The Assault Continues

There’s no refuge from the tide of “woke” in entertainment.

You’d think the British would have better sense, but apparently that’s not the case. The newest season of the BritBox series Hope Street, which centers on a police unit in a seaside Northern Ireland town, has become drenched with it.

Hope Street isn’t a glossy production. It’s peopled by unknown actors. The setting, while picturesque in a modest way, is mundane rather than glamorous. In many ways it’s a soap opera. But I thought the Northern Irish setting might provide some protection, at least, from the crap so many other productions have been shoving down our throats.

Sadly, no. The current run features:

  • A heavily overweight female Inspector;
  • Who’s married to a much-lower-ranking black detective;
  • That detective being by far the smartest and most penetrating member of the unit;
  • Which also features an openly lesbian Sergeant;
  • A young Constable who’s apparently fathered an illegitimate child upon a local married woman;
  • And another young Constable who has sex with the local “hot” girl in a pub lavatory;
  • Plus an assortment of white characters who are mostly nasty if they’re not outright dishonest.

And the C.S.O. is addicted to it. God, give me strength.

Quote Of The Morning

Sometimes life isn’t fair. Jesus is the light of the world, and he dined with sinners and prostitutes, yet when I do the same thing I’m “making Thanksgiving awkward”. People ask WWJD, but I don’t really think they mean it. — Weird Dave

I could tell you stories, Dude.

The Big Giveaway

I’m going to struggle through one post this morning, because the subject is so important.

The big “reveal,” if you will, that the State has gone totalitarian comes in parts. They don’t always arrive together, but once any one of them becomes visible, you may rest assured that the others will soon be upon you.

One of the parts is the State forbidding you to act in your own defense, or in the defense of innocent others.

Some years ago, an English farmer whose name I’ve mislaid was imprisoned for defending his life and property with a shotgun. Upon reading about that, I knew that “free” Britons would soon be in chains. And indeed, today, the UK government is as totalitarian as ever was the late and unlamented Soviet Union. Good Britons of every sort are now in fear of being arrested for stating a “disapproved” opinion on social media.

And now we come to these United States and the case of Daniel Penny.

It has been established, by forensic testimony confirmed by witnesses, that Penny did not cause anyone’s death. Yet he’s on trial for an “offense” that could result in his freedom being stripped away. Penny’s case isn’t the only one of its kind, either. There are others. Gun rights groups can tell you about a slew of them.

Many Americans are relieved that the recent elections delivered a sharp repudiation to the Democrats. About that I must say: Remain on guard. All politicians, without exception, love power and want as much of it as they can grab. The party designation and platform are often merely smokescreens for dark intentions. Remember that the lockdowns originated under Donald Trump.

I’m not paranoid. Just because I watch developments and strive to interpret them doesn’t make me a doom-shouter. But I can’t help noticing patterns. It’s the one and only thing high intelligence is really good for. Ask John Nash .

Tyranny is often thought of as a top-down phenomenon. But that’s only one possible pattern. Tyranny can come upon a people from the bottom up, too. Homeowners’ Associations. Activists and “civic” groups. Politicians at the state and local level who promise to “help” you, or to solve some “problem,” if you’ll just let them exceed the authority to which their positions entitle them.

Stay alert.

It Will Take A While

Dear Gentle Readers,

My main computer, whose power supply fried on Tuesday, won’t be back to me until late this coming week. so I must ask once more for your patience.

This “backup” computer — an old Dell laptop I bought to serve as a “backup Kindle” — has virtually nothing on it but Windows, so it’s very difficult for me to produce the sort of material you’re accustomed to seeing from me. In the interim, I must entrust you to my Co-Conspirators, especially the fearless Linda and the valiant Ragin’ Dave.

Have a Happy and nutritious Thanksgiving Day. Enjoy the football, stay well away from the pearl onions in cream sauce, and for the sake of general amity: No political talk over dinner! Remember that, as Americans, each of us really does have a lot to be grateful for — and none of it comes from the government. That was kinda the point of the Revolution, y’know?

