Category Archives: Liberty and Freedom
No people will tamely surrender their Liberties, nor can any be easily subdued, when knowledge is diffused and virtue is preserved. On the Contrary, when People are universally ignorant, and debauched in their Manners, they will sink under their own weight without the Aid of foreign Invaders.
From 90 miles: http://ninetymilesfromtyranny.blogspot.com/
Anarchy and Chaos in The Ukraine – It Could Happen Here – But Will Americans Actually Stand Up Against Our Commie Government?
Pics found at 90 miles: http://ninetymilesfromtyranny.blogspot.com/
“The assaults on personal freedom never seem to end. The very concept of violating the rights of many in order to catch a few — a practice perfected by tyrannical regimes — has been prohibited for 222 years by the same Constitution that the perpetrators of these practices and the conspirators in these schemes have sworn to uphold.
Sometimes, dissents in Supreme Court decisions articulate American values better than majority opinions do. Here is one from Justice Louis Brandeis that did: “The makers of our Constitution undertook to secure conditions favorable to the pursuit of happiness. They recognized the significance of man’s spiritual nature, of his feelings, and of his intellect. They knew that only a part of the pain, pleasure and satisfactions of life are to be found in material things. They sought to protect Americans in their beliefs, their thoughts, their emotions and their sensations. They conferred, as against the government, the right to be let alone — the most comprehensive of rights and the right most valued by civilized men.”
If we permit the government to destroy that right, we will live under tyrannies similar to the ones we thought we defeated.”
Read the entire article at Lew Rockwell: http://www.lewrockwell.com/2013/12/andrew-p-napolitano/a-conspiracy-so-vast%e2%80%a8/
How Every Part of American Life Became a Police Matter
By Chase Madar | Mon Dec. 9, 2013 2:09 PM GMT
If all you’ve got is a hammer, then everything starts to look like a nail. And if police and prosecutors are your only tool, sooner or later everything and everyone will be treated as criminal. This is increasingly the American way of life, a path that involves “solving” social problems (and even some non-problems) by throwing cops at them, with generallydisastrous results. Wall-to-wall criminal law encroaches ever more on everyday life as police power is applied in ways that would have been unthinkable just a generation ago.
By now, the militarization of the police has advanced to the point where “the War on Crime” and “the War on Drugs” are no longer metaphors but bland understatements. There is the proliferation  of heavily armed SWAT teams, even in small towns; the use of shock-and-awe  tactics to bust small-time bookies; the no-knock raids to recover trace amounts of drugs that often result in the killing of family dogs, if not family members; and in communities where drug treatment programs once were key, the waging of a drug version of counterinsurgency war. (All of this is ably reported on journalist Radley Balko’s blog  and in his book, The Rise of the Warrior Cop .) But American over-policing involves far more than the widely reported up-armoring of your local precinct. It’s also the way police power has entered the DNA of social policy, turning just about every sphere of American life into a police matter.
The School-to-Prison Pipeline
It starts in our schools, where discipline is increasingly outsourced to police personnel. What not long ago would have been seen as normal childhood misbehavior—doodling  on a desk, farting  in class, a kindergartener’s tantrum —can leave a kid in handcuffs, removed from school, or even booked at the local precinct. Such “criminals” can be as young as seven-year-old Wilson Reyes, a New Yorker who was handcuffed  and interrogated under suspicion of stealing five dollars from a classmate. (Turned out he didn’t do it.)
Though it’s a national phenomenon, Mississippi currently leads the way in turning school behavior into a police issue. The Hospitality State has imposed  felony charges on schoolchildren for “crimes” like throwing peanuts on a bus. Wearing the wrong color belt to school got one child handcuffed to a railing for several hours. All of this goes under the rubric of “zero-tolerance ” discipline, which turns out to be just another form of violence legally imported into schools.
Despite a long-term drop in youth crime, the carceral style of education remains in style. Metal detectors—a horrible way for any child to start the day—are installed  in ever more schools, even those with sterling  disciplinary records, despite the demonstrable fact that such scanners provide no guarantee against shootings  and stabbings .
Every school shooting, whether in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, or Littleton, Colorado, only leads to more police in schools and more arms as well. It’s the one thing the National Rifle Association and Democratic senators can agree  on. There are plenty  of successful  ways  to run an orderly school without criminalizing the classroom, but politicians and much of the media don’t seem to want to know about them. The “school-to-prison pipeline,” a jargon term coined by activists, is entering  the vernacular.
