President Obama Posts

Somebody Else’s Sacrifice

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Refugees fleeing Mosul

 

Yes, I watched the last debate. You knew I would. I get why people don’t, especially those who have voted already. And, no, watching the final debate didn’t change my vote. I doubt it changed yours, either.

If you didn’t like Hillary before, you aren’t going to like her any more now.

And if you didn’t like Trump before, you likely detest him by now.

Count me among those who have no respect for Trump. I’m not going to try and change your mind about your vote one way or another, but I do want to explain this thing that Trump does that drives me over the edge of raving mad.

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Donald Trump and that White House visit

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She was standing under the trees at the Southeast gate just off Alexander Hamilton Street. The button picture of her son stood in stark contrast to the all white dress and wrap she was wearing. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. Her make-up was fresh and bright, masking the hurt beyond.

For a brief moment, it was just the two of us there.

“Are you excited?” I asked.

“I am,” she replied.

I didn’t have to ask if she was a Gold Star mother, I knew she was by the white she wore, but I did introduce myself as a Gold Star daughter. I asked her to tell me about her son.

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A Closeted Hippie’s Take on Memorial Day

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In spite of growing up on the tailwind of the Hippie-era, I’m a traditionalist at heart. I like the Book of Common Prayer, the Our Father, Rosary beads, and the way Episcopalians always say, “And also with you”.  I love the formality of a processional, a church choir that still wears choir robes, and the high church sound of an organ well-played. The whole world looks more magical to me through the lens of stained glass windows, even those portraying the most profound of all betrayals.

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The CDC & the Same Old Plot

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I was listening to NPR this morning as I do a lot of mornings. I can barely tolerate those cutsie wake-up morning shows on the radio. Everyone is so dang cheery and cheesy. And loud. Have you noticed that? You’d think a morning radio host would be less like a drill sergeant and more like a dear granny, greeting their audiences with a gentle word instead of yanking them into reality.

NPR’s hosts aren’t usually loud, albeit in an effort to appeal to a younger audience some of their morning music can be quite grating. The exception being during pledge week and then Public Broadcasting hosts can be like parrots repeating the same phrase, usually the station’s phone number. I’d rather listen to randomly placed ads from Home Depot on a regular basis than to be subjected to the mindless drone of pledge week. (I’m a sustaining member by the way, so it’s not the giving I have trouble with – it’s the begging).

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VA’s Broken Promises

 

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He’s a family member, this veteran I know. But he’d have you know that he was never on the front lines, never fought in combat the way so many of my veteran friends did, the way my own daddy did. So for far too many years, really up until just two years ago, I didn’t know anything about the injury he sustained while serving in Germany.

It was an injury severe enough to land him in the hospital, when the infection set in he was life-flighted to a bigger, better hospital. They called his momma and daddy back home in Oregon and told them that he was pretty sick and unsure of how it might all turn out. All his folks could do was sit by the phone and pray. They are good praying people, those two, so they did that.

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