9/11 My Thoughts
Every year on 9/11 I take time to recall the events that happened on that day. We see the images of the Twin Towers, and recall the sacrifice of the people trapped in them and of the lives of all the first responders who gave all in the performing of their duties. But 9/11 affected every American, no matter where you were, or what you were doing. I repost my memories of what I was doing on that day as my way of remembering, and honoring those that died, and those who live on, forever changed by that day.
Every generation has it’s defining moments. Those events where you can remember where you were and what you were doing at that time. I can remember three such events during my lifetime, the moon landing, the Challenger explosion,… 9/ 11. I know we all have our recollections of that day. Here are mine.
We were stationed at RAF Lakenheath, in England at the time. There were two other bases nearby and we were living in the housing units just outside of one of those bases. The circular street, called a close, had about twenty-five, neat brick houses surrounded by a fence. It was just outside of the main gate of RAF Feltwell, just outside of a village with the same name.
“G” was taking his nap and I turned on the TV to CNN. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I watched what I thought was a report about a terrible airline accident. Then, live on the TV I watched as a second airliner circled around and crashed into the South Tower. As I sat transfixed watching the events unfold, it still hadn’t sunk in that this was a deliberate attack. Then came the crash at the Pentagon. I know at some point during this time I must have prayed. Prayers for the people at the Pentagon, prayers for the safety of my family and my husband’s family even though they were thousands of miles from New York and DC. And prayers for the people trapped inside a house of horrors as I watched through the TV screen as the South Tower collapsed. I knew life on base was about to get very complicated. My mind turned to some mundane thoughts. “Did I have enough milk and bread? What about diapers? Heaven forbid I run out of diapers.
It was just after three pm, school had just gotten out and “A” came rushing through the kitchen door. “Mom, I left my back pack on the play ground and we have to go back and get it.” “We’ll have to hurry before they lock the gates” I told her. “Why would they lock the gates? “ She asked, unaware of what had just happened. “I’ll tell you later.” I knew that any minute the base would be going into Threatcon Delta and if the base was locked down we might be stuck there for hours. I grabbed “G” and buckled him into his stroller, grabbed my purse and a couple of diapers, just in case. We ran a block to the street that separated the houses from the main gate of the base. As I showed the guard my ID, I asked him how long we had before he would be locking down. He gave me a strange look and said he wasn’t closing the gate. Obviously he didn’t know yet. We ran to the playground, found the backpack, then ran the couple of blocks back to the gate. We crossed the street just as the guard pulled the big iron gates, that would block vehicles from coming on to the base, closed with a loud clang.
Why did we have to run? Why did they close the gates? How do you tell an eight-year-old child that we are at war and maybe in danger? I had to be straightforward. “A” would not accept a half-truth. We sat down and watched as the events continued to unfold on the TV. Some people thought that it was wrong to let a child see the coverage. But I have never lied to my children even when the news might be hard to bear. The phone rang. It was the hubs calling to say he would be home late. “I know,” I said. Then hung up the phone. I know at sometime during the evening I called my family. Even though I knew they were fine, I need to hear it from them, and “A” needed to know that they were OK.
The next morning, the gates to our housing unit were locked. In front of the pedestrian gate where the kids would meet the lollipop lady that helped them across the road, was a Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun on top. For the next three days we were locked in. Only the active duty military members were allowed in or out on their way to and from work. No school, and very little information about what we were supposed to do. This was new territory for us military spouses. Some kept their blinds closed, others kept their lights off after dark. The BX was closed, the Commissary was closed. After a few days the walls began to close in. We decided it was safe to let our kids play outside. Under the watchful eyes of the guard, we walked by the gate. There on the other side of the street in front of the entrance to the base was a mound of flowers. Our English neighbors showed their support in so many ways. The Queen even ordered that “The Star Spangled Banner” be played at the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The only time another country has been so honored.
