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Isn’t that the question? Are those who have gone before us still here? Or, are those departed here some of the time, for a second, hour, day or week and then gone for a while? Could it be the dead are never, ever here at all, gone for good, silent, an empty place in our heart and mind only?

Sometimes I can hear my dad’s voice. “That a boy!”; “Keep your nose clean!”; ” Up an’ at em'”; “Mow today.” Wait, what???*

Really, sometimes I can hear Dad asking me to mow, and I mean asking. Dad was a sweet guy so he’d always asked, never demand, and added a “Hon.” to it. “How about mowing today, hon.” And when Dad did ask me to do something it was a done deal-that’s the way our family rolled.

I’d say dad’s patience and understanding could move mountains.

I’m thinkin’ Dad was successful at about everything he tried to do. The oldest of five siblings, we got it that Dad helped his brothers and sister go through college while he was in school as well. We have accounting books he kept during his younger days and every penny mattered and was tracked. He was on the Queen Elizabeth as it sailed to England loaded with troops during World War II and he was in charge of some of the troops on board. As a chief engineer, he helped in the restoration of Europe after the war, and here at home my family actually drove over a bridge out west that he had designed.

In the end, Dad became a Full Colonel, and upon his death Fort Drum sent an honor guard to play taps and present mom with an American flag on Dad’s behalf. An officer on the base researched Dad’s history of service and told me, “He deserves this.” Later that same day, Fort Drum  flew a missing man formation for him over Lake Bonaparte.  There, low, just above High Rocks, a line of helicopters flew but one was missing in the line formation. My eyes stared at the empty spot and saw my dad’s spirit there. It was quite a send off for a man I’ll never forget.

Thing is, just how, ‘off’, is Dad? Of course, he lives through me since I still hear his voice, remember things he said, still follow his advice when I can and think of him often. I imagine most who knew him remember his kind and gentle way. But, is Dad here, here, as in here.(This my most descriptive sentence ever:-)).

Dad is 72; Kelly one. He gave me so much. I was so happy to be able to give something back.(Thanks to my wife!) He loved his grand children.

If a person lives long enough, they learn that life’s a long road-the long and winding road. Life twists and turns at the drop of a hat, a gift, an accident, a brilliant idea or mistaken one, it tumbles along but always with effort. Perhaps, the best thing I ever read about life is that one lived full of good intention will become a beautiful memory.

The red single Hibiscus… Dad loved flowers and grew all kinds around our home.

To this day I think of Dad as I garden, check the flowers, pick the oranges and smile at the sky. Maybe the question is, How much more could my dad be here?

I was cleaning a spot off the bottom of our pool with a long brush when I noticed that I couldn’t see the spot once the water rippled. Then, as the water return to calm, I could see the spot once more. Is this it? Are the departed still within our medium but the substance is somehow rippled so we can’t see the other side of life? Wouldn’t we all like to know.

Dad shared our joys in life, and gave us so many…

Heck, Dad gave us the camp at Lake Bonaparte! How completely cool is that? The next time I gear up and climb in the boat, hear the engine kick up and head out to fish, Dad will be in the boat, but he won’t need a life jacket.

Bye Dad , for now.

Max Franquemont, July 18th, 1911- October 31st, 2001.

Franque23.

  • Pictures: Dad,  David Morgan, Aunt Virginia(Dad’s sister)  and Uncle Moe Morgan. On the 1/2 way dock at our camp.

 


 

(Some of the pics enlarge with a click.)

Two hundred feet. That’s all that separated my dad’s life from death…

Never were three children so happy over two hundred feet!My brother, Ed, sister, Sharon and my thirteen year-old self owe the distance our lives, too.

Thing is, as miraculous as this story from 1928 truly is, I may have never told my Morgan cousins and extended family the tale?!?!

 come gather around  the Indian and listen up!**

It was long before mom and dad were living on base.

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Long before dad was stationed and posed with friends in uniform.

This is the tale I first heard in my house on Pinetree Lane, South Park, as the snow fell and mounted outside. (Yikes! Did I help shovel that?)

 

*****

The Tailspin Story
A True Story by Max R. Franquemont*

Background: ( As my sister, Sharon Franquemont writes:)

One year after Charles Lindberg’s first flight across the Atlantic, my 17 year-old Dad, Colonel Max R. Franquemont, took flying lessons from Sept. 11, 1928 to Oct. 19, 1928. He still had the receipts when he died the fall of 2001 at a little over 90 years old. His 1928 lessons cost $8.75 per 30 minutes. Later, he flew for the US Post Office between Des Moines, IA and Moline, IL. We discovered this story and other young man philosophical and romantic musings in a bottom drawer the night he died. It felt to all of us as if his spirit was reaching back to us as if to say, “Take a risk. Life is an adventure.”

