Follow the advice given in this post, read the book today, and go to see the movie when it comes out.
View original 2,372 more words
Follow the advice given in this post, read the book today, and go to see the movie when it comes out.
View original 2,372 more words
A very close friend sent me this via eMail and it took me back. It is unique, simple, and accurate. Again, I researched to find the author, but found nothing. The analogy is all over the iNet, no one identified the author, nor does anyone take credit for the piece.
We Are All Flying on the Germanwings Plane … Will we just wait in the ‘Crash Position’ ?? The Captain was locked out of the cockpit.
That phrase finally revealed the full horror of the crash of Germanwings flight 9525. Co-pilot Andreas Lubitz waited for the pilot to leave the cockpit, then locked the door to prevent his re-entry. After which Lubitz, for reasons unknown and perhaps unknowable, deliberately steered the jet into a harrowing 8-minute plunge ending in an explosive 434 mph impact with a rocky mountainside. 150 men, women and children met an immediate, unthinkably violent death.
Lubitz, in his single-minded madness, couldn’t be stopped because anyone who could change the jet’s disastrous course was locked out.
It’s hard to imagine the growing feelings of fear and helplessness that
the passengers felt as the unforgiving landscape rushed up to meet them.
Hard … but not impossible.
Because America is in trouble. We feel the descent in the pits of our
stomachs. We hear the shake and rattle of structures stressed beyond their limits. We don’t know where we’re going anymore, but do know it isn’t good. And above all, we feel helpless because Barack Obama has locked us out.
He locked the American people out of his decision to seize the national healthcare system. He locked us out when we wanted to know why the IRS was attacking conservatives. He locked us out of having a say in his decision to tear up our immigration laws, and to give over a trillion dollars in benefits to those who broke those laws.
Obama locked out those who advised against premature troop withdrawals. He locked out the intelligence agencies who issued warnings about the growing threat of ISIS. He locked out anyone who could have interfered with his release of five Taliban terror chiefs in return for one U.S. military deserter.
And, of course, Barack Obama has now locked out Congress, the American people, and our allies as he strikes a secret deal with Iran to determine the timeline (not prevention) of their acquisition of nuclear weapons.
Was Andreas Lubitz depressed, insane, or abysmally evil when he decided to lock that cockpit door and listen to no voices other than those in his head? Did he somehow believe himself to be doing the right thing?
The voice recordings from the doomed aircraft reveal that as the jet began its rapid descent, the passengers were quiet. There was probably some nervous laughter, confusion, a bit of comforting chatter with seatmates, followed by a brief period in which anxiety had not yet metastasized into terror.
It was only near the end of the 8-minute plunge that everyone finally understood what was really happening. Only near the end when they began to scream.
Like those passengers, a growing number of Americans feel a helpless dread as they come to the inescapable conclusion that our nation’s decline is an act of choice rather than of chance. The choice of one man who is in full control of our 8-year plunge.
A man who has locked everyone out.
If you aren’t screaming yet… you should be !!!!
A couple of days ago I wrote a piece called Numbers. In it I bragged about how great my Toyota Avalon has been. For a WWII child that is a hard thing to do. I grew up hating the Japanese, and it took me a long time to finally break down and buy other than US made.
This afternoon, I promised to take my daughter and grand-daughter to see a surgeon. It seems my eleven year old grand-daughter took up playing basketball and broke a finger by jamming it. The ER X-ray showed joint damage and the recommendation was to see a surgeon. Since my daughter is fighting her own demons, and in the past year has lost sight in one eye, and developed severe balance problems she has not been able to work or to drive. Grumpa to the rescue, or so I thought.
Peg and I climbed into the car with our usual achy bodies, and with my foot on the brake I touched the start button: nothing happened, not a click, not a growl, not a cheep. Don’t panic, I pulled the fob from my pocket and placed it on the button, then I pushed. I thought perhaps my fob was without power. It did not change anything. Suddenly, the light went on above my head. Last night before retiring, I poked my head out into the garage, and noticed the dome light on the Avalon burning ever so dimly. I shut it off and hoped the battery would rejuvenate by morning. Obviously it didn’t. I called my daughter, and she had to reschedule her appointment.
Did I jinx the car by bragging about it? Did I jinx myself by bragging? Was the ghost of WWII punishing me for buying the conquered country’s product? Does it matter?
I calmly pulled out my battery charger and hooked it up. After a couple of hours the Avalon had life again. Then it struck me, wouldn’t it be nice if we could do the same with our own batteries of life? I would pay dearly to have a gadget that I could hook up to, and become reinvigorated within two hours. Some people say we have that gift from the time we are born, they call the process sleep.
It is hard to see clearly because my dashboard is so dirty, but my odometer turned 123456 this evening. This is the first time in my life that I ever had a car reach that milestone. First because my cars never got that many miles without crapping out, and second because it is unusual to catch the number occur. Sadly, this milestone happened on a Japanese made car. The best I ever got from Ford was 112000, and the best from my Oldsmobile was 110000. Both of the previous cars went to the junk yard at those mileages. This one will keep going until it reaches 200,000. I wouldn’t be afraid to get in this Jap car and drive to California tomorrow. I would never have undertaken such a journey in either the Sable or the Intrigue at that mileage.