Slowly we settled in to what was now the “new normal”. The Humvee was replaced with a portable guard shack. The gates were open, but were filled with iron obstacles that resembled giant jacks. The kids having to show ID’s to the gate guard, the vehicle searches and the dogs became routine. As we once again returned to the villages we were often greeted with, “we’re so glad to see you out and about”. It wasn’t the greeting of shop owners, glad for the returning business; it was the kind of greeting you would give a friend who was finally outside after recovering from a serious illness.
The whole experience was surreal. As I went about my normal routine, it seemed somehow inappropriate to do so. After so many had lost their life, it seemed wrong to go to the market, to go out to eat or to the pub, or go to London to do some Christmas shopping. But carry on we did, because to do otherwise, was to let the terrorists win.
My most poignant memory of that time did not happen on 9/11 or the days following. It came several months later. “A” was learning patriotic songs in music class. In her backpack I found a paper the music teacher had given them, and this was what she had doodled on the page.
The patriotism, the pride, the tribute of an eight-year-old girl. There is hope for this country after all.
That year, after the attacks, My children and I went home back to the States for Christmas. I remember that inspite of the heightened security everywhere, there was a sense of unity among the people. Nativity Scenes were everywhere, and there was no controversy over them. People stepped up to help their neighbors, and their politics didn’t matter. We all suffered as a nation and all came together to heal. We really need that spirit now. Let’s hope it doesn’t take another tragedy to get us there.
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The Equality Act is Not What it Seems
This is one of the most dangerous pieces of legislation in the history of our county. It will make the LGBTQ community a protected class by erasing the Constitutionally protected rights of people who chose to live by their religious convictions. This ill-conceived legislation has already passed the House and will soon be up for a vote in the Senate. With Kamala Harris as the tie-breaker in the Senate, it is imperative that Democratic Senators understand that their support of this bill goes against the will of the majority of their constituents. Please write your Senators, especially if they are Democrats, and let them know that you do not support this bill. You can copy and use the letter I am sending, and edited version of it, or compose your own just please do not sit this one out. Here is a link to find who your Senators are and how to contact them.https://www.senate.gov/senators/senators-contact.htm
Here’s a copy of the letter I am sending
As one of your constituents, I am expressing my grave concern about the upcoming legislation called the Equality Act. Though well meaning, this overly broad, far reaching bill would have an extremely detrimental effect on American society.
The bill ignores the medically proven differences between biological males and females, denying the level playing field created for women by Title 9. It places women in danger by forcing them to dress and use the bathroom with fully intact biological males. There is nothing in the equality act that would protect women from a man fraudulently claiming to identify as a woman solely to gain access to women’s changing and bathroom facilities in order to sexually assault them.
This bill would force American citizens of faith and faith base institutions, to violate their Constitutionally protected right to practice the tenets of their religion. It would force hospitals run by faith-based organizations to perform gender reassignment surgeries and treatments, in contradiction to the teachings of the religious organizations that run them. An unintended consequence of this ill-conceived law could leave some areas without adequate medical care because it would force faith based medical facilities to shutter their doors rather than violate the word of God. Individuals and businesses would be forced to ignore their beliefs and participate in celebrations and ceremonies that would violate those beliefs. Pastors would be forced to alter their sermons if they teach the Biblical ideals of marriage and family, or if they teach that homosexuality is sinful. Not only, is there nothing in the Equality Act to protect the Constitutional rights of people of faith, but the act seeks to deny the rights protected under the Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993.
The Equality Act places children in danger by denying parents the right to refuse to allow their children to undergo dangerous, life altering, irreversible gender reassignment treatments. The act also provides no protection for children whose parents allow them to undergo these treatments without absolute assurance that the child is truly suffering from gender dysphoria, and not just going through “a phase”.
The concept that the discrimination this bill attempts to eliminate, is the cause of the anxiety and suicidal tendencies of the LGBTQ community, is not definitively proven.
As a United States Senator, it is your responsibility to uphold your oath to support and defend the Construction of the United States, by voting no on the Equality Act.
