Yes! Going on a picnic with somebody else’s kids, at a really quiet and beautiful lake!
And, yes, have a vintage station wagon, too.
But what I will be doing instead isn’t the worst thing in the world:
Take a 5-minute walk to the far right of this photo and you will be at the 200-year-old train station where I work in the evenings!
And I go inside, outside; inside, outside; inside, outside all evening long. So I get to look at a big bunch of beautiful trees and an incredible sky, wherein the stars come out in the evening and birds are always soaring. And right next door to the train station is a huge — and I mean huge — old barn, full of bails of hay. And just up the hill a tiny bit is the picturesque and perfectly maintained old graveyard where all the first settlers of the town are buried.
So it’s definitely not the worst place I’ve ever worked, or the worst view I’ve not only ever had but been an actual part of, when I’m doing all that “inside, outside; inside, outside” stuff.
So it isn’t terrible. I’m just effing tired. Beyond your ability to comprehend, most days.
But on a happy note!!
Indy, the brother of Alan the cat– the brother who hides in my storage closet all day and only comes out at night when I’m sleeping because he was horribly abused & abandoned in a dumpster as a tiny kitten so he distrusts people, to put it mildly; that Indy not only let me pet him today, but he actually came over to me and wanted to be petted.
It was amazing, gang. He’s been hiding in my storage closet for 2 and half months already.
What a wonderfully auspicious day!
Okay.
I wanted to share this, because this is the kind of thing that makes me so angry, gang. The Guardian used to believe in child sex trafficking. Now it’s just “Q-Anon paranoia”. (And there is no Q-Anon, for chrissakes. There is Q and there are anons…) Anyway.
From Bannon’s War Room:
“Enemy of the people
Enemy of the children”
**********************
And there’s a 3-part article getting underway at Real Raw News that you might want to stay on top of. Those FEMA camps were real, gang. I started blogging about them back in 2012, during the O’Bozo Regime, and some of my readers thought I was some sort of “conspiracy theorist” nut.
JAG Convicts former FEMA Boss Brock Long, Part One.
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That’s kind of it.
Oh, I did get my phone service back on yesterday and that was a long and quite curious story, so I’ll leave it for another time. But I do believe the Deep State infrastructure of this great land of ours is truly on its way out.
So. That’s cool.
Have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world!!
Thanks for visiting.
I love you guys. See ya!
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Yes! I leave you with this!
You knew it was only a matter of time, and the time has arrived!
My breakfast-listening music from this morning. From the summer of 1984, the absolutely mega smash hit: Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.”!
I used to play this album nonstop that summer, when I was still living in the railroad flat on East 12th Street in New York’s East Village.
When I met my birth dad, 5 years later in 1989, it turned out that this song personified him. It truly did. He’d been a Navy SEAL in Vietnam, and when we first began talking to each other on the phone — late at night for me, because there was a 3-hour difference in our time zones — I would lie in my bed in the dark, and listen, spellbound, to his stories about Vietnam; stories he had never told his wife (who was dead by this time) or his stepkids because he never wanted to upset them. But he wanted to confide in me, to tell me what it had been like for him over there.
I cannot adequately say how much that meant to me. I’d been searching for my birth father for about 17 years by the time he finally called me –seemingly out of the blue — one evening in the Spring of 1989, while I was sitting alone in my bedroom, watching a rerun of “The Andy Griffith Show.”
ME: “Hello?”
HIM: “Is this Marilyn?”
ME: “Yes.”
HIM: “Marilyn, my name’s Don May. I don’t really know how to say this but I think I’m your father.”
It is sufficient to say that, after that, my life changed forever.
This morning, at around 6am, while making breakfast for 11 cats and myself, this song came on the CD player in my kitchen and stopped me in my tracks. And I actually cried, just a wee little bit… I knew my birth dad for 10 difficult years, until he died from a cancer he got from being exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam…
All right. Enjoy, gang.
“Born In The U.S.A.”
Born down in a dead man’s town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that’s been beat too much
‘Til you spend half your life just coverin’ up
Born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A
Born in the U.S.A
Got in a little hometown jam
So they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land
To go and kill the yellow man
Born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A
Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man says, “Son if it was up to me”
Went down to see my V.A. man
He said, “Son, don’t you understand”
I had a brother at Khe Sanh
Fighting off the Viet Cong
They’re still there, he’s all gone
He had a woman he loved in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms now
Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I’m ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run ain’t got nowhere to go
Born in the U.S.A
I was born in the U.S.A. now
Born in the U.S.A
I’m a long gone Daddy in the U.S.A. now
Born in the U.S.A
Born in the U.S.A
Born in the U.S.A
I’m a cool rockin’ Daddy in the U.S.A. now
c- 1982 Bruce Springsteen
Marilyn's Room 