Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Trump Proposes a Compromise Candidate for Supreme Court

A Little Byrd Told Us

Highlight of the Presidential Debate

Quote du jour

"I would not look to the U.S. Constitution, if I were drafting a constitution in the year 2012. I might look at the constitution of South Africa. That was a deliberate attempt to have a fundamental instrument of government that embraced basic human rights, have an independent judiciary. It really is, I think, a great piece of work that was done."
-Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Cult of Obama?

We've often heard of the Cult of Obama. Some of its adherents claim to have seen his face appear miraculously on cookies they bake.

Perhaps it's just a subliminal desire to bite his face off?

Words to Live By, by Senator Charles Schumer

Quote du jour

"Every day that goes by without a ninth justice, is another day the American people's business is not getting done"
-Sen. Charles Schumer

Monday, September 28, 2020

Joe Biden Walks Into a Bank...

Joe Biden walks into a bank to cash a check. As he approaches the cashier he says, "Good morning, Ma'am, could you please cash this check for me?"

Cashier: "It would be my pleasure sir. Could you please show me your ID?"

Biden: "Truthfully, I did not bring my ID with me as I didn't think there was any need to. I am Joe Biden, the former Vice President of the United States of America !!!!"

Cashier: "Yes sir, I know who you are, but with all the regulations and monitoring of the banks because of impostors and forgers and requirements of the banking legislation, etc., I must insist on seeing ID."

Biden: "Just ask anyone here at the bank who I am and they will tell you. Everybody knows who I am."

Cashier: "I am sorry, Mr. Biden, but these are the bank rules and I must follow them."

Biden: "My goodness. I am urging you, please, to cash this check."

Cashier: "Look Mr. Biden, here is an example of what we can do. One day, Tiger Woods came into the bank without ID. To prove he was Tiger Woods he pulled out his putter and made a beautiful shot across the bank into a cup. With that shot we knew him to be Tiger Woods and cashed his check.

Another time, Andre Agassi came in without ID. He pulled out his tennis racket and made a fabulous shot; the tennis ball landed in my coffee cup. With that shot we cashed his check. So, Mr. Biden, what can you do to prove that it is you, and only you?"

Biden stands there thinking, and thinking, and finally says, "Honestly, my mind is a total blank, I have absolutely no idea what to do, I don't have a clue."

Cashier: "Will that be large or small bills, Mr. Biden?"

Truman on Biden

Quote du jour

Journalism is popular, but it is popular mainly as fiction. Life is one world, and life seen in the newspapers is another.

-Gilbert K. Chesterton

Sunday, September 27, 2020

A Little Sunday Night Music

In Christ Alone | Celtic Worship

Forty Days for Life®--And Mine

Something happened during one of our "40 Days for Life®" prayer a mid-sized, San Francisco Bay Area town

It was very quiet, no foot traffic in and out this day, because the Planned Parenthood clinic was closed for an afternoon meeting. Another woman and I were praying the rosary off to the side: she was standing in a walkway between the building and the small parking lot, and I was sitting on a folding chair in the shade of a sidewalk tree. It was a warm and sunny afternoon in the fall, and we both needed our sunglasses. From my vantage point I could see along the front of the building, past the front door to the street corner. We held our rosary beads; I also held the large, scriptural prolife sign I’ve used for a long time.

I have taken part in the “40 Days for Life” international prayer vigils for several years, originally outside the small Planned Parenthood clinic in our county and now in front of their newer, more central location, where surgical abortions take place at least once a week. Our city is not very big and our 40 Days group is small, but it is a dedicated group.

The local organizers have a policy that there must be at least two people present during all vigil hours, for safety’s sake. We seldom if ever encounter the kind of opposition or violence that sometimes takes place in larger cities. Incidents do occur from time to time, however, and people sometimes gang up on a solitary person praying, so no one is ever to be there alone.

