The Empire Will Be For Sale

This Presidential election has generated more anger and angst and, yes, violence than any other in my lifetime. I find it amazing that the Progressives, the radicals, the “wanna be in the cool kids club” and others have become so unhinged, so deranged at the Trump candidacy.

I am not a Trumpeter and never have been. He was not my first, nor second, nor third choice in the very wide, deep and highly qualified Republican field. I spent my formative years in New Jersey and Mr. Trump reminds me of a lot of the kids I was in high school with. I didn’t like a lot of those guys then and I really don’t care for Mr. Trump now. But, there may be very good reasons to support and to vote for Mr. Trump.

One can look at the situation in the United States and in the world and get the unpleasant feeling that things are not going well for America. The world is aflame with radical Islamic violence. Our nation is aflame with attacks on police officers and rioting every time a cop uses a gun. There are 94 million Americans without work. And, our government is allowing unrestricted entry into our country. The economy is not growing and the government is borrowing ever more money that someday will have to be paid back. Many Americans may feel that things are spinning out of control and that someone must take hold of the reins before it is way too late.

Let us consider the candidates position on immigration. Mrs. Clinton claims to be in favor of border security, but her party (and the Washington Republicans) have proven that they will not enforce the border. Mrs. Clinton favors amnesty for illegals; full citizenship, rights and benefits for people who broke our laws to get here. Mr. Trump claims to favor building a border wall, enforcing existing laws and removing criminal immigrants.
There may be several really good reasons for supporting Trump’s position on immigration. Consider that there are already 94 million Americans without jobs. It does not make sense to bring more people into a country with no jobs. Common sense, here, please. One can favor immigration control without being a “racist”. In fact, calling Trump Deplorables “racist” keeps Progressives from having to engage in meaningful dialog, defending their indefensible position.

Consider, for a moment, the candidates positions on taxes. Mrs Clinton wants “the 1 percent” and corporations to pay more taxes. Half of Americans already pay no income tax at all. The top 1 percent of earners pay over 35% of all income taxes. When is enough enough? The average corporate income tax (federal and state) is 39% in the US. Ireland, on the other hand, taxes corporations at 15%. There are economic laws that are as immutable as the law of gravity: and one of these is that money goes where taxes are lower.

Mr. Trump wants to cut income taxes, corporate taxes and the estate tax. The Progressives, the radicals, the “wanna be in the cool kids club” wail about cutting taxes on the rich. Hey! Poor folks don’t pay income tax! History is clear on this, whenever a government cuts taxes, revenue to the government increases. Queen Victoria cut taxes in the British Empire and her reign became the Golden Age of Empire. President Warren Harding cut income taxes in the 1920s and the result was the great economic expansion known as the “Roaring 20s”. John Kennedy cut income taxes in the 1960s and the resulting revenue flood allowed LBJ to fund both the Viet Nam war and the Great Society socialist programs. President Reagan cut taxes and the county enjoyed a 20 year economic boom.

Those who forget history are damned to repeat it. Facts is facts, and cutting taxes spurs economic growth.

If one considers American foreign policy under the Obama presidency, one might seriously think that there is a need for change. After 8 years of Progressive control, American foreign policy is in shambles. Russia and China are tweaking the US with impunity. The world is aflame with Moslem violence, one group of murderous Moslem thugs have even gone so far as to have established a “caliphate” in territory they captured from US and its allies in Syria and Iraq. Mrs. Clinton was one of the architects of the Obama foreign policy. Mr. Obama himself has said that he does not want to talk about “defeating” an enemy as that just leads to further conflict. Current Secretary of State, John Kerry claims that man made “climate change” is a greater threat than Moslem violence. Lunacy is rampant in this administration and Mrs. Clinton is part of it all and would simply continue the lunacy..