Story: (As my dad recorded it…circa 1928)

We were spiraling in wide curves already above the first layer of clouds with the nose of our speedy scout pointed every upward. The powerful Wasp was running smoothly and evenly, and outwardly everything seemed just the same as it did on any of my many flights the last three months. Inwardly though, my mind was a seething maelstrom. Stunts! Today I was to stunt. At last the day had come that I was longing for and yet feared most. I was to maneuver the plane into the deadly tailspin and out again…if possible! Wing-overs and Immelmans (a flying term) I had mastered before, but now…

I came back to reality with a shock. The motor was laboring and I felt my instructor, fearless fellow, wobble the “Stick.: We were almost in a stalled position, so I edged the stick forward and instantly the motor resumed the reverberating motion which brings victory to an intrepid airplane. My instructor’s voice came through the tube calm, encouraging, “Take it easy! This won’t be so bad.”

Dad’s plane-of any color- would have looked like this one.

I leveled the ship off, gave her a little right rudder, and decided to look about a bit. My eyes sought the distant horizon where etched against the sky I could pick out the spires and water tower of a distant town. I relaxed and watched the ground. Twelve towns were within my vision as my eyes moved from the horizon. I could see a train moving like a caterpillar slowly across the ground; a white ribbon stretching endlessly, crowded with hundreds of black dots, automobiles; and a silver streak, winding between the green and black checkerboard farm land, which I knew to be a mighty river. At last, ten thousand feet below me, appeared the airport dotted with planes looking like dragonflies at rest with smaller mite-like specks—men. Then I spoke into the tube, “Are we high enough yet?”

“No,” said Rip, “better go up to fifteen thousand. About 10,000 now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, “just ten thousand,” and marveled at this judgment of height. He had on instruments in the forward cockpit.

I eased the stick back and held a gentle climb. The ship did not climb so fast now because of the rarer atmosphere, but we gained gradually. Try as I would, I could think of nothing, but the coming spin. Why, of why, had I not insisted on a parachute? On the ground my fears seemed silly and I had not the courage to ask for one. No one in the field ever wore one unless testing a plane so there was only one chute available and it would have seemed funny had I asked for one and left my instructor without. I had my first doubts as to my ability to fly through any situation. Heretofore, I had been unafraid, in fact over-daring, but suddenly I found myself afraid. Only last week a man had been killed before my eyes. Would I be the next? I glanced at the altimeter and my heart jumped. Fourteen thousand! Only a few minutes more and…but what had I to fear? A veteran of a thousand tailspins and crises sat in front of me. I wondered what he was thinking about. What if I should freeze on the controls? What could he do? Well, I just wouldn’t freeze on the controls. I certainly wouldn’t get rattled! I’d let go at the slightest touch on the stick or rudder bar. My instructor’s voice brought me back from my reverie. “This’ll do now” I glanced at the meter—14,500 feet!

“Better do a Immelman or so to get the feel of the ship, “ said Rip.

I put the nose down and gathered speed and then pulled the stick back. Up we went in a zoom and just before the stall I kicked over the rudder as she fell over the wing into a steep dive. I quickly revered rudder and shoved the stick forward. The plane leveled off traveling in the opposite direction.

“Fine,” said Rip. “All right, you keep your hand on the stick and your feet lightly on the rudder bar and I’ll take you through a spin. Safety belt fastened?”

“Yes, let’s go!” I replied affecting bravery I was far from feeling.

Forward went the throttle and back came the stick. The nose went almost straight up and then as he kicked over the rudder and closed the throttle, the ground changed places with the sky, and we were falling. I felt a jerk and knew we were spinning. I closed my eyes because looking at the ground made me dizzy. Suddenly, the controls reversed and the mad whirling ceased. The stick went forward and came gradually back as we flattened out. Then Rip gave her the gun and zoomed within a hundred feet of our altitude.

“Now, you try it,” he said, “and let her spin longer than I did.”

“All right!” I shouted.

The ease with which we came out of the spin had bolstered my courage considerably. I gave her the gun and zoomed. As we approached a stall, I cut the throttle and kicked over full right rudder. The ship fell over on the right wing like a crippled bird and plunged downward. Again I felt that huge jerk and knew we were spinning. I tried to keep my eyes open and watch the ground, but I could not see much from there. I looked at the altimeter and watched the needle swing back 13,500—13,400—13,300—13,200—13,200—13,100—13,00 feet. A thousand feet in less than a minute!

“Well, I guess that’s enough,” came through the ear phones.

I was more than ready to pull her out, so I kicked over the rudder and pushed the stick forward. Almost instantly the spinning stopped, but I was anxious to level off so I pulled the stick back too quickly. For an instant everything went black! I had pulled up so sharply that gravity had drained the blood from our heads.

When I regained my senses, the ship seemed to be hanging in the air, and before I could move it whipped madly over on the left-wing and we were plunging downward in a reverse spin! I kicked over the rudder. No result! The whirling continued. I shouted through the tube.