Read it all at: http://www.motherjones.com/print/240896
Link found at WRSA: http://westernrifleshooters.wordpress.com/
Nelson Mandela is being rightly eulogized as a great force for peace and freedom. Though a deeply flawed man, his moral growth allowed him to voluntarily relinquish power, much the same as George Washington. This is an example being taken to heart on the African continent, which may now be fitfully entering a more hopeful era, in contrast to the 50-year bloody disaster of post-colonialism.
What won’t be talked about much is that this was only possible because the West won the Cold War and allowed disillusioned Marxists like Mandela in South Africa (or Gorbachev in the Soviet Union) to move on and become small “d” democrats. This was a startling reversal from the 1970s, when Soviet-backed forces were on the move everywhere in Africa, even fielding a Cuban mercenary army in Angola and elsewhere to conquer their own Communist empire.
In Rhodesia, the white government (which never instituted an apartheid system) was able to peacefully transition to a multiracial democracy in 1979, only to be sold out by Jimmy Carter and (to her everlasting shame) Margaret Thatcher, who insisted the terrorist Robert Mugabe be put in power before sanctions were lifted. Mugabe quickly consolidated a dictatorship which turned that once thriving country into a basket case.
Reagan, however, was made of sterner stuff and no sooner than being elected, was rallying anti-Communists of every color, including those in white South Africa. Reagan deplored apartheid, but he knew the white separatists of southern Africa had taken power because Britain would not defend their political rights and private property during decolonization.
Reagan fought mindless sanctions legislation on South Africa,instead putting forward a policy he called “constructive engagement” to end discrimination and bring about transition to full democracy by working with moderates in that country. This was opposed by the violent and pro-communist African National Congress, which promoted terror tactics and fought bitterly with their black rivals. Many ANC leaders, such as Oliver Tambo, Communist party leader Joe Slovo, and of course, Mandela’s wife Winnie, were merely thugs
Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned since 1962, not for political activity, but for his part in the ANC’s bombing campaign of government facilities. Although unwilling to publicly renounce violence, Mandela was the most thoughtful of the ANC leaders and had long negotiated in secret with the white government. With the end of the Soviet Union and Mandela’s distancing of many of his old colleagues (including his former wife), South African prime minister, F.W. de Klerk was able to work with Mandela on a sensible transition to multiracial democracy while ignoring the most militant ANC members.
In remembering Mandela this week, the left will no doubt attack Reagan on the side (the movie The Butler encapsulates this attitude). But any reasonable examination of Reagan’s policy on South Africa would conclude he was spot on. He understood the real elements at play on the continent, and made the needed time and space available for proponents of genuine democracy to triumph. Of course, he was bitterly denounced as a racist at the time. One of his most shameless accusers was the South African bishop Desmond Tutu. Had this blowhard’s advice been followed, South Africa would have been the same bloody awful, one-party state as exists in Mugabe’s Zimbabwe. Tutu is now, way too late, quite unhappy with Mr. Mugabe.
Fortunately for Tutu and his country, South Africa, for all its many problems, has had a better time of it. And like a lot of countries in the world, this is due in large measure to the courage and foresight of Ronald Reagan.
From The Daley Gator: http://thedaleygator.wordpress.com/
“We the people” are on a wild bus ride.
“Democracy” is so inclusive a concept, that we are all trapped aboard. We elect the driver, though with a warning that he may soon be replaced. The passengers bicker among themselves about how he is driving, and which way he should turn. To the degree he listens, he is distracted from his driving. Occasionally some of the passengers scream that the bus will go into a swamp, off a bridge, over a cliff, into the trees. When the next vote is taken, we decide whether the screamers should be resisted or appeased. David Warren, In God We Trust
From AD: http://americandigest.org/
The top hat worn by Abraham Lincoln to Fordâs Theatre on April 14th, 1865- approximately one week after Lee surrendered to Grant in Appomattox Courthouse thus ending the war.
For Lincoln: Born This Day in 1809 – “His Truth is Marching On”
To be born an American, or to become an American, you need only know and understand four things that we have written down. Our founding document, The Declaration of Independence. Our agreement with ourselves and our government that specifies and protects the self-evident truths and freedoms of the Declaration, The Constitution. Our national motto: “In God we trust.” And our credo, “The Gettysburg Address.”