Should Mrs. Clinton become President, there is no reason to think that she would change the current course at all. Many Americans believe that Mr. Trump would, at a minimum, put American interests ahead of those of other nations and peoples. That would be a major foreign policy change. Foreign leaders know that they can bully, or buy, Mrs. Clinton. That would be a bad thing.

Voters can consider personalities, but I think that is rather childish. Mr. Trump is a potty mouth, blow hard, braggart who can be annoying, but we are voting for President not for Preacher. Mrs. Clinton is no saint, either. If one reads the things that her security people have written over the years, Mrs. Clinton has a mouth just a bad as Trump’s. One can question Donald Trump’s business ethics, but there is no shortage of ethical questions surrounding Hillary Clinton. Voters need to focus on issues in this election. 

Lastly, I think voters need to consider the questions surrounding Mrs. Clinton and her fund raising. It truly appears that Mrs. Clinton favored nations and individuals who contributed to their so-called charity. If I may interject a personal thought here, I truly believe that every decision Mrs. Clinton would make would favor who ever paid her the most. Should she be elected, I truly believe that we will see the end of the Republic. 

With Mrs. Clinton in the Oval Office, the Empire will truly be for sale.

Of Roasting Peanuts and Coal Smoke

Memories are interesting things; especially those we can recall, which seem to become fewer and fewer for me as time goes by. Memories are those visions that remind us of where we came from to get where we are now, whenever and where ever now may be. They can be set in concrete or as ephemeral as a will o' the wisp, or as ground mist dissipating after a summer rain shower. I have trouble remembering what I did day before yesterday, but I can remember seeing the rainbow over the hen house almost 60 years ago.

As we made our plans to move back to New Bethlehem, I started wondering what things I would remember from my previous 10 years residence here. I wondered if I would remember people, or buildings, or roads, or the shape of the land. I have never moved back – so this was (and is) a new experience for me. As it happened, I did remember some people, some buildings, some roads and the shape of some of the land, but much of what I have been seeing seems completely new, as if I were, once again, a stranger in strange land.

I am not complaining. It is refreshing, and maybe a bit exhilarating to be in a new experience at my age. As we get older, we sometimes find ourselves becoming a bit jaded – we think that we have seen and done it all and we sometimes think that we don't have the heart or the strength for new experiences, even if we could find them. I think that is one of the ways that we impose “aging” on ourselves: we lose the will to experience new things. While one cannot escape physical aging, I am convinced that we can keep our minds and hearts young and vibrant simply by choosing not to get mentally and spiritually old. These are some of the “mind forged manacles” (to quote my favorite radio guy) with which we shackle ourselves.

Early March morning snow in New Bethlehem

And so it was that one of the first mornings here in New Bethlehem I encountered a couple of aromas that brought back memories of my previous sojourn in this land. I was walking the dogs just before dawn in a light falling snow. In the wind, I suddenly smelled two smells that are definitely unique to New Bethlehem – the smell of roasting peanuts and the smell of coal smoke. These two aromas in the cold, March air, reminded me of being here before.

New Bethlehem, Pennsylvania is home to one of J. M. Smuckers' peanut processing facilities. When the folks over at Smuckers are roasting peanuts, the mouth watering aroma fills the Red Bank valley. It is almost impossible not to rush home and fix a PB&J sandwich when you smell it. It is a rich, earthy smell that reminds me of my mother's kitchen in that old farmhouse in the hills of Virginia.

The smell of coal smoke is a different critter all together. This area was once, long before the EPA and progressive idiocy, one of the great coal producing regions of the country. There are massive beds of soft coal here, no longer allowed to be mined. But, the smell of coal smoke reminds me of that era of commerce; when the hills and hollows reverberated with the roar of big machinery and train whistles echoed down the valley. It is a strong smell; dark and oily, the smell of machinery and shops and manufacturing and work. It is a smell of a younger, more vibrant America, building a nation and building a world.

It is the smell of time now gone and the world is poorer for that loss.