“Hey! You take her.” No answer.

I looked into the cockpit! I could see nothing! Down we went whirling faster and faster! I fought the controls wildly. Why, oh why did I ever do this! What happened to Rip? How could I stop this d… thing anyway I half sobbed to myself. The wind in the wings and struts rose to a weird scream. Going down. Ten thousand feet read the meter and the needle was racing backward. What should I do? I grabbed the stick savagely and jerked it around. I tried the rudder at all angles, but it seemed to be spinning faster.

I glanced down through the wing and saw the airport directly below me. I could almost imagine the spot where we going to hit. Again I looked at the needle. Nine thousand feet! Only seconds to live. I looked back to see if the rudder or elevator was broken. They were working smoothly, but nothing touched that mad spinning. I tore savagely at the stick. It broke!! It was snapped off at the socket. I threw it furiously over the side and then leaned forward, sobbing hysterically. I threw the goggles off and prayed for a tree. What had I done to deserve this? Why hadn’t I known better than to pull the stick back so soon? Here I’d killed us both!! I could see tomorrow’s paper. Student pilot freezes at the controls, but I hadn’t frozen on the controls. No one would know that though. What would mother think? If we crashed at this speed there would nothing left of me to bury. I looked at the instrument board—only three thousand feet to live. Was I to die this way so soon? Would I never see my folks again? I leaned forward against the dashboard and sobbed, heartbroken.

Suddenly the rudder bar moved magically beneath my feet. Was I dreaming? No! There was Rip’s head! Suddenly the motor broke into a deep roar. We hurtled down fast and faster, but gradually the spinning ceased. The ground came up. Would we make it? Now the plane was in a screaming nose dive, but gradually it flattened out, and at least we leveled off with a scant two hundred feet to spare. I collapsed weakly in the seat and, while I was still trying to comprehend the miracle, Rip spoke weakly into the tube, “You take her now!”

“I can’t!” I gasped. “My stick is broken.”

“All right, “ he replied, “I’ll do the best I can. I bumped my head against the cockpit and it knocked me out. I’m still dizzy.”

We were in a long glide now heading into the field and, as I watched the ground gradually come up to meet us, I wondered if anyone on the field knew that anything was amiss. I thanked God that Rip had not allowed me to stop at ten thousand feet as I had wanted to do. Now we were over the field in a shallow glide. The wheels hit, we bounced, and then settled gently to the earth and rolled roughly over the field until we stopped. Rip climbed out and smiled at me. He face was white and there was a bump the size of an egg over his left temple.

He said, “Why all the tears on your cheeks?”

I hastily wiped my cheeks, and said, “Nothing, only the wind in my eyes since I threw away my goggles.”

Rip shook his head wisely, and turned to the excited crowd coming across the field.

Now, with my dad long gone and me an older man, I still recall dad telling me how he followed the road ways below as he flew from town to town delivering mail as a young man of seventeen. One time, as he told it, he hit a storm that left him back where he’d started from an hour earlier that day! His cockpit was open-we’ve all seen those pictures-and his guts were on display!

Cheers! I’m so glad dad’s plane leveled off and rose.

This camellia is for you, dad.

Dad singing, Sweet Ivory Soap, for about his last time, some 74 years after his fateful flight.

Dad, you are my co-pilot.

Franque23

*Max Franquemont, July 18th, 1911-October 31st, 2001.

**This is the old Morgan store in Natural Bridge, New York. My uncle Mo owned this and the Natural Bridge caverns that were located right next store. We all so loved that Indian!

 

 


By most fishin’ rules ya never give up your secrets. Not your lures; not your places. You fishing spots could get fished out! But, to me, one old enough to know the hills, Lake Bonaparte was fished out about  75 years ago or better.

Old Man Priest could attest to the fact. In my earlier years, Priest’s was not only a great penny candy shop, soda fountain, but also a place where huge fish that hung upon the walls told of an era past even then, some 65 years ago as my wide child-eyes gazed at the mountings in wonder.

I was a boy then and learning how to fish from my dad and brother, Buz Franquemont. Some of my earliest memories are tugging at my Dad’s arm as he lay sleeping in camp way early in the morning, “Go fishing with you ,dad?”

 I never stopped asking.

Time moved on and I found I’d developed a good sense of where the fish might be in the summer time. I’ll tell you a secret, sometimes, I can hear the fish. I know that’s not believable, so let’s move on.

 To be clear, I’m only up during the summer months and for a week or two at a time between June and August. So yeah, ice fishing reels in the Northern’s, I know, but I’m fishing for small mouth and large mouth almost exclusively when up at the lake.

So when to fish?

During the day, I’m hunting for a still water with light wind.  Of course, if you don’t have this you can drift Bull Rush Bay (a name hardly descriptive now as it was in the sixties) and cast semi-mid bay to the western side and snap up Northern’s. Northern’s will eat anything when they’re hungry, even people if they could. But, the lure I have in mind is a off-set red-feathered hook and silver spinner bait. Drag it up thru the weeds and wait.

