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Earlier in the week a news story hit about Donald's old taxes showing he had lost more than a billion dollars many years ago. That was around the time his book was published describing his savvy on deal making, telling a different story of his then finances. Years later, the ghostwriter of the book explained a different scenario then what the people were lead to believe about this man of extreme wealth.
Today another story hits the internet about the ghostwriter of a second book written by Donald and it too described the inner workings around Donald that differed from his outward facade.
Most people who read this blog will agree there is no doubt the stories by the two ghostwriters and the recent facts about Donald's taxes show a higher percentage of showman rather than businessman.
I'm not here to sway any opinion as the group of those who support Donald don't see any of those things. I equate that to a battered woman with 3 kids afraid to speak out... because "He's a good father to my children."


Thanks for reading my blog!

When I walked through the park the other day I was left wishing I hadn’t. It’s some years since I was last there and its deterioration was depressing. It had the appearance of being given just enough attention to stop nature reclaiming it but not enough to stop it from looking desolate and uncared for. I hear they don’t even bother to close and lock the gates at the end of the day any more; there’s no one there to close them and there’s nothing left in there for the vandals to damage.

There used to be a full time team of keepers at work in that Park. We kids were the bane of their lives; keeping them on their toes when we would climb trees and make dens in the bushes, and play football on the meant to be kept off grass. We had nicknames for some of them, and they had curse words for some of us.

Near the entrance to the park there were facilities: Six tennis courts that were mainly empty for 50 weeks of the year, yet still kept in good order. During Wimbledon fortnight people queued to get onto them. There were four assiduously tended and pampered bowling greens in front of a long, roofed pavilion. They were in constant use. Retired men, mostly old miners, spent their afternoons on them, taking their games very seriously. One old fella used to make us laugh; he would trundle his bowl down the green and then trot along behind it, following it to its destination; watching over it as if to supervise its progress. And, for the duration of the short journey, he would maintain the body position prevailing at the time the bowl left his hand: Bent forward at the waist, in a stoop, and one arm stretched out with an upturned palm of the hand.

I once heard of strange goings on in the toilets; things beyond a child’s understanding, or at least beyond a child’s understanding of the reason for them.

Long gone are the well kept flower beds with paths running through them and a fountain in the centre. They were mostly filled with wall flowers and snapdragons. I remember there were lupins and red hot pokers somewhere; I would never have suspected that I would one day even feel nostalgic about those. There was also a rose garden with heavy wooden trellises between high, brick pillars. There were four benches in the rose garden and four cherry trees, set out in a square. All that’s left now are the cherry trees, looking a bit out of place just standing there on there own.

I wish I hadn’t gone into the park the other day; I wish my memory of it were still the one I had before I did. I don’t think I’ll be going there again. I could say that park is a metaphor for my life but it wouldn’t be true. My life never really had a heyday, and I always ignored the weeds in my flower beds.

...not to get too maudlin here, but with all the terrible humans milling about, (creepy, Anita Hill dissing Joe announced today), it's easy to forget that the overwhelming majority of people, wherever we go, are upright morally. Twins' last undergrad semester winding down, and they asked dad to bring them a few needed things from home. I'm between cars, so using the vintage Aa touring road machine, weather permitting, while searching. So, before leaving, emptied the MC backpack of almost all really important stuff (Memoir draft, parents' estate docs, etc.) and loaded up with things for the girls. On the way back from their juniorversities, the thing fell off the bike. Doubled back looking for it, ---no luck. So to bank to block accounts, and phone rings. Seems a nice fellow, also a MC rider, found the thing, and had his wife call me. Cash, passwords, credit cards, etc. in wallet---all safely returned. Brought them some fresh home made maple syrup, and strawberry jam, which they seemed to appreciate. Nice people, among the Clintons/Obamas/Muellers/Soros' of the world.

Mister Godley’s gnomes

Mister Godley is very proud of his garden. He is especially proud of all his gnomes, he collects them and can’t understand why all the other gardens in his street are not full of gnomes.

Mister Godley has got gnomes with fishing rods, gnomes with wheel barrows and gnomes doing almost anything you can think of. He even has a gnome with its trousers down and showing its bottom to the people who walk past the garden. There used to be a gnome with its trousers down that wasn’t showing its bottom, but Mrs. Godley accidentally broke it with a hammer.

Mister Godley is very friendly and likes to talk to his neighbours. Whenever one of Mister Godley’s neighbours is walking past the garden, Mister Godley always seems to be standing at his gate. Sometimes Mister Godley’s neighbours walk home a different way and don’t have the chance to chat with Mister Godley.

Mister Godley likes to talk about lots of things, but his favourite thing to talk about is his gnomes. Mister Godley’s neighbours know all about all of his gnomes and where they all came from. There is only one neighbour who doesn’t know all about Mister Godley’s gnomes and that is the lady who lives next door to him. She is always too busy to talk to Mister Godley, even when she isn’t busy.

