a little say over their destiny, and in the case of the ones of us who joined the Marines, then if we went over there, at least we’d be a part of the finest fighting force the world had ever known. The recruiters told us so, and we, in our naiveté, we believed them.

We fought for the right to be heard, on campus, in the streets and anywhere we may be heard. We protested that someone who was too old to go himself could have the power to control our destiny, to take our youth, our burgeoning manhood away from us before it had fairly begun. In a way, at about the age of 13 or so, a boy in America in the ’60’s lost his childhood and began to become a man, because he realized at about that time that his clock was ticking.

Nowadays, with an all volunteer force, the war is just as deadly and perhaps more meaningless, but the fire is gone from the protest, taken away by a Government that listened to it’s youth those many years ago, and rather than striving to end wars as we had hoped, it figured out how to pull the teeth of protest. Our Government found the key to ending the protest by making sure that all of the boys and girls they send in harm’s way now, still without accountability for the gray-heads doing the saber-rattling, and incidentally making the millions of dollars off of the war, are all volunteers. The powers –that-be can stand in front of the Press, in front of all of us questioning the losses, and say, “They were volunteers, they knew what they were doing and they wanted to go, otherwise, they wouldn’t have volunteered.” Of course this doesn’t take into account that many are there because of the education opportunities they’d not have access to any other way, or because they didn’t have a job or a future, and the Military was a way out. It is a way out of Poverty, lack of Education, Homelessness, and for some, a way out of Jail. They just have to make a deal with the Devil, in the guise of the US Government.

We were willing to riot in the streets in our time, to face getting our heads bashed by the cops, sprayed with Mace, and sometimes even shot at to make ourselves heard, because we had no choice. Maybe the next generation will realize that having the choices that we bought them, they have the choice to control the Government, we certainly never got that far, and it needs to be controlled.

I think I may do a part II to this one. I'm not sure yet.

A (Sort of) Christmas Poem

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Slightly Revised

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the bunkhouse

Not a cowpoke was stirring, not even ol’ Mouse;

The socks was hung with care so they’d dry,

And also in hopes St. Nick might come by.

The hands were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Jalapeno Jelly fairly danced in

Their heads.

Mamma in her curlers, and me in my BVD’s

Had just settled down to watch some TV;

When out in the yard there arose such a ruckus,

I sprung from the bed to see what the fuss was.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Ripped the blinds off the window, and threw

Open the sash. Well really,

I broke the dang glass, sticking my fool head through,

And gave myself quite a gash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave the luster of midday to objects below,

When what to my watering eye should appear.

But a miniature hay wagon, and eight tiny range-steers.

With a little old cowboy so lively and quick,

Sure as my head was bleeding, he must be sick,

Or drunk, or maybe St. Nick!

More rapid than email his coursers they came,

And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name,

”Now Bubba! Now Baby! Now Red and Slick!

On Rusty! On Bramble! On Donnie and Rick!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the water tower!

Now dash away! Dash away! At maximum power!”

As chickens before a tornado may fly,

When they’re headed for cover, and

Sorta, kinda fly.

So up to the housetop the range-steers they flew,

With a hay-wagon full of toys, and the little drunk too.

And then while I was tinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of 8000 pounds on the hoof.

As I loaded my shotgun and was turning around,

Down the chimney the little drunk came with a bound.

He was dressed to impress from cowboy hat to his boots.

Shiny starched Wranglers, a Stetson, at least 24X felt,

A pearl buttoned shirt, and a big Texas buckle on his size 48 belt,

And two Tony Lamas, one on each foot.

Of course he was smoky, cindered and covered with soot,

Cuz the fire was burnin, and so was his boots.

A bundle of stuff he had on his back,

And I thought he was a burgler, just opening his sack.

I yelled “Stop, Thief,” while aiming my gun,

His eyes – how they twinkled, his dimples how merry,

I wasn’t sure if he was a thief or maybe a fairy.

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.

I figured, “Yep, drunk. Probably gonna pass out,

And fall flat on his back.

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a bow,

And the beard on his chin was white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held in his teeth, so

I thought, “Nope, not drunk – maybe he’s stoned.”

He had a broad face and a little beer belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby… no, fat. A right jolly old Elf.

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of Mamma

Yelling that she was calling the cops.