While we were in prayer that afternoon, a woman drove by on the opposite side of the street. She rolled to a stop because of the traffic light, then glanced out her window--and read my sign. She immediately leaned out her open window, gave me the middle finger gesture, and then yelled, "YOU should have been aborted!" I looked after her in disbelief as the light changed and she sped away.

Her reaction really struck me. The middle finger, cursing, thumbs-down signs--those don't really bother me very much any more. I’ve gotten used to those. But that sentence did bother me, for some reason.

I was still trying to process it as we finished our prayers. I told the woman with me what had happened and what had been said, because she hadn’t been facing the street at
that moment. She stared at me, astonished and shocked. We talked about it for a while and then sat in silence, but those words continued to bother me.

A short time later, a man in a motorized wheelchair came around the street corner, just beyond Planned Parenthood's front door. He stopped, leaned to the side, and looked as if he was talking on an in-ears headset. Then he started forward, toward us. As he came nearer I braced myself, wondering if he would get in our faces and harass us. People do, sometimes, when they see us praying. You get used to that, too, but it can be upsetting.

As he came closer, though, he looked right at me and started smiling. Because I was sitting on my folding chair we were at eye level with each other. He stopped close to me, only about a foot away, and said, "Every time I pass by here I lay hands on this building, and I pray that the women who come here will go somewhere else." As he was speaking, I took off my sunglasses and looked straight into his eyes. He ended with "God bless your work here." Then he started up his motorized chair and continued on his way.

As I watched him leave, a sense of peace and calmness washed over me. Under my breath I said, “And God bless what you do, too.”

It wasn't until days later that I realized why the "YOU should have been aborted!" shout bothered me so much.

The following week, during another prayer shift, there were three of us present, including one of the leaders. We were in the middle of our prayers when two young men stopped in front of us--one short, one tall, both very young (it became clear during the conversation that they were probably older middle schoolers).

The short one was the spokesman, while the other merely stood and listened. The speaker asked about my sign, an old “40 Days for Life” one, which says, " Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you -- God" [Jeremiah 1:5]. It was clearly his way of creating an opening for talking, which continued for about 15 or 20 minutes. He brought out all the usual talking points, but not in a belligerent way. It was more of an "I don't know anything else because this is all I've been told" kind of way. Each point was well-countered, mostly by the leader and the other woman present. After each response, he went on to the next talking point. But he listened, and the taller one really listened (I
watched his face). They were polite and respectful; they even excused themselves when they finally had to leave.

At one point, the speaker brought up the issue of "unwanted babies". I answered that one, by telling him that I was adopted--that my birth mother had resisted pressure to either abort me or marry my biological father. Instead, she carried me to term and gave me up for adoption, by a couple who could not have children: my mother and father (who went on to adopt other children). I told him that I was deeply grateful to my birth mother for the gift of my life.

After the young men left, I started thinking more about what I'd said to them, remembering the few, but important, facts I knew. My birth mother had cared enough for me to reject abortion. I was a real person to her, and she was adamant that I should live. She even gave me a name at my birth, a name which is on my legal adoption papers. It isn’t just a placeholder name, like "Baby Smith" or some such--she gave me a full, three-part, personal name that obviously had meaning for her. No one now knows that name except me and her--if she still lives--because my adoptive mother and father are both dead.

Pieces started falling into place then until the whole picture was clear to me. That woman's shout, "YOU should have been aborted!" hit me as hard as it did because I so easily could have been aborted. I so easily might never have existed.

Never born. Never having lived.

And that's why it bothered me so much, I believe. Because it had been so possible.

Copyright, 2019, by Mary M. Isaacs

Quote du jour

Should our little book be read this morning in some very humble cottage, let this fact encourage the inmates to seek the company of King Jesus. God is oftener in little huts than in rich palaces. Jesus is looking round your room now, and is waiting to be gracious to you.
-Charles H. Spurgeon

Saturday, September 26, 2020

Congratulations, ACB!

Note: This media may have been doctored.

Considering the events of the day, I thought I'd bring this back! Congratuilations, Amy Coney Barrett on your nomination to the Supreme Court!

