It was bound to happen

The past year has been controversial, to say the least.  Now…it is beyond “Keep Austin Weird” out of control. The following article pretty much describes what happened in this election.  I will be honest: I was not a Hillary guy, but I wasn’t a Trump guy, either.  I am happy with the outcome, though, because the “the people” spoke with a louder voice than the have since the Dewey-Truman race.  Trump is definitely a POPULIST president, and here is the truth, and proof (from a re-post by Paul Craig Roberts).

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This Wasn’t an Election. It Was a Revolution.

By Daniel Greenfield, a Shillman Journalism Fellow at the Freedom Center

It was midnight in America. The day of the election millions Americans got up and stood in front of the Machine, the great iron wheel that had been grinding them down. They stood there even though the media told them it was useless. They took their stand even while all the chattering classes laughed and taunted them as white trash racists.

They were fathers who couldn’t feed their families anymore. They were mothers who couldn’t afford health care. They were workers whose jobs had been given to foreigners in foreign countries so that the incomes of oligarchs could rise. They were sons who didn’t see a future for themselves. They were daughters afraid of being raped by the undocumented illegals flooding into their towns. They took a deep breath and they stood.

They held up their hands and the great iron wheel stopped.

Blue America crumbled. The Blue States fell one by one. Ohio. Wisconsin. Pennsylvania. Iowa. The white working class that had been overlooked and trampled on for so long got to its feet. It rose up against its oppressors. The rest of the nation, between the West coast and the North East coast, “the fly-over zone”, rose up with it.

They fought back against their jobs being shipped overseas while their towns filled with migrants that got everything while they got nothing. They fought back against a system in which they could go to jail for a trifle while the elites could violate the law and still stroll through a presidential election.

They fought back against being told that they had to watch what they say.

They fought back against being held in contempt because they wanted to work for a living, take care of their families, and protect the sanctity of marriage.

And they won.

This wasn’t a vote. It was an uprising.

Like the ordinary men chipping away at the Berlin Wall, they tore down an unnatural thing that had towered over them. And as they watched it fall, they marveled at how weak and fragile it had always been. And how much stronger they were than they had ever known.

Who were these people? They were the neglected in the fly-over country that is the heart of America. They didn’t have university degrees, and they had never set foot in a Starbucks to pay $5 for a cup of coffee. They were the white working class. They didn’t talk right or think right. They had the wrong ideas, the wrong clothes and the ridiculous idea that they still mattered.

They were told they were wrong about everything. Illegal immigration. Black Lives Matter, but not jobs for the oppressed middle class. Manufacturing is unnecessary for an economy in which financial profits are all important. Transgendered bathrooms. Same gender marriages. Americans were supposed to bow down and surrender to a handful of perverts.

Told that the future belongs to the metrosexual dot com transgendered globalist, and not to the guy who once had a good job before the globalist corporations with Washington’s blessings sent it to China or Mexico, real Americans revolted.

White trash American couldn’t change anything, declared the pundits. But instead of adapting to the inevitable future of America’s demise, they got in their pickup trucks and drove out to vote.

And they changed everything.

Barack Hussein Obama boasted that he had changed America. And he did for the worse. A billion regulations, millions of immigrants, a hundred thousand lies and it was no longer our America.

White Trash America voted and sent Obama to Hell. They walked through him and through the Democratic Party like the wet paper bag that they are. Voters abandoned the party that had sold out the American people. More black Americans voted for Trump than voted for Romney.

The election repudiated the Obamas, the Clintons, the celebrities, and the media. Americans turned the One Percent’s world upside down.

CNN is weeping. MSNBC is wailing. ABC calls it a tantrum. NBC damns it. It wasn’t supposed to happen. The same machine that crushed the American people for six straight terms, the mass of neoconned government, globalist corporations and oligarch-financed non-profits that ran the country, was set to win. Or so they thought.

Instead the people stood in front of the Machine. They blocked it with their votes even though the media told them Hillary was the certain winner. They mailed in their absentee ballots even while Hillary Clinton was planning her fireworks victory celebration. They looked at the empty factories and barren farms. They drove through the early cold. They waited in line. They came home to their children to tell them that they had done their best for their future. They bet on America. And they won.

They are tired of the absence of affordable health care and recognize the fraud of Obamacare. They are tired of unemployment and of being lied to. They are tired of watching their sons come back in coffins so that the military/security complex could continue to loot America with their wars. They are tired of being called names and watching the theft of their country.