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9/11 My Thoughts
Every year on 9/11 I take time to recall the events that happened on that day. We see the images of the Twin Towers, and recall the sacrifice of the people trapped in them and of the lives of all the first responders who gave all in the performing of their duties. But 9/11 affected every American, no matter where you were, or what you were doing. I repost my memories of what I was doing on that day as my way of remembering, and honoring those that died, and those who live on, forever changed by that day.
Every generation has it’s defining moments. Those events where you can remember where you were and what you were doing at that time. I can remember three such events during my lifetime, the moon landing, the Challenger explosion,… 9/ 11. I know we all have our recollections of that day. Here are mine.
We were stationed at RAF Lakenheath, in England at the time. There were two other bases nearby and we were living in the housing units just outside of one of those bases. The circular street, called a close, had about twenty-five, neat brick houses surrounded by a fence. It was just outside of the main gate of RAF Feltwell, just outside of a village with the same name.
“G” was taking his nap and I turned on the TV to CNN. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I watched what I thought was a report about a terrible airline accident. Then, live on the TV I watched as a second airliner circled around and crashed into the South Tower. As I sat transfixed watching the events unfold, it still hadn’t sunk in that this was a deliberate attack. Then came the crash at the Pentagon. I know at some point during this time I must have prayed. Prayers for the people at the Pentagon, prayers for the safety of my family and my husband’s family even though they were thousands of miles from New York and DC. And prayers for the people trapped inside a house of horrors as I watched through the TV screen as the South Tower collapsed. I knew life on base was about to get very complicated. My mind turned to some mundane thoughts. “Did I have enough milk and bread? What about diapers? Heaven forbid I run out of diapers.
It was just after three pm, school had just gotten out and “A” came rushing through the kitchen door. “Mom, I left my back pack on the play ground and we have to go back and get it.” “We’ll have to hurry before they lock the gates” I told her. “Why would they lock the gates? “ She asked, unaware of what had just happened. “I’ll tell you later.” I knew that any minute the base would be going into Threatcon Delta and if the base was locked down we might be stuck there for hours. I grabbed “G” and buckled him into his stroller, grabbed my purse and a couple of diapers, just in case. We ran a block to the street that separated the houses from the main gate of the base. As I showed the guard my ID, I asked him how long we had before he would be locking down. He gave me a strange look and said he wasn’t closing the gate. Obviously he didn’t know yet. We ran to the playground, found the backpack, then ran the couple of blocks back to the gate. We crossed the street just as the guard pulled the big iron gates, that would block vehicles from coming on to the base, closed with a loud clang.
Why did we have to run? Why did they close the gates? How do you tell an eight-year-old child that we are at war and maybe in danger? I had to be straightforward. “A” would not accept a half-truth. We sat down and watched as the events continued to unfold on the TV. Some people thought that it was wrong to let a child see the coverage. But I have never lied to my children even when the news might be hard to bear. The phone rang. It was the hubs calling to say he would be home late. “I know,” I said. Then hung up the phone. I know at sometime during the evening I called my family. Even though I knew they were fine, I need to hear it from them, and “A” needed to know that they were OK.
The next morning, the gates to our housing unit were locked. In front of the pedestrian gate where the kids would meet the lollipop lady that helped them across the road, was a Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun on top. For the next three days we were locked in. Only the active duty military members were allowed in or out on their way to and from work. No school, and very little information about what we were supposed to do. This was new territory for us military spouses. Some kept their blinds closed, others kept their lights off after dark. The BX was closed, the Commissary was closed. After a few days the walls began to close in. We decided it was safe to let our kids play outside. Under the watchful eyes of the guard, we walked by the gate. There on the other side of the street in front of the entrance to the base was a mound of flowers. Our English neighbors showed their support in so many ways. The Queen even ordered that “The Star Spangled Banner” be played at the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The only time another country has been so honored.
Slowly we settled in to what was now the “new normal”. The Humvee was replaced with a portable guard shack. The gates were open, but were filled with iron obstacles that resembled giant jacks. The kids having to show ID’s to the gate guard, the vehicle searches and the dogs became routine. As we once again returned to the villages we were often greeted with, “we’re so glad to see you out and about”. It wasn’t the greeting of shop owners, glad for the returning business; it was the kind of greeting you would give a friend who was finally outside after recovering from a serious illness.