I’m not sure what bait mom was using in Porter’s bay in front of our camp when she landed this fish-a fish of her lifetime.

Mom never stopped encouraging my children when it came to fishing or learning just about anything!

I prefer June for fishing for bass-you’ve a much better chance basically at this time though all my records defy that rule? I like June cause the season has just opened and the evening sky lingers forever until 10 at night most often.

 

My cousin’s son, Lach, couldn’t have caught the time to go fishing off our dock any better. I might leave 15 minutes earlier, but wouldn’t need to.

 

Leaving my dock from Porter’s bay gets me to Mud lake in time to fish for about an hour or so. I fish until the May flies, mosquitoes and gnats are thicker than the night. I don’t always fish Mud lake, but these two pics are from there, about 5 years apart. 2012–Two of these are huge bass…way beyond normal.

This year I headed out just as late in June having been skunked on two previous trips I took earlier in the visit.2017—one fish is 17 inches, two are 16 and one is 14. All were caught within 1/2  before sun down.

 

I’ve caught some monsters in previous years. The two on the wall here are something like 8 pounds, and the smaller one, one my cousin Joe says is the largest small mouth he has ever seen, tops five pounds or more.

Then, in 2009, mid-day in a driving rain, around the bend of Mud lake, a white plastic worm wiggling, this baby snatched my lure. I let him go only to hear from my ex Brother-in-law, Paul Doherty,  that he was most likely caught again near Hammond’s point about two months later as he fished with a friend. 

 

 

Oh, he had to top 8 pounds by a bunch.

 

Fishing. There’s a great joy to it. A silence; a solitude. Catch and release only adds to the pleasure. I generally eat only a few. The large ones must get off to breed another day. In all, Lake Bonaparte still offers the unknown; anything might hit at any time. Case in point: fishing for perch and sunfish with my grandson with worms he snagged a 27 inch northern that nearly tipped the boat in the ruckus….what fun.

Cheers to all my fellow Lake lovers! We are a force.

Franque23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


I still believe, because of the timing, Trump could be one of America’s greatest Presidents if he’d make a few radical changes to his personality and agendas…

Trump can give America a great future with a wave of his hand.

Trump’s so close and he’s been given so much, not just from his dad who left him a fortune but by fate. The hand this current President has been dealt is loaded with trump cards, and all because of the calendar’s date. The time for huge upheaval, a powerful surge of change is at hand in America and the World. Trump holds all the cards to win these times over if he makes the right play.

In nineteen twenty, no one could see the horse and buggy days vanishing by nineteen thirty-two. There were a few companies working on cars back then, even earlier—Studebaker developed an electric car in 1902

1902 electric car

and then a gasoline powered car in 1904—

1905 Studebaker gas powered car

but, basically  buggies made fortunes and most believed horses were here to stay. Oh my, how the world had changed nineteen years later.

But what about now? Proponents of renewable energies clamor on about climate change, pollution and the urgent need for change if we are to save our future. The old guard of gas, oil and coal remain dug in, entrenched and supported by fortunes earned in the past, and point to a need for newer technologies before renewable energies can provide the world’s need for power. Most say it will be thirty years or longer before the renewable industry can compete with fossil fuels and make a dent in the power market.

Think back to the Nineteen twenties…..

Here’s the key to now: http://safeshare.tv/w/ntjwDrwEwh

As you see in this short two minute clip, knowledge is not increasing in a linear, even pace that can be charted or tied to any speed. No, we live in exponentially growing times of size, number, knowledge and possibility. Our time, Trump’s time, can best be thought of as a rocket ship that zooms to an unknown place with ever-increasing speed.

Get ready for the ride of our lives!

Just now, Las Vegas has gone to 100% renewable energy for the entire city-the result of a ten-year long renewable energy project. Some trains now run virtually energy free while transporting six-hundred thousand workers per day! * Even smaller, individual renewables are making developmental leaps. **Today, more people work in renewable energy than those who work in coal, gas and oil production and exploration combined!

Trump looks to  fossil fuels as our answer but it’s not. And as President, Trump has the power, the gift, to be the one who moves America as if by a flip of a coin into a bright future, to jobs, huge prosperity, abundance, leadership and a brand new world. Drilling, mining, fracking, dirty pipe lines that bust, these are the horse and buggy of our day; Trump’s day,*** but he can change this.

The reins of huge change are in Trump’s hands if he’ll only take them. Come on Trump; you know what you should be grabbing. The chance to make history is before you but you have to step up.

Trump’s on the wrong side of so many things like the Paris Climate accord and a wall that won’t work unless we post large signs on it that read, “No ladders or tunnels allowed.” BTW, 70% of all illegals got into America by plane…he’s also completely off on ‘Clean Coal’, that the oxymoron of the ages.****

And then, there’s the problem of ISIL. Trump’s right that the world has to do better at vetting immigrants and protecting our populations from random violence. How to do it; that’s another tipping point of history now.

