Today I read a poem about aging and decided to copy the words of the poem to a file, and add my photo. It’s a reminder to me that despite all the mistakes I made in life, as a college coed…then an inexperienced mom, and later a woman trying with all her might to pray a man into respecting her…and failing miserably…I’m still here. Growing older.
Shortly after I created my self-reminder, I read a a post from my friend Lynn. She had found the post on a blog called Holy Moly Motherhood. It was written from the perspective of a young mom, in her 30s.
I felt every word of that post. I have been there.
Lynn and I have been friends for over forty years. I know she felt those words too.
I thought about how those young carefree college girls in HMM’s post would probably look at me and feel a little sad for me. They may even have a tiny spark of dread cross their minds. They might have thoughts of what wrinkles might appear on their flawless faces in the years to come. I remember having that same fleeting concern one night. I remember exactly where I was when it happened. It was after a JSU football game, eating the best fried chicken in the world at the Village Inn…on the square in Jacksonville, Alabama. I was there with a date and we were seated across from an “older couple” (in their late forties). They were an attractive pair. But they had what seemed to me was the look of hard times. Lines, wrinkles, hair three fading shades of Miss Clairol. Calloused hands and an old flannel shirt for him. She caught me studying them. I was embarrassed at getting caught. And I felt as though she had heard my thoughts. She smiled slightly. I smiled back, though I had a sense of dread that I was looking at myself in the future. I quickly sent the dreadful thought away. Old age, lines and wrinkles were a million years from me, after all.
Turns out the million years was a joke on me.
What would I say to those coed girls in the HMM article, given the chance?
Not a word. They deserve the experience of making their own way without my interference. But what I say to myself is this:
I’m strong. What was meant to destroy me didn’t; it hurt my body, but not my spirit. I have survived through the Forgiveness, Grace & Mercy of God. I am accepted and loved by family and friends.
I’m thankful to be in this 60-something world. I no longer have a wrinkle free face, and that doesn’t bother me at all. My hair is no longer dark and free of silver, yet I love my hair. I certainly don’t move like I did in my 20s or 30s. And I have to be honest…that one hurts.
My heart is full, though not without some regret. Importance has taken on a new meaning. It’s easier to let go of what is not important. I recognize that those who left me never deserved me. And anyone I may have hurt by walking away, deserved a love better than mine.
I’ve experienced the unconditional love of little children, and was afforded the honor of watching them grow into amazing adults. In spite of my mistakes, the flowers God loaned me have blossomed.
So, here we are Friend. You, me, the others of our generation. A little slower, a bit battle weary at times, but 100% ok with who we are. And one day, if they are fortunate in years, if they are bestowed the privilege of brushing silver hair, those carefree coeds will have the same honorable distinction of being here as well.
On Christmas Day there was no place I wanted to be more than my Granny and Papa Clark’s house.
As soon as I opened Santa’s gifts on Christmas morning, I was ready to go to their modest, white frame house in Hickory Flat.
My eagerness to get there had nothing to do with any gift that might be waiting for me. I knew there would be no gifts. Not for any of us. Most years, there wasn’t a Christmas Tree. The only holiday decorations might be a Poinsettia on the coffee table and a Claxton fruitcake tin on the kitchen table.
My grandparents had nine children, my dad was the youngest. All but one of the nine had children of their own. And by the time I was born, my grandparents had several great-grandchildren. My dad had nieces and nephews his age or older.
We were a large lot. Too many of us for JH and Angie to purchase gifts. None were expected.
We always had Christmas Dinner at their home. And before the day was over, the little house on Route #2 was full to bursting with Clark relatives. And that’s what made the day so special.
I loved arriving early so that I didn’t miss a single person as they came through the front door (without knocking. No one ever knocked on my grandparent’s door.) Aunts, uncles, and cousins came bearing platters and bowls of food. A few brought gifts for Granny and Papa.
As each group arrived, my grandparent’s eyes lit up with joy and their smiles grew wide. Their exuberance wasn’t over the food and gifts. No, they were overjoyed at the sight and sounds of their children and grandchildren coming together in their home. For several hours laughter filled the rooms, dishes clanked in the kitchen, some snoring would occasionally be heard in the living room, old stories were repeated, and corny jokes were told.
As dusk approached, and each family readied themselves to leave, Papa or my Uncle Jake would say, “Ahh, you don’t have to go, do you?”
The reply was generally, “Yeah, we better get on before dark.”
Many times I stayed Christmas night with them. After everyone was gone, the house felt empty and a little sad.
Then, after a few silent minutes…
Papa would say, “I believe that was the best Christmas we’ve ever had.”
Jake: “I know it was. But I can’t understand why Santa Claus didn’t bring a bag of coal or hickory sticks for that one.” He would laugh and point at me.
Granny: “I just wish (fill in the names of those who were absent) could have been here.”
Papa: “Maybe JC (Jake) would take us to see them soon.”
So if you’re feeling sad that you can’t afford material gifts, please don’t beat yourself up. The only gift those who love you care about is your presence. Not presents.
On Christmas day in 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was inspired to write a poem. He titled his poem, Christmas Bells.