The whole experience was surreal. As I went about my normal routine, it seemed somehow inappropriate to do so. After so many had lost their life, it seemed wrong to go to the market, to go out to eat or to the pub, or go to London to do some Christmas shopping. But carry on we did, because to do otherwise, was to let the terrorists win.
My most poignant memory of that time did not happen on 9/11 or the days following. It came several months later. “A” was learning patriotic songs in music class. In her backpack I found a paper the music teacher had given them, and this was what she had doodled on the page.
The patriotism, the pride, the tribute of an eight-year-old girl. There is hope for this country after all.
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We Need Real Men
What is a real man? As a little girl I remember thinking that a real man was one who always had dirt under his fingernails. As I grew older, I learned why that was so. All my perceptions of what a real man was, was shaped by my father, and he set the bar high.
A real man takes care of his family. Daddy was a worker. He had to drop out of school to get a job to care for his brother and sisters. I remember him working evenings out in the garage, fixing cars or farm equipment to earn extra money. Even after working all day a Kelly Field. He didn’t just make sure we had a roof over our head or food on the table, he kept us safe as well. I was always confident that if anyone tried to harm us Daddy would take care of them.
A real man builds things, and fixes things. I remember only one time that Daddy ever called a repair man. It was to fix a TV and though it was too long ago to remember why, I imaging it was because he couldn’t get the parts to do it himself. Wiring, plumbing, inside, or out Daddy could fix it. He could diagnose a broken car just by listening to it. The bigger the engine, the better he liked it. I remember him working on an engine that was so big, I could crawl inside the piston cylinder. From sheds to adding a room on the house, Daddy was the DIY master. He could calculate how many yards of concrete it took to pour a slab, and how many 2X4’s it took to frame a building. And he did this without a computer, or algebra, or a high school diploma.
A real man has a code. It is an unwritten code. A real man doesn’t have his code outlined on the refrigerator or mounted on cutesy word art. A real man lives his code and teaches it by example. Always return something you borrow in better condition that you found it. Avoid the slavery of debt. Daddy rarely cussed. When he did, you’d better run. Daddy never came home drunk, or raised a hand to Momma, and he made sure we knew he didn’t think highly of men who did. He would go out of his way to help a friend or a family member. Everyone knew he was a man you could count on.
I could go on and on about how Daddy shaped my character, by being a man of character himself, and never come close to finishing. Good men, real men, do much to shape the lives of their sons, but they do just as much to shape the lives of their daughters as well.
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Truth, Justice and the American Way
In the title of my blog, you know exactly what you are going to get. This isn’t a news site, or an educational reference blog. Though I would like to be, I am not a journalist. I am exactly what the title says, a middle-aged housewife opining on the state of the world today. Nevertheless, I try to be truthful in what I have to say, to back up my opinions with facts whenever possible. It’s not enough to just be opinionated, I need to be at least somewhat educated about the things I post about. I think there is power in the truth, and right now in this country it is in very short supply.
One thing the left does with expert precision is distort the truth. Very rarely do we catch them in an outright lie or fabrication. Instead they selectively edit, use half-truths, and provocative headlines to manipulate the facts to support their narrative. They repeat inflammatory talking points over and over, until the naive and uneducated believe them as fact. This is what we have come to expect from the Leftists, unfortunately many of us on the Right have been playing the same game.
Memes like this circulate regularly on social media sites. It distorts the truth. While President Trump has indeed donated his first quarter 2018 salary to the Department of Veteran’s Affairs, he did not designate it to go rebuilding military cemeteries. “So what?” You might ask. “The spirit of the statement was true, what does it matter if the details are a little off”. It matters because the truth is the most powerful tool we have. In this era of, academic indoctrination,”fake news”, politically correct “double speak”, and even the manipulation of algorithms to effectively censor conservative viewpoints, the truth matters more than ever. As Conservatives and especially as Christians, we have a responsibility to evaluate what we post and share carefully. To the best of your ability, vet the websites you use, to make sure they are factual and trustworthy. Remember if the post or meme elicits a strong emotional response, whether you agree with it, or it makes you angry, the creator of it might just be trying to manipulate you.