CNN said it best today: “So, the state visit will go ahead, and there will be protests. But if Trump could only get off Twitter for five minutes and focus on the essentials of the Western alliance, he’d discover that Europe is edging closer to his way of thinking on the most important issue of our time. (ISIL)There is, increasingly, more agreement between us than disagreement.”

There you have it. Trump has to cut his losses, time spent on bad ideas, and grab the future as it’s truly unfolding, not just the way he wants it to go. Trump sits on a gold mine of Time.
Someone should tell him.

Who will tell him?

Franque23

*https://www.facebook.com/DavidAvocadoWolfe/videos/10154211237456512/?hc_ref=NEWSFEED

**https://www.smartflower.com/en

***America’s three largest producers of power from fossil fuels all sold their entire interests in Alberta’s shale fields back to Canada just this year…They see the renewable’s coming.

**** Just read that President Trump mused about lining his great wall with solar panels.


He is. Pence is waiting in the wings of the White House for his opportunity to pence, I mean pounce. And I have to wonder, how bad it is for him to have waited over these 150 days for Trump to Self-destruct?

636112828434945440621836413_pence 2

Here’s the deal. When Trump asked Pence and Sessions to leave the Oval Office so Trump could lean on Comey, they both had to know that Trump was in the process of hanging himself. They ‘re not new to the game of lying politics, and they knew messing with the head of the FBI was a wrong way turn into a political dead-end. Did they try to help Trump at the time? No, they moseyed out the door and counted their blessings.

These are things to think about.

Who’s doing the leaking from the White House? The old saying is: follow the money. In this case it would follow the office of the Presidency. Who’s next in line to take the spot should Trump fail, be found out, up rooted and cast aside? Pence.

Pence is waiting.vulcher1

It all got me thinking. How many knew what (T)rump said to the Russian Ambassadors in the Oval Office? Unless there’s a tap in the room-one you’d think(hope) the secret service would detect- then , as I get it, only Sessions, Trump and Pence might have been told…plus anyone the three might be taking to bed with dirty secrets. Who else could know?

maxresdefault (2)Who’s really connected to the web of Politics?

Yes, the leaker Trump is so eager to unearth may be Pence. But there’s another more disturbing possibility.

The leaker could be Trump.

Yes, no joke, he’s called into talk shows as some other person complaining about this or that in the past, He has a propensity to pretend he’s someone else. How better to keep stirring a pot he hopes will spill over and dismantle our government? All the while, he stays in the spot light! “There’s a leaker, a leaker and I’m gonna find out who it is!” Bull crap, Trump, it’s you. You are the leaker.

lyingtrump

“I will not cut Social Security.” Trump on the campaign trail.

Bannon’s goal is to undo America as we know it, and Trump’s taken him to his chest. There’s no reason for any sane person to believe Bannon’s agenda isn’t Trump’s, and the best way to discredit the very presence of secrecy and efficiency of our system is to expose the White House to leaks. Make everything unreliable, not trustworthy  or worth keeping. We so have to be vigilant; much smarter than Trump to keep America safe.

Okay, yes, most likely Trump isn’t the leaker but it could be, or it could be Pence.

1485885783-hbz-ivanka-insta-indexWhat a rotten group.

16472933_10154259328836845_2977707702829400417_n

Devos, cutting public education by 9.3 million dollars, how crase can one person be?

Bottom line: I’ve had enough of this idiot President-so has all of Europe. They laugh in his face and at the stupid tug at war he plays with his hand shakes, and at his wildly incoherent lack of knowledge about the world, history and power.

Germany warns the rest of Europe that their country can’t count on us and the other countries can’t either. When will the Republicans show some guts and save us from this lunatic???

Donald Trump, you can finger all the European Presidents you like but by God, we, the American people, will get rid of you.( You stupid, stupid boy, Donald-what an embarrassment you are to the proud United states of America.)

https://www.democraticunderground.com/10029128004

There are more court filings against this flim-flam shyster Trump than anyone can shake a stick at… and one of them, maybe many, will bring this disastrous traitor of a President to his knees. God pays attention and so must we.

It’s our duty to keep America strong, not stupid. Donald, we will get you.

Franque2326869d5c31df731222cd244e205005a0


It’s that wink of a second in a slip, the moment just before smacking the ground when it all comes back. Yes, those wrong way turns taken so enthusiastically and the too many times pee laughed into my pants, those drinks poured left on the counter by two beers already opened, those broken romances that fractured the same way with a screw you suck-head let’s be friends and the pets who were out for food or thinking of me as food all come zinging back.

It’s all so simple.

It’s in the shape of a shadow when the montage of my trophies, good grades, degrees, parking citations, accidents, lawyer bills and self-written Dear John letters left in dusty closets merge the past and present to unravel through the unknown as History zooms ahead.