All my best,
Your Curmudgeon Emeritus,
Fran

Gearing up for the big meal

We’ve invited some friends and neighbors to come over for Thanksgiving. One of those families is a clan of Vikings from up the road. And I mean this literally. The dad is 6’5″, and not a single one of his family is under six feet tall. Even his teenage daughters. We’re expecting more than a few calories to be consumed by this group.

I’m finding it hard to drum up enough emotion for a holiday. To be honest, I didn’t feel all that hot about my birthday either, and quickly shut people down when they wanted to celebrate it. I have no idea how I’m going to feel about Christmas. But there will probably be more food, and more friends, which is a good thing. Last year my dad’s death was fresh on my mind, and I was trying to keep my mom sane and my wife happy. I think I managed it, but I ended up with the insanity and the sadness. This year I’m just trying to keep myself from driving East until nobody recognizes me.

Still working long hours. I never knew a part time job would require this much time. I’m hoping that as people come back from whatever illness has laid them low that I get back to the hours I was told the job would require.

Crazy couple of days

So, I have a new job. My retirement pays the bills, but I need fun money because motorcycles are expensive, and trips on motorcycles are even more expensive. Unfortunately, I got hired and they immediately needed me to work extra shifts to cover someone who was sick. What was supposed to be a part time job turned into full time at least temporarily. Add in my other obligations, and I’m back to being out of the house for 14 hours at a time. I didn’t even check my email this morning. I just got home and fired up my computer at 2150 hrs Pacific Time.

So my news consumption is rather down at the moment, but I did manage to catch this tidbit which makes me dance a jig.

The Trump-Vance transition team announced that Stanford Professor Jay Bhattacharya, MD, PhD, author of “The Great Barrington Declaration,” is his pick to lead the National Institutes of Health. This is a terrific choice; Dr. Bhattacharya is highly respected and was right about the negative effects of lockdowns during the COVID pandemic when so many others were wrong. He didn’t back down despite numerous attempts to silence him. 

I don’t like all of Trump’s picks But he’s shown a pattern of finding people that the Deep State has attacked, and then nominating them to lead the very agencies that attacked them. That’s brilliant right there, and it gives me at least some hope for the future. Assuming that the GOP squishes don’t bend over and do the Democrat’s bidding again. A little prayer would be appropriate.

Computer Failure!

Can’t post. Co-Conspirators must carry the ball!

The Morning’s Prayer

Hail Holy Queen

     Hail holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope! To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary!
     Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Forcing AI To Work For You, Not The System

The other day I simply couldn’t recall the name Hydroxychloroquine. So I did a Brave search. “Off-label drugs to treat Covid.”

Neither Ivermectin (IVN) nor Hydroxychloroquine (HCQ) turned up.

So I tried “two off-label drugs to treat Covid.”

Again, only the System approved drugs turned up, and neither were “off-label” to boot.

So I then resorted to “two off-label drugs used to treat covid like ivermectin”

And even this didn’t bring up HCQ.

However, Brave provides the option “news from the Left” and “news from the Right.” So I specified the latter this time. It worked.

I hope this helps the reader who has given up trying to get past the biases built in to seemingly all AI. Because Brave.com has the added benefit of not wishing to be caught lying (as Google seemingly cares not if we notice), it will spill the beans at least enough to obtain the lead you are looking for.

A Surfeit Of Pain

     I’ve been spending some time on X, lately. The praise heaped on it since Elon Musk bought it persuaded me to give it a try. I’ve found the exchanges there free-wheeling enough to give it sustained attention. But I have another property of the site in mind at the moment.

     For those unfamiliar with X, it supports both “public” posting and direct, user-to-user messaging. The latter capability can give rise to extended conversations. Typically, Smith will see a post from Jones, find it unusually interesting or refreshing, and will direct-message (DM) Jones to start a chat. If Jones replies, the game’s afoot.

     A large number of X users have DMed me. Being a talkative sort, I’ve allowed most of those conversations to go on at length. Some, of course, have come from people who hope to get something from me. More often than not, it’s an invitation to a “sure thing” cryptocurrency-trading scheme. (Say, remember when snake-oil salesmen had to offer you something you could touch? Ah, the memories!) Still, that’s the case just about everywhere; I simply block them and continue on.