We now know the poem as a song:
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
On that 1863 Christmas, the country was at war with itself. Longellow’s oldest son was hospitalized with a serious injury he had sustained in the war earlier in December. All the while, Longfellow was still grieving the tragic death of his wife two years earlier. He was a 57 year old widower and father of six children.
As he sat near his wounded son, he contemplated the injustices of life and war. He was had been living in a state of desolation. He could see no ending to his situation.
Then he heard bells ringing from a nearby church. And for a moment, he felt like they mocked his despair.
Last night I listened to the song, as I’ve done many times in my life. It’s one of my favorite carols. As I listened I thought of HWL and his motherless, wounded son. The thought came to mind that our country is once again in a civil war.
As surely as I’m writing this, I believe a 2nd civil war is being waged across the United States.
We aren’t firing cannons and Gatling Guns. We aren’t wielding Bowie Knives. Most of us aren’t defending our country at all. Because we don’t know it’s in peril. We can’t fathom what is happening. We feel the effects of what we have already lost, but we tell ourselves it’s a temporary loss.
We do have weapons, though. Every American has been armed with the same weapon and ammunition. Our weapons and ammo are made of paper. Our armor is made of paper: the Constitution, the Bill of Rights.
Sadly though, most of us in this war are sitting ducks, because we don’t know how to operate these powerful paper weapons. Most of us don’t even realize that we are in a war.
Or that we are the infantry.
The majority of our citizens don’t yet understand our enemy. My fear is they won’t recognize this manipulative beast of the swamp until it’s too late.
We don’t need a reenactment of the last war fought on this land. That war united us and all but guaranteed that we would never have to battle each other to the death again.
We aren’t each other’s enemy. But the swamp beast wants us to believe we are. The beast goads us, lies to us. It pushes us away from family, education, and freedom. It tells women that all men are bad. It convinces men that it’s wrong to be strong. The beast is so despicable that it tells little children God made a mistake when he designed them. Some parents have fallen for the lies of the beast.
The beast steals from us. The more it takes, without resistance, the more it wants. It won’t stop until it takes everything.
The swamp beasts bets on us not knowing our Constitutional rights. And most of the time, the beast wins the bet. At one time most American families owned a copy of the Constitution. It was proudly displayed on many living room walls across America, land of the free. Perhaps it’s time for us to go back to that practice. And to learn about the power our Founding Fathers bestowed on us through that document. They wrote it the way they wrote it, because they remembered what it was like to live under the rule of another swamp beast. And they wanted to protect you, and me, from repeating history.
As Longfellow wrote his poem and listened to the bells ringing out Peace On Earth (from the book of Luke), he began to feel hope where despair had been moments before. He felt slumber and melancholy lift out of his spirit.
This Christmas, I too am hopeful. God is still on the throne. He created in us tools of wisdom, intellect, courage,and a fighter’s spirit.
We need to use those tools.
And the paper ones the founders left us with.
May your Christmas of 2022 be one of Peaceful Hope,
Finally! From the skincare company that gives you a 100% money back guarantee…Hair Care!
I’m currently using the Volume Hair Regimen and I’m loving the results. I think you will too.
Below is a recent Popsugar article.
Rodan+Fields New Hair-Care Line: Volume+ and Smooth+
After 15 Years, Rodan+Fields Is Venturing Into Hair Care
As POPSUGAR editors, we independently select and write about stuff we love and think you’ll like too. If you buy a product we have recommended, we may receive affiliate commission, which in turn supports our work.
November 1, 2022
First Published: October 21, 2022 by Jessica Harrington, Popsugar
Staying true to its heritage, Rodan+Fields’s new hair line is rooted in science and has a scalp-first approach to healthy, strong hair. “As a stylist, I see firsthand that a healthy scalp supports the health of your overall hair, and the skin on your scalp needs the right products to stay healthy,” Brager tells POPSUGAR. “Everyone should have access to hair care that works, makes us feel confident, and gives visible results.”
There are two three-step lines to choose from: the Volume+ regimen and the Smooth+ regimen. You can probably infer what the lines do from the names alone, but ahead, we’re giving you the full scoop on the benefits of each.
The Volume+ line is about re-energizing and nourishing a stressed scalp. It boosts thickness, repairs damaged hair, and helps minimize breakage so you can grow healthier hair. There’s the Volume+ Shampoo ($44), which is color-safe and sulfate-free; the Volume+ Conditioner ($47), a nutrient-packed formula to add body and shine; and lastly, the Densifying+ Treatment ($63), which is a lightweight daily leave-on designed to strengthen your scalp’s moisture barrier to nourish it.
In the Smooth+ line, you have three different products designed to hydrate and repair damaged, dry hair, making it shinier, softer, and less frizzy, both instantly and over time. The Smooth+ Shampoo ($44) hydrates and softens hair; the Smooth+ Conditioner ($44) is an ultra-rich formula that nourishes and repairs ends to banish frizz; and the Defrizz+ Oil Treatment ($63) is meant to be used daily to add shine and protect against breakage.