A credo is a short and straightforward statement of beliefs or principles. A credo has no fixed length but lies somewhere between a motto and a manifesto. The most widely known traditional credo would be “The Apostles Creed.”
Although it is not often thought of as such, Lincoln’s brief oration at Gettysburg at noon on that long ago November day is, in all its elements, our national credo. Although shaped as prose fit to be cut, as it has been, into stone, The Gettysburg Address is also a lyrical poem as polished as a crystal prism. Through it, all that we had been up until that day midway through our most terrible conflict passed and was transformed into the multifaceted nation we have become today. And it is still not finished with us, nor we with it.
The Address shows us first how we came into existence as “the last best hope of Earth.” It echoes the opening refrain of the Declaration’s notes of liberty and equality. It reminds us of our original goals of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;” goals to which our founding fathers pledged their “lives, fortunes, and sacred honor.” It implies that all generations of Americans must, if the nation is to endure, pledge the same.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
The poem then brings the credo into the present. Not just the present moment of November 19, 1863, but all the present moments that came after right up to this very day in November in 2010. Then the argument between Americans had become so pitched that civil war between the contending factions had torn the nation asunder. We have come close to similar passes since then several times, but have — remembering “the better angels of our nature” — always turned aside and found a way to move forward together as a great nation of a greater people. Now may be another such moment; another such turning. Lincoln could not know our moment, but in his credo he indicates his belief that the test of his moment will be passed and that the nation will long endure. He also knows the cost of that test for those who “gave their lives that that nation might live.”
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
From that moment in that long ago November, Lincoln’s credo casts a cold eye on the ultimate costs of liberty whenever men determine that liberty, for themselves and their posterity, is worth whatever sacrifice is asked of them. Out of that vision he tells us what the duty of all future generations of Americans must be.
In the closing of the Address, Lincoln is at once a President, a poet, a seer, and an American. As such, he closes the credo to which all future Americans must cleave. The credo requires us to be constantly renewing the work of liberty. The credo tells us that we — if we are to bear true faith and allegiance to all those who have built, stone by stone, poem by poem, word by word, and life by life, the city on the hill that is America — must always be dedicated to the unfinished work that is always before us. The credo requires that we “highly resolve” to leave our nation in a greater state of liberty than we found it. And to leave our Union entire and intact as “the last best hope of Earth.”
The most successful revolution in history was not the Russian Revolution or the Chinese Revolution. It was the American Revolution. It began more than two centuries ago and it continues to this day. It is not over yet. This is its credo.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Dateline: Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. November 19, 1863
The only confirmed photo of Abraham Lincoln (circled) at Gettysburg, taken about noon, just after Lincoln arrived and some three hours before the speech. To Lincoln’s right is his bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon.
Many people these days that call themselves “conservative” and many others, that go further and consider themselves “resistors” are really just “legends” in their own mind. People like myself, especially, who have not been in the military, or at least been involved in some area of law enforcement, only fool themselves if they think because they can win some warfare video game that they are the biggest bad ass on the planet. It is only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan in this country, and when it does, very few, who in their opinion are ready for anything, will, in fact, be ready for nothing. Western Rifle Shooters Association, who anyone that considers themselves in one of the two aforementioned categories should be reading, has a link today to the November issue of III Magazine which has a wake up article by John Mosby on just exactly what we can expect when the SHTF. Go here http://iiimagazine.com/NOV13/ and read this excellent article entitled “Untutored Courage” and discover why those of us that consider ourselves patriots need to be trained and realize what this so called “resistance” really entails and what that encompasses is no fricken walk in the park. Below are a few quotes from this article:
“The absolute truth is that fighting as a guerrilla, whether modern or classical/tribal, pretty much sucks.”
“Being an effective fighter does not come naturally to anyone, I don’t care what anyone tells you.”
“There is a very sad condition that exists in people, and is especially apparent in the gun and preparedness communities, for men to delude themselves into believing that they know more than they do.”
Now, go read the article and look in the mirror, be honest with yourself, and realize that, like most of us, you don’t really know shit but we need to know. Our lives will depend on it. ZTW
This magazine link and many other great articles come from Western Rifle Shooters website: http://westernrifleshooters.wordpress.com/
The Tea Party is not a “Party” – It is the Spirit and Fire that Resides in All American Patriots. It is the Power of the Individual. We the People.
Who are we?
Who are we who are called ‘the TEA Party’, ‘Hobbits’, ‘Visigoths’, ‘Domestic Terrorists’, etc.?