I stood in the alley that morning, drinking in this combination of smells that is completely unique to New Bethlehem, My memory was swept with images of our children, our dogs, our earlier life here. And they were good memories, and I found myself excited about being here again, about starting a new life here, even with the remnants of the roots of that previous life.

We can, if we choose, continue to be excited by life, even as we age. The choice is ours. I realized that again as I smelled roasting peanuts and coal smoke in the early morning snow.

The Dumbest Dog I Have Ever Owned Taught Me a Lesson

Scotty is our 8 year old Maltese dog. Scotty is a good dog, he's extremely loving and loveable, but he is without a doubt the dumbest dog I have ever owned. He seems to be completely un trainable, except for being housebroken. He doesn't know or do any tricks except to dance around on his hind legs when he wants attention. He's not much of a watchdog, relying on Blue, the Dachshund, to tell him when it is time to bark. And, he's spoiled, insisting on being lifted onto the bed instead of jumping on the trunk at the foot of the bed and then up onto the bed. But for all of his intelligence shortcomings, Scotty showed me something profound the other day.

I have my alarm set for 5:30 AM. That gives me a little time to drink coffee, read the headlines on the Internet and get to the gym before someone else takes the Octane bicycle. Scotty and Blue tend to pretend that they don't hear the alarm and stay in bed until it is obvious that I am not coming back. I usually miss them waking up.

Sunday mornings I don't tend to get up that early. I can “sleep in” until 7:30 and still make it to Sunday School or Church depending on which way I turn when leaving the driveway. This past Sunday, I was awake and just laying in bed enjoying the warmth and knowing it was cold as winter out side. (Seeing as how it is winter!) As a result, I was there to watch Scotty wake up.

Scotty started his morning by lifting his head and rolling up to onto his tummy. He looked around the room, studying his “den” to make sure all was well. Or, trying to remember where he was, as I have said, he is not the brightest canine in the world.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and began to wag his tail and wiggle his whole little doggie body in paroxysms of pure joy. He came over and began licking my face and tapping at me with his front paws. The dog was just absolutely overcome with the joy of just being.

The joy of just being.

The joy of just being! What a wonderful way to start the day! How can I learn to wake up like the dog and sing in my heart, “This is the day the Lord has made, Let us rejoice and be glad in it!” Can I learn to wake up each morning with just joy and love and happiness in my heart? How can the dog feel such joy while I have to look for it?

The dog is not burdened with human thoughts and human wants. He is creature of nature, simply one of God's creatures in God's world. The dog does not worry about what kind of a house he lives in as long as his “pack” is there together. Scotty doesn't care what kind of car he rides in as long as he is riding with his people. He doesn't care what kind of clothes his people wear as long as we are here for him to love and to love him back.

And to feed him twice a day. He is pretty insistent on that.

I saw it there Sunday morning. That dumb, simple dog waking up just joyous and happy and in love with life itself. That is how I should start each day. I should start the day with joy and thanksgiving and let the aches and pains and worries take a far distant second place to the joy of being alive. I have to take a lesson from Scotty the dog, life is good, and we should celebrate each day as a gift from God, endless with possibilities. So easy, so simple; just greet each day with joy, love of life and a spirit of thanksgiving.

Thank you, Scotty. Maybe you are smarter than I think you are.

A Forsythia Blooms in December

I was startled yesterday, December 16, when I noticed blooms on a forsythia bush along the lane of the farm that I take care of. It was amazing to me to see bright yellow blooms on a winter bare, winter brown bush. But, it's not the first time the natural world has surprised and amazed me.

Over the years, I have noticed that many grasses, some flowers and shrubs do bloom in the fall when the length of daylight is the same as when they bloom in the spring. While all of the grass in a given sward blossoms in the spring (yes, grass has flowers if you know what you are looking for), only a small percentage of the plants in that sward will bloom on the falling of the sun as summer moves into fall. I have never found an explanation, just accepted that some plants get confused and blossom at the wrong time of the year.