If I’d seen that slip coming I’d have laid down first. Thing is, I’d end up on the ground anyway, right? Good intentions have blown up roads.

How nice that guy who got hit by an apple figured out why his head hurt; deduction is a beautiful thing. But what about why falling down is a snap of a fact while getting up takes about sixteen months in the beginning and then becomes impossible near the end of this zillion-ring circus called life? Thing is, the circle of life may be round but it’s hard to find its fair side. Ask the Syrian refugees about fairness.

They say the good die young.

Can the Earth slip?

When we look up, are we?

How can we feel a sense of alarm when these are in clocks, not heads?

A few years back—the timeline’s history so who cares—some guys decided that Europe and North America were on top of a thing that was round, not flat. Maybe, they figured if we were on the bottom of the ball we’d fall off like nothing else did. That logic, along with a cocktail of mistaken thoughts made in history by names no one can spell is the basis of life as we know it, and maybe why so much has slipped.

Is the point to this traffic jammed up madhouse called life killing? There are 135 events in the Old Testament that attribute men’s deaths to the acts of God. The total estimated dead in the events ranges from 2.5 million to 25 million people. The difference in the figures is keyed around, ‘men’s deaths.’ The larger number includes the estimated women and children killed in the total. No matter, the end result of this deluge of death is a world full of people who rush into buildings to break their knee caps kneeling, or their backs bowing, or bang their heads against walls to experience worship.

I think Sodom and Gomorrah’s fate and human history leads as example here: hate something, then go bomb the piss out of it and wait for the survivors to build you temples. So here’s a concrete point before I hit the pavement writing. Does dropping the ‘mother of all bombs,’ the bigly, the huge, the best and big daddy of bombs(MOAB) mean we can expect Isis, yousis, mesis or any ,’sis,’ to come around and start paying us money and respect with prayer? And the answer is?

This may not be an exact quote.

I read the bigly bomb cost $170,000 to make. We killed like 90 guys. What about using those navy seal fellas that use one hundred-dollar bullets and shoot real targets instead? Well, our soldiers cost about a half a million each to train, deliver and keep overseas. It turns out using nukes is the biggest bang for the buck warfare!

We can only hope and pray to survive, come out ahead, the winners, like soldiers on every side hope. For sure, hitting the proverbial bottom hurts. Life has no trampoline and, dang it, if it doesn’t feel like America is somehow slipping right before my eyes. Do we make sense anymore?

See? I have questions and wonder if what goes around comes around, when’s an age of reason coming back?!?!

Some of this sounds familiar…

Whoops!

Ouch! Yeah—this slip trumps them all.

Franque23


 

Here’s some interesting tidbits on PBS…. The Chronicle of Philanthropy  did a study in 1994  that found PBS ranked 11th among 100 of the most popular and credible charity or non-profits in the US. More,  38.2% of Americans over the age of 12 choose “love” and “like a lot” when given a chance to rate PBS.

More……when PBS.org went on line by 2013 its traffic had risen from a starting audience of 2 million to a quarter-billion! That surpassed CBS, ABC and NBC web sites!

PBS has won more Webby awards than any other media company in the WORLD!

Trump asks in his budget to cancel government funding for PBS? Why? It’s recently circulated that when Winston Churchill was asked by Parliament to cut funding from the arts during World War ll he replied, “Then what are we fighting for?” Thing is, Snopes rates this  quote as fake news, but the point remains well taken. Who wants a society void of the Arts, the Humanities, social welfare security and accessible education and  health care?

It’s important to understand that PBS is not solely run by government funding, but has a huge donation based backing from working Americans, businesses and from corporations world-wide. Added to this, our government is meant to help provide American’s services we want, like PBS and the postal system to name two.

Our government is not a business based enterprise charged with making money off the backs of our citizen’s preferences. No, like the U.S, postal system that was never meant to make money but to cost money while providing American’s with mail service, PBS is a non-profit that provides many American’s with a well deserved service.

America is all for one and one for all. Thereby, if so many citizens enjoy the services rendered via PBS then it is reasonable that some monies from the government’s tax collection be used to keep the service up and running.

I say to our government-relax, fund PBS and thank God Social Security checks can still come in the U.S. Mail!

One more little point…..I’ve long heard the notion that PBS is a liberal based broadcast-nothing could be further from the truth. Show’s that talk about global warming are not points but discussions, many  try to be factually based though opinionated. Here’s the deal—if the right did think global warming was true and the Left didn’t, PBS would still run those programs. Get it?

Just because PBS may run programs you find offensive, too liberal for your liking, or just plain wrong doesn’t make the station liberal based. No, most times PBS shows are informative with regard to the facts as stated by science, whether those facts be right or wrong.