A Little Saturday Night Music

Once in Love with Amy - from "Where's Charley" 1952

(I decided just seven minutes before the deadline to swap this out with my scheduled Sat night tune.)

Best of the Web*

*…that Dave and I have seen all week!

(BTW, if you wonder where any of the links will take you, hover your cursor over the link.)


Ballots in Pennsylvania Were Found in the Trash. They Were All Votes for Trump

Heads up Arizonans! -Mark Kelly could cast vote for Supreme Court should he win Arizona Senate Nov. 3

Replacing Justice Ginsburg: Politics, Not Precedent

How Ruth Bader Ginsburg May Help Reelect Donald Trump and the Republican Senate

MUST WATCH VIDEO: Kyle Rittenhouse — The Truth in 11 Minutes

Black Lives Matter Activist Wearing ‘Justice for Breonna Taylor’ Shirt Walked into a Louisville Bar and Murdered Three People

BLM quietly scrubs anti-American, Marxist language from its website


Flopping Aces -Sunday Funnies

Today's Toons 9/16/20, Today's Toons 9/17/20, Today's Toons 9/18/20

Today's Toons 9/21/20, Today's Toons 9/22/20

Larwyn’s Linx: The left threatens death, destruction, and fire if POTUS fills the open SCOTUS seat

In The Mailbox: 09.22.20 (Afternoon Edition)

Larwyn’s Linx: RED ALERT: Catherine Engelbrecht of True The Vote Issues Election Warning

In The Mailbox: 09.22.20 (Evening Edition)

Larwyn’s Linx: Hunter Biden Received Millions From Russians, Paid Suspects Allegedly Tied To Trafficking

In The Mailbox: 09.23.20

Larwyn’s Linx: Explosive New FBI Texts Detail Internal Furor Over Handling Of ‘Crossfire Hurricane’ Investigation

In The Mailbox: 09.24.20

In The Mailbox: 09.25.20

Dave's Rule Five Roundup:

Proof Positive - Vintage Babe of the Week - Tonight's Vintage Babe is Cathy Lee Crosby! and Best of the Web


redpilljew - Gratuitous Rule Five Friday

By Other Means - Tuesday Tap Rack and Bang, BeCos(play) It's Friday and Seeing Red

Evi L. Bloggerlady - Tosca 🎭

Ninety Miles From Tyranny - Hot Pick, Girls With Guns, Morning Mistress and Blogs With Rule 5 Links

Pitsnipes Gripes- Just a simple tribute

Grouchy Old Cripple - Saturday Boobage

Irons in the Fire - Friday Data and ... Saturday Data Overflow

The Feral Irishman - Who Wants A Burger And Bun(s)?

The Daley Gator - Daley Babe

Diogenes Middle Finger News - A Good Monday Morning

A View from the Beach - Rule 5 Saturday - Kim Cattrall and Fish Pic Friday

24 Femmes Per Second - Larri Thomas in polka dots

Knuckledraggin My Life Away - I'm sure she's taken, men And ... I’ll leave you with this

American Power - Fishnet Babes

Woodsterman - Rule 5 Woodsterman Style

The Other McCain - Late Night Double Scoop Rule Five Sunday: Babes In Choppers

The Pirates Cove - If All You See ... and Sorta Blogless Sunday Pinup

Wired Right - A Beautiful End to the Day

The View from LadyLake - It's not just another Friday night - it's a Rule 5 Friday night

The Right Way - Friday Babe and ... Rule 5 Saturday LinkOrama

Use the comments as an open thread on any of these topics. Please send links of news, commentary, or choice humor to:

Quote du jour

Why does a single city need two senators?
What happened to all the Democrats who have been crying for years how unfair it is that Wyoming has the same number of senators as California?

Will it magically become more fair if a single city gets the same number of senators as Calif?

-Mike B. on DC statehood

Friday, September 25, 2020

President Trump Holds Campaign Event in Newport News, VA

True Grit in Kentucky

One of the two police officers shot during riots in Louisville, shows up for roll call the next morning, despite being shot in the hip.

