CHRISTMAS PRESENT

While many of the classic Christmas tunes are performed by artists who have gone to the great holiday party in another universe, here are my top ten from artists who are still around.  Click on “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY and sing along.

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My Top Ten Christmas Songs, Living Artists Edition by Rich Paschall


While many of your favorite Christmas songs are done by artists who have passed over the space and time continuum into another existence (that is to say, they are dead), there are still perennial favorites done by performers who are still on the planet.  This week’s hotly awaited Top Ten list will feature those living artists with songs we love.  Well, I love them, anyway.

There are songs that really did not seem to fit on the last Top Ten list of dead artists or this week’s list of Living artists because they are by groups where some of the members have passed and some are still performing.  For example, “Little Saint Nick” by the Beach Boys is a favorite but Dennis and Carl Wilson have passed.  “Please Come Home For Christmas,” by the Eagles is one of my…

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CHRISTMAS PAST

Glass ornaments from Germany

It is time again for Ye Merry Olde Christmas tunes sung by minstrels from days of yore.  Click on “View Original Post” at the bottom and follow on over to SERENDIPITY and sing along.

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My Top Ten Christmas Songs

Dead Artists Edition, by Rich Paschall


As I listened to holiday songs on the local Christmas songs radio station, one fact became apparent over time.  Almost all of the songs I hear are performed by artists who have gone on to that great holiday party in the sky.  This is, of course, a nice way of saying they are dead.  Nevertheless, we continue to listen to their songs year in and year out.  In fact, some of these have been flying across the airwaves for many decades and there is no sign they will ever stop being played.

It is safe to say that all of these songs have been covered many times over.  Any singer with staying power in the industry has a Christmas album.  It is true that a few of these songs received great success by other artists when released, but there are certain…

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Looks More Like a Rut Than Tradition

The happy holiday season is now upon us.  Actually, it never left.  We are in perpetual holiday mode, which should say something about modern society. What that says escapes me, but it would have to be profound to deal with the depths of the ruts we now find ourselves in.  When you see Christmas decorations in the stores before you see Halloween candy, then you know it is just one giant marketing season.  Christmas supplies now start making their way to the shelves alongside the back-to-school sales.  We heard Christmas music in one store while we shopped for Halloween items.

Chief among the offenders of what used to be a nice November holiday is the Black Friday sales that follow.  It is hard to keep calling it Black Friday when the event starts early in the week on websites and continues into the following week.  No retailer wants anyone else to get a jump on him so they all start opening the stores earlier and earlier for the “Friday” sales.  Thanksgiving used to be a day to spend with relatives and friends.  Everything was closed and we actually had a day to retreat to our homes to give thanks and eat a lot.  Now it is “hurry up and eat, the stores are open!”

English: DC USA, Target, Black Friday

English: DC USA, Target, Black Friday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last year Black Friday started at sometime on Turkey Thursday for the brick and mortar stores.  I fear that in just a few years the old tradition of spending time with family and friends, even if it was only because all the stores are closed, will give rise to another day to race to the shopping mall.  We want to stand in line to get the next “cabbage patch doll” (look it up) or whatever the hot item will be this year.  Is there a general lack of time between the fourth Thursday in November and Christmas Day that crass commercialism must encroach on one of the two days where just about every business was closed?  (The other, of course, is Christmas Day.)

I realize that for some it is the thrill of the hunt, but for others it is like lemmings to the sea.  Do you think that if you are not out in the post-Thanksgiving dinner madness that you will have to admit to friends that you did not participate in the widespread seasonal opportunity to spend more money than you would like.  If you get the items you want, you will probably spend more in the store on other things, which is exactly what merchants want.  If we are willing to shop in the wee hours of the morning, why not let us shop all night long?  This may cost you dearly, and it certainly shortens the holiday of mall workers everywhere.

Another newly absurd practice is Christmas music on the radio.  The commercial station that plays all Christmas music in season has a warped idea of what the season is.  Having found that playing all Christmas music all day long in season was very popular, they decided to start earlier, and earlier and earlier.  You can listen to Christmas music from Halloween until the end of the year.  Like AM radios stations of yore, however, they seem to have a limited playlist.  How many times over two months can you listen to Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas,” Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song,” Gene Autry’s “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and of course Bing Crosby forever crooning “White Christmas?”  Every artist who has had more than two hit albums has recorded Christmas music, if not indeed a Christmas Album.  What about everyone else?  Can we get something new before we watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas” or “It’s a Wonderful Life” one more time?