     A pattern has emerged. There’s a lot of loneliness-driven unhappiness out there. It’s pretty evenly distributed between the sexes. I do my best to provide a sympathetic “ear,” though it’s unlikely that a stream of text from a stranger will be much help to someone sitting alone in front of a computer.

     This morning, it has me thinking about F. James Dagg’s heart-wrenching story “The Bearer.” If you haven’t read it, please do so. Otherwise the rest of this will make little sense to you.

     It’s unclear whether the protagonist in James’s tale is a volunteer, or has been chosen for his role by God. It’s also unclear whether he’s free to decline an “assignment.” He takes them all, and lessens his “client’s” pain and sorrow by taking a share of it upon himself. It wears him down, and ultimately ends his life.

     What sort of man would be chosen to be a Bearer? I think he’d be unlikely to prattle to others about “empathy” and “compassion.” He wouldn’t preach about the “underrepresented,” the “marginalized,” or the “downtrodden.” He’d merely do the work. It would be a special grace. Such a grace is not something to boast about.

     Are there such persons in the real world? How would anyone know, other than Bearers themselves? If there are, I suspect that one of the “job’s” conditions is never to speak of it.

     Whether or not there are Bearers, I sense a need for such persons. I hope they exist. I hope there are enough of them. The tide of suffering and despair from our real contemporary pandemic – isolation – is gigantic. It cries out for them. Please, God, make it so.

In Societies Open To Repentants, Schemers Lose A Major Cudgel

The following Tucker video exemplifies a solution to a problem I repeatedly bemoan.

Problem: Nobody is permitted to rise to high office lacking handles with which to control them.

When the number of handles is few, a single or multiple slanders are given life, amplified by all the vassals of the schemers. In an unforgiving society, too many are ready to presume that where there is smoke there MUST be fire. See Trump or Kavanaugh or Gaetz for examples. Or suspect Justice Roberts as a terribly important target whose responses have affected American life terribly.

More power to men who imitate JFKJr’s approach. I say that despite my dislike of many of the things he has said in the past. I pray he has repented of the worst. So should you.

Outlets

     The Left’s control of the communications industry – education, entertainment, news media – privileged them politically for several decades. They still command the heights in those three areas. However, they don’t want dominance; they want total, unblemished control:

     Staff are protesting against a new US imprint of global publisher Hachette Book Group (HBG) specialising in conservative books, launched in the wake of Donald Trump’s election win.
     A letter from an anonymous group of HBG employees has been published on social media, criticising the launch of Basic Liberty. It also expresses concern at the hiring of executive editor Thomas Spence. Spence is the former president of conservative publisher Regnery and a visiting fellow at the Heritage Foundation, the rightwing thinktank that coordinated the Project 2025 initiative, which sets out plans to reshape the US government and strip minorities of legal protections.

     [Applause to Mike Hendrix.]

     Hachette is responding to a market condition, to wit: conservatives buy books. To one who prefers reason to wishful thinking, this seems normal, even natural. But Leftists are not reasoning creatures:

     “We condemn HBG’s decision to put profit before its own people,” the letter goes on to say. “We are calling on HBG to recognise the responsibility it has as one of the world’s leading publishers, to act with empathy and compassion for all people, and to re-evaluate its decision to move forward with the creation of Basic Liberty and the hiring of Thomas Spence.”

     Corporations exist to do business – to make money. That appears to offend the unnamed letter-writers. But then, normality always offends the abnormal. One more spoonful:

     [Alex DiFrancesco, a US-based editor at Jessica Kingsley Publishers (JKP),] who is transgender, said that “the placement of Thomas Spence in a prominent role in the company feels like a direct threat not only to my work and livelihood, but to my person, and to many other minority workers within the company … I can only hope that others will make choices like the one I am currently making instead of rolling over to the forces that would destroy our nation, our neighbours, and ourselves.”