I disabled the video because I couldn't turn off autoplay whenever you refreshed/loaded the page. Too annoying.

Kyle Rittenhouse - The Truth in 11 Minutes (video)

Quote du jour

"Hands off the threads, creep!"
-Frank Sinatra, to Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn, when Sam put his arm around Frank, 1956

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Hollywood Went to War

Sixtieth* in our series Hollywood Went to War, if not Hollywood, then Hollywood adjacent, Marcel Marceau served during WWII.

...served "as a member of the French Resistance during World War II. Along with his brother Alain, Marceau forged documents and doctored identity cards to help prevent French children from being conscripted into German labor camps. He also smuggled some 70 Jewish children out of the country by posing as a Boy Scout leader and leading them through the wilderness to safety in neutral Switzerland. The silent performer later joined the Free French Forces under Charles De Gaulle, and served as a liaison offer to General George Patton’s army while entertaining Allied troops with his miming."

Sir, we thank you for your service to your country. Rest in peace.

*Sixty posts, seventy nine individuals.

Dirty Gavin

Newsom signed an executive order to ban the sale of gasoline powered vehicles after 2035. Good luck with that

Quote du jour

"Biden has repeatedly accused President Trump of fostering “systemic racism,” a charge that echoes BLM’s anti-police rhetoric. For all intents and purposes, Sunday’s riot in Lancaster was a Biden campaign rally."
-Robert Stacy McCain

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

The Potemkin Candidate

Joe Biden is the Potemkin Candidate

In politics and economics, a Potemkin village is any construction (literal or figurative) built solely to deceive others into thinking that a situation is better than it really is. The term comes from stories of a fake portable village built solely to impress Empress Catherine II by her former lover Grigory Potemkin, during her journey to Crimea in 1787. While modern historians claim accounts of this portable village are exaggerated, the original story was that Potemkin erected phony portable settlements along the banks of the Dnieper River in order to impress the Russian Empress; the structures would be disassembled after she passed, and re-assembled farther along her route to be viewed again as if another example. The term is translated from the Russian: потёмкинские деревни.

How else do you explain the ubiquitous teleprompter in EVERY engagement Joe has with the press? You could hire an actor to play Joe Biden, let him read the pre-scripted answers and refuse to take any question from the press. If you closed your eyes, could you tell the difference? If Joe Biden is a shell of his former self, why do the main stream media close their eyes to this obvious deception of Joe passing off as his own, the thoughts and words of others?

And if Joe is just a cardboard cutout, a mannequin or ventriloquist's dummy from which other people's words and thoughts come out, what can America expect after this husk of a man is inaugurated, only to be replaced by someone farther to his (and America's) Left?

Vote like your country depended on it. It does. Re-elect Trump.

Quote du jour

"Both Nike and the NBA kowtow to China, which explains their silence on the horrific human rights abuses inside China and the suppression of Hong Kong freedom fighters by China's communist government. More important, Nike and the NBA's China agenda helps explain why Nike pitchmen LeBron James and Colin Kaepernick enthusiastically smear the United States as inherently racist and evil."
-Jason Whitlock

Monday, September 21, 2020

25th Amendment, Anyone?

Joe Biden's Teleprompter Addiction

Has there ever in the history of politics been a candidate who was allowed a teleprompter in all his interviews? And then refuses to answer any unscripted question from the press?

The media is complicit in this charade.

The third picture was from a friendly, non-hostile interview with James Cordon for the Late, Late Show. Joe can't even sit down for a friendly chat with a talk show host!

Note the white ropes in that last picture to keep anyone from wandering between Joe and his teleprompter!

This man is NOT capable of being the Leader of the Free World.