They understood that Trump was right. The election was their last hope, their last chance to save themselves and their country. And they did.

This election was not about who gets to use the female toilet. It wasn’t about whether it is racist to enforce the immigration laws. It wasn’t about how men, however uncouthly, express their sexual interest in women.

It was about suffering Americans, whose names no one except a server and the NSA will ever know, fighting back against their oppression. It was about the homeless woman guarding Trump’s star. It was about the betrayed Democrats searching for someone to represent them in Ohio and Pennsylvania. It was about the union men who refused to sell out their futures and vote for a Democrat who is an agent of the One Percent.

The media will never interview those men and women. We will never see their faces. But they are us and we are them. They came to the aid of a nation in peril. They did what real Americans have always done. They did the impossible.

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Why we are here

After spending the last three days with my grandchildren, I have reached some inspired conclusions. I have raised three and one half children. (Because one was my stepson who I acquired through marriage to my wonderful wife. He was eight when He became pat of my life.) Although I had fun with my brood, I was always busy with work and trying to provide for the family. This was difficult and made more so by the fact that I traveled for around 20 years. Simply put, I didn’t have and didn’t make time to really enjoy watching my own children being “kids”

Then something amazing happened that changed all the rules. My oldest son (through marriage) got married to a beautiful, sweet girl, from Texas, of course, and in a few years, they had a son! I was won over, as Papa, instantly. I loved that little baby boy so much I can’t even describe it in words. He and I were buddies from the very beginning, and though we live in the Houston metro are, we would fly or drive to Austin regularly. At this point, I’m semi retired and have the time and desire to make these weekend trips.
Two and one half years later (2014) the same couple had a baby girl. I was overcome with joy (my fist two children were girls, and I couldn’t wait to have a granddaughter).

My mother and father had five children, all married now, and 13 grandchildren. I watched, with some curiosity, how my parents had changed in there approach to child rearing, when it concerned the grandchildren. So much different than when we were growing up! They were nice and spoiled the grands rotten, while still holding some sense of order, it was surrealistic!

I am now smack dab in the middle of that surrealism. I sit and watch in wonder as these babies go through their life. My grandson is now two and a half and fully in to being a little boy. I can sit in the back yard with him and watch him play with his cars, both little and ride upon. I watch him pick up 1 gallon paint cans and carry them to his “Little Tikes” truck, load then up and then ride his truck to another location and then take the cans out. His sandbox was covered with a tarp that was full of rainwater and he wanted to play in the sandbox. I picked up a five gallon bucket and started to bail water. He went an found one of his little buckets and started to help me. Together, we bailed 60 gallons of water out of that tarp. When we removed the tarp, here was about 35 more gallons in the sand itself, so we bailed it out. My feet were wet and Waylan’s shirt and pants were soaked, but we finished the job, and had so much fun doing it.

I spent several hours each day holding my almost 4 month old granddaughter and we “talked”. She looks at me intently as I tell her how she is beautiful and how she will be the “belle of the ball”. As I talk, she will grin in a big open mouth smile that almost becomes an out loud laugh. The we snuggle.

I cannot stop watching and smiling, and I cannot get them out of my mind. Why am I like this?

Well, I think that God gives you children and you spend your time working to support the family and trying to raise the children to be responsible adults and you don’t stop and “smell the roses”. But then God gives you grandchildren from those that you raised, and it’s your job to just love them. That’s it. Take all the time you need to LOVE THEM. Enjoy watching them, no matter what they are doing. Take walks with them. Explore leaves and bugs and dogs and squirrels and such. Eat grapes and play with the food. Go swimming. At this time in life, what else IS there to do. You are to be the grandchild’s best friend. Support their parent’s rearing wishes and reinforce their methods, but be fun and spend all the time you can with them. This is God’s gift to parents…letting them be grandparents!

And that’s why we are here.

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The Hunt, Part 2

The boy sat on the bench, quietly freezing. His breath making big clouds of “smoke”. It was still dark, and he imagined all kinds of predators surrounding him. His father was quite far away on the other side of the meadow. The he would think about him being fifteen feet up the tree, and the shotgun he held, and he felt better. As the dawn approached, he started to see shapes around the edge of the meadow – shapes he could not fully recognize. Is that a deer? Is that a wolf? (there were no wolves, but plenty of coyotes and foxes). Is that a turkey? Nothing made sense… why can’t he see clearly. How can he shoot a deer if he can’t see it?