O Christmas tree

The thoughts of these limitations did not fall on deaf ears, XM radio has trotted out multiple Christmas channels.  One of the good traits is they are commercial free, unless you count the constant plugging of their other channels.  You can hear songs from the 1940’s through the present.  Glenn Miller band played “Jingle Bells” and Frank Sinatra sang “Silent Night” for me while I made my happy way down crowded streets and “city sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in…,” but I digress.  “Siriusly,” I am not advocating you Christmas rush your way to your computer to get a subscription to satellite radio.  Newer cars have USB ports anyway, so I guess you can bring along any music on your digital playlist.

I have saved the worst of the holiday ruts for last.  It seems that going over the river and through the mall to grandma’s house is not always a good idea.  While your attendance at a family gathering may seem more like a command performance than an invitation, it does not mean you actually have to go.  Yes, I know grandma will be disappointed if you do not bring your fake smile and weary mate to the gathering, but she will get over it if you stop in at other times during the season.  Work on a good lie…I mean story, and stick with it.  Many family gatherings turn into ugly affairs. People who might not normally get together during the year are appeasing grandmas and showing up to an event.  They would rather be at a sports bar or in their own homes.  Pent up feelings are likely to leak out.  After a flaming rum punch, or whatever alcohol your prefer, you might just tell Uncle Orville what you really think of him.  The injury that does will probably fester until the next holiday gathering.

There will be plenty of survival guides on Word Press and all the other blog sites.  You Tubers will be busy making videos to help you through the madness.  I will take a pass on that.  I did start watching a video of someone explaining Black Friday traditions.  At first I thought it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but then I decided the young vlogger was just dead wrong.  Beware advice from teenagers and twenty-somethings who play video games all season and anger their parents by not showing up at these dreadfully uncomfortable holiday soirées.  Oh wait, maybe they have something there!

OR go for some “Cold Weather songs”
“Baby, It’s Cold Outside!” at teepee12.com

A Change of View

A short family story

The extra bedroom had been turned into a den or office of some sort.  It was supposed to be a place to work or study, but actually it was just a place for Rob to hide out from the family.  In there he could read or daydream or actually make use of the computer he was determined to learn more about.  This determination did not go much farther than turning it on, looking at the home page and checking his email.  Rob did not get much email.  His friends knew he rarely read them anyway.  Rob did not have to use the computer much at work, and used it less at home.

Books, creative commons license

Over time the den had become cluttered with books and magazines.  That was Rob’s doing.  “These are the things to be read,” he thought.  The internet contained sound bites and headlines and celebrity pictures and Rob was convinced it held little value for him.  You might say Rob was a bit of a throwback to a previous generation.  The passing years had confused him and upset the neat world order in the family of Rob.  So, he needed his refuge to occasionally escape his modern family.

He had a conservative wife with conservative looks and conservative taste.  Despite her ever youthful appearance, she was likely better suited to  the era of black and white television than the present day.  She did not seem the daring young girl Rob married over three decades earlier.  There were also two teenage children, a boy and a girl.  Rob recalled how he used to call them his “little prince and princess.”  Rob’s neatly appointed wife thought he carried on with the “prince and princess” thing too long.  Becky continued to be “daddy’s little girl” and certainly acted like a princess, but Josh had transformed into someone else.  Until now, Rob had no idea how the world of Josh had changed.

This particular Thursday evening Rob sat alone in the den waiting.  He had come home to do something he had never done before and now he was waiting.  He looked up at the clock and it revealed the hour was closing in on 7 pm.  His teenagers had not arrived home and his ever patient wife was just starting to make dinner.  They were all going to keep him waiting.  On most days he would not sit in a room with just a low watt energy-saving bulb burning and do nothing but wait, but that was his mission now.  He was unsure what he would say when the waiting ended, his mind was actually rather blank and his face was free from expression of any kind.  He looked rather like an old soldier who just had a mortar shell go off nearby.  He waited in stunned silence.