Speaking of Hypocrisy...Democrats Agree

Quote du jour

Venezuela is still a wildly rich country. Even at today’s low oil prices, its proven reserves notionally would be worth nearly $15 trillion at market prices, or a little more than a half-million dollars for every man, woman, and child in the country. But that wealth is probably just going to sit there, maybe for decades, while the people are stunted and starving. In fact, that wealth won’t be wealthy at all. It will just be oil in the ground, like gold in the mine.
-Kevin D. Williamson

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Barbara Lagoa

Note: This media may have been doctored.

Amy Coney Barrett

Note: This media may have been doctored.

A Little Sunday Night Music

God of Wonders - Mark Baldwin

Christ Child’s Lullaby

Rose hurried, so she wouldn’t miss the beginning of the church service. It was already too late for her to take her place in the choir—she couldn’t have, anyway, because of the cold and laryngitis that had crept up on her the past several days. She knew it was coming and it made her heart sink. There was nothing Rose loved more than singing, and she especially looked forward to Christmas time when she could sing the beautiful music she had adored and sung since childhood. She knew she had a good voice—her friends told her that, choir directors told her that, even strangers in church said so. That didn’t matter, one way or another. She just loved to sing; she would sing even if her voice had been plain and ordinary.

She buttoned up her overcoat and put on a woolen cap, gloves, and snow boots. It was bitterly cold outside, and the forecast had called for more snow sometime before morning. Even though it was too late to protect her voice from the cold, Rose still needed to keep warm. The church was very large; good for singing but bad for warmth. As she was not going to be in the relatively sheltered group of singers standing shoulder-to-shoulder, but instead sitting in a cold wooden pew by herself, she needed the heavy outer clothing.

She remembered to turn the heat down in her small apartment. She also left a few lights on, as her parents had advised when she moved to the city. After locking the door, she hastened down the stairs and out through the glass doors of the lobby. No one was around—too cold, too late at night. Everyone was either snug at home, or already where they were going for the evening. She turned at the corner and made her way down several blocks, avoiding icy patches and leftover drifts of snow. It had been a rough week for weather, so she was careful how and where she stepped.

The bulk of the old church soon loomed on her left. She saw a few people climbing the stairs and pulling open the heavy wooden doors. She followed them, entering the quiet darkness of the narthex; there were candles burning there and also inside the sanctuary. An older man greeted her and handed her a bulletin. She looked at it as she made her way to a side aisle and seated herself at the end of a pew. The church was partly full. The service began almost as soon as she sat down…

Rose loved every moment—even the times when the choir sang alone, when she should have been singing with them. The words of their special music echoed in her heart and she imagined herself singing along. It was almost enough, but still she felt a little sad. When the congregation stood for the Christmas carols, she stood, too. After the first words of the first carol, when her voice came out as a broken whisper, she didn’t try to sing any more, but let the words and music flow around and through her. She thought the words, remembering all the years before of singing these beloved songs. Next year, next year; it will be better next year, she promised herself–next year I will sing and sing, every song! But she had a few tears. Her throat hurt and she controlled her coughing as much as possible.

In between songs and Scripture readings she looked around. The familiar church looked especially lovely in candlelight. It was so large that the ceiling was shrouded in darkness. The wood of the old, worn pews glowed in the dim light. There was a large painting on a side wall close to the front, of Mary holding the child Jesus on her lap. The light from so many candles made the image flicker a little, giving the impression of faint movement, as of breath. Mary’s eyes seemed to look right at her, sending comfort and strength, as though she knew all about Rose’s impaired voice. A wave of love came to her as she looked at the painting.

Many people sat around her. Some looked familiar, from Sunday services (although she only knew the choir members, somewhat). However, as it was the last Sunday before Christmas Eve, there were people she had never seen before—some shabby, some looking troubled or sad, others looking serene and happy. Each face held different emotions. Young and old, rich and poor, all were represented in the gathering. All had come, like Rose, to experience the hushed time of waiting and expectation.

The service came to an end and most of the people began to depart. The lights remained off as the celebrants and congregation left in candlelight. Rose noticed a few people remaining seated, in prayer or quietly waiting in the shadows.

