These are the days when Birds come back

These are the days when Birds come back --

A very few -- a Bird or two --

To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume

The old -- old sophistries of June --

A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --

Almost thy plausibility

Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --

And softly thro' the altered air

Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,

Oh Last Communion in the Haze --

Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake --

Thy consecrated bread to take

And thine immortal wine!

~ by Emily Dickinson ~

1864

First published as October

Rescued! ... not

This ad cracks me up. The dog especially ... name of Lucky.

How 'bout that party scarf?

Actually the whole thing is hilarious.

I love to laugh.

Happy Wednesday!

More evil progressiliberal tripe and my heartfelt reaction to same

I know this video is going around and you've all likely seen it already.

But I wanted to go on record with a few things regarding this one, as it cuts pretty close to home.

Please watch -- it's blessedly short -- and then I'll explain.

On December 21, 2004 -- the shortest day of that year -- it went dark very early indeed when a nurse with a tearstained face told me that my first grandchild had been born with a cleft palate and what she termed "some type of syndrome."

The compassionate and kindly nurse -- name of Ramona -- had been present at the birth of my son-in-law 26 years before, in the same hospital. She is a friend of the family.

I didn't know what Ramona meant by everything she said, but I knew it couldn't be good. I dropped to my knees in the waiting room and prayed for baby Melanie, and for my daughter and her husband.

Later that day we learned Melanie had stopped breathing at some point during the birth process. Nobody was sure for how long, or what the result of that event might be. We also learned that while her tiny palate was cleft, her lip was not. Her little face was perfect except for her chin, which was smaller than normal.

Virginia Ironside -- the British "agony aunt" holding forth with such conviction in the video -- claims to believe that if Melanie was "deeply suffering" and if my daughter truly loved her child, she should have held a pillow over Melanie's head and suffocated her.

She also believes that if my daughter had known Melanie was going to be born with health problems, it would have been a "kindness" to go ahead and kill her before the child ever had a chance to live outside the womb.

I wish I had never experienced the day my Melanie was born with a disability. I wish I could call her right now and hear her little voice telling me about what she learned in school today. 

Melanie will be six in December and she has yet to speak. She tries so hard, but the words won't come.

On that day nearly six years ago, we had no way of knowing the extent to which Melanie was suffering. She didn't seem to be in pain. She struggled to breathe and could not be fed in the normal way, but there is technology for situations like that and her medical care was excellent.

What we did know was that she was dearly loved and utterly cherished by a sizable coterie of doting grandparents, aunts, uncles, and extended kinfolk.

The family gathered around to offer support and encouragement of every kind. Thousands of prayers went up for our darling grandchild, and I believe Almighty God heard every one.

The fact that Melanie is still with us today and brings such joy to our lives in spite -- or maybe because -- of her mysterious disability (there have been precious few answers to what goes on with Melanie; mostly it's a wait-and-see thing), is testament to the fact that life is sacred and it is our responsibility -- no, it's our privilege -- to protect it.

We are now well into the second generation of Americans who defend abortion as a Constitutional right. We're lectured by the left not to get all emotional about what Ms. Ironside casually describes as "a couple of cells."

Is it any wonder there are people like the vile Peter Singer, a professor of ethics at Princeton University, whose pernicious brand of social gospel involves parents having the right to legally murder their children up until the age of 28 days, or -- and this is his ideal age for voluntary parental extermination -- maybe even two years?

Just because they aren't "satisfied" with some aspect of the child's health or appearance -- or its very existence?

I guess we should have seen this coming.

People who will not only espouse but advocate, and not only advocate but crusade for the killing of the unborn, and who -- like the President of the United States -- are in favor of the savage murder of children whose heads are born but whose bodies are still inside their mothers, or of allowing the newly-born to die alone and untended, would have no qualm with murdering a living, breathing, walking, talking human being of up to two years of age.

And why stop there? It's a matter of time before the progressiliberals will demand the passing of laws allowing them to determine when and how people of any and every age are meant to die. People who don't meet some arbitrary criteria of who is worthy to draw another breath.

Well ... they already want that. It's only a matter of time before they get it.

I hope I'm gone when that happens. If I'm not, I pray God will give me the courage to live in such a world and not be bitter.

And God be with my children, and my grandchildren -- now aged five and two. I pray God will protect them and bring them to a saving knowledge of Christ at an early age. I pray they'll walk with Him throughout their lives.

But I don't pray for them to never experience suffering. It is suffering that allows us to understand comfort. What would life be without the comforting embrace and soothing words of one who loves us? God promised He would not leave us comfortless. What would life be without the Comforter?

Thank God, we have hope. We have hope because God has seen fit to change us. Hope and change. In the right context, those are powerful words. No man owns them but every man and woman can benefit from them if they will humble themselves and repent, and turn from their wicked ways.

God bless the United States of America and turn her back to Himself. 

Allissa, Melanie, and their adoring mother on Stephanie's 30th birthday, September 9, 2010

Melanie ... October 4, 2010

I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.

 ~John 14: 18 and 26~

Think the eco-fascists are just kidding around?

Think again, because they're not.

If you don't buy -- and I do mean BUY -- into climate change, a/k/a one of the biggest scamhoaxes ever perpetrated on modern civilization, its evangelists want you DEAD.

And apparently -- although they claim they're just joking -- the more violent your death, the better. Unlike with other wars, your age and gender are non-issues.

The viral nature of this video and the ensuing public outcry against it having already prompted a weak apology by its pushers, the 10:10 organization, there is some text over the screen as the mini-movie begins. I suggest you pause the video and read it, then continue watching if you dare.

(You can turn OFF the text altogether by hovering your pointer on the white triangle at the bottom right of the red bar, then going up to the top box and clicking "turn off annotations.")

WARNING: GRAPHIC.

THAT'S WHY EVERY AMERICAN SHOULD SEE IT.

I found the write dog

While we were gone to Myrtle Beach, our neighbor's son checked in on Javier every day.

Yes ... Javier the Chihuahua remained home alone.

Don't freak; we had a system.

First we propped open the door from the garage to the back yard pool area.

Then, inside the garage, on the stoop beside the door that leads into the kitchen, we put Javier's crate and his food dish.

That way, the big J could chill in his crate whenever he felt like it -- or whenever it rained -- and enjoy the balmy weather out of doors if/when that was his preference.

Our neighbor's son came down each day and, using the code I'd provided to him, opened the garage door and spent some time with Javier. He checked his food and freshened his water and sat a spell.

Even so, when we returned home after a mere three days, Javier was ... shall we say, happy to see us.

I held him for a while, then carried him around the yard and house, checking on everything, as one does.

Presently we sat down so that I could rest and Javier could engage in a protracted paw-licking session on my lap.

Later as I was thinking about preparing supper for TG and myself, Javier had an idea which I thought was quite sweet.

He wanted to write the neighbor boy a note thanking him for his excellent caretaking attentions.

I explained to Javier that I already planned to pay the boy.

Javier said I could tuck the money into the card. I couldn't think of an argument for that.

True to form, my dog chose a card with a picture of a dog to write his thank-you note in. And while his penmanship leaves something to be desired, one cannot argue with the sweetness of his sentiments.

He insisted on accompanying me two doors down to deliver the missive. Of course he became sidetracked a time or two (messages to check) but all in all it was a productive excursion.

We feel fortunate to have such a well-mannered and courteous little canine living amongst us.

And we're glad for good neighbors too.