Earlier in the day Rob was talking to one of the other dads at work.  The other dad was much younger and that may have been the reason he was more in tune with the teenagers and the internet.  “Do you ever watch You Tube videos? ” the younger dad had asked.  “No,” Rob replied, “I am not sure if I have ever seen one.”  “Here is one you will want to see.  Search this title.”  He handed Rob a piece of paper.  “It is important.  Do it today.  Here too is the ‘username’ of the one who posted it just in case you have any trouble finding it.”  The younger dad would answer no questions and would not say anymore on the subject.  Rob had put the folded up piece of paper in his pocket and did not take it out until he reached the den.  Once there, he went immediately to his desk, turned on the computer and sat silently.

As he waited for the computer to start up he read the few words on the paper over and over.  Could this possibly be some sort of joke?  Would they all laugh about it tomorrow in the company break room?  Would this just be a few minutes of needed entertainment?  When the computer was on, Rob searched for the title.  At first he was confused and a bit nervous.  There were so many videos with similar titles he was unsure what to pick.  Then he noticed the user name and started scrolling through the titles looking for the right one.

When he located the name that matched the one written out for him, he clicked on it quickly, before he could change his mind.  He watched the whole thing and when it was over, a single tear rolled down his cheek.  There was just one before his tears and his mouth dried up and his palms began to sweat.  In his 50+ years he had never felt like this before, ever.  When the clock stuck seven, the computer was still on and Rob was still silent.

Soon after the seven o’clock bells tolled for Josh, he opened the front door and came strolling in.  When he passed the door of the den Rob yelled, “Josh, get in here.”  Josh had never in his life heard such a sound come from his father.  As a matter of fact, Rob had never heard such a sound before either.  Whatever was the cause of this greeting, Josh knew it could not be good.  He stuck his head through the doorway and said, “Yes, sir” in a timid little voice left over from his “little prince” days.  In his 17 years, 3 months and 2 days, Josh was never this nervous, even when he broke Mrs. Applebaum’s car mirror playing baseball in the street.

Broadcast Yourself

Broadcast Yourself

“Come over here,” Rob commanded.  Josh walked over and stopped across the desk from dear old dad, who just lookd old at the moment.  “No, over here,” Rob said, pointing to the floor next to where he sat.  Josh came around the desk as Rob made ready with his new knowledge of You Tube.  When the little prince was in place, Rob clicked on the video and Josh knew immediately what was on the bill.  His heart and stomach tensed up as if someone was strangling them from inside.

“Dad,” the little prince squeaked.  “Quiet,” Rob growled in returned.  And so for the first time, father and son watched a You Tube Video together, all 8 minutes and 22 seconds of it.  When it was over and an uncomfortable few seconds had passed, Rob said, “Go,” in a soft voice that gave away hurt and betrayal.  Josh rushed from the den, ran to his room and slammed the door.  Rob emerged from the den to find his pretty wife rushing to the scene.

“What’s up with you two?” she said.  “Did the prince do something wrong?”  Rob gave his response a moment of thought and said, “Why didn’t we have kids sooner in life?”  “YOU did not want to,” she laughed.  “You said we should be financially sound before we started a family.”  She was right, of course.  That is exactly what he said.  He said it many times throughout the first dozen years of their marriage.

“I think teenagers were not as difficult years ago.  There just seems to be so much more to deal with now.”  The pretty little wife with the perfect hair and the perfect smile looked puzzled, but Rob said no more about it that night or for many nights to come.  He had no idea how to tell her that the little prince had come out as gay to the entire world by way of a You Tube video, but was unable to find a way to tell his parents.

Why am I here?

Certainly you have asked yourself this question. Perhaps you asked it many times. You could have been sitting in a boring class that seemed to have no relation to real life. If you went on to college there may have been several of these classes because they were listed as “requirements.” “Reflections on Man,” for example, may sound like something meaningful, but I am pretty sure my only reflection was on the meaning of the course itself. “Philosophy and Religion” as well as “Behavioral and Social Sciences” requirements provided me with plenty of opportunities to ask, “Why am I doing this?” On its lowest level, I guess you could say I was doing if for the grade.

Technology possessing World by Pj93

Family gatherings can also drive you to ask our topic question. Good old Aunt Pearl may compel your attendance at her twice annual family gatherings. That would be the ones without music or television where the adults would try painfully to keep some sort of conversation going. Her cookies and hard candies just were not enough to keep you from wondering why you continue to attend these family gatherings that seemed forerunners to family wakes. By the time Aunt Pearl passes, you will feel like you have already attended her wake on many occasions. After the kids get hyped up on candy, they may provide some comic relief to go with Aunt Pearl’s annoyance (or passing). The conclusion may still be, “Why Lord? Why?”

