As Americans ponder the Thanksgiving Day holiday expectations are high. Young children look forward to all the activities loved ones plan. School age individuals are told tales of the Pilgrims and the Indians that befriended early settlers. Most imagine that on this November day, people come together peaceably. That, for the little ones is a welcome thought. Too often, tension exists in the parent child relationship. Some say angst increases as the offspring age. Whilst many wish to believe the strain occurs over time, as a child becomes more autonomous, indeed, recent research shows early interactions give rise to the relationship that will be.
Toddlers and tots rarely have opportunities to quietly, calmly, and genuinely converse with parents or the caregivers they are fond of. Hence, lads and lasses feel a sense of loss. By the teen years, the thought of another Thanksgiving celebration with relatives evokes an almost automatic response, "No thanks."
He is up. He is down! Thankfully, the opposition says, "Soon he will be out of favor and ultimately out of office!" If voters do not remove the renegade from his prestigious position, term limits certainly will do him in. Liberal loyalists assert; President Obama is not the problem. Congress is the cruel joke. It seems no matter the political persuasion, citizens of this country find someone to fault. Surely, societal ills are thrust upon the public by an outside force. Regardless, of whether the electorate places the onus on an individual, an industry, the nation's Chief Executive, or other government officials, the oft-heard battle cry in the Age of America's Unreason. is someone else is to blame. The American people do not imagine themselves responsible for inertia.
Never for a moment in my life have I been "in love." I do not believe in the notion. Fireworks have not filled my heart. Flames of a fiery passion do not burn within me. Indeed, my soul has not been ablaze. Thoughts of a hot-blooded devotion seem illogical to me. Such sentiments always have. Fondness too fertile is but torture for me. I admire many, and adore none. For me, the affection I feel for another is born out of sincere and profound appreciation. To like another means more to me than to love or be loved. Excitement, an emotional reaction to another, rises up within me when I experience an empathetic exchange with someone who has glorious gray matter.
Today, it happened. I felt an a twinge that startled me. I stood still as he entered the room. I expected nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing other than what has become his recently adopted, more avoidant, routine. Although long ago, I had become accustomed to his face, his voice, and his demeanor, for I have known the man for more than a few years. In the last few weeks, while essentially he is who he always was, some of his stances have changed. Possibly, Barry has felt a need to compromise his positions, but I wonder, what of his principles.
On February 15th, Barry boarded the plane. He was deep in thought and noticed few of the people around him. The prior evening had been exceptional. This sensitive man celebrated Valentine's Day with friends, with family, and best of all with himself, a person he had grown to love and respect, an individual he barely knew for all of his life, himself.
More recently, Barry had become a more balanced individual. He is now constantly on the move, not merely in a physical sense, but in a more real manner. The successful businessman, the sensational father, the phenomenal friend, the scholar who climbed the career ladder well, in the not so distant past, never felt truly fulfilled. Now, he thought of himself as a work in progress, a being who has transitioned beyond his wildest dreams. Yet, he trusted there were still many roads to travel. He wondered; would he make it. On this day, unbeknownst to him, Barry would find his answer. Yet, he would also be prompted to ask more questions.
Citizens in the United States are complicated, complex, and mostly they act in ways that are contrary to what they profess to believe in. No matter a person's race, religion, or creed, people point to what they think right. Then, especially on Super Bowl Sunday they engage in all, that were someone else to do the same, they would say, that is wrong.
Indeed, on the Monday through Saturday, before the final event the sanctity of sex, only after marriage, is subject to interpretation. Voyeurism is at times defined as an involuntary response. Adultery is but a betrayal advocated as merely a reason for divorce. The deed doers surmise the divine, will understand. Humans are flawed. They are frail when faced with animal lust. When stimulated, an uncontrollable desire for sex seethes from every pore. Even the threat of a police sweep cannot assuage the palpable passion.
Update . . . A bell rings. The sound reverberates. A sentiment shared aloud resonates within the heart, mind, body, and soul of persons who heard the message. No matter the actions taken afterward, sullen statements are not easily erased from memory.
Days before Congress was asked to pass the stimulus package, the President uttered the now famous phrase; "I won," Republicans, as could have been expected, expressed resentment. Immediately, subsequent to President Obama's statement Democrats were said to have followed the Chief Executive's lead. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid was asked if he thought Republicans might block the initiative. Empathically, he replied; "No." Today we know differently. In the House, the measure received no support from the Grand Old Party.
As we await approval from the Senate we may wish to consider, the past. Words that evoke division have a lasting effect.
Please peruse a missive penned shortly after President Obama reacted to pressure from the "Right."
It was 11:22 Ante Meridian, on January 21, 2009. I did as I rarely do. I stood silently and watched television. As one who listens to what is aired, and does so from another room, this was an unusual occurrence. However, the Cherokee wisdom of wolves, an illustration that represents the internal strife within every human being beckoned me.
Then, at the very same hour on the very next day, again I was compelled to do what is odd for me. I did not say a word as I glared at humanitarian actions took place on the screen. President Barack Obama proclaimed, by Executive Order, the United States would not torture. Nor would we, as a nation, detain presumed "combatants" without a just trial. On each occasion, I was in awe as I gazed upon what I had not imagined would come to pass. Upon reflection, the two events seem to be related.
Come 2009, I will commence on a new path. I will exercise regularly, smoke not at all. A healthy diet will become my regime. On Monday, January 5, my life mission will be realized in my work. The opportunity to inaugurate again, to give birth to me at my best will inspire a rejuvenation. Today, I resolve to . . . not make a single New Years resolution. In truth, I never have committed to change. Yet, the person you see before you is not the same being that might have appeared on any other day, of any other year. I have evolved, and so do we all.
For me, it all began near a week ago. There was no word of it on the Nightly News.Nightline offered no interviews. Articles did not appear in popular, or prized periodicals. Even the National Enquirer had no exclusive accounts. Bloggers did mot blast me with rumors of what might have been. The story, while sensational, did warrant banner headlines. After all, neither person was as widely known as former Presidential aspirant John Edwards is. The woman may or may not have had a history that would titillate many a reader. I know not whether this thirty or forty-ish female was the mother of what the media would wish to label a "love child." I feel certain that her name is not Rielle Hunter or Lisa Druck. She is not the fictional character, Alison Poole. She was but a real person looking for love, as was he, in a parking lot.
The day was delightful. The water was superb. The sun was full and bright. A few billowy, puffy clouds floated through the sky. They were white, cumulus, fluffy fellows, the type that excite many a child as they gaze into the heavens. In parks, on lawns, little ones were likely looking up and pointing. "Look," they might say, "It is a horse, a donkey, or perchance a unicorn." It was a day for whimsy. The children, playful in the pool, barely noticed the graceful shapes as they danced above their heads. Instead, they were focused on what they decided were June bugs.
Three young sweet girls stood in the warm water near their Daddy. All were calm, content, and serene. The sisters chatted easily. Father smiled. The youngest lass expressed her curiosity. As her sibling searched for bugs on the plastic rope line, the "baby" in the family asked of the insects. "Are they icky to touch," the cautious curly haired youngster inquired. The more confident elder sister said, "No! They are cute," she said. See." The "older" child showed the girl of fewer years.
A stranger, in the adjacent lane was preparing to swim. Becky was her name. She was much older than the children, and perhaps no wiser; nonetheless, she share her assessment of the beetle. Becky said of the six-legged lovelies, "They are life; all creatures are beautiful." With that thought, the father beamed, and the older lady plunged head first into the water filled cement reservoir.
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