I am really comfortable with that explanation, as I get easily confused, too and I would like to think that I am smarter than a grass plant. Some people might argue the point, however.

Anyway, back to my December flowering forsythia; it did not make sense to me that length of day would trigger this late flowering, because the “spring” or rising sun, with this same length of daylight, would happen about the beginning of the second week in January. Forsythia blooms, in this country, late in March or early April. So, I did a little research.

It seems, at least from what I found, that it is soil temperature and not length of day that triggers the forsythia to flower. In this climate zone, forsythia can begin to bloom anytime from March 10 through April 10. Blooming is dependent upon the soil temperature rising to, and maintaining at, about 55 degrees Fahrenheit.

During the first week in December, the temperatures at night were dropping down near freezing and day time temperatures were just breaking 50. The ground was cooling out as it was supposed to do. But, for the last 10 days, the temperatures have not dropped below 50 at night and the day temperatures have been in the 60s. So, much like the weather in March, our soil was warming after having cooled out and the one branch on one forsythia bush broke into bloom.

Life is amazing. Plants flower in order to reproduce. That's why your lawn grows all summer; because you keep cutting it and keep it from flowering and setting seed. The drive for the species to survive is incredibly powerful in the plant and animal world. The forsythia bush responded to our peculiar fall weather and bloomed again.

There are those walking among us who might see this as some form of evidence that global warming – oops, climate change – is messing up the natural world. There are likely some among us who might see this as some sort of evidence that mankind has messed up the world, destroyed our precious earth Mother. I have a different way of looking at it. It's all good and it all makes sense. We are having a warm spell after a slight cold snap and conditions around the base of that plant mimicked spring conditions and the plant responded to it's natural call to flower and reproduce.

The forsythia blooming in December is not a sign of problems or trouble. It seems to me, rather, to be a statement of the power of Life, of the strength of the natural will to live and maybe, maybe, just maybe a statement of a hope that springs eternal – and the hope that spring is eternal.

The temperature is dropping here this afternoon as I write this. We are going back down to freezing tonight and the high temperatures for tomorrow and the next day are forecast only to be about 40 degrees. The late season forsythia blooms will freeze off and blow away. But, I captured a picture of them and have shared it now with you, Faithful Readers.

Thanksgiving Reverie

  Another year has come and nearly gone. November lies deep in the water, Thanksgiving Day is tomorrow and December looms large on the horizon. This has been a landmark year for me and my family. The year began with Gennie participating in a life changing medical mission to Nicaragua. I believe that she saw more of the world and gained a much greater understanding of the world through this mission trip.

No sooner than she returned, did mortality reach out and slap me in the face; two heart attacks and a stent to open an artery in my heart. I found it amazing that even though we know, intellectually, that we are destined, with no uncertainty, to die, it is something that smacked me in the face. For the first time in my life, I KNEW that my time was limited and that there was so much more that I wanted to do.

Surviving a heart should have a profound impact upon how one looks at life, the world and those people in one's world. I have been amazed at how differently I look at things now. Everyday, regardless of the weather, is a beautiful day. There is incredible beauty all around me – I just have to look, just have to open my eyes, just have to open my heart. Life is marvelous, the world is beautiful, God has blessed us with marvelous people with which to share our lives.

The year continued to unfold in ways that I never really imagined possible. Gennie and I joined the church at Lighthouse Baptist. We have become a part of a church family which has opened incredible vistas of love and understanding in my life. I accepted adult baptism upon joining the church. I finally learned that baby baptism is a hope: adult baptism is an understanding and acceptance. The Elders and Deacons at Lighthouse have asked me to serve as a Deacon. That, dear readers, is another thing I never saw coming.

Gennie had the opportunity to risk her job and her security to stand up for what is right. She did it; never wavering, never questioning the danger. She just did it because it was the right thing to do. I don't know if she will ever know how proud I am of her, or how deep and complete the love that I have for her has grown.