Of course, you may find yourself at one holiday party when you know a better one is going on elsewhere. The reason for this may be that it is some sort of social obligation. Still you wonder why you are at Orville’s party when Wilbur is so much more fun. Even though the holidays usually seem to race right by with January and February lurking around the corner, time seems to stand still at Orville’s party, leaving you to wonder “Why am I here?”

For the last dozen or so years, I have thought of this question on the grand philosophical scale. That is, I have literally wondered why I am here, on earth, in this place, at this time. I figure there must be a higher calling, if I could just find out what that is. In Catholic grade school, we were taught to seek our vocation in life. Lately when they call to pray for vocations, they generally mean they need more religious to join up.

Still we all may think “Why am I here?” You might have the pleasant thought that it is because your mommy and daddy wanted you, but in my case, I am pretty sure that is not it. If you think it is because the stork brought you, you are either from Alsace or too young to be reading this blog.

In church we read out the intentions or invocations. These are prayers where we call on the Lord to help us. One at the end usually goes like this, “For the intentions we hold in the silence of our hearts (pause), we pray to the Lord.” In recent years this pause was where I filled in a request for acceptance, which has to do with chronic foot pain, and a desire to have the answer to the question on why I am here. There must be some reason beyond tossing off clever quips on social media sites.

There was a priest whose sermons never left me with the “why am I here” feeling. It almost seemed like he is just talking to me. So I confessed to him one day that I felt there must be a grand plan. I felt frustrated that I did not know it even though I prayed for the answer. Of course, he urged me to keep an open mind and be receptive. What else could he say? He was not going to pass along God’s response. No voice was coming to us from a cloud. No one will give us a 140 character response on twitter (or 280 if you are blessed with extra letters). He did the only thing he could, he listened.

In the meantime, I thought I would just take whatever reasonable opportunity I could to help people out and keep my ears open. It reminded me of the frustration felt by the Bishop at the beginning of the holiday classic The Bishop’s Wife. At his wit’s end at not finding what he needed to build the cathedral, he prays, but if you see this holiday movie, listen to what he prays for. Is it really a cathedral?

Just like our movie hero, it finally came to me. I was a bit surprised that it took so long. It was there all along. Unlike Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, I did not have to travel the world for the answer, nor did I have to go to Oz. While I was lending a helping hand, and enjoying new adventures with some of my friends, new and old, I discovered something. It was never one great thing that I was supposed to do. It was a lot of little things, and they would add up to the reason why, and they have. In case I have not been clear let me just state it this way, “Do the next right thing.” That’s it. Really! As you move from adventure to adventure, helping when asked and finding help when needed, you will see the answer that was never to be had at Aunt Pearl’s house. Check below the video.

Hope is Dead

A story of faith, Hope and Lovey.

Hope

Hope (Photo credit: mrsdkrebs)

It was a beautiful morning in early autumn, the kind of morning where it is almost too warm to wear a jacket, but too cool to go without one.  An older man stepped into the fresh air and onto his newly painted porch.   He admired his handy work from the previous weekend.  He was pleased at the outcome of a job done just before the leaves began to fall on the porch and stairs.  The porch was a nice shade of light grey.  Most wooden porches and stairs on the block were painted a shade of grey.  It seemed to be the right color.  The old man was a shade of grey too, perhaps not the right color at all.

He moved down the stairs carefully.  A chronic pain of the right foot caused him to use a cane and step carefully.  If he only put the weight on the back half of the right foot, he did not feel the pain very much.  He was quite practiced after all these years of going down stairs carefully.  When he reached the bottom of the seven steps that took him to the sidewalk, he turned right and strolled directly toward the corner.  A southern breeze hit him head on and reminded him of touch football games in the park from decades earlier.  Mild fall weather always had this effect on him.  He absolutely loved this time of year.

Just two houses down the street, where the soft grey paint had almost completely worn away from the steps and porch, sat a young girl on the second to last step.  Tears were streaming down her face and she looked up to see the old man.  Her curly brown hair revealed that she may have just gotten out of bed and her red eyes indicated she had been crying a while.  Her faded blue dress was wrinkled and her feet had no shoes.  She was a sad sight, to be sure.