The lady who lives next door is a little bit like one of Mister Godley’s gnomes because sometimes when it is sunny she goes into her back garden and uncovers her bottom, but she doesn’t show it to the neighbours. Sometimes Mister Godley accidently sees her botom when he is rearranging the gnomes next to the bit of fence that has a hole in it. Mister Godley usually rearranges his gnomes when Mrs. Godley is out shopping.

Mister Godley’s other next door neighbour is called Mister Flowers. Mister Flowers also likes gnomes but he thinks one gnome is enough. His gnome is holding a spade and looks like it is digging a hole. Mister Flowers only ever talks about his gnome if somebody asks him about it, and nobody has ever asked him about it.

On the other side of the road from Mister Godley’s garden there is a garden with no gnomes in it at all. That garden belongs to Mister Sharpe. The only thing in Mister Sharpe’s garden is a big plant pot with a pretend tree in it that looks more like a brown stick with a big green ball on top than a tree. Mister Sharpe and Mister Godley don’t chat to each other very often. When they do chat they both stay in their own garden and they have to talk very loudly so that they can hear one another. When Mister Sharpe and Mister Godley are chatting the other neighbours like to come out to listen to them. Once, even a policeman came to listen to them. That was on the same day that Mister Godley went out into his garden and found that someone had put all his gnomes in his fish pond.


Did you like the story about Mister Godley and his neighbours? They all live on Connecticut Street, which is named after a place in America. All the streets in Mister Godley’s neighbourhood are named after places in America. There are lots more stories about the people who live in Mister Godley’s neighbourhood.

On November 21st, 1999 14 Cubans left their country on a small aluminum boat headed North. The boat had a faulty engine and took on water during a storm. Only 3 survived and were picked up by 2 fishermen who handed them over to the U.S. Coast Guard.

Of the survivors was a young boy Elián González, his mother (who was divorced from Elián's father) had perished at sea. Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) released González to his paternal great-uncle, Lázaro who was living in Miami. Back in Cuba, Elián's father was not aware his ex and son had attempted to escape Cuba and wanted his son returned.

There was much publicity about the custody case as the remote family wanted to keep the boy in Miami. (according to Wiki) Attorney General Janet Reno ordered the return of Elián González to his father and set a deadline of April 13, 2000, but the Miami relatives defied the order. Negotiations continued for several days as the house was surrounded by protesters as well as police.

On Thursday, April 20, 2000, Reno made the decision to remove González from the house and instructed law enforcement officials to determine the best time to obtain the boy. In the pre-dawn hours of Easter Eve, Saturday, April 22, more than 130 INS personnel and agents of the Border Patrol's special BORTAC unit as part of an operation approached the house, knocked on the door and identified themselves. When no one responded, they entered. Four hours after he was taken from the house in Miami, González and his father were reunited at Andrews Air Force Base.

The next day, the White House released a photograph showing a smiling González reunited with his father, which the Miami relatives disputed by claiming that it was a fake. After González was returned to his father's custody, he remained in the U.S. while the Miami relatives exhausted their legal options.

I was reminded how Easter affects people differently.

Can't two people from the same gender fall in love?

Sure they can.

Then, why does it become about their sexuality more than love ?

When I was at junior school, we used to buy bubble gum that came with picture cards. The ones I remember were a series about World War 2, Mars Attacks and the American Civil War. Some of the pictures were very gory, many of them depicting scenes of extreme violence. Such images would certainly not be sold to children nowadays, although, strange as it might seem, being exposed to them neither caused anyone any trauma nor produced any homicidal maniacs in later life.

The American Civil War series is the one I remember most clearly. In the little pack would be a flat, square piece of pink bubble gum, several picture cards and a pretend US bank note. The subject of the American Civil War certainly captured our schoolboy imaginations for the duration of their being on sale. For the playground bullies, they were like a gift from the gods. They would run up to some defenceless little soul and demand to know if he was “Union or Confederate”. There was no way of knowing where the bully’s allegiance lay, and if yours happened not to coincide with it, there were consequences. I don’t remember exactly what the consequences were, but I’m pretty sure it involved a measure of being roughed up.

Christchurch

Mass murder or terrorism


As daears keeps closing comments on such a tragic event

I have posted this blog to allow people to express their feelings

Please show respect

Thanks

I'll just say this: The torch has been passed to, and firmly grasped by the next generation....

"workers should be "excited" about having their jobs automated, but were not because of larger systemic issues in American society.

“We should be excited about automation, because what it could potentially mean is more time educating ourselves, more time creating art, more time investing in and investigating the sciences, more time focused on invention, more time going to space, more time enjoying the world that we live in,” she said, according to The Verge. “Because not all creativity needs to be bonded by wage.”

"we're reckoning with the consequences of putting profit above everything else in society. And what that means is people can't afford to live. For me, it's a question of priorities and right now I don't think our model is sustainable."

Ok, so...I didn't say this. Not this time. I don't need to "preach" anymore. These are the words of a politician...if you can believe it.