     It’s utterly pellucid that this isn’t about “empathy” or “compassion.” It’s about denying an outlet to thinkers and commentators in the Right.

     The Left is similarly enraged that X (formerly Twitter) has been purged of its censorious “Trust & Safety” department, which before the takeover acted to silence conservative and libertarian sentiments. The denunciations being heaped on Elon Musk for his actions in defense of freedom of speech are mind-boggling. There must be no outlets for the Right!

     Does anyone else remember the Sturm und Drang that erupted when Fox News turned moderately to the Right? It was a symptom of the same disease. Even today, with Fox having drifted somewhat leftward, the condemnations of Fox and owner Rupert Murdoch are deafening.

     The Left’s could only succeed in stifling the Right as long as its control over the communications media was total. Once cablecasting and the Internet opened un-censorable channels for private Americans to enjoy – and to participate in! – the jig was up. Market forces took over. Americans discovered that there are indeed more ways to view politics, economics, and social matters than the one dictate to them from the Left… and it developed that majority prefer the one emanating from the Right.

     This, Gentle Reader, is why the Soviet Union banned the private ownership of copiers. A crack that lets in a glimmer of light will hearten and embolden those who have dwelt in unbroken darkness. After they’ve glimpsed it, they can no longer be controlled.

     Perhaps a new day really has dawned. Stay tuned!

The COVID Lockdowns: A Remembrance

     In the summer of 2020, when the entire nation seemed to have gone mad with fear of the COVID virus, some Long Island retailers gave only lip service to the draconian lockdowns, masking dictates, and “social distancing” requirements. They published the “rules,” but put little or no effort into imposing them on their customers. Those were the ones I patronized. Yet it was all too obvious that most Long Islanders had been cowed by the bellowings from Fauci and the politicians who saw in his pronouncements an opportunity to increase their power over us.

     Masking was ubiquitous. People avoided coming close to one another. The floors of supermarkets were festooned with markings about social distancing. Some put up signs making the aisles into “one-way streets.” It was beyond depressing.

     Medical and quasi-medical establishments were under brutal regimes, as their licensing could be pulled for failing to enforce the lockdowns. My local optometrist had to conduct her examinations on masked patients, and without coming near them. My dentist was almost unable to function. The massage chain I patronized shut down completely.

     But I do remember one bright spot. It occurred in a Walgreen’s pharmacy / general store. I was there to collect a prescription: blood pressure medications. On my way to the pharmacist’s counter I spied a young woman accompanied by three small children. The young woman was shopping as casually as anyone I’d ever seen. Her kids followed her quietly, exhibiting perfect public behavior rarely seen in toddlers today. And none of the four were masked.

     The young woman smiled when she noticed me looking at her and her children, for I was unmasked as well. We greeted one another and exchanged some small talk as the children clustered around us. Her English was excellent. It developed that she was a widow, a recent immigrant from Eastern Europe who’d just been granted resident alien status.

     Of course the conversation eventually came to the pandemic and the lockdowns. I complimented her on not giving in to the fear campaign. It made her eyes brighten. She smiled and nodded.

     “They did this sort of thing to us in my native country,” she said. “Arbitrary rules, pulled out of the air. There wasn’t even an excuse for it, much of the time.”

     “It gladdened me to see another person who won’t bend to the madness,” I said.

     Her smile acquired a tinge of pride. “I didn’t come here to put up with more of that nonsense,” she said. “I came here to be an American.

     It kept a smile on my face the whole day.

The Morning’s Prayer

A Prayer For The Departed

     In your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters. In this life you embraced them with your tender love; deliver them now from every evil and bid them eternal rest. The old order has passed away: welcome them into paradise, where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain, but fullness of peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.

We knew this was true seven years ago.

Does anyone remember the name David Daleiden? He was an undercover journalist who recorded the ghouls at Planned Parenthood talking about how they sold off the parts of the babies they had murdered. One of the ghouls even joked about getting a Lamborghini with the money.

And then a certain Cackling Whore of Scat Fransicko, who was the Attorney General of California at the time, prosecuted David Daleiden, stole his videos, and then re-wrote California law in order to protect the baby murderers. Daleiden is still awaiting trial.