Dawn did finally come, and the world awakened. Birds started chirping, the squirrels started chattering. He could hear dogs barking, cows mooing and donkeys braying. Now, where are the deer?

As he sat and listened, being entirely still and silent, A head poked out of the brush about fifty yards away. He held his breath, waiting to see antlers. The animal moved very slowly and cautiously. Finally, it stepped out into the open! No antlers!!! It was a doe with a fawn. No way could he shoot this animal. As she walked out into the field to eat, three others followed, one with a fawn and the others without. He was fascinated by the majesty and and alertness of these beautiful animals, and wondered If he could actually kill a big, antlered buck?

The boy continued to sit and wait. The small group of deer moved slowly across the meadow, grazing cautiously. As he sat and watched them, constantly shifting his eyes to the perimeter of the woods, he was as still as a statue.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a loud shot and a ricochet sound. His father had shot at something with his 30-30 Winchester. The boy sat still, hoping that shot would bring other deer out of the foliage. Of course the little group he had been watching were gone in an instant!

He sat and waited, but no more deer showed. He figured his father would come and get him soon, to help with the field dressing and the carry out of the carcass. Eventually, he saw his father walking slowly around the edge of the woods, dragging something. When he got to the boy’s tree, the boy lowered his shotgun with the rope, and then cautiously climbed down the rickety “steps”. When he was safely down, he questioned his dad about the shot. His father then drug a body in front of the boy. It was a coyote. He asked “why did you shoot it?”. His father replied that coyotes kill chickens and calves and other small farm animal, of which he and his family owned and raised. So he understood why, at that point. But you can’t eat a coyote!!

This experience formed the boy’s outlook on hunting that lasted a lifetime. He learned that patience really is a virtue. He learned that some animals must be killed to protect your own home and farm. He learned that he really loved the hunt – the sounds and smells of the darkness, and the the waking up of the world at dawn. As he grew older, he continued to hunt, never killing anything that he couldn’t or wouldn’t eat, and never anything that wasn’t a danger to him or his homestead.

Indeed, as he had children he took them on hunting trips. His daughters enjoyed the trips and being away, but did not like the act of killing. (they thought meat comes from a styrofoam package), but his sons both became hunters, and good ones at that. When he hunted together with his family, it was the best times of his life, and continues to be. Now, he’s waiting for his grandson to come of age to take him on the family hunts. That day will not be far away, and the tradition will continue in his family.

the hunt - in South Texas

the hunt – in South Texas

Three hunting girls

Three hunting girls

Ready to go!

Ready to go!

The Hunt – Part 1

The gun used

The gun used

The boy walked quietly through the woods, following his father. It was very early and dark…maybe the middle of the night. He could hear all the nighttime sounds. He could smell the earth, the leaves and coffee, Winston’s and Old Spice after shave, all familiar to him. Branches were being bent and slapping back into place, twigs were snapping and leaves were rustling. Why was HE supposed to “walk like and Indian” while his father, more Indian than him, surely wasn’t!

The boy was almost 8 years old, fairly large for his age, and carried his grandfather’s doubled barreled shotgun. It was long and heavy and FANTASTIC! He was going on his first real deer hunt!

The pair walked on through the woods for what seemed like hours, with him being careful not to make a sound. In his mind, he was a Cherokee scout, tracking for Daniel Boone. He needed to be alert and sneaky. Suddenly, there appeared a large clearing and the moonlight shone brightly. They had reached their destination!

His father took him to a tree with small boards nailed to the trunk. At the top of those boards were two 2x4s nailed to the tree trunk with a 1×12 on the top of them, forming a “bench”. He started to climb while his father held the gun for him. It seemed to take forever; the slats of wood were not very stable and added to the tension. When he reached the top of the steps, he struggled to get onto the “bench”. The he looked down for the first time and realized how high up he was! The bench was small and the tree seemed to be moving, but, not wanting to be a “baby”, he dutifully dropped his rope so his father could tie the gun onto it. The boy then hoisted the shotgun up to the platform. Once he had it stabilized, he broke it open and loaded two 12 gauge buckshot shell into the barrels, closed the breach and said to his father, “A-OK”. The he started looking out across the meadow. Now it was time to watch and wait.

– to be continued.

Back again…And feeling great!