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Trump’s America/The Handmaid’s Tale
There is something compelling about dystopian literature. For all the bleakness of living in various totalitarian societies, there’s always that one person who dares to hope. Who courageously fights against the evil overpowering them, sometimes in vain. Such is the heroine Offred, in the Handmaid’s Tale.
Like any good dystopian fiction, you read or watch and see the parallels in our own society. Margaret Atwood didn’t just imagine what the future could look like, she used real examples, things happening even today in various parts of the world to bring realism to her story. The Handmaid’s Tale makes for riveting television. The story is captivating, it is well written and acted. What it isn’t is original………or brave.
At its core the Handmaids Tale is trite, and unimaginative. It’s simply another version of the well-worn, overused theme that Fundamentalist Christians are a cesspool of hypocrisy that subjugates and devalues women. Never mind that women in Western nations, (you know, Christian nations) have more freedom and opportunity than women anywhere else in the world.
To be truly audacious how about a tale that is frighteningly close to becoming reality. A story of life in a Sharia inspired America. Instead of reimagined nun’s habits, the women would wear stylized burkas, men would read from the Quran before raping their servants, and instead of Gilead, we would now be called New Mecca.
Or how about a radical Feminist utopia. A nation run completely by women. Men could not own property, hold any position of authority, or vote. They would live in squalid colonies, waiting to be chosen to donate sperm which would then be artificially inseminated into women ready to bear children. Sex for pleasure would only be allowed in lesbian liaisons with other females. Children once weaned would be turned over to the state to be raised and educated. Freeing the women from the burden of child rearing so they could pursue lucrative careers or artistic endeavors.
Pushing the envelope in Hollywood obviously doesn’t mean what it used to. You would not find any producer or studio in Hollywood interested in making a movie with the above-mentioned themes. In this day of attacks on Charlie Hebdo, the pink hatted women’s marches and violent Antifa protests, I doubt anyone in the entertainment industry has that kind of courage anymore.
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The Grownups vs David Hogg
By Barry Stock – https://www.flickr.com/photos/bigleaftropicals/25593049497/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=66778431
There has been a lot of talk about “common sense gun regulation”. Most of this talk is simply a back door way to introduce the banning of certain types of guns, which will ultimately lead to the banning of guns altogether. While I generally agree with the pro Second Amendment faction, there is one regulation that I am in complete agreement with and believe it should become law. I believe that the age to purchase a gun, any gun, should be raised to twenty-one. Let me explain why.
As science shows, and most parents of teenagers can attest, the frontal lobe of the brain, the “judgement center,” is not fully developed until the late twenties. Next to preschoolers, this makes college agers one of the most impressionable groups. The Left exploits this to push its agenda. From the Hippies of the Sixties, to the Antifa movement today, the Left exploits the idealism and lack of life experience this group possesses to further its agenda. College campuses have ceased being places where young people gain wisdom and life skills to become Progressive indoctrination centers. The entertainment industry reinforces the agenda, and social media gives this group a place to sound off with the like-minded, instead of having face to face conversations with those of differing viewpoints.
Now, since the Parkland Shooting, the Left is using these youngsters as spokes persons. They treat them as experts with authority and allow people who are barely more than children to shape policy. Regulations that will affect our way of life could be dictated by young people too naïve to know they are being used, and that should frighten us all.
You see, it really isn’t about raising the age to buy a gun, it’s about raising the legal age of adult hood for everything, from buying cigarettes to voting. Especially voting. It may be one of the most effective ways to combat the Leftist indoctrination of our young people. One argument against raising the age of legal adulthood is that if you can serve in the military at eighteen you should be old enough to vote. This is easily solved. Military service should confer legal adulthood on you. If you can show a valid military ID, or DD214 showing an honorable discharge, you can drink, buy a gun and vote. No matter your age.