Folks people who murder babies on an industrial scale are not going to stop out of the goodness of their hears. And so it kept going.

The nation’s largest abortion clinic was caught selling 23-week-old aborted babies for research— the same clinic that argues they are “saving” women’s lives. 

Here’s my tin foil hat thinking, which I don’t think is all that tin foil-ish. We’ve all heard that the fetal kidney cells that Big Pharma uses for research all come from a line of cells taken from a baby that was aborted back in the 60’s. I’m calling bullshit. Big Pharma is getting fresh stuff all the time, from the baby murderers, who are selling off body parts for cash.

This is a big part of why I refused the jab. It was developed using fetal kidney cells, and they were fresh. In order to get those cells, the people collecting the kidneys essentially have to do a vivisection of a baby. They harvest the kidneys while the baby is still alive.

Sorry to make your stomach churn on a Sunday, but the facts are the facts. Today is the feast of Christ the King. Perhaps some additional prayers are in order.

Day Off

     I’ll be taking today off for the Feast of Christ the King. (Hey, if the King declares a holiday, I’m bloody well gonna honor it.) So enjoy yourselves, stay warm, dry, and out of the wind. And may the King of Kings bless and keep you all!

Remember This

     We’re at the midpoint of the “JFK Triduum.” That is, 61 years ago yesterday, President John F. Kennedy was killed by rifle fire. But 61 years ago tomorrow, accused assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was gunned down in public by a mysterious figure named Jack Ruby, a Dallas nightclub owner who had never before been a political figure, or otherwise important to Dallas, to Texas, or to these United States.

     There has never been a satisfactory explanation of either of those events. Ruby in particular is a figure who deserves attention. His actions are incomprehensible. Moreover, he died awaiting a retrial on the murder of Oswald.

     The subsequent Warren Commission Report is a masterwork: despite its considerable size, it says nothing. Attempts to have an inquiry independent of government were all shoved aside. Mark Lane, the attorney who wrote Rush To Judgment, lodged a great many scathing criticisms of the Warren report. He was derided and defamed for daring to differ with it.

     Despite federal regulations that specify that classified materials can only be kept classified for more than 50 years if there is strong evidence that their exposure would endanger persons still living, all government materials on the Kennedy assassination remain classified. Whose lives or fortunes would their exposure endanger? Or has Leviathan invoked the “national security” shibboleth again?

     I’m becoming curious. Incoming President Trump has been urged to release those materials. Will he do so? If he fails to do so, there will be many questions. Among them will be this one: Who has threatened you, and with what?

     Stay tuned.

Fears Of An Old Man

     [A reprint from Liberty’s Torch V1.0. I wrote this on January 31, 2015, shortly before I retired. – FWP]


     Just in case you were blissfully unaware of it, you’re getting older at an unrelenting sixty seconds per minute.

     I’ve already endured nearly two billion seconds of aging. Many of those seconds were materially profitable. Some were fairly pleasant. A few were both, a few were neither, and a few were downright awful. But that’s life under the veil of time. It’s not only that “no one here gets out alive;” no one gets to live a perfectly pain-and-sorrow-free existence.

     As time passes, things change. (Wow! Really deep, Fran. Maybe I’ll have T-shirts made of that and sell them at Cafe Press.) The changes usually include what one fears.

     Some of the changes – the ones connected to the physical deterioration nearly everyone suffers over time – are fairly easy to predict. Some are subtler than that. I and quite a few of my contemporaries are coping with fears all but unique to our time and place.

     Whatever your age, there’s a good chance you’ve been coping with them too.

***

     Way, way back in the red-in-tooth-and-claw days of these United States, back before we knew the blessings of an omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent government – the year 1900 – the average life expectancy was 48 years. That figure can easily mislead you: infant mortality was much higher then, and infant deaths substantially depress a mean such as the above. Most persons who survived their infancies lived considerably longer than that: typically, into their sixties at least. Though it’s hard to come by a figure that omits the deaths of the very young – where would we set the threshold, after all? – it’s likely that an American who survived his infancy averaged somewhere around 65 years of age at death.

