Showing posts with label survival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label survival. Show all posts
Friday, February 22, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
HITLER SURVIVOR WARNING TO AMERICA: WAKE UP NOW!
Hitler Survivor Warning America: Wake
Up Now!
"Totalitarianism didn’t come quickly, it took 5 years from 1938 until 1943, to realize full dictatorship in Austria. Had it happened overnight, my countrymen would have fought to the last breath. Instead, we had creeping gradualism. Now, our only weapons were broom handles. The whole idea sounds almost unbelievable that the state, little by little eroded our freedom. No more freedom of speech. Anyone who said something against the government was taken away, not only Jews, but also priests and ministers who spoke up."......
http://www.newswithviews.com/Lane/lauren101.htm
by Lauren Lane
"Totalitarianism didn’t come quickly, it took 5 years from 1938 until