“What is wrong, my little friend?” said the old man.  He could not remember the girl’s name, although he must have heard it many times.  He forgot most of the names of the people who inhabited the old wooden frame houses of his block.  He tried hard to remember, but his occasional contact with the humans of the neighborhood made memory difficult.  He did remember the names of the teenage boys who came to mow the lawn, rake the leaves or shovel the snow.  He was grateful for them.  The others were familiar faces without familiar names.

“Hope is dead,” declared the little girl, much to the surprise of the old man.  When she finished her proclamation, she began to cry almost uncontrollably.  The old man hardly knew what to say.  How could such a young girl feel this way?   No one should lose hope, or cry this much over something except perhaps the loss of a loved one.

“I am sorry to hear this,” he started hesitantly, “but we should always have hope.  There is always the chance for a better day.”  The child looked at him as if he were crazy.  Clearly he did not understand.

“But she is dead,” she shouted.  “Hope is dead!”  He stood there dumbfounded.  What could he say?  The little girl obviously suffered some traumatic loss and he certainly was not the person to offer words of comfort.

“Mom put her in a shoebox and is going to bury her in the backyard by the roses,” she said in a somewhat calmer voice.  Apparently, this was the action meant to make the girl feel better.

“Bury her?” the old man wondered.

“Yes, and she will no longer sing for us,” the girl blurted out.

“This was your pet?” the elderly gentleman queried carefully.

“Yes,” came the reply.  “Hope was my parakeet and now she is gone.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear this.  Perhaps you can get another bird,” he said in his most understanding voice.”

“But I don’t want another bird,” was her retort, “I want Hope.”

“Yes, but we must all go to heaven at some time, and there is always another bird that needs a home.”

“Yeah, that’s what my mom said,” responded the girl in an unbelieving voice.

“I am sorry for the loss of your pet and may you always have a good memory of Hope.”  He walked away quickly.  The elderly bachelor had no idea how to comfort young children.  He felt he did his best but also thought it was not good enough.  He was sad that he did not have the right words for the small girl with the messy brown hair.  When he reached the corner, he looked up and down the street for his tan Oldsmobile Cutlass.  When he spotted the car, he moved quickly toward it, got in and started to run the day’s errands.

It was almost two weeks later when he again passed the young girl in front of her house.  She was smiling and this time offered a greeting first.  “How are you?” the man responded.  He was still uncertain of her name.

“I am fine,” she declared in a bold voice.  “I have a new canary,” she said with the same pride he might declare if he could ever afford a new car.

“That’s nice,” was the reply.  “Does the bird have a name?”

“Yes, he is Lovey.  My mother helped pick out the name.”

“That was very nice of her.  Lovey is a nice name.”  He smiled and began to walk away.  As he did the little girl’s mother appeared on the porch and said “hello” to the man.  He waved back.  There was nothing much to say as the mother did not speak English and the old man knew no Spanish.

When the old man reached the old car he thought that the young girl would need to keep the faith that she will some day meet Hope and Lovey again in the next life.  Perhaps her mother told her this.  Perhaps she carried this faith with her.  Perhaps she had no faith at all.  He never found out.

THEY’RE CREEPY AND THEY’RE KOOKY

As a public service we once again bring you our top ten Halloween Songs. This time around we have added links to songs 6 through 10. Just click on the song title in the article. Now don your costume, grab your trick-or-treat bag and follow the link below to SERENDIPITY.

Source: THEY’RE CREEPY AND THEY’RE KOOKY

The Falling Days Drift By The Window

Autumn

“The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold…”

The changing seasons may hold special memories for some.  Walking outside into a particular type of weather may evoke a particular moment.  It may unlock a time from your memory vault, either good or bad, that you can associate with the weather, the season, or maybe just a certain type of day.  Like the autumn leaves, visions of your life may fall all around you.

Les Alyscamps, Falling Autumn Leaves, Vincent ...

Les Alyscamps, Falling Autumn Leaves, Vincent van Gogh, 1888 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When the weather changes from summer to fall, the most predominant image to me is that of football.  No, I am not talking about sitting in front of a television on Saturday or Sunday to watch college or professional football.  I am talking about the in-the-park, touch football sort of memories I accrued over many years in Revere Park.  A large crew of friends participated as teammates and opponents.  Whatever hard feelings there may have been over certain games or with opposing players, they have now blown away like leaves being blown down the street by a fierce October wind.  Only good images remain.  I would be a liar if I denied that this time of year makes me yearn for an autumn that will never be repeated.  Since I can not go back to those days, I can only carry the memories forward into the winter of life.  Fortunately, they are good memories.