I was able to experience the new Rodan+Field hair-care collection firsthand during a hair appointment with Brager and was impressed from the very beginning. Because I have naturally fine hair, I chose to use the Volume+ collection. To start, my hair was cleansed with the Volume+ Shampoo. I immediately noticed the fresh, spa-like scent, which is in all of the products. I’m someone who prefers when my skin care is unscented but love when my hair and body products leave me smelling like I just left a fine fragrance store, so this was a major perk in my book.
This was followed by the Volume+ Conditioner on just my ends and then rinsed with a shot of cool water to seal cuticles of my hair. Then, after towel drying, it was time to style. Brager spritzed the Densifying+ Treatment all over my head, concentrating the product on my roots and combed it through before she began blow drying. Because the new Rodan+Fields hair collection doesn’t include many stylers, the brand knows that you’re going to want to use the new products in tandem with your favorite mousses, texture sprays, and other stylers.
Even after just rough-drying my hair, I could feel a difference in how soft my ends were. Brager gave me a blowout using a round brush for added volume before going in with a curling iron, which is when the real transformation was visible. My loose curls had more bounce and volume to them, and my roots didn’t lay flat against my head as they usually do. Full disclaimer: I get my hair done a lot, and this was by far one of the best blowouts I’ve ever gotten. My style — as well as the softness and shine — lasted for three days. Not only did my hair look amazing, but it felt healthier too.
If you’re excited to try this new innovation from the brand, the entire Rodan+Fields hair collection is be available at danitaClark.myrandf.com *Contact me for your personal discount: DanitaClarkAble@gmail.com
“The judge said “guilty” on a make-believe trial Slapped the sheriff on the back with a smile Said, “Supper’s waiting at home and I got to get to it
That’s the night that the lights went out in Georgia That’s the night that they hung an innocent man Well, don’t trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer ‘Cause the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands”
~ The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia, Vicki Lawrence & Bobby Russel
It was just a podcast…
I began listening for no reason other than I was having a sleepless night and that’s what I do when I can’t sleep. I listen to podcasts. I had liked the delivery style of Sean Kipe’s other two podcast series, so on a sleepless, stormy night in Georgia, I searched his name in Apple Podcasts. His latest series came up. I tuned in with no preconceived notions about the subject of the series. I had never heard of the case.
By the end of Episode #2 I was very perturbed by the troublesome facts of the case. When I listened to DA Danny Porter’s own words in Episode #9, my blood pressure was hot. My skin crawled from the vulgar audacity of Porter’s sniveling lies. And to think that until a few days ago, I held Danny Porter in high regard…because I only knew what the media allowed me to know.
As stated, I knew nothing about Michael Chapel. He became known to me through the podcast, In the Land of Lies. I believe the podcast came to be, in part, because of the book written by Henry Ball, titled Michael Chapel.
My copy of #michaelchapel arrived this afternoon and I plan to begin reading it tonight. I urge everyone reading this post to listen to the podcast and read this book.
Michael Chapel is an innocent man. He has served nearly 30 years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. Former Gwinnett County DA Danny Porter, in my opinion, is the primary reason Mr. Chapel is in prison. But please listen/read and come to your own conclusion.
““We are all one bad cop, one bought DA, or one corrupt judge, from a wrongful conviction.”
The Chapel family and friends are on a mission to bring awareness to the maleficence perpetrated against Mike by Gwinnett County. The words below were posted by his wife, Eren Epps Chapel.
“For those of you who may not know our precious family, allow me to introduce you to our wonderful children. Chad Michael is Sargeant First Class, Special Forces, Green Berets. Chelsea Alexandria has her BA in Psychology and is a business executive in Atlanta (and can run a large country). Our children have more degrees than Mike and I put together! We are very proud of them both! They are our best work in this life! They were 8 and 5 respectively when Mike was arrested, they are now 38 and 35. Mike has continued to be the head of our household and has been a wonderful father and role model, even under these horrible circumstances.
Last Sept. 11, 2021, we launched Henry Ball’s book, Michael Chapel. I am posting Chad’s speech here from that event. It gives you perspective from our childrens’ view of this horrendous railroading from Gwinnett Co. Thank you all for your support!