Today, is also the anniversary of my wife Peggy’s entry to planet earth. I can’t tell you her age but if you look at 18 in the mirror you will know. It was a bit trying for her as all birthdays are as we age and near the last one. We tried to make it as happy as we could. Her daughter came to visit, her youngest grand-daughter called to tell her she is having labor pains, and her baby is on the way on her great grand mother’s birthday. Peggy asked who is pregnant, and I had to remind her it was her grand-daughter. She replied, “I didn’t know.” Sadly, that is not the case. Peggy was one of the first to know, she went with her GD to watch an ultrasound, and then went to her baby shower. Tomorrow, it will be the same thing. Peg won’t remember a thing about her first great grand-daughter coming soon.
As my father told me many times “don’t get old.”
Today I spent eight hours in the kitchen baking and cooking. What you say? I spent the day baking and cooking. My part of Easter dinner at my daughter’s house is to bring a houska sweet bread. I remember my mom making these every Easter, so that is what I wanted to do. My recollection of the recipe did not exist, so I searched for a recipe from the All Recipes website. Houska is a yellow bread with a sweet taste, yellow raisens throughout, and scattered slivered almonds for interest. The bread is braided from three or four ropes of dough. Having eaten a truckload of these breads, but never making one it became the adventure of the day. Any bread requires yeast, and like a complete jerk I chose to use some outdated yeast for the first loaf. I know better, because I learned the hard way that yeast is like a pretty woman, finicky as hell. If the water used to dissolve it is too hot, you kill the yeast and bread becomes a dense flatbread instead of a light, fluffy, soft, airy, mellow bread. If the water is too cold, the yeast refuses to grow. The result is the same as killing it with hot water. Anyway, my old yeast worked, but not well. Did I mention that I never braided anything before? Well, I didn’t until today, proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks.
For the next loaf I used some fresh cake yeast, and mixed it with luke warm water. I stored the mix in the microwave to keep it warm. When I went to use it, I learned that the yeast grew so well it foamed out of the bowl all over the inside of the micro, messy to say the least.
It was way past lunch when I got the second batch of dough rising. I stopped to make egg salad for lunch. It turned out great. Good Friday is a meat-less day for us therefore, the eggs. Back to the bread after lunch, and a backyard bird watching session with Peg. We actually had a pair of Canada geese walk through the yard this morning, and during lunch a gander landed in the pond and swam through it.
Because I had such active yeast in batch two, I split the dough in half and made two loaves. The yeast did its job and the bread swelled to a good size. I got two beautiful loaves each braided from three ropes of dough. The big loaf in the photo used seven ropes, and two braidings. The first braid used four ropes and served as the base for the second which used three. I stacked the three braid on top of the four braid. Does that make sense?
About the time I had the baking dishes and utensils cleaned up, it was time to begin supper. My original idea was to make salmon patties. Again, I searched All Recipes and printed the first recipe. The first ones are the simplest and easiest to make. I went about gathering the ingredients, and much to my dismay the last two onions in the mesh bag were rotten. No salmon patties today. I remembered a dish my mother made practically every Friday during lent; buttered flat noodles with sour cream and cottage cheese folded in. Luckily I found some fettucine instead, and I also had the sour cream and cottage cheese on hand. It turned out great. Even though I am aware of not adding sour cream to a very hot mixture to keep it from curdling my stomach rushed the job, and the cream curdled a wee bit. It didn’t matter, the flavor was as I remembered it from boyhood. Currently, I am waiting for a high carb sleep to take over my body.
I told Peg that tonight I was celebrating the anniversary of Jesus dying on the cross for my sins, and that I would reciprocate by having a personal Irish wake in remembrance. In this case, with a newly opened bottle of Merlot.
Thank you Jesus for gifting me with Merlot.
When Jane initially met Tarzan in the jungle, she was attracted to him, And during her questions about his life, she asked him how he had sex?
‘Tarzan not know sex’ he replied.
Jane explained to him what sex was.
Tarzan said …’Tarzan use knot hole in trunk of tree.’
Horrified Jane said, ‘Tarzan you have it all wrong, but I will show you how to do it properly.’ She took off her clothing and laid down on the ground.
‘Here’ she said, pointing to her privates, ‘you must put it in here.’
Tarzan removed his loin cloth, exciting Jane with his considerable manhood. He stepped in closer, starring to where she had pointed and suddenly, without warning kicked her in the crotch!
Jane rolled around in agony for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she managed to gasp for air and screamed ‘Why the hell did you do that ?’
To which he replied, ‘Tarzan Check for squirrel.’
” THE UNEXAMINED LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING ” — SOCRATES
Men Do Remember Anniversaries
A woman awakes during the night to find that her husband is
not in bed. She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him.
She finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee in front of him.
He appears to be in deep thought, just staring at the wall.
She watches as he wipes a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his coffee.
“What’s the matter, dear?” she whispers as she steps into the room. “Why are you down
here at this time of night?”
The husband looks up from his coffee, “It’s the 20th Anniversary of the day we met.”
She can’t believe he has remembered and starts to tear up.
The husband continues, “Do you remember 20 years ago when we started dating? I was
18 and you were only 16,” he says solemnly.
Once again, the wife is touched to tears.
“Yes, I do,” she replies.
The husband pauses, his words not coming easily.
“Do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car?”
“Yes, I remember,” said the wife, lowering herself into the chair beside him.
The husband continued. “Do you remember when he shoved the shotgun in my face and said,
‘Either you marry my daughter or I will send you to prison for 20 years’?”
“I remember that, too,” she replied softly.
He wiped another tear from his cheek and said, “I would have gotten out today.”
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