     In those dark and primitive times, very few persons experienced the condition we of today call retirement.

     Conditions were different in many other ways, as well:

  • There was no income tax.
  • There were no payroll taxes.
  • There was very little violent crime.
  • Aggregate federal debt was only $1.27 billion.
  • Most Americans worked in family-owned businesses.
  • Most Americans lived within a 50-mile radius of their birthplaces.
  • Only the largest cities attempted to infringe upon Second Amendment rights.
  • There were no “alphabet agencies” and few laws to impede business and commerce.
  • There was no licensure to speak of: e.g., a doctor was anyone who called himself a doctor.
  • Localities controlled their public schools completely, with neither state nor federal interference.
  • Though the populace was over 90% literate, very few persons went to high school. (Colleges and universities were regarded as suitable only for the progeny of the wealthy.)
  • The overwhelming majority of goods for sale to the public were routinely priced in cents. $20.67 would buy a Troy ounce of gold, $1.00 would buy 0.90 Troy ounces of silver, and gold and silver coins were in regular circulation.

     No, it wasn’t Utopia. Certainly there have been some wholly beneficial developments since then. For my own part, I like the idea of having a few years of retirement in which to do whatever I please and can afford. But I’d surely love to have some of the conditions of 1900 apply to our nation today.

     Because of some of the changes since 1900, particularly with regard to medical products and services, I’ll have a few years of retirement in which to read, write, and generally enjoy life. However, because of some of the other changes since 1900, particularly with regard to politics and government, I fear that despite all my efforts, I might not be able to sustain myself – that I might become financially dependent on others.

     If you’re near to my age and station in life, you probably fear that too.

***

     There are three looming threats to my ability to sustain myself after I’ve retired from my salaried job:

  1. Inflation;
  2. The rising cost of medical products and services;
  3. The threat of federal confiscation of IRAs, 401(k) accounts, and private pension funds.

     I’ve hedged as well as possible against the first of those threats. However, as most of my savings are in IRAs and a 401(k) account, I haven’t hedged as well as I’d have liked. When those accounts become the pool from which I draw to pay for things, I’ll be regularly weighing tax effects against the desirability of some proposed expenditure. (And as a married man, I won’t be the one proposing the majority of the expenditures.)

     Aged men require more medical support than younger ones. I already need more than I’d ever anticipated. (As a friend likes to say, if I’d known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself. Climbed fewer Cat 5 cliffs and chased fewer Cat 10 women. But that’s all past and done.) Should the cost of those medical supports continue to rise as sharply as they have these past fifty years, I might be in trouble in my seventies and beyond.

     But the most fearsome of the threats comes straight from Washington. The facts are too stark to be ignored:

  • Social Security is insolvent, while its liabilities are increasing geometrically;
  • The federal debt has passed $18 trillion and shows no sign of slowing;
  • Retirees have a lot of bucks in IRAs and 401(k) accounts.
  • There are still some private pension funds around.

     If you’re a wholly corrupt, conscienceless scumbag consumed by greed and lust for power who’d rather die under torture than admit to ever making a mistake – in other words, if you’re a federal politico – doesn’t the answer just pop out of a slot?

     It begins to seem a matter not of if but of when.

***

     There’s a guaranteed, 100% effective cure for what I fear. It’s called death. But though I believe in an afterlife, I’m not all that enthusiastic about embarking on it just yet. (Among other things, you’re not supposed to be confident about what God will say to you at your Particular Judgment, and I’m not. I’m no saint. Ask my wife.) Besides, I have promises to keep: books to write and so forth. I hope to satisfy Edward Teller’s dictum: to live my life so that when the time comes, I’ll feel that I’m ready to die.

     Every man around my age who looks forward to a few years of untroubled retirement, regardless of his plans for those years, faces the uncertainties I face. We’re all vulnerable to the same possibilities. We’re all about equally helpless before Leviathan. And nearly all of us are frantically searching for escape hatches.