Sgt. Chad Chapel’s Speech Michael Chapel Book Launch – Historic Courthouse Lawrenceville, Ga September 11, 2021 For those of you that recognize me & my family, thank you again for being here & for your continued support. For all others, my name is Chad Michael Chapel. At work my title is Sergeant First Class Chapel. 12 years in the U.S. Army. 10 years in Special Forces. But, the title I am most proud of is Son of Michael Harold Chapel. I come from a family of generational service to this great nation & its armed forces. We are proud of our blue-collar roots & deep seeded patriotism. Having such values instilled at a very early age, my sister Chelsea & I had high hopes and ideals for how our lives might turn out. We have my mother, Eren Chapel, and my close family & friends to thank for the opportunities we have had in our lives. These opportunities have come no thanks to the corrupt cesspool of law enforcement & government that has & continues to plague Gwinnett County. We have succeeded in spite of the unjust & vile conspirators that still seek to silence my father & family. Growing up my father, Michael Chapel, was nothing short of Superman to me. A former Marine, police officer, bodybuilder, and SWAT team leader. My sister Chelsea can attest to this as well. The sheer stature of this man commanded respect in every room he entered, it was uncanny. So, imagine for a moment that your idol, your hero, the man you admire most in this world snatched from you in the middle of the night by the very men he served with. Imagine your mother waking you up, head in hands, to tell you that your father had done nothing wrong but will be indefinitely incarcerated. Imagine seeing your fathers face all over the local evening news, Dateline 20/20, the Discovery channel as he is painted a murderer. This is what our childhood entailed. This is what we endured thanks to Danny Porter, Gwinnett County, and the corrupt system still in place today. Who among you has not personally heard of someone being railroaded during the reign of Danny Porter? My father was certainly not the first, nor the last in Danny Porter’s long but certainly not distinguished career. The current DA is actively looking at cases from the past due to the overwhelming corruption that plagues our hometown. I can attest unequivocally that few of the masses jailed & prosecuted by Danny Porter have been railroaded quite like my father. His benchmark case, the career notch in his belt, his highlight of decades of corruption behind the District Attorney’s desk of Gwinnett County came at the cost of my childhood & my family’s good name. Most importantly, at the cost of an innocent man’s freedom to be with his family. What is your freedom worth to you? What lengths would you go to for your family to prove their innocence? My mother has had unwavering love & support for her husband, my father. At times she has felt alone in this fight, because at times we were alone. For those of you that have been here since the beginning, you deserve recognition & our utmost gratitude. Sincerely, thank you for all that you have done. For what my mother has endured, which I would not wish upon my worst enemy, she deserves all of our thanks & praise. Mom, thank you & I love you. One remarkable quality my mother has maintained was to reinforce and support my father’s role as head of household despite his unfortunate & illegal incarceration. She did this by reminding me & my sister of his high moral code, his integrity, his selflessness, and his unconditional love of us as his children. How lucky I was to be the son of Mike Chapel never really dawned on me until adulthood. Circumstance actually drove me to seek out direction & discipline in my life through the military. Opportunity and early success pushed me in the direction of Special Operations. Very few Americans today quite understand the Brotherhood as I do. I have suffered and bled alongside some of the nation’s most amazing warriors, most of who will remain remembered only by their brothers in arms & their close family. While I have been very fortunate in my career, I have also worked very hard to distinguish myself for the positions I have been appointed. I have made lasting relationships with men & women I hold in very high esteem. There are brothers I can call upon any time, day, or night, for any reason, & I know they will be there, no questions asked, to have my back. I realized that the values instilled in me by my father, Michael Harold Chapel, are directly responsible for where I am today. For a man to lose 3 decades of his freedom unjustly, & remain the most tempered, wise, and tranquil mentor to his family is still an amazing feat to me. Who among you thinks you could survive that long alone in lockup, much less do all in your power to make sure those you love the most in this world thrive in your physical absence? I have to tell you that, under different circumstance, I’m not sure I could… But, having known Mike Chapel, and all the enrichment my life has added with his involvement in it, I believe anything is possible now. What brings us all here today? Well, Henry Ball has blessed my family with an accountability gut check to Gwinnett County. His account of what was done to my father has dragged the rats back into the light after decades of hiding. He has shone a spotlight on the wheel of corruption that continues to spin, largely unchecked in our hometown. And what does that mean for all of you here today? Today is the start of a conversation. A conversation that is long overdue and should not subside until this unlawful, unjust, and immoral system crashed around those who have abdicated their duty for their own self-interests. Talk about what you’ve heard here today. Talk about what you will read in Henry’s book. Talk about the grief you still see on the face of my mom & sister. Most of all, share with all who will listen. Share it by email, by mouth, by text, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, just share… When the roar of people talking about the corruption that plagues Gwinnett County becomes too deafening to ignore… The powers that be will have no choice but to address & recognize these grievances. No longer can we sit idly by & watch those we love to be taken for stepping stools for elitist county careers. No longer will those bankrupt of morality be able to hide behind the badge they have no business pinning upon their chests every day. Today is the first day we say NO MORE!!! Thank you all for being here.”
My adopted community is rich in somber history. But mostly it’s a history of good people. Solid and strong overcomers.
In the Cassville Confederate Cemetery, 300 unknown soldiers, sons of the south, were given proper burials. A task initiated by the women of Cassville to honor the fallen heroes of The War.
Racism isn’t a problem in Cassville. Diverse families have been friendly neighbors since the Civil War. Homes that have been in white and black families for generations dot the landscape of this quaint little village.
It’s a peaceful place to call home.
I first moved to Cassville in 2000. It was a place frozen in a time more reminiscent of the 1950s. At that time Cass Grocery was still family owned. Old men sat on the brick steps smoking pipes of Prince Albert; telling tales. When a customer pulled up to one of the two antiquated pumps, a bell would ring to alert the attendant. But one of the old gentlemen would usually beat him to his job. It was a help to the employee, who was probably busy inside scooping up a cone of “hand dipped old fashioned ice-cream” for a customer. I think it must have helped the long-retired men feel needed and productive.
Cassville Grocery was the only “gas station” left in the county that wasn’t self-serve. A place where “care for a window wash?” Rolled off tar stained tongues as naturally as taking a breath. It was a customer service courtesy.
