Some days are diamonds.

Some days are cubic zirconias.

Some days we get up at dawn, with a winged heart, giving thanks for another day of loving.

Some days, we get up at the last minute and hesitate if we really want to do it again.

Mondays are especially suspect.

I bet, if we looked at the day of the week, that most people called into work, sick, it would be Monday.

And so it was, this Monday, a leap year day, Feb. 29, 2016.

I wanted to roll over Beethoven.

And then I heard the Electric Orchestra, whoever the hell they are, on Sirius radio, mutilating Beethoven.

Ok.  Time to rise and shine.

I refuse to live in a world that endorses the trump card.

You might have thought Fox news was simplistic?

Hey, hey, my, my, the Donald trumpets his greatness, from the deep South.

And he wins over those who are angry.

Those who want a change.

Those who think that bullying is a virtue.

Those who are afraid of his money and power.

But then a lonely chicken emerges and says:

My ancestors came from Ireland and Norway.

My friends are Spanish, Germans, Africans, Lebanese, French, Syrians.

I see them as friends, who love their families and are doing the best they can.

Some are Hispanic.

Some are Muslim.

Some are Christian.

Some Jews.

All are people.

I love this country.

It is great.

And no one has to tell me that the Donald can make it any greater by refusing to allow immigrants access to this freedom.

We all are privileged to have another day on this planet, regardless of who we are, or where we are

Once that freedom is limited, we will no longer be great.

So, on this Monday night, in spite of Super Tuesday, I say,

“Hello. Is anyone out there?  What are your values and beliefs?”

And when there is no answer, when the masses no longer believe that we can all live, work and survive together, who cares if you are Republican or Democrat?

Why do we fight internally, with one another?

Don’t we all want the same thing?

Josie Wales?  Ten Bears?

It’s sad that governments are chiefed by the double tongues. There is iron in your words of death for all Comanche to see, and so there is iron in your words of life. No signed paper can hold the iron. It must come from men. The words of Ten Bears carries the same iron of life and death. It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of life… or death. It shall be life.

I wish all of us life and the right to live our lives in peace, respecting one another.

And with that, my friends, until tomorrow…..






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