I have been away from this blog for awhile. What with medications, side effects, work, family… well, I guess I’ve just been lazy. Overall, the summer has been great! I just finished my HCV treatment and the virus has been “undetectable” for over 20 weeks. They will check the viral load every 3 months (up to 12 months) and, if at 12 months, it’s still undetectable, then I’m considered cured! I’m complicated… I have kidney disease (secondary to liver disease, diabetes, hypertension and the anti rejection drug that I take), but the future looks pretty bright! I have fought against Hep C since I was diagnosed in 2000, so its good to breathe easy again!

I went to my first “men’s retreat” last weekend with about 40 guys from our church. I’ve never had the opportunity to do this, and I think I have really missed out on something important. It was fun, confirming and inspirational, not to mention totally relaxing (in a very nice location). I feel closer to all the men that were there, and feel like some lasting friendships were forged.

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This weekend, on spur of the moment, Joey and I decided to go to Austin to see my son and his family. We will have a new granddaughter in about 3 weeks. We are all so excited! My main man, Waylan Thomas, is a joy to be around. He makes me happy, he makes me laugh, and I love him so much. He is really attached to his “Nonnie” and cries when she leaves the house. But he and I get along just fine. We had an afternoon of Toy Story and Curious George and really juicy red grapes. We are leaving in a couple of hours, and I’m going to miss him a lot until next time (probably a week or two).

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I’ve said it before, and I’ll continue to say it: “Life’s worth living”!!!

An Era Passes

Last week was a sad week for our family. I have been so upset that I have not been able to write about it till now.
Our family member, and my best friend and partner in crime, went to the other side on Thursday PM, September 20, 2012.
I speak of our family Labrador Retriever, Bonnie Bluebonnet. She was the best canine I ever had, and as the following slideshow will prove, a family member, through and through. She was even the ring bearer in my son’s wedding.
WE all knew this was coming. Bonnie was 13.5 years old and had bad joints and cancer. IT did’t make it any easier to lose her, though.
She started hunting at the age of 9 months, and was a superstar. She hunted dove, quail, pheasant, duck and geese. (the geese were hard, since she only ever weighed 55 ponds, soaking wet). She loved the water, especially the ocean. She would retrieve dummies for hours, until we could no longer throw them for her.
Bonnie was the sweetest, and most loving creature on the face of this earth. I only ever heard her growl or bark at the neighbors as they came and went. They were crackheads and eventually all of them were either killed or busted. She knew evil when she sensed it.
WE began referring to her as “Aunt Bonnie” when we were raising Rag-doll kittens. She would stand by while the mom would take a break. She played with them and they acted as if she belonged. She was so sweet and gentle with the kittens. One of the kittens stayed with us and he and Bonnie were inseparable. He really misses her and will wander through the house looking and calling out to her.
WE all miss the looks of love and the familiar wagging of the lethal tail. She was a joy and will never be forgotten.

In loving memory:

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Things I’m thankful for

Thinking back over the last 2.5 years, and all that I and my family have been through with my health issues, there are some real stand out moments for me.

First of all, the mere fact that there was a donor for me, and that I stayed alive long enough to receive that organ, is a testament to God’s involvement in my life, and my family’s life. He is the ONE that makes all things possible.

A lot of things have happened since then, but some that really stand out for me are as follows:

“The Legend” was born. My Grandson from my oldest son, Seth David, and his wife, Lindsay Rose, was born on May 24, 2012.

I’m a Lean Mean Drooling Machine.

He is around 3.5 months, now, and no, he’s not teething, he just makes lots of his own liquids. Happy Happy Baby. And he makes his parents and grandparents very happy, too.

Next, Evan Michael Adams, my youngest son, graduated from Clear Springs High School on June 1, 2012.

I finally made it!

…and then he went on to enroll in and start the Plant Process Technology Program at San Jacinto College. He’s a college man , now.

These are just a couple of things that I feared I would never see happen.
Another that I’m hanging on for is to see my youngest daughter, Sagan Maryse, Graduate from U of H in December. I need a current picture of her , and will post it ASAP.
My oldest my oldest daughter, Taylor Nicole, graduated many years back, and is seeing her dream come true with a budding acting carrer in Manhattan. I really like her boyfriend, Dave. They are, from all I can see, a great couple and she seems happier that I’ve seen her since she was 5 years old.

I’m very proud of my crew. I feel good that God has given me the opportunity to see these events pass. If I have to go, I can at least leave knowing that some of my most important work was achieved in these children.

Oh, last but definitely not least, and a big “Thanks” and “I love you” to my wife and soulmate, Joey. She has been a rock through all of this, and continues to be be my biggest supporter.

For anyone who is interested…..