I am not anti-youth I know there are exceptions. Many parents have been much more successful than I at combating the Leftist influence in their own homes. I am encouraged by the young adults who are turning from the lies of the Left, but the numbers just aren’t there yet to stop those raised with an entitlement mentality, who truly believe that those in my generation have caused all their problems and the government is the only solution. Even our Founders realized that life experience is a necessary component of leadership, that is why you have to be at least thirty-five to become the President.
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Gun Control, Divided We Fall
I am disgusted. After seventeen people lost their lives last week at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, We lost our collective minds….again. From news headlines to social media posts, pundits and politicians, everyone has something to say. Whether Democrat or Republican, Conservative or Liberal Progressive, most of what’s being posted is nothing more than ignorant emotionally charged talking points, none of it promoting anything truly objective or useful. The Far Left uses every mass shooting as a platform to push their anti-gun agenda. The ultimate, though unstated, goal of which is to eliminate the private ownership of all firearms. The Far Right then pushes back, hiding behind the Second Amendment, to push it’s ultimate, though unstated, goal of complete and unrestricted access to all firearms. Most of us don’t espouse either extreme, but we lean Left or Right. It seems no one is centrist in this debate, though many claim to be. There are valid points and arguments on both sides, but we have dug in our heels, armed ourselves with our favorite talking points and have stopped listening to each other. The sad outcome of this obstinacy will be more needlessly lost lives.
To restore some reason and civility to this debate, both sides must accept some inevitable truths. Those of us on the Right must realize that the majority of Americans support universal background checks. Many also support expanding the minimum purchase age to include shotguns and rifles. It is inevitable that there will be change to gun control policy. Rather than opposing this change outright, we should take control of the narrative. We should support legislation that prevents the dangerously mentally ill from obtaining firearms, without restricting the rights of law-abiding adult citizens to purchase them.
Those on the Left like to hold the rest of the world up as the paragon of virtue when it comes to the possession of firearms. They must understand that the United States is unique in its treatment of firearms ownership. The United States is one of only three countries that has a Constitutional right to gun ownership. It was the first to protect this right in its founding documents, and the only one that has no Constitutional restrictions against it. Second Amendment proponents understand that this amendment has nothing to do with hunting. It has to do with a citizen’s right to protect himself and his property. Whether it is from an intruder or an overreaching tyrannical government. This amendment protects the tools by which we can defend liberty. Liberty for everyone, Right, Left or somewhere in between. The only way the Second Amendment will ever be repealed is with a bloodbath that will forever split out nation in two. Is that what you really want the ultimate legacy of the Liberal Progressive movement to be?
Here are my personal positions on this issue. I’m pretty sure Leftists will hate them, and Conservatives will think I’m selling out, but this is just common sense to me.
I support universal background checks with an exception for guns willed to or gifted to family members. However, the law should hold responsible family members who knowingly buy guns for another family member who wouldn’t pass a background check.
I support increasing the age to purchase a rifle or shotgun from eighteen to twenty one. The law should apply only to the purchase of a weapon. Persons under the age of twenty one should be allowed to posses and use a firearm under the supervision of an adult.
I support training in firearms operation, safety, maintenance and law. I would not oppose this being mandatory for the purchase of a firearm.
I support the banning of “bump stocks”.
I support increased funding to diagnose and treat the mentally ill. While compassion for mentally ill persons is important, when it comes to firearms, the safety of the patient and the public should be the main concerns. However to protect the rights of a patient, a person would have to be declared unfit to possess a firearm by a licensed mental health professional.
I support holding accountable the agencies responsible for performing the background checks for gun ownership. I also support holding accountable the agencies that fail to report dangerous individuals. The inability or unwillingness of these agencies to enforce the already existing gun laws is a great threat to public safety and will render any reform of gun law useless.
I oppose the banning of so-called “assault style” weapons. This is an unquantifiable term that concerns the cosmetics of a weapon rather than its action. It is a term meant to play on the emotions of people unfamiliar with firearms.
I oppose the banning of high-capacity magazines. It places an unnecessary restriction on law-abiding gun owners, and a well-trained marksman can change magazines fast enough to make such a ban useless. Again, it is a knee jerk reaction, meant to play on the emotions.