There were two incidents in my year, related to the heart attacks, that may be the most life changing events of my year. Laying in the emergency room on that Friday night back in January, I had railed all day about the insignificance of my chest pain, refusing to believe it was a heart attack. When I could no longer pretend, I had a choice to make. I could either ignore the reality or accept it.

Refusing to accept reality is a form of insanity and while I might be crazy, I am not insane.

I was laying there in the Emergency and I started to pray. I told God that I did not see where there was anything more that I could do; it was all in the hands of the doctors, nurses and technicians. I asked God to let them use all of the skill, talent and technology with which He had blessed them and I turned it all over to God. I simply let go and let God, and as I did, the amazing sense of Peace filled my mind and soul. Eleven months later, that Peace of God is still there. This is the most fantastic blessing that God has ever given me in life time filled with His blessings.

The second event came one Wednesday in April as I was driving to Louisville for my cardio rehab. I was brooding about not being able to eat the foods that I want to eat, about not being able to drink as I always had, about having to “waste” three mornings a week with the cardio rehab. The darkness was filling my being and then it dawned on me that the choice, once again, was mine. I could choose to continue with the rehab and the life style changes and live out my life to its full measure, or, I could go back to the food, drink and lifestyle that led to the heart attacks. It was a serious internal debate.

Driving down the interstate I once again let go and let God. I returned to that deep, abiding Peace of God and started thinking about Gennie. If I made the right choices here, I could live longer. If I made the wrong choices, I was going to die early. The choice was entirely up to me. I began thinking about my life with Gennie. I thought about the years that we had spent together. I thought about how far we had come together. Suddenly, like a beacon of light cutting through the dark of night, I understood that I want to live as long as possible, because I don't want to be separated from Gennie any longer than I have to be. I want to live as long as I can to be with my wife as long as I can be.

She smiled that woman's smile when I told her that I chose to live because of her.

And so, this year tumbles down to an end and I look back on 2015 as one of the best years of my life. God has been good to me this year and I am so thankful for the heart attacks, the rehab, the changes in lifestyle and the understanding that I have gained this year. God is good, all the time.

As my Brothers at New Covenant are apt to; “God's brought us a mighty long way!”

  I wish all of you a Happy Thanksgiving and hope that you all can appreciate all of the blessings that God has given unto you.

My Heart is Heavy

            My heart has been heavy with grief this week as I have watched American Embassies across the middle east being attacked by mobs of vicious, half-crazed people.  It is heartbreaking enough to watch people that our nation has supported, fed, protected from various dictators and aggressors attack our Embassies, but the greatest heart breaker of all is the reaction of our government to the violence against America.

            Supposedly, at the root of this most recent anti-American violence, is a poorly made American movie that, again supposedly, portrays the “Prophet” Mohammed badly.  Of course, this movie has been on line for more than six months, but it was just now, on the anniversary of 9 – 11 that the Moslem mobs took to the streets.  I do not believe in coincidence. It should be apparent to all but the most moribund among us that the Moslems are attacking the US on that anniversary, in solidarity with those who attacked us that day.

            While the Main Stream Media downplays the terrorist connection, our government is bending over backwards to mollify the attackers.  There has been no solid, stern, angry condemnation of the attackers and the governments that are allowing them to attack our embassies. No, the White House is claiming that the riots are not even attacking the US, but are just protesting the film.  Our incredible Secretary of State, she who would be Queen, Hillary Clinton condemns the film maker while coddling the attackers.

            Mr. Obama promised us that upon his inauguration, Moslem anger would abate. Nearly 4 years later we see the entire Moslem world aflame. The good start that had been made at driving the thugs back under their rocks has disappeared. Now, the crazies are flooding the streets all across the Moslem world.  The United States is losing the war in Afghanistan because we will not fight, and Iran is poised to take over Iraq. 

            And the White House says, “we are very proud of the President’s foreign policy achievements.” Say what?