The bottom line on PBS: If Democrats everywhere started pooping in the streets, PBS would air shows about it and may even present ideas based on facts about how unhealthy this habit was for America—no matter how much stink they got from some segments of our society because pooping on streets may be healthy for our run-off ground water and good for the economy.

PBS doesn’t lean left or right, but merely presents points of interest in ways that are most often educational, and American’s love their PBS stations….

Them’s the facts. There are no alternative facts about it. None, zip-zero, nada, no how, anything left to say than Trumps’ call to defund one of America’s most popular TV shows is a wrong way turn on a dead-end street.*

Click-off for now.

Franque23.

*2017-President Trump’s budget slashes support for funding of NPR, PBS and public radio stations …

 

 


Linda sang her song from day one, that’s the way she is. Linda can whisk tough times away with a slant of her smile that makes the Sun wear shades. Young, strong, beaming, this is how I remember meeting Linda who tantalized my young mind with dancing spirit.

Linda’s path has always been the high road.

I was lucky to see Linda recently(pictured middle)

I was lucky to see Linda recently(pictured middle)

Linda cares for her mom. Aunt Perla May Tarvin will be 100 this March 13th

Linda cares for her mom. Aunt Perla May Tarvin will be 100 this March 13th*

Strong, lean and mean, you get the picture. Holding a certain stature that stretches to the sky, this is how I came to know Linda. Lucky to be out of diapers—if I was—this whizzing top of a cousin first zoomed by. Trust was never an issue, nor place, moment, task or game at hand. Where do cousin’s come from; it all calls for wonder. Linda’s ease of being slipped that question into my childhood dreams.

Every life will own its challenges. Peaks, valley’s, ups, downs and spin-a-rounds, the first person to build a roller coaster was onto something. Still, the carol Linda brings with her contains a floating timbre that underscores any discord. If her life were a musical piece it would play allegretto, accentato, affettoa— light, lively, with emotion and emphasis—but always, throughout, the work would be in harmony.

But why do I tell you? It’s a simple matter, a solid truth, one I have known for so long. Linda’s true affection for my childhood self and everything else about her gave me a confidence that helped grow my spirit. Of course, I had mom, dad, the steady lead of my sister and strong hand of my brother to help me build my path. But, I had cousin, Linda, as well.  And, as dismantling as it must be for a child to not receive the love they deserve from their immediate family, it is equally uplifting to receive that same kind of love from a stranger, an associate, or from a cousin. I know.

Acceptance, hope, cheer and love, these are Linda’s calling cards; the notations of her life.

Sometimes, I hold the ceramic butter dish, a uniquely designed item, or the cut out clay plates I know Linda’s hands made. She did that for years, selling her pottery wares in craft shows and fairs. This was a perfect fit; Linda’s love of people, of creation, for the gift of giving and sharing her four calling cards bloomed everyday. In return, Linda still brings the warmth of her carol to any who listen.

She is a horse person. This means she gives tireless energy to four-footed pals who only speak back when a heart listens. Linda hears with her heart.

I can’t imagine someone as truly nice as my cousin, Linda, and I know her! Fathom that?!?!?

Now, there’s bad news.

“Hospice is here.”

Larry’s message marked the screen. It’s been years of struggle for Linda and Larry; years of prayers, hope. Even so, these have been happy years filled with promise—Larry will tell you.

Still.

Sometime, it seems, I may have to go on without Linda, this, a thought I’ve never embraced. Of course, we don’t know; our future that feels so ever present is truly veiled. But if that day comes, if I ever have to face it, I will never be alone. I’ll carry Linda’s laugh, cheer and all of her calling cards with me as I go. Linda will be in my vision as I look to the sky. The birds will sing, the wind will whistle the trees, but most of all there will be Linda Carol Martin’s song of Life in my head.

Linda’s carol will ring my ears. That tune, she taught my heart so well.

Thank You, Linda Carol.

Franque23

*

Aunt Perla May is the last survivor of her generation of Johnsons.

Aunt Perla May(1st in row) is the last survivor of her generation of Johnsons.

I love my Aunt Perla May and my cousin Linda. Today, this Valentine's day, we heard that each may ass within a week's time-maybe even on the same day.

I love my Aunt Perla May and my cousin Linda Carol. Today, this Valentine’s day, we heard that each may pass within a week’s time-maybe even on the same day. They have been a blessing to so many.


Moderate conservatives and moderate liberals will converge and form the most powerful, long lasting  political grouping ever congealed in America-that’s what’s coming next.

Why?

President Trump’s appointments are marking the demise of his voting base. True, this end might take years, but he has set that end in stone.  Had President Trump used sound judgement and appointed  moderate, easily accepted people for his appointments, his rise to power and ideologies may have gone on for ten, twenty years or longer.  As it is, he has siphoned the wave of populist reform he rode to the White House by straining it through ill-conceived radical selections for department heads.

President Trump is like a watchmaker whose time has come but the use of  inferior parts will unwind his work.