I oppose any form of gun registry or database of gun owners. To require gun owners to register their firearms and to maintain a database of those persons and their residences goes completely against the spirit and purpose of the Second Amendment.
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Who Are These People?
These days I’m finding it hard to recognize my fellow conservatives. Conservatism used to be about free markets, a strong national defense, secure borders, a low tax burden, and limiting governmental control of our daily lives. We believed that The Constitution was the law of the land and was to be taken literally. It was not a “living document” to be interpreted at whim by the situational ethics of the day. We recognized that government was necessary and its purpose was to preserve the natural rights endowed upon all mankind, and enumerated in The Bill of Rights.
After suffering though the years of national degradation that Progressivism had burdened us with, we finally had a chance to step into the light. Out of all the potential presidential candidates, one knew the Constitution inside out, was well versed in foreign affairs, was articulate, inspiring, and an accomplished debater. His values were conservative values, and he had the courage to stand up for them. It seemed that Conservatism finally had a bold leader and the choice for President was clear. Then came Donald Trump.
I get the anger and frustration over Washington’s indifference to the will of the voters. I completely understand how Conservatives feel betrayed by the GOP. It seems that the majority of our representatives from all levels of government are only working for their own self-interests. What I don’t get is how any true Conservative can think that Donald Trump is the answer. He is a crony capitalist who has supported whatever politician he can get the most use out of, Democrat or Republican. His business ethics are questionable. His ventures have met with bankruptcy four times. His supporters know these undisputable facts, and have publicly stated, “they don’t care”. Trump is arrogant and petulant. His supporters know this, and still “they don’t care”. When asked why they support Trump, his followers almost always say, “he’s not afraid to say what he thinks”. That is certainly true. Trump has shot his mouth off and had to walk back his comments time and again, and still his supporters don’t care. As if unrestrained outspokenness is the only qualification for the leader of the free world. Trump’s supporters believe any explanation for his statements and behavior, no matter how embarrassing that behavior, or how well documented. These same people also believe any negative about Ted Cruz, no matter how obscure or questionable the website from where it originated. They consider the tabloids to be a trusted news source. They defend Trump with the fervent, mindless, zeal of cult followers. The belligerent reactions, to hecklers and protesters at Trump rallies, seems more in place at an Occupy Protest, than a Tea Party rally. Conservatives used to have more class than that.
Progressivism, Socialism and their big brother Communism, used to be the enemies of Conservatism. Now, thanks to the “Trump Train”, the only enemy of Conservatism seems to be the Republican Establishment. And to those who believe in Trump, anyone who isn’t a Trump supporter or a Democrat is an Establishment Republican. As much as I hate to say it, I agree with Hillary, “America has always been great, what it needs is to be made whole again”. Of course Hillary or (G-d forbid) Bernie are not the people to restore our nation, but true Conservatives cannot do it either, if they are being encouraged by the Trump Campaign to fight among themselves, and split into two parties.
For me, and many other Conservatives “dump Trump” isn’t about preserving the Republican Party. I couldn’t care a flying fig what happens to the GOP. “Dump Trump” is about preserving our nation. Those of you, who are still on the fence, trying to decide between Trump and Cruz, ask yourself why you are still on the fence. You probably want to support Trump, after all it seems a majority of Conservatives do, but that little voice deep down inside says that something about this guy just doesn’t add up. Listen to that voice, the fate of our country might very well depend on it.
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9/11 My Thoughts
Every generation has it’s defining moments. Those events where you can remember where you were and what you were doing at that time. I can remember three such events during my lifetime, the moon landing, the Challenger explosion,… 9/ 11. I know we all have our recollections of that day. Here are mine.
We were stationed at RAF Lakenheath, in England at the time. There were two other bases nearby and we were living in the housing units just outside of one of those bases. The circular street, called a close, had about twenty-five, neat brick houses surrounded by a fence. It was just outside of the main gate of RAF Feltwell, just outside of a village with the same name.