Cass Grocery is still open, but the pumps and the old men are gone. A piece of time tucked away in memories.
Back to our Cassville history lesson…The words below aren’t mine. I believe the author is Shane Pinson. I don’t know Shane. I came across one of his posts and was thankful to learn the history of a Cassville church I’ve long been curious about.
“The nondescript little church you see above in no way reflects the historical significance of it. The church was originally organized as Cassville Presbyterian in either 1833 or 1844, the records are not clear on which date is the proper one. We also know that the the Presbyterians dissolved in 1872 and the church was “given to the black families living in Cassville”, thus the AME church was organized at that time.
According to a the Cassville Historical Society “It was on November 5, 1864 when the city of Cassville was destroyed by fire at the hands of the Fifth Ohio Regiment of the Federal Army under the command of Colonel Heath and Major Thomas. They said they had orders from Sherman “that not a house be left within the limits of the incorporation, except the churches.” The town had been in the hands of Yankee forces since May 25th, when General Johnston had retreated without a fight, and left the city to the mercy of the Union Army. Sherman’s forces had marched on in pursuit and, as General Sherman gave no order to burn the town at that time, many people believe that possible he never did, but the burning of the town was the work of Yankee stragglers who had some sort of grievance against the people of Cassville”.
The history further states that “The three churches which still are on the same grounds and three residences were the only structures left standing by Sherman’s Army. The home of Dr. Weston Hardy served as a hospital and was not burned for that reason. The Mercer home also, was spared because of sickness. Tradition has it, the home of Mr. A. C. Day was saved when the captain saw a certain Masonic emblem as it dropped from a bible while the family brought out their furniture. These three homes and the Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian churches were unharmed”. Cassville never fully recovered from the war time damage and the business center of Bartow County moved to Cartersville.
The old church has been heavily modified over time so it is difficult to recognize what may be original to the old structure and what has been modified. However, the historical aspect of St. James is significant in that we know it is one of only a hand full of structures to survive the 1864 destruction. After the war, the African Americans in the Cassville area were told they were emancipated but it took years to realize what that actually meant. They were given freedom but little else. Our research indicates a pattern of confusion in the south after the war for both races. The blacks embraced the white man’s religion because that was what they had been exposed to, but they learned to embrace it in their own way within their newly emerging and very strong culture. AME stands for African Methodist Episcopal and is the oldest independent Protestant denomination founded by black people in the world. It was founded by the Rt. Rev. Richard Allen and Absalom Jones in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1816 from several black Methodist congregations in the mid-Atlantic area that wanted independence from white Methodists.
After the war, southern African Americans began to form their own congregations, often assisted by whites. Thus churches like St. James AME came into being in 1872. Even though the original church had been Presbyterian, St. James would likely have been formed by congregants who had been raised in the Methodist church of their masters. This was a very difficult time for both races and they found spiritual comfort in these old churches, but they found it in very different ways.
We salute the Historical Preservation efforts of the citizens of Bartow County. Hopefully, a way can be found to save historical sanctuaries like this that tell us who we are and how we got here.”
Today, 11.16.22, those folks who were expecting something other than a presidential campaign announcement last night, are upset with President Trump. They are casting blame on him for the lies that came out of the Q camp. None of us are responsible for the lies and fabrications of others. So why should President Trump be held to a different standard? Do you want to be responsible for every lie Q has told? If not, then why would you hold this man accountable for something he never said?
There were some wild speculations leading up to President Trump’s announcement. Most of us knew he would be revealing his bid for the 2024 nomination. Nothing more. But some started buzzing about “life changing news” “historical announcement” “people will be arrested.” “Nancy is already in handcuffs and on her way to Gitmo!”
“What? How do they know? Where did they get this information? Who is the inside source?” They couldn’t say. But I knew. A source for this supposed inside story was never revealed. And that’s because it was conjured up by some people who love stirring up Trump supporters. Q was the source.
And because the overzealous predictions (lies) didn’t materialize, these same folks who loved Trump yesterday, are vilifying him today.
Friend, you were played by Q once again.
Q is a liberal. Q’s pronoun is “they.” And they are the Democrat leaders. And as Q, they have made good people believe they were fighting for justice and democracy. Noting could be farther from the truth.
Please wake up. Get back on the Trump Train. He’s our best hope. And now that Fancy Nancy is in her way out the door, we can get busy getting things done. And yes…real investigations can finally commence.
Q is a scam created by the Democrats.
*The section below was written on 9.11.22
I wanted Q to be one of the good guys.
I was never fully convinced that he was anything other than someone with big dreams and high hopes. But I liked the idea of an anonymous, Captain America type. A warrior for the people. A cloak and dagger super hero. I hoped he would rush in and assemble America’s avengers…just in the nick of time.
But as time in this swampy world drags on, I see Q for what Q is. Q has revealed himself, he has shifted his shape. Q is a democrat. A liberal. Q is “they”. Q is more than one anonymous man. Q is a secret club of democrats and high strung liberals. They love making conservatives look and sound dense and foolish. And I think they are probably giddy over the fact that they have lured Christians into their sticky web. I’m hearing/watching Christians mock God by attempting to align Him with Q. It’s dark and grievous. And disturbing.