Preparing to leave, her eyes were caught again by the painting of Mary and her son. Deep within her, she heard a silent request, a request for her to stay. Although unspoken, it was strong and compelling; Rose remained standing, facing forward, as she listened to the sweet voice inside her. After a few moments, something moved her to leave the pew and walk up the aisle toward the front of the church. Towards the painting. As she came closer, the image grew clearer and richer.

She glanced at the pews around her as she walked past. By this time they were empty, except for a few people scattered here and there. They all seemed absorbed in thought or prayer. She knew most of them slightly—there was the young woman who had shared, over coffee hour, that her husband had left her. She sat hunched over, holding her face in her hands. Farther away was the man who had been giving out the bulletins. Rose remembered that he had been laid off from his job only a week or two ago. What an awful time of year to be unemployed, she thought. She walked past an older woman who was crying silently, tears spilling down her face. Her hands were grasped together tightly. Across the aisle was an elderly couple, sitting close to each other. Rose knew they were in fragile health and were very worried about that. How did they manage to get here safely, through the icy streets? she asked herself. A young man sat quietly, with his eyes closed. Rose recognized him from past Sundays, but she was always too shy to speak to someone she didn’t know, even though he looked nice.

She finally reached the front of the church. She stopped a few feet from the painting and waited quietly, looking straight into Mary’s eyes. The voice came again…

“Sing to my Son for me.”
“But my voice is gone,” Rose whispered sadly.
“Sing to my Son for me.”
“My lady, I can’t!” tears gathered in Rose’s eyes and began to fall.
“Yes, you can. Please sing to Him.”

Rose looked down and was silent for a moment; she then raised her head, took a deep breath, and began to sing. Her heart soared, higher and higher, as she sang. It was like being lifted to the stars.

“My son, my treasured one are you,
My sweet and loving son are you,
You are my love, my darling, new–
Unworthy, I, of you.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

While Rose sang the old Scottish lullaby, a small part of her wondered at how she no longer had laryngitis, at how strong and clear her voice was. But mostly she was focused entirely on the song, the words, the emotions. Her grandmother had sung this lullaby to her countless times when Rose was a little girl. While she sang it, she remembered being held close in her grandmother’s arms as she slowly drifted off to sleep. It was the right song, the perfect song to sing to baby Jesus, the Christ child.

Mary’s eyes in the painting shone in the candlelight as the song words floated, high and clear, throughout the church. A sense of peace blanketed everyone there. The elderly couple looked at each other lovingly and moved closer together, clasping each other’s hands. Their worries and fears subsided as they rested in the beautiful music. The young woman whose husband had left her raised her head in surprise; a look of hope and strength slowly grew on her face.

“Your mild and gentle eyes proclaim
The loving heart with which you came–
A tender, helpless, tiny babe
With boundless gifts of grace.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

While the song continued, the older woman sitting alone felt a strong impulse to look at her phone. She pulled it out and then stared in near-disbelief at the number on the display. With tears blurring her vision, she quickly put on her coat and hurried toward the main door of the church. As she left, her face shone with a look of love almost matching the one on Mary’s face. The man who had passed out the bulletins stopped gathering them up, closed his eyes, and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. He knew, deep in his heart, that God was watching over him and would provide him with all he needed, every day.

“King of kings, most Holy one,
God the Son, eternal one,
You are my God—and helpless son–
High Ruler of mankind.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

The young man leaned over his folded hands, with a joyful smile on his face. He recognized that voice—he had heard it every Sunday, part of the choir but still distinct and set apart. That voice had touched his heart, but he couldn’t tell who the singer was. Now he knew. It was the young woman he had noticed at coffee hour. He had wanted to introduce himself to her but hadn’t quite found the right time or way. Now he looked up at the figure of the girl standing in front of the portrait of Mary and Jesus. It was like finding a long-lost friend. It had been difficult and discouraging for him, moving to an unfamiliar city without friends or family. He now felt very glad to be living here.