     If you’re in the fortunate category of the young and strong, and are currently unconcerned about your future as an old fart, remember that sixty-seconds-per-minute bit. Be aware that when you vote, you’re exercising an influence over the future. If your vote is directed by a gimme mentality, or by envy of persons seemingly more fortunate than you, remember that what goes around comes around. Whether you realize it or not, you’ll be setting an example for those who come after you, and you’ll have your turn under their crosshairs sooner than either of us can imagine.

     Fear, like pain, can be useful, but it’s no fun. A fear that you can do nothing to offset or to brace for is the worst of all. And the older you get, the more such fears you’ll feel.

     Take it from one who knows.

The Morning’s Prayer

Don Bosco’s Prayer to the Blessed Mother

     Most holy Virgin Mary, help of Christians, how sweet it is to come to your feet imploring your aid. If earthly mothers cease not to remember their children, how can you, the most loving of all mothers, forget me?
     Grant then to me, I implore you, your perpetual help in all my necessities, in every sorrow, and especially in all my temptations. I ask for your unceasing help for all who are now suffering. Help the weak, cure the sick, convert sinners.
     Grant through your intercessions many vocations to the religious life. Obtain for us, O Mary, help of Christians, that having invoked you on Earth we may love and eternally thank you in heaven. Amen.

Thanksgiving 2002: A Remembrance

     [I’m rather beset at the moment, so have an essay from the old Palace Of Reason. This one was written by writer and Co-Conspirator Michelle Buckman. — FWP]

***

November 26, 2002.

     Ahh, Thanksgiving holiday. A full two days to relax.

     The relaxation begins at six o’clock in the morning, which is precisely when you must rise from the warmth of your bed to get Mr. Turkey stuffed and shoved into the oven to meet the dinner deadline. Once he’s in the oven, there are vegetables to chop and casseroles to defrost, wine to chill and desserts to prepare. The fine China has to be washed to rid it of the dust that’s gathered on it since Easter.

     With company coming, the bathrooms need a quick cleaning, and the carpet probably needs vacuuming. The furniture hasn’t been dusted all week, and Junior’s dirty clothes are scattered all over his bedroom floor. The girls’ hair needs brushing and braiding, and their dresses from Grandma need to be pulled from the depths of the closet and ironed into perfection. A shower, clothes, make-up. Finally, you’re ready to relax and enjoy.

     Relatives and friends start arriving. Time to take coats, pull out appetizers, serve wine, check on dinner. Kids fight over a toy, grown-ups argue politics, the dinner rolls burn.

     At last, dinner is on the table. You sit, relax, enjoy the meal. Uncle Joe wants more wine. Aunt Rosie needs ketchup. Ketchup? On your fine dinner? Is there margarine instead of butter? Who ate all the stuffing? The green bean casserole is cold in the middle. The second batch of dinner rolls aren’t enough; half the guests go without bread. Didn’t cousin Marty bring the pumpkin pie as promised? Someone forgot to whip the cream.

     Despite the din of voices, the turkey disappears, plates piled high slowly diminish to crumbs, spoons clatter into empty bowls. Conversation hits a lull. All have eaten their fill. They relax comatose on the sofa while you begin hauling dishes to the sink. There are so many plates stacked everywhere, it looks like a cartoon kitchen. Pots and pans and casserole dishes fill up the rest of the counter space. Your nephew is filling doggy bags to take back to his empty campus refrigerator. The dog is having a heyday cleaning up the floor. Mugs of coffee are passed out. Sated diners, still nibbling on desserts, murmur in subdued dialogues as the sun sets.

     The evening winds down. The kitchen is finally returned to normal. The wine is all gone. Friends and family have departed. The house is quiet. You smile as you trudge up to bed, satisfied with the memory of another wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.

     You crawl into bed, exhausted, and set your alarm for five o’clock, anxious to be one of the first of the million after-Thanksgiving-sales customers to hit the stores. Beyond the shopping, you contemplate the Christmas decorations to pulled from the attic, the tree to be erected, the stockings to hang, and another dinner to plan.

     Oh, don’t be in such rush. Relax! After all, you still have a whopping twenty-six days till Christmas.

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