The 21st Anniversary of 9/11 has stirred up Q. Pulled them from their dens. They are playing head games with conservatives at the expense of 9/11 victims.
So many of us continue to fall in step with Q’s savage dance.
9/11 was real. It actually happened.
The people believing/claiming it didn’t occur, or that it was done by anyone other than terrorists from the Middle East, are blowing my mind this morning.
When will the Q believers realize that Q was a scheme contrived and fueled by liberals to tease and manipulate conspiracy minded conservatives? And to make conservatives look and sound like raving lunatics. The democrats know if they keep us focused on wild conspiracies we won’t be focused on what they’re doing. We will pay no mind to their mission…the completion of their socialist agenda.
Q is not a Republican, Libertarian, or a right-wing conservative. “But Q knows so much! He’s obviously connected to someone high in government.”
Yes he is highly connected. Q is the Democrat Party. And they are yanking your chain.
Everything isn’t a “conspiracy theory.” This is true.
Anyone on any aisle, regardless of how deeply entrenched, can see that the things they are “doing for our good” are not adding up. For instance, it’s near impossible statistically that 154 million voters, out of 168 million registered voters, turned out in 2020. Even more improbable would be that 81 million of those registered, voted for an emotionally sick, basement dwelling, sniffer of children and women. One who also has dementia.
But… Isn’t the majority of government corrupt?
Yes.
Was the 2020 election stolen?
Yes.
Do we have some dirty “leaders” willing to kill and destroy to get their way?
Yes.
Did the government kill JFK?
Yes.
Did the 🇺🇸 government allow China to release a virus and then the 🇺🇸 government used the virus to control Americans?
Yes.
Is the government trying to hurt you, pad their own pockets, and help Big Pharma by forcing vaccines?
Yes.
Is jobama in cahoots with the Ukrainian president?
Yes.
Is JFKjr alive?
No. But I wish he was. He was a beautiful and reasonable man. And I believe he would have become a conservative.
Were the Queen of England and Billy Graham trafficking in children?
Hell no. But Hunter probably is. Why isn’t anyone talking about Hunter? Is Q talking about Hunter?
Could Clinton and Bush have done something to prevent 9/11?
Yes, yes, yes.
But they didn’t. And people actually died. It wasn’t a “movie.”
To say 9/11 wasn’t real is an insult to the deceased and their families.
Friend, Please stop drinking Q’s moonshine. Q tells you to “just wait, something big is about to happen in two months. Or maybe it’s six months. No wait, it’s happening in May. Dang it, it’s August. It’s really happening in August and it’s BIG. Oh well, it might be November when it happens. Just be patient, it’s coming. DJT is still president. He’s just letting this play out. Give him time to expose the bad guys. Anyway, when it happens, stay home. Don’t go out, not even to vote. Especially not to vote. Mail it in. And whatever you do, don’t fight them. They will lock you up if you fight back.
“Trust the plan.”
Thanks for the advice Q… I mean NancyJoeBarackChuckie.
Recently, Bartow County Commissioner Steve Taylor said to me: “You’re too high maintenance” for our service. He was referring to Bartow Transit, a state and tax funded transportation service available to every Bartow County citizen.
Some other things he said:
“Bartow Transit is not a Taxi service.”
“You’re not entitled to use our services.”
Why did the Commissioner make these remarks? Because I had the audacity to question why Bartow Transit cancels reservations without notice. Because I express dissatisfaction when the time scheduled for my appointment is changed without notification.
So how did I find myself entangled with Commissioner Taylor?
On Thanksgiving Day 2019, I took myself out of the driver’s seat.
I’ve had declining mobility issues for several years, primarily in my legs. By 2019, muscle strength in my legs had declined so much that when driving I had to take both hands off the wheel and use them to transfer my right leg between gas and brake pedals. It was a frightening exercise. Even so, I had been reluctant to give up driving. I didn’t want to let go of one more article of independence. But on that Thanksgiving drive, I terrified myself. It became dreadfully clear that I was endangering every driver around me. When I got home that day, I put my keys away.
For months afterwards, I only left my house when someone could drive me. I don’t like asking for help, and it takes effort for me to get in and out of most vehicles. So, I limited my requests for chauffeurs to only essential situations. In the meantime, I researched handicap accessible vans and cars. I was searching for something with hand controls that I could operate myself. Quickly I learned the cost for one of these conversion vehicles is out of reach for me.
After retiring from driving, I felt isolated. At the time, going outside, even onto my porch, was not an option. I couldn’t walk to my mailbox. Previously, I had used my car to drive the short distance to retrieve my mail. Now, I had to rely on others to bring the mail to me. My car had enabled me to feel like I was still part of my community. I used it for picnics in the park. I would pick up Chick Fil A from the window and drive over to Dellinger Park for a picnic in my car. Sometimes I had lunch near the duck pond. Other times, I watched teens playing basketball on the park’s courts. I used my car for brief driveway visits with friends and family. These things sound small and insignificant to most, but they were tethers to a common life for me.