The lullaby ended. The last note shimmered in the air, and Rose looked into Mary’s eyes. It seemed to her that the painted smile deepened for an instant—and then the feeling of being uplifted slowly faded away and departed. Rose turned and started walking back to the pew where her coat was.

As she walked, she saw the remaining people quietly preparing to leave the church. After putting on her coat, she went to help the elderly man, who was having a little trouble bundling his wife up in her overcoat. They thanked her for her help and then all three walked to the door, Rose matching her pace to their slower steps. By the time they reached there, the church was empty. In the narthex, however, she saw the young man, who was obviously waiting for them.

“Do you have a car? It’s snowing outside,” he said to the older couple. When they answered in the negative, he asked, “May I call a taxi for you?” The couple thanked him, and the young man made the call. They waited inside until the taxi arrived, and then he and Rose helped the older couple down the church steps, which were now covered with snow. They assisted the man and his wife into the taxi, closed the door, and watched while the car pulled away from the curb and drove off.

The young man looked at Rose. “How are you getting home? Do you need a taxi, too?”

She answered, “Oh, no, I live only a couple of blocks from here. It’s just a short walk.”

“But it’s a cold and slippery walk,” he responded. “May I see you home? I wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

Rose looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. He was a stranger—but also not a stranger. She had seen him in church, often, and he had helped the old couple. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she trusted him. “Thank you. I live down that way,” she said, pointing. “Oh–my name is Rose.”

“I’m Joe,” the young man said, and he held out his elbow for her. She put her arm through it and they walked off together, slowly and carefully, avoiding icy patches and the fresh drifts of snow.


Note: “The Christ Child’s Lullaby” is an English translation of a much longer traditional Gaelic Christmas song, “Taladh Chriosda,” from the Outer Hebrides of Scotland.

(copyright 2018, Mary M. Isaacs)

Quote du jour

"Children: when they’re little they step on your toes and when they get big, they step on your heart."

Saturday, September 19, 2020

Obama: Follow Constitution for Supreme Court Nominee

A Little Saturday Night Music

The Magnificent Seven Theme

Then and Now

I received this in an email from a friend. Don't know who the author was...
I omitted the links, just in case.