All guts; no gears.

All guts; no gears.

 

American voters really do know they can’t hunt in an oil field, ski over a pipeline, drink water that is combustible or exchange a pretty face for a gas mask.

Wait! I guess you can go underneath....

Wait! I guess you can go underneath….

 

It's healthy and good for the environment to bike to work when possilbe.

It’s healthy and good for the environment to bike to work when possible.

No joke-get out of lipstick stocks; this is a real runway fashion show in China.

No joke-get out of lipstick stocks; this is a real runway fashion show in China.

Many Americans realize that they may one day be included in the excluded.

Who will be part of the action?

Who will be part of the action?

American flags will come down when American’s realize Trump’s pick for the head of the department of labor supports low wages.*

Reform , yes! But not at such the high cost! Misaligned appointments, the unethical selection of partisans who plainly will not advance American values, have inherently laced within this truism: poor appointments will lead to bad decisions. Those bad decisions, in return, will lead to an eventual loss of power within the voting electorate.

Republican’s should take heed: what appears to be unifying forces today can be destructive tomorrow. When in a race, always go for the long run.

Moderate, wise appointments will lead to a secure tomorrow, solidify a voting base and ensure solidarity.

President Trump enjoys his image now, but he forgets there is a mirror behind him as well, and that image is still taking shape.

Real action happens behind the scene

Real action happens behind the scene  

Franque23

*”In a July 2014 op-ed for CNBC, Puzder argued against a mandated minimum-wage increase on the grounds that they reduce entry-level job opportunities for young workers and minorities.” cnbc.


I worry. I do worry for Trump’s safety.

“He can blow me!” I’ve heard it said.

“I love the man.” I’ve seen it written.

“Make America great again!” Everyone heard the call that was confusing to some, but it rallied voters.

Thing is, Trump’s successful romp through bankruptcies,  scores of litigation, forthright allegations of sexual abuse and a new world’s record of flip-flops, no wait, of merely not making any position he has clear but that he’d build a wall that Mexico would pay for (except we would pay for it), is a montage of miraculous wonderment.  WTH?!?!

There are few groups left Trump hasn’t lambasted, outed in tweeter rants or belittled. Muslims love the guy, right? China is excited about his position on Taiwan. Some Mexican’s might love to have the guy for dinner-literally. The disabled feel ridiculed-did a man running for President actually imitate a disabled person while on stage?-and women may have to stop wearing skirts when he’s in the room. Of course, with the NRA in America and world-wide wholesale weapon sales, a few of these groups may have guns. Right?

There’s a right and wrong way to get what you want in America-ask Bonnie and Clyde. Trump needs to understand this basic principle.

Working within the system is important.

Working within the system is important.

Then again, it takes guts to right a wrong as the first woman to run in the Boston Marathon found out.

Men attacked the first woman to run in the race....

Men attacked the first woman to run in the race….

Good intentions, truth, what is right shines from within, and no amount of misguided thought can dim that light.

And it all could be so different if only Donald would leave his combatant life style behind and embrace his new-found success. He’s pushed through enough electoral votes to win the Presidency of the United States. Now is not the time for him to dice up the country as though he was engineering a hostile business merger-a take over.

The people surrounding Donald Trump aren’t helping him transition in a successful way.

Trump bites back when he needs to cajole his opponents, not contest them. Trump  needs to persuade, not invade other people’s ideas. When he needs to inveigle people, he enrages them.  For every wheedle he should make, he needles the point instead and makes people sore. Where he should coax, he’s a backwash of shellac; a call for charm seems to prompt him to cause harm, to be verbally abusive, almost child-like, a school yard bully in uppity clothes.

Why? Why can’t Trump relax in his new skin and put on the cloak of negotiation?

Trump needs to wear a new set of clothes.

Effective methods used to gather America’s greatest thinkers and politicians alike would yield Trump real power. If I learned one thing from being a head negotiator for a powerful union it is this: true power does not come from discord, but from keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.*

Someone in the know, for Trump’s sake, for America’s sake , needs to talk to the new President elect and make him see the world in a different light-turn on the light  so to speak.

Someone has to pull this switch, and change Trump.

Someone has to pull this switch, and change Trump.

Trump needs to change if he is to become a successful President.  No one can bankrupt a country and enrage the world and walk away with the profits.

Trump's banging himself over the head with his own words.

Trump’s banging himself over the head with his own words; he won’t cash in.

Trump can change. It’s never too late to change. Thing is, Trump has to change.

The world can only hope. For more on this, here’s  a link to an article that says this all better than I could hope to.

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/18/opinion/retweeting-donald-trump.html?&moduleDetail=section-news-3&action=click&contentCollection=Opinion®ion=Footer&module=MoreInSection&version=WhatsNext&contentID=WhatsNext&pgtype=article&_r=0

Franque23.

  • *Sun-tzu
    Chinese general & military strategist (~400 BC)

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