Prior to admitting defeat and giving up the open road, walking had become slow and difficult. Additionally, it was awfully painful and unsafe. In a six-month period, I had fallen twice and broken my left foot both times. Around the time that I hung up my keys, my doctor encouraged me to use a wheelchair. I had fought it for years, but I knew it was time. And eventually, I did as she suggested. The wheelchair gave me the freedom to continue to live independently, get some small things done around my house without asking for help, and go outside again. It has become my legs.
The chair liberated me. But I still wanted to leave my driveway. I longed to go to a store without asking for help. I wanted to leave my house for a hair appointment rather than try to find a stylist to come to me. I wanted to meet friends for lunch downtown or go to a medical appointment without bothering family and friends to drive me. People are busy.
I live in a rural area and public transportation options are limited. But one day last fall, a lightbulb lit up inside my brain. I happened to think about a sweet elderly lady I met several years ago. She had been standing outside Ingle’s in Cartersville when I first met her. It was raining and she was attempting to cover her hair with an empty plastic bag in one hand, while holding three full grocery bags in her other hand. When I was within speaking distance of her, I asked if I could give her a ride. She told me she was waiting for a county bus. When I exited the store forty-five minutes later, she was still there. I couldn’t leave her there. After a few minutes, I persuaded her to allow me to drive her home. On the short drive to her apartment, we had a wonderful conversation about her grandchildren and my children. We learned that despite being from different races, different cultures, and different generations, we had many things in common. We even had the same middle name.
Thinking of Dena generated a memory of Bartow Transit.
I googled Bartow Transit and found they are still in business. I called them for more information. I learned they operate Monday through Friday, 9-4PM. They will transport Bartow County residents to any Bartow business (eventually I learned this does not include restaurants). This was great news. It meant I wouldn’t have to bother others for daytime appointments. I could use Bartow Transit for medical appointments, grocery shopping, etc.
From the start, I was impressed with Bartow Transit drivers. They are kind, friendly, and helpful. They are excellent examples of customer service. Perfect, southern gentlemen.
My first impression of their office staff was a good one. My first contact was with a lady who was professional and courteous. For this article, I’ll call her Lady A. But a second woman in the office made me feel as if I was a bother to her. She can’t be described as courteous. Or professional. Rude is too soft an adjective to illustrate her. I’ll call her Miss Trunchbull for now. Every call I make to schedule an appointment with Bartow Transit is a battle if she picks up the phone. At first, I overlooked the rude, belligerent attitude of this Bartow Transit employee. But when my scheduled appointments began to be cancelled without reason or notice, I knew I needed to address the issue. I called the director of the service and filed a grievance. When the director made it clear he wasn’t concerned, I called Commissioner Steve Taylor. It took several attempts by phone and email, plus one in person visit, over a period of weeks, before I received a response from Commissioner Taylor. He assured me the “glitches” were not intentional.
As time moved forward and the same issues persisted, I called both the director and Mr. Taylor again. They implied the problem was with me, not with their employee. I suggested they record all calls, as many customer-service business do, so they can monitor the level of customer service being provided. With recorded calls, they could hear for themselves what I hear from Miss Trunchbull. Steve Taylor said he would take my suggestion into consideration.
The issues persisted. The rudeness escalated. My reservations continued to be removed or left off the books. In April, I sent Commissioner Steve Taylor an email detailing the most recent incidents. He never responded to the email.
A friend suggested I contact the office of Governor Brian Kemp, since Commissioner Taylor is subordinate to the Governor. I called and sent an email as directed. As of this date, I haven’t received a response from Governor Kemp.
Early in May I scheduled a Bartow Transit reservation for May 24, 2022. The destination was my district’s election center. The director of Bartow Transit answered the phone and scheduled my reservation for 5/24/22, Georgia’s Primary Election Day.
On the morning of Monday, May 16, I called to schedule another trip for later in the week. Miss Trunchbull answered. I told her I was flexible and requested an appointment for Thursday or Friday of the same week. She advised there were no available times and no available days for the entire week. I thanked her and ended the call. We never discussed my already scheduled May 24 trip.
I use Bartow Transit every two or three weeks. Considering the “glitches” with many of my appointments, I am in the practice of calling to confirm the day prior or the morning of my appointment. On May 24, I didn’t call to confirm. My appointment was for 10:00. When the driver had not arrived by a few minutes past the scheduled time, I called Bartow Transit. Miss Trunchbull answered. I asked her if the driver was on his way. She placed me on hold. A few minutes later, the office manager picked up the call and said:
“Miss Able, you called in on the 16th and cancelled your trip.”
I advised her I had not cancelled. I had indeed called on the 16th to schedule a different reservation, but I had not discussed the appointment scheduled for the 24th. The 24th was the final day to vote in the primary election. Why would I cancel that trip? The manager sent a driver within the hour, and he got me to the poll location with time to spare.
When I returned home that day, I called the director of Bartow Transit. He was unavailable so I left a message describing the day’s incident. I had incorrectly presumed he would want to be aware of the continuing problem. Later in the day, he and the office manager conference called me. In short, he told me I could find another form of transportation. The manage told me that complaining about Miss Trunchbull was equivalent to harassment of her. They were not concerned that one of their employees continually inconvenienced a customer by canceling trips or changing pick-up times.
Wouldn’t you want to know if a business you oversee was practicing poor customer service habits?