How would you describe yourself and the rest of us who are fighting to restore our freedoms and liberties?
Before we can explain who we are and why we are battling the forces of Leftism, we have to clearly understand the who, the why, and the what, and be able to clearly relate that understanding to those who have not joined us in the fight — who are still salvageable from the clutches of the Nihilist maw.
In a post on Friday, Jeff Goldstein provides an explanation of the who and the why and the what, and also the power that fuels us.
He links back to a post he composed in 2011 where he remarked:
But what they don’t seem to understand about the TEA Party is that it isn’t an actual party. Instead, it is a mindset, a counter-revolutionary impulse to the counter-revolutionary coup of Big Centralized Government against the founding and framing of this country.
They can’t kill the TEA Party. Because the TEA Party can disband only as a descriptor. The attitude and beliefs that give it its most visible shapes, from time to time — be it as the revolutionaries who broke from a King, or as the Reagan Revolution, or as teh TEA Party — cannot be disgraced or marginalized. Because the attitude and beliefs that give rise to iterations like the TEA Party are the attitudes and beliefs that in a very real sense are this country and, insofar as we really dobelieve in the words of our own Declaration of Independence, are the beliefs and attitudes shared by all men and women who wish to break free of tyranny and live their lives not as subjects, but rather under a set of natural rights that governments exist solely to protect.
The TEA Party the establishment ruling class is hoping to marginalize and destroy here is a kind of mist: it can disperse and then reappear in new forms, under new names and descriptions, but it is always the same, and it always has the same goals and desires. It is, in that sense, the very atmosphere of this country.
And here is Jeff from Friday:
So bring it on. All the demonization you heap on us matters not. We are not a traditional party. We are an idea — the idea, the Founding idea as laid out in the Declaration and later codified in the Constitution’s ratification. And so we will always be around, in the air and on the ground, visible only when we decide to coalesce into the next movement.
To some very nuanced insiders, this kind of hokey patriotism seems so antiquated and gauche. Which is what happens when you live your life without principles: you wind up sneering at everyone else’s to prove to yourself that your shameless expedience and intellectual cowardice is really something more sophisticated than that, an illusion you maintain by finding a consensus among the like minded cowards and gleeful capitulators you rely on to save you from the self-loathing your really should, were you honest, be feeling every time you lace up one of your ridiculous overpriced wingtips.
Damn well put.
The Spirit that animated The Founding Fathers is the one that is within us. We may not understand all of it’s nuances and details, but it permeates every part of our souls. We have freely opened up our hearts and minds to this Spirit of Freedom and Liberty. We are it and it is us.
This Spirit is a grand gift we have been given and we have come, especially in the last half-decade, to give it the appreciation it’s due. But, more importantly, we have come to realize that possessing this gift bestows on us a sacred duty, as well. And that duty is to actively engage in the battle to keep the idea, Jeff so eloquently wrote about, alive.
This duty is even more important than winning the battle to save The United States, for as long as the Idea lives in the soul of one human being, there is hope for the world because the sacred idea survives.
We are not and never were believers in some utopian shining city on a hill, some kind of Heaven On Earth.
Rather, we are the Keepers of The Flame Of Freedom And Liberty, the Guardians of Good against the forces of Evil in the world.
We are The Camp Of The Saints who guard The Beloved City.
We are a minority, we are subject to endless calumnies, we are the abnormal in a Society that has embraced the degraded, the depraved, and the perverse.
Up is down in this Nihilistic Age; down is up in this Culture Of Death.
And we are the OUTLAWS.
From Bob At TCOTS: http://thecampofthesaints.org/
My Friend Barbara
Shwenkfelder Library Collection
There was no television, no rock music, and no culture of youth worship in America when my friend Barbara was born in a small town in southwestern Indiana in 1935. The town was surrounded by farms. Barbara used to visit her grandparents in a white frame house with a large porch on one of those farms. There was a well for water and a drinking cup. She would help her grandmother gather eggs in the chicken house. Her grandmother wore a long-sleeved dress, a bonnet with a big brim, and shoes with two-inch heels. Barbara remembers playing dominoes. The grown-ups would play card games like Euchre. Around the player piano, the family would sing along to songs like “My Darling Clementine” and “She’ll be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.”