If you could go back to 1950, would you do it?  There would be no Internet, no cellphones and you would only be able to watch television in black and white.  But even though they lacked many of our modern conveniences, people genuinely seemed to be much happier back then.  Families actually ate dinner together, neighbors knew and cared about one another, and being an “American” truly meant something.  Today, we like to think that we are so much more “advanced” than they were back then, but the truth is that our society is in the process of falling apart all around us.  Could it be possible that we could learn some important lessons by looking back at how Americans lived 70 years ago?
Of course there has never been any era in our history when everything has been perfect.  But without a doubt, things are vastly different today than they were back in 1950…
In 1950, Texaco Star Theatre, The Lone Ranger and Hopalong Cassidy were some of the most popular shows that Americans watched on television.
   In 2020, a Netflix film entitled “Cuties” is so trashy and so disgusting that four states have sent a letter to Netflix asking for it to be removed because it is “fodder for those with criminal imaginations, serving to normalize the view that children are sexual beings.”
In 1950, television networks would not even show husbands and wives in bed together.
   In 2020, “adult websites” get more traffic than Netflix, Amazon and Twitter combined.
In 1950, people would greet one another as they walked down the street.
   In 2020, Americans are too enamored with their cellphones to be bothered with actual human contact.
In 1950, gum chewing and talking in class were some of the major disciplinary problems in our schools.
   In 2020, kids are literally gunning down police officers in the streets.
In 1950, people would make an effort to dress up and look nice when they would go out in public.
   In 2020, most of the population has become utter slobs and “People of Walmart” has become one of our most popular memes.
In 1950, the typical woman got married for the first time at age 20 and the typical man got married for the first time at age 22.
   In 2020, the typical woman gets married for the first time at age 27 and the typical man gets married for the first time at age 29.
In 1950, a lot of people would leave their homes and their vehicles unlocked because crime rates were so low.
   In 2020, many that live in urban areas are deathly afraid of all the civil unrest that has erupted, and gun sales have soared to all-time record highs.
In 1950, Americans actually attempted to parent their children.
   In 2020, we pump our kids full of mind-altering drugs and we let our televisions and our video games raise our children.
In 1950, Baltimore was one of the most beautiful and most prosperous cities on the entire planet.
   In 2020, Baltimore regularly makes headlines because of all the murders that are constantly occurring.  Of course the exact same thing could be said about many of our other major cities.
In 1950, 78 percent of all households in America contained a married couple.
   In 2020, that figure has fallen below 50 percent.
In 1950, about 5 percent of all babies in the United States were born to unmarried parents.
   In 2020, about 40 percent of all babies in the United States will be born to unmarried parents.
In 1950, new churches were regularly being opened all over the United States.
   In 2020, it is being projected that 1 out of every 5 churches in the U.S. “could be forced to shut their doors in the next 18 months”, and the mayor of Lubbock, Texas just said that opening a new Planned Parenthood clinic is like starting a church.
In 1950, we actually had high standards for our elected officials, and people actually did research on the candidates before they cast their votes.
   In 2020, more than 4,000 people in one county in New Hampshire voted for a “transsexual Satanic anarchist” in the Republican primary, and she is now the Republican nominee for sheriff in Cheshire County.
In 1950, children would go outside and play when they got home from school.
   In 2020, our parks and our playgrounds are virtually empty and we have the highest childhood obesity rate in the industrialized world.
In 1950, front porches were community gathering areas, and people would regularly have their neighbors over for dinner.
   In 2020, many of us don’t know our neighbors at all, and the average American watches more than five hours of television a day.
In 1950, Americans used words such as “knucklehead”, “moxie” and “jalopy”.
   In 2020, new terms such as “nomophobia”, “peoplekind” and “social distancing” have been introduced into the English language.
In 1950, the very first credit card was issued in the United States.
   In 2020, Americans owe more than 930 billion dollars on their credit cards.
In 1950, one income could support an entire middle class household.
   In 2020, tens of millions of Americans have lost their jobs and filed for unemployment, and more than half of all households in some of our largest cities are currently facing “serious financial problems”.
In 1950, the American people believed that the free market should govern the economy.
   In 2020, most Americans seem to believe that the government in Washington and the Federal Reserve must endlessly “manage” the economy.
In 1950, “socialists” and “communists” were considered to be our greatest national enemies.
   In 2020, most of our politicians in Washington have eagerly embraced socialist and communist policy goals.
In 1950, the U.S. Constitution was deeply loved and highly revered.
   In 2020, anyone that actually admits to being a “constitutionalist” is considered to be a potential domestic terrorist.
In 1950, the United States loaned more money to the rest of the world than anybody else.
   In 2020, the United States owes more money to the rest of the world than anybody else.
In 1950, the total U.S. national debt reached the 257 billion dollar mark for the first time in our history.
   In 2020, we added 864 billion dollars to the national debt in the month of June alone.  In other words, we added over three times more to the national debt in that one month than the total amount of debt that had been accumulated from the founding of our nation all the way to 1950.
In 1950, most Americans were generally happy with their lives.
   In 2020, the suicide rate is at an all-time record high, and it has been rising every single year since 2007.

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Pitsnipes Gripes- Just a simple tribute

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The Feral Irishman - Friday Femme Fatale

The Daley Gator - Daley Babe

Diogenes Middle Finger News - A Good Monday Morning

A View from the Beach - Rule 5 Saturday - Clara Huet and Fish Pic Friday

24 Femmes Per Second - Angie Dickinson

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The Pirates Cove - If All You See ... and Sorta Blogless Sunday Pinup

Wired Right - A Beautiful End to the Day

The View from LadyLake - Learning to drink with women - 1st semester.

The Right Way - Friday Babe and ... Rule 5 Saturday LinkOrama

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