Oh, Say Can You See…

 

https://uago.at/-xjyl

Will the last adult leaving America, please turn out the lights.

Of course, an adult would automatically turn out the lights to save energy and lower the light bill.

Likewise, an adult would realize that the battle between our adolescent President and NFL players is kinda like high school street gangs from the 50’s.

Both sides are squared off in the street, wearing chinos and leather, each “double daring” the other to do something even more outrageous.

As might be expected they fail to look past the bravado and address the original transgression.

Twitter has become the place to scream, “Oh yeah? Yeah!”

A gang and mob mentality emerges whenever the subject of racism comes up.

Unfortunately, the adults who could break up the fight are nowhere to be found.

Our political leaders are part of the problem. Beginning at the top, their self interests have long ago taken priority over that of the country.

The police have their hands full, policing themselves. Renegade officers are out there enforcing their own brand of justice while jeopardizing the credibility of a million good cops, trying their best to do a difficult, dangerous job.

The news media, well that’s probably the only thing President Trump gets right. The media is only as good as the next, true or contrived headline.

Mike Tomlin, the Steelers head coach apparently felt it was more important to be “respectful of our football team” than to be respectful of the right, of Offensive Tackle Alejandro Villanueva, to honor the National Anthem.

Villanueva, a former Army Ranger with three tours of duty in Afghanistan, stood alone at the end of the tunnel, his hand over his heart, while the rest of the team huddled in the locker room.

Maybe we need to look to a soldier. One who knows the value of sacrifice for the better good. One who is not afraid to step up and into danger for the sake of others.

Maybe we just need a mother to give them all a time out. Take away their devices. Have them sit quietly for ten minutes alone and think about what is important in their lives and look at the real reason for their behavior.

In a “sign of unity”, team players stood, sat, kneeled, or failed to go on the field at all during the playing of the National Anthem.

Owners and the NFL who in the past have penalized players for celebrating touchdowns, taunting others and carrying sharpies in their shoes, failed to show anywhere near a unified front in addressing the behavior on the sidelines.

Fans booed, players did whatever they wanted, owners and the NFL failed to control what will no doubt become the symbol of the 2017 football season, and Donald Trump blew yet another chance to be like a president.

Lock the door when you leave, and don’t forget the lights.

 

 

 

Fitting In

http://www.bestloseweight.org/diet-plan-nutra/

 

 Hand me downs were a part of my life growing up. All the families we knew passed along gently worn clothing from the older kids to the younger ones.

As I was the oldest in my family, I got stuff from cousins who got stuff from their older siblings and so on.

After being used by two or three other kids for a year or two each, the pants I eventually inherited could have been as old as me.

The “gently worn” moniker became more like, “not much left.”

But my mom would patch and sew, shorten and take in the waist to make them fit and workable for one more year or until a new batch of new used clothing would come my way.

The parts of the jeans that took the most abuse naturally, were the knees.

This would be resolved by ironing on patches made of some kind of pressed asphalt material that would once again allow the pants to stand on their own.

If those four inch square patches were attached to the outside, it was obvious they were patched. When put on the inside they weren’t so obvious but the abrasions to my knees were.

New stuff was for the start of school. Usually a pair or two of jeans. You know, the kind that could be heard walking down the hallway.

Denim was heavy duty in those days with double stitched seams, and the rivets on the pockets would lacerate your hands if you weren’t careful.

The waist as usually one or two sizes too big and was “taken in” by sewing a folded over portion on either side so they wouldn’t fall down.

Cuffs were always folded up twice, waiting for the inevitable growth spurt which quickly surpassed the length, resulting in a high-water look.

Pants and I haven’t been a good fit for many years now.

I still have some like new 34 inch waist slacks hanging in the closet, anxiously waiting for me to lose twenty or thirty pounds.

The length stays the same but the waist (on the pants) for some reason, contracts.

I had gotten a pair of brand new expensive (well over $20) jeans as a gift which promptly shrank in the closet after only one or two wearings.

Then, one day on a whim I tried them on again.

They fit.

Wow I must be losing weight.

I promptly went to show Sue how much waist room there was and in fact, these were  too big for me now.

She quietly explained that the ones I once had were given to Goodwill and replaced by another pair of a more fitting size.

“A 40 inch waist? What am I going to do with pants of that size?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “You’ll grow into ’em.”

 

Back in ’67

Skype-Anyone

https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2017/02/50-years-ago-a-look-back-at-1967/516174/