Football was always a favorite with me so there are other memories besides the “weekend warrior” kind.  There are the years as a football official for leagues of boys playing in that same park.  Although I enjoyed working other sports as well, nothing compared to running out onto the field, with college fight songs blasting over the park speakers, as we yelled at the youngsters to line up for the opening kick-off.  We worked these games in every type of weather, warm and windy days as well as cool and crisp afternoons.  We not only endured driving rains but even some late fall snows that coated the fields and reminded us that winter was lurking around some corner that we were about to turn.

Of course, there was plenty of time spent watching football on televisions with the giant 19 inch screen. I fell most in love with the professional game after reading the best seller by Green Bay Packer lineman Jerry KramerInstant Replay made famous some Packer linemen and their opponents on the line of scrimmage.  Paper Lion by George Plimpton also was a great read, particularly for the amateur player, not quite good enough to play the pro game.  A couple other football books written in the same generation of players helped to capture a certain mystique about the game.  I doubt there have been any better books written about pro football since.  That these memories of certain books go with a particular season are an amazing thing to me.  Indeed I associate other books with other seasons as well.

“I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold…”

Summer could last forever for me now.  Since I can not improve on the fall memories that I hope will never fall away, I wish for t-shirt and shorts weather to stick around.  While summer is always filled with a certain sort of contentment, fall is filled with nostalgia for a by-gone era.  I can stand in the middle of the park and remember what was, or travel to the arboretum to immerse myself in colored leaves, but I can not turn back any clocks.  That is the reminder that autumn ushers in with its cooler nights and shorter days.

“Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song…”

If you live in the midwest part of the USA, you know that winter will come storming in all too soon.  Even if you like the snow of a Christmas morning, you never like the hours spent shovelling your walkways or digging out your automobile.  If you live in the “Windy City,” Chicago that is, then you absolutely know how a winter wind can “go right through you,” as many say here.  The meanness of old man winter is only welcomed by a scant few.  The rest of us understand so well that autumn points to the brutally mean side of Mother Nature.  When you reach the autumn of your own years, winter can not be made welcome, because you know that there is no spring to follow.  If you have not already stopped to smell the roses, or looked at the explosion of fall colors, then you have missed what nature and life itself has to offer.

“…but I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall.”

There is a season for reminiscence and I guess that it is autumn.  If a damp and cold October afternoon can drive me to my computer to toss off some random thoughts, then I suppose the time is now.  For the people and times past that remain in my heart, I must declare that I miss you most of all, when autumn leaves start to fall.

– “Les feuilles mortes” music by Joseph Kosma and lyrics by poet Jacques Prévert, english lyrics by Johnny Mercer.

ANGEL COMES OUT

This story originally appeared on SERENDIPITY three years ago and has already been run on Sunday Night Blog.  There are many stories like it and unfortunately they continue to happen. Worse yet, hate seems to be getting legitimized by the current administration.  In fact, 45 spoke to an anti-LGBT group this past week that has already been identified as a “hate group.”  The following type of true story will continue to appear if the leader of the country gives signals that hate and bigotry are OK.  Only tolerance and love will help us to overcome the attitude of our so called “leader.”

Follow over to SERENDIPITY for this harrowing true story:
Source: ANGEL COMES OUT

THE MOST TRUSTED MAN IN AMERICA

With 45 constantly tweeting about so called “fake news,” you may wonder who to believe when the news is reported. At one time, there was no question about it. We trusted one man to always tell us the truth.

SERENDIPITY

“And that’s the way it is” by Rich Paschall


With so many bad sources of news in the world, who do you trust to give you reliable and up to date information?  I know it is tough to decide.  At one time there was radio, television, newspapers and your grandma’s gossip across the back fence.  You may also have had a few barroom buddies who seemed to be pretty up to date on the happenings in the nation and even the world.  Now that there are so many more options, how do you know who to trust and what to believe?

Perhaps you still rely on Aunt Mildred.  She always seems to be well read and has a tidbit of news on everything.  When she shows up at family gatherings she can easily dazzle those who would sit down to listen.  She always shows up early to the parties and is willing to stay…

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