“G” was taking his nap and I turned on the TV to CNN. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I watched what I thought was a report about a terrible airline accident. Then, live on the TV I watched as a second airliner circled around and crashed into the South Tower. As I sat transfixed watching the events unfold, it still hadn’t sunk in that this was a deliberate attack. Then came the crash at the Pentagon. I know at some point during this time I must have prayed. Prayers for the people at the Pentagon, prayers for the safety of my family and my husband’s family even though they were thousands of miles from New York and DC. And prayers for the people trapped inside a house of horrors as I watched through the TV screen as the South Tower collapsed. I knew life on base was about to get very complicated. My mind turned to some mundane thoughts. “Did I have enough milk and bread? What about diapers? Heaven forbid I run out of diapers.
It was just after three pm, school had just gotten out and “A” came rushing through the kitchen door. “Mom, I left my back pack on the play ground and we have to go back and get it.” “We’ll have to hurry before they lock the gates” I told her. “Why would they lock the gates? “ She asked, unaware of what had just happened. “I’ll tell you later.” I knew that any minute the base would be going into Threatcon Delta and if the base was locked down we might be stuck there for hours. I grabbed “G” and buckled him into his stroller, grabbed my purse and a couple of diapers, just in case. We ran a block to the street that separated the houses from the main gate of the base. As I showed the guard my ID, I asked him how long we had before he would be locking down. He gave me a strange look and said he wasn’t closing the gate. Obviously he didn’t know yet. We ran to the playground, found the backpack, then ran the couple of blocks back to the gate. We crossed the street just as the guard pulled the big iron gates, that would block vehicles from coming on to the base, closed with a loud clang.
Why did we have to run? Why did they close the gates? How do you tell an eight-year-old child that we are at war and maybe in danger? I had to be straightforward. “A” would not accept a half-truth. We sat down and watched as the events continued to unfold on the TV. Some people thought that it was wrong to let a child see the coverage. But I have never lied to my children even when the news might be hard to bear. The phone rang. It was the hubs calling to say he would be home late. “I know,” I said. Then hung up the phone. I know at sometime during the evening I called my family. Even though I knew they were fine, I need to hear it from them, and “A” needed to know that they were OK.
The next morning, the gates to our housing unit were locked. In front of the pedestrian gate where the kids would meet the lollipop lady that helped them across the road, was a Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun on top. For the next three days we were locked in. Only the active duty military members were allowed in or out on their way to and from work. No school, and very little information about what we were supposed to do. This was new territory for us military spouses. Some kept their blinds closed, others kept their lights off after dark. The BX was closed, the Commissary was closed. After a few days the walls began to close in. We decided it was safe to let our kids play outside. Under the watchful eyes of the guard, we walked by the gate. There on the other side of the street in front of the entrance to the base was a mound of flowers. Our English neighbors showed their support in so many ways. The Queen even ordered that “The Star Spangled Banner” be played at the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The only time another country has been so honored.
Slowly we settled in to what was now the “new normal”. The Humvee was replaced with a portable guard shack. The gates were open, but were filled with iron obstacles that resembled giant jacks. The kids having to show ID’s to the gate guard, the vehicle searches and the dogs became routine. As we once again returned to the villages we were often greeted with, “we’re so glad to see you out and about”. It wasn’t the greeting of shop owners, glad for the returning business; it was the kind of greeting you would give a friend who was finally outside after recovering from a serious illness.
The whole experience was surreal. As I went about my normal routine, it seemed somehow inappropriate to do so. After so many had lost their life, it seemed wrong to go to the market, to go out to eat or to the pub, or go to London to do some Christmas shopping. But carry on we did, because to do otherwise, was to let the terrorists win.
My most poignant memory of that time did not happen on 9/11 or the days following. It came several months later. “A” was learning patriotic songs in music class. In her backpack I found a paper the music teacher had given them, and this was what she had doodled on the page.
The patriotism, the pride, the tribute of an eight-year-old girl. There is hope for this country after all.
Observations and Opinions of a Middle Aged Housewife 