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, made me wonder if he

Was deranged, or demented. On what had he fed?

Deciding he was harmless, I set the shotgun aside,

And said, “If you’re lost little man, I’ll give you a ride.”

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled up the socks, then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose, I knew

Right then, “He must be on Blow!”

He gave me a nod, and up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his hay-wagon, and with a whistle,

Away they all flew, like down on a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.”

©TexasFred – 12/1/2007

Paranormal wanderings

I mentioned something about "family memories" in my previous blog.
I wonder if there are very many people who have this type of experience, or can relate to it?
My older sister is into Geneology, and has found that with a couple of permutations, our family name is pretty darn old, and there are some people that we're descended from who molded the world at one time.

I got a book once about them, and as I was reading the different biographies and stories, I came on one of a man who was a French Duke, 58 years old, who's territory had been invaded. This was down in southern France, near Marseilles around 1100 ad. This man signed his title, home and land over to his oldest son and, denied the son the right to go out and defend their property. He told his son that he was old and of no further use to their cause if he were to live on and his son die in battle, so, since he was getting older and having trouble walking, and even riding, he told his boy that he coud consider it his last wish that the son stay home, defend the castle if necessary, and allow him one last chance to go into battle, to die with honor.

The old man, not being able to keep himself steady in the saddle anymore, had ordered himself tied to it. He said it didn't matter, that he wouldn't live to see the end of the day anyway. So he led his men out in one "roll of the dice" so to speak, in a desperate bid to win the day against overwhelming odds. Predictably, he did die that day, but of a heart attack apparently, and after the battle had been won handily by his army.

The funny thing was, as I was reading this, I could see it unfolding in my mind's eye. It was like I was remembering the event as well as reading about it, and I knew what was going to happen next, before I read about it. I had never had this happen to me before, but then I had never intentionally read anything directly biographical about any of my ancestors either, at that time. Other than the bare facts you find in high-school history books.

This interested me, so I decided to try an experiment. I would think about a family line, concentrate on a character somewhere in that line, then write down everything that came to mind about him. About his times, philosophies, children, events that seemed to me to have happened to him, then go back and study everything I could about him, his home and times.
Amazingly enough, I could zero in on these people. So, I tried it with historical people at random, with nowhere near the luck. Actually, that was a dismal failure.

Has anyone else out there found this ability(?) within themselves? Has anyone ever even heard of this? Comments are welcome. Stories would be welcome too, even if they tend more toward fantasy than historical. If you write a story related to this, please come back to my comments and link it.

You Don't Know Me

Before I start, I have a thing I want to discuss.

What is "I?"
Do you understand the depth of this question?
Although "I" have a name, the name is not "I," it's merely a convenient tag with which one may address "I," or talk about the strangeness of "I." My name is merely my tag, not even an effective descriptor of "I."
So "I" have a name; I also have a body. Note that "We," being all of the collective "I"'s in a group possess bodies. The body "I" inhabit is mine, however it is not "I." Well then "I" must be in the mind, but then "I" have a mind, "I" am not my mind, it - like my name and my body is something that"I" possess. So the question remains, what am "I." What is the one distinct, individual something that makes up an "I."
Virgil once said, "I think, therefor I am." True enough; Implicitly, by thinking, I am admitting awareness of the uniquely "I" of me. And yet....

What am "I?" I am, I exist. I can manipulate my body and all five of it's senses. I can use my mind to interpret the information these senses bring to my attention, I usually respond to my tag-name-handle, so that I know "who" I am, and I know "who" you are, but the question remains, "What am I, if not one of the things listed above?"

I have come to the conclusion that "I" am an essence, a presence, a "spirit" if you will, an entity of some strange origin which I don't remember, but can't forget. I think that deep down inside, below the place where my "family" memories lay, there is a place where I know. I know who "I" am, what "I" am, how "I" came to be, and most importantly, why "I" am.

My body will die someday, and being my link to and only way of interacting with other "I"'s in this three-dimensional reality we call "here and now," then with the passing of my body, "I" will apparently die too. Is this the truth of the matter though? Or is it merely that my ability to contact the rest of you within the framework of this realm, this "reality," will be dissolved.