A day after the conference call, Bartow County Commissioner Steve Taylor phoned me. He said he had just ended a meeting with the director of Bartow Transit and Miss Trunchbull. He advised they found no wrongdoing on her part.
Commissioner Taylor accused me of “having it in” for Miss Trunchbull (I’ve never met her). How so? Was it because I reported the occasions my reservations were cancelled without authorization? Or is it because they were made aware that drivers were sent to pick me up two hours early? Perhaps it’s because I was left waiting outside at an intown location for an hour and a half in 90-degree weather, because the driver was never dispatched? Do these incidents indicate I “have it in for her?”
He said I was “too high maintenance’ for their service. I asked how he concluded that my expectations of service constitute high maintenance? He ignored my question. However, Commissioner Taylor did inform me I am the “only person who has ever called him or the Transit office to complain.“
He said, “We are not a taxi service, and you can’t use it as one.” Now this was a puzzling statement from the county commissioner. I’ve never thought of the service as a taxi. I follow their rules:
Reservations must be requested by noon the day prior to pick-up (early in my association with Bartow Transit, a family member passed away and I didn’t have a way to get to the funeral home for his service. I called them to see if they make exceptions to the “before noon” reservation for transit for this type of life event. They advised they do no. This is the only request of this kind I have made.t)
Passengers must be prepared for pick-up one hour prior to scheduled time.
Drivers will honk once and will not wait more than 5 minutes, so be ready to go when they arrive.
He accused me of calling to complain if the bus is late. This is partially true. BT requires riders to be ready for pick-up one hour before a scheduled pick-up time. Therefore, I am aware that waiting is involved. I did call to ask about a particular late pick-up. It was 40 minutes past the time they said they would arrive and my appointment at the Hope Center was in 20 minutes. It’s a fifteen-minute drive, not including the on-off-loading of a wheelchair. That day, when I called Bartow Transit, I was advised that I was not on the schedule. But I knew that I had been on schedule because I had called the day before to confirm.
During conversations with the commissioner and the director, both have stated BT is a private company: “we are a private service, and you have no rights here.” This was referring to any rights provided by the American Disabilities Act. In one conversation, Mr. Taylor said their funds come from the GADOT. I have learned from their own website that Bartow Transit is partly funded by the Georgia Department of Transportation as well as funds from the Federal Transit Administration.
Commissioner Taylor banned me from using the service for 30 days and advised the BT office to record every call that comes in from me. I agreed with him that every call should be recorded so that he is aware of any customer service issues (his office is not in the same building as Bartow Transit).
He said only my incoming calls would be recorded.
“That’s my decision,” he informed me.
I am not seeking special treatment from Bartow Transit. I just want the same service offered to every citizen of Bartow County. Does that really mean I’m “high maintenance” or that I have an “entitled” attitude?
My ban from Bartow Transit expires at the end of June 2022. If I decide to use the service again, I imagine the problem will continue. Why would it not, considering the commissioner does not recognize that he has a breakdown in customer service?
I need the services of Bartow Transit. I wish I didn’t. And I believe if I bring any future concerns to the commissioner’s attention, I will be banned from the transit service permanently.
Individuals with disabilities feel unseen, unheard, and dismissed. It’s partly why I fought to hide what was happening to me. I knew I would be seen as an invaluable member of society to many people. Perhaps these perceptions are unintentional. Nevertheless, they inflict pain and embarrassment onto those of us trying to navigate life in an “able bodied” world. In my limited interactions with Commissioner Taylor, he has proven to embody the point of view that I feared and dreaded…that the disabled are invaluable and unworthy.
Regarding the situation mentioned here with the commissioner and Bartow Transit…. what would you do?
I’m not expert on anything, especially firearms. But I know a little about a few things. And this I know…
The letters “AR” in AR15 aren’t an abbreviation for assault rifle or attack rifle. It’s an abbreviation for the original manufacturer’s name: Armalite Rifle
The AR15 style weapons are not the same weapons used by the military.
The AR15 style weapons were in the hands of Americans for over 40 years before one was used in a mass shooting.
There are more than 20 million AR15s in circulation in the USA and approximately 400 million guns.
All of those guns aren’t killing people.
I support the Second Amendment. But I believe they’d room for improvement. Perhaps more background requirements are necessary for gun permits. The age permitted to purchase semi-automatic weapons (is there really such thing as a stand alone “assault” weapon?) should be increased to 21 in all states. A more extensive background check should be required. Forget the right to medical privacy regarding age and violence. The background check should include mental health records and criminal records that may have occurred when the purchaser/applicant was a minor. Currently, I believe those records are sealed.
Separate from gun owner background investigations, but equally important in my opinion, is the problem with hiding the history of violent minors from educators. Schools, teachers, and employers should be allowed to know the history of students who have violent tendencies. Currently, it’s considered discrimination to “profile” a student based on previous violent behavior or criminal records.
The day after the Uvalde murders, Democrats blocked a school safety bill. You read that right. They blocked a bill designed to protect America’s students.
We need to stop the lefty liberal push to remove the Constitutional rights of every law abiding American because of on the behavior of violent criminals.
red clay ponderings 