            It is high time that Americans, Europeans and all other non-Moslems around the world wake up to the reality that is unfolding before our eyes.  The Moslems fully intend to reinstate the Caliphate – a religiously ruled Empire that will stretch from England to China, from the Arctic Circle to Australia.

            I’m not crying “Wolf!” I am merely stating the truth.  It is tragic that there are no political leaders in American with enough courage to say the same.

Drought, Ghost Towns and Coyotes

            We just completed a 5,100 mile road trip to the Portland, OR area and back.  It has been 4 years since we took a long road trip – that time from Reno, NV to Louisville in a moving van.  As always, the excitement of the road trip, my love affair with America, the joy of traveling has consumed my summer.  I could not wait to see the vastness, the beauty and the majesty of my America again.

            As always, the first and major impression of the road trip is the vastness, the scale, the scope of our nation.  It is a vast land – huge and sprawling – telling the history of the physical world in the hills, valleys, streams, mountains and plains of America. The land was formed by the drifting and colliding of great land masses, the upheavals of huge chunks of rock, and the violent cataclysms of volcanoes.  The land has been crafted across eons by the forces of wind, water and ice.  For all of the timelessness of the landscape, those of us who know, know that we are looking at a mere snapshot of the land – that it was different 10,000 years ago and that it will be different 10,000 years from today.

            The effects of this summer’s drought and heat struck me as our first morning on the road unfolded with the rising sun.  Southern Indiana and southern Illinois are dryer and more parched than central Kentucky.  The crops are devastated across a vast swath of America this summer. Dry land farms look bad; but even some irrigated corn will not make a crop this year.  It’s funny sometimes, how bad weather will compound tough economic times.

            Still reeling from the visions of shriveled crops and burned out pastures, we rolled through St. Louis.  Here is a city in the very heart of America.  This was once a great river port, the Gateway to the West, the well spring of the American Dream; the Gateway City looks like a bombed out war zone.  Vacant apartment buildings, abandoned factories skyline their skeletal frames in a show of destitution, of emptiness, of 60 years of liberal control choking and throttling the economic engine that built the once great city.

            It wasn’t just St. Louis.  All across the country, small towns and cities seem to be reeling from the Recession.  Boarded up buildings and vacant store fronts lined the streets of almost every town that we went through.  Many of the small elevator towns in Nebraska and Wyoming looked like ghost towns – waiting for phantom trains to come and haul away the ghostly grain.

            And, this year, that is all there will be; the ghostly memory of harvests past.

            We spent two days in our old home town of Reno, Nevada.  And sadly, the oasis at the edge of the desert has not escaped the wrath of the Obama Recession. Downtown Reno looks like some European city at the end of World War II.  Only the strongest of the casinos have survived, but Virginia Street, the main drag through town looks devastated, the side streets nearly abandoned. It is a sad vision of a city that was thriving just 4 short years ago.  I keep telling myself that for the sake of the cities and towns and lives ruined across the country, that November cannot come son enough.

            Rolling eastward, later then, headed home across the vast high prairies of Wyoming, I saw a wondrous site.  Standing on a bank, on the south side of the road, was the biggest coyote that I have ever seen.  He was resplendent in his summer coat, shining golden in the morning sunlight, as big as most German Shepherd dogs.

            My reaction to seeing the monarch of the prairie was interesting.  After the initial shock and disgust at seeing the great predator – I am never far removed from my cowboy past – I found myself thinking that regardless of the drought, regardless of the politics, regardless of what mankind does, the coyote will survive.  Like the rainbow, the coyote may be God’s promise that life will go on – whether we understand it or not.

            Fifty one hundred miles from home and back; two days in Reno and the deserts there around, three days in Vancouver, Washington; road trip extraordinaire!  It was great to see my second great love, America, again.  I have missed her over the years.

            And, it is also great to share my thoughts about the road trip with my Faithful Readers, once again.