To live on, without the framework of an aging body, not to mention the artificial framework of "time." That is a treasure. To be free. Truly, completely and irrevocably free. I wonder what awaits out there, beyond the pale of "human" understanding. "Human" being defined as the body and mind that "I" inhabit and make use of within the framework of this reality, which is merely an illusion, or possibly a delusion.

My wife "died" in childbirth. At the time of her death, I didn't believe in "life-after-death" per se. I didn't believe in ghosts, an afterlife - or that the "dead" were anything other than dead; asleep; taking the proverbial "Dirt Nap." I was raised in a Fundementalist Church which taught that when you die, you sleep until the 2nd coming of Christ, and furthermore that any apparition, or unexplainable occurance could and properly should be accounted to "Demon" activity. In short, there was no such thing as Ghosts, that any manifestation was a demon trying to trick the true Christian into believing a falsehood, that ghosts exist. That the Spirit of a person, their essence was capable of living on beyond their death. Oh no, that just leads to more falsehood. Of course the Church also teaches that one should properly pay all of one's tithe to the said church. That it's sinful to spend that ten percent of one's money in any other way to help others. Nevermind, that's a different subject altogether - but you get the idea.

So, my wife and I were living in the last house my father had known before his death, an we both would "see" him out of the corner of our eye. Usually at night, about the time he used to go to bed, one or both of us would glimpse him walking through the house, checking doors and windows. Getting the house ready for bed which was his routine for most of a century. I always told myself that it was just my memory of him.

After she died, I heard the baby laughing in her crib one early morning about 4 am. I had just fed her at 3, so she should have slept until around 6. That was her routine at that time, anyway.
I woke up to her laughter, and went into her room to check on her. When I turned on the light, my little 3 month old baby was laying in her crib, dirty diaper off and rolled up, her sleeper up around her chest, with a fresh diaper and baby powder placed in the crib at her feet. She and I were the only 2 people in the house. That kind of thing makes one think.

My sister used to have my daughter over to spend the night occasionally. She felt sorry for my daughter not having a mother, and wanted to try to make up the difference for her in some small way. My sister has a little boy who is a year or so older than my daughter. He didn't understand about sharing his mommy with another child and was jealous of her. He would occasionally try to take it out on my daughter. One night, my sister called me at 1 am, telling me that she was bringing my daughter home. I could hear her son screaming in the background.
When she arrived at my house with my baby, I asked her what had happened. She said that her son and my daighter were sharing his room, and that apparently at about 11pm he had thrown one of his baby toys at her in the crib. She said that he'd begun screaming at the top of his lungs, had run from his room and wouldn't go back in there. He would stand outside the bedroom door, point and talk excitedly about something apparently on or in the ceiling over my daughter's bed. If my sister or her husband tried to take him back into the room, he would begin screaming and crying again. This behavior lasted until my sister brought my daughter home. She told me, "I don't know what or who is protecting your daughter, but as long as it's there, she's not welcome in my home again."

My daughter has always, and still does, talked and laughed to some spot over her crib. She looks up, near the ceiling fan and talks and laughs for hours with someone. She has 2 pictures of her mommy on her dresser. Without having ever been told who that is, she always tells the pictures, "Good morning, mommy" every morning. She also tells them "G'night," but not always. I have had several people tell me that my wife is a strong presence in the house. That they can still feel her there. I have heard her talking on occasion, and one Saturday night I was laying on my bed, watching TV, when my closed bedroom door swung open of its own accord, then swung halfway back. I did the only thing I could, I said, "Hi Baby, I miss you and thanks for checking on me. I'm alright and I love you." I slept good that night.

Now, after more than 2 years, she isn't that strong of a presence. I think she's fading a little. It may just be that she knows that we are taken care of. I now have another woman in my life. My daughter calls her "momma," and loves her. She still remembers though. The other day, she came to me, crawled into my lap with ehr favorite little blanket and after sucking her thumb for a few minutes, looked up at me and said, "Daddy? Do you remember when Mommy died?" Choking up, I said, "Yes." She laid her head back on my chest and said, "Me too. I was sad."
To myself, I was saying, "No, she didn't just say that. I must have heard wrong." But I didn't.
For me, my wife is fading. I think she knows that I'm moving on with my life. For our daughter, she may never fade completely away, although her presence isn't as obvious as it was.