Barbara lived as a girl and young lady in the small town of Odon, Indiana, where the main street was called Main Street. There were no stoplights. It was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone, doors were left unlocked, and doctors made house calls. Amish buggies were a common sight. There was a bank, a department store, a poultry house, a dress shop, grocery stores, a furniture store, a clothing company, and lumber companies. Barbara’s father was a barber and her mother was a beautician.
“Odon is a thriving little town situated in the center of a splendid agricultural country….”, Goodspeed’s History of Daviess County, Indiana reported in 1886. “The people of Odon are religiously inclined, go to church regularly, and are very much opposed to saloons…” The same was true half a century later: Barbara remembers three churches and just one tavern in Odon in the 1940s.
On some nights in her childhood Barbara remembers hearing dance music on radio from the Trianon Ballroom in Chicago.
Barbara walked to and from school. She did not care for history or mathematics, but she enjoyed learning geography and taking part in spelling bees. She and her childhood friends improvised games and found delight in nature. She had a lemonade stand, played with her kitten “Fuzzy,” and was the pitcher on a softball team. They often rode their bicycles to Walnut Hill Cemetery, just north of town. It was the family custom to visit the gravesites on Decoration Day and preserve the memory of those who have died.
The Rexall drug store on Main Street occupies a place in Barbara’s memory with its Captain Marvel comic books, soda fountain, booths, and candy selections like red-hots, gumballs, and orange slices. Another childhood pleasure that Barbara remembers was a cold bottle of Nehi orange soda on a summer day.
Outside the drug store was the “Liar’s Bench” where men would sit and smoke cigarettes, exchange tall tales, and tease the girls who walked by. “From earliest times, men in American small towns and rural communities have gathered at crossroads, stores, and taverns to swap yarns and tell tales,” the WPA booklet Hoosier Tall Stories reported in 1937. “So common is this yarn-swapping among Hoosiers that a time-honored institution exists from which the yarns are started on their rounds. This institution is called variously the ‘Lazy’ or ‘Liar’s Bench’, the ‘Community Bench’, and the ‘Cracker Barrel’…” (See this plaque on a Liar’s Bench in another southern Indiana town. And here is a photo of men sitting on a Liar’s Bench in Waveland, Indiana, in the early 1940s.)
Barbara’s father loved horses and presented horse shows in a neighboring town. His friends and family enjoyed many hearty laughs when one of those horse shows was described in a newspaper as a “hore show.”
On weekends, Barbara and her parents would ride in her father’s 1941 Chevy to a movie theater in a nearby town. She enjoyed the movies of Shirley Temple and Tarzan, Westerns, and musicals featuring the Wilde Twins, Lee and Lyn. Popcorn was available for a dime. In the days afterwards, Barbara and her friends would improvise games in which they would become Tarzan or Jane. Their imaginations never suffered. There was no television with an endless parade of pictures and packaged entertainment to neutralize their imagination.
As a young lady, Barbara took part in fashion shows at the “Old Settlers” festival in the city park. It was an annual event that featured bingo games, music, rides for children, and socializing. (It is still held every August.)
Many people go through life with a certain incapacity to appreciate its beauty and variety. Barbara is the opposite: She absorbs and appreciates its beauty and wonders more deeply than most people, ranging from the first time she heard the hoot of an owl, to the variety of fruits and vegetables grown in and around Odon, to the type and colors of flowers in neighbors’ gardens, to the simple pleasure of riding a bicycle built for two on Mackinac Island.
Barbara has been a homemaker and housewife, a mother, a beautician, and a saleslady in women’s apparel and kitchen décor. She and her first husband drove west to California along the old, two-lane Route 66. She has lived in places as far apart as Ohio, Washington, D.C., Chicago, Kansas City, and Coronado Island, California. She has outlived two husbands.
It was entirely by chance that Barbara and I met. A small-town girl and a big-city boy found themselves in agreement one evening when they met in a hallway and expressed the judgment that people are moving way too fast in modern life. Joining the rat race was an idea that never appealed to her or to me. Since then we have spent many hours talking long into the night, reminiscing about her childhood in that small town, the happy times and the sad times, her extended family and friends, and her adventures in life and love. We talked of all that and of her love of food and cooking, of grits and red eye gravy, of her travels through many small towns, of mountain roads in Colorado, earthquakes in Indiana, and snowstorms in D.C., and of the beauty of the night sky, the planet Venus at dusk, and the pointer stars in Ursa Major forming a path to the North Star (Polaris) and the brilliant orange-red giant star Arcturus.
When our conversation is interrupted by the noise of people speeding along the road in their trendy automobiles or motorcycles, I say to Barbara, “They’re in a big hurry.” And with the wisdom of someone who has seen and heard it all, she adds, “…and going nowhere”. She knows it and I know it, but it will take them years to figure that out.
Barbara grew up in a place and time when children could still have a decent childhood. She was surrounded by friends, family, and extended family. Such people now fill her memories. They measured their lives by the old-fashioned standards of responsibility, hard work, self-reliance, honor, decency, and neighborliness, not by how fast they could move, how many toys they could cram into their lives, or by imagining that the perennial moral problems in life are going to be solved by improved technology.
“Multi-tasking” is a trendy idea by which modern Americans imagine they are superior to previous generations. Barbara thinks “multi-tasking” is nonsense, which of course it is.
Barbara’s life spans two very different eras in American culture, from years when Americans were disciplined, confident, proud, and had a wealth of common sense – to today, when they are undisciplined, ill-mannered, adolescent-witted, and do not have the sense God gave to horses. In the absence of material excess, Americans once had substantial moral sense. In the midst of material excess, they now have minimal or no moral sense.
Every life represents a story. Painting pictures with words and memories is a talent that is fast disappearing in a nation whose people are now drunk on speed, manufactured entertainment, and technological gadgets. In the years when Barbara was growing up, philosopher Richard Weaver saw that coming and wrote about it in his essays and books like Ideas Have Consequences. Conversation is one casualty of those things. But Barbara has that talent. She loves conversation and has a remarkable memory, so remarkable that I told her she could have been a spy. She graduated from high school at a time when teaching was both competent and effective.
The spoken word was dominant in Americans’ lives in the pre-television years when Barbara was growing up: In conversation at home, around the table, in visits with extended family, in school, and on radio programs. That is one reason why she and others of her generation speak sensibly and clearly. It is one reason why their conversation is not littered with the ear-grating nonsense of “like, awesome…like, cool…like, you know” now spoken by all young people and many of their elders who should know better but don’t.
Through her words and memories, Barbara paints delightful pictures of life in a small town at a sensible pace and on a sensible scale, with the usual pleasures and problems. They remind me of two songs: The song-and-dance number “Kokomo, Indiana” performed by Betty Grable and Dan Dailey in the 1947 motion picture “Mother Wore Tights,” and the hauntingly-lovely version of “Back Home Again in Indiana” sung by Martha Mears while Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck are dancing in the 1940 motion picture “Remember The Night.”
Mother Nature has not been kind to Barbara in recent years, inflicting upon her a series of burdens ranging from allergies to inner ear problems to multiple surgeries to cancer, and now a minor stroke. She is waging the toughest battle of her life. But she does not permit herself to get discouraged. She is determined to conquer those things. She has a reservoir of toughness. At age two, she showed enough spirit to earn the nickname “Toughie.” She would take on the Marines if she thought they were in the wrong. But she is also sentimental and fond of songs like “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
Although she is not a reader or writer, Barbara has written down some of her memories on random scraps of paper. She has the right idea. She knows the importance of passing on the character, stories, and traditions of her family and extended family and remembering those who have died but live still in memory. My impression is that her generation may be among the last to understand those things. How many Americans today understand it? Can people have any such understanding when they are engaged in the mindless pursuit of speed and commotion? Richard Weaver wrote in the 1940s about the decline of respect for the past, tradition, and age. His words were valid then and are still valid. But the situation today is much worse: Americans are awash in a mass culture as gaudy, shallow, and ephemeral as any group of carnival sideshows. Was there ever a time when Americans were more drunk on speed, novelty, and sensation or showed greater contempt for the experience and wisdom of their old folks? These, I suggest, are unmistakable signs of deep moral and cultural rot.
I compose these words on a park bench in mid-day, surrounded by trees, grass, flowers, a blue sky, puffy white clouds, a few bees, and a pleasant early-autumn breeze. It is a good place to sit and remember. The park is across from a house that my aunt and uncle called home fifty years ago. They are long gone, as are many people in Barbara’s extended family, and others now live far away. The Past is a country Barbara and I enjoy visiting as often as we desire. It is a most agreeable place to spend “these precious days” with a dear friend.
From Thinking Housewife: http://www.thinkinghousewife.com/wp/2013/10/my-friend-barbara/#more-61436
From MM: http://maddmedic.wordpress.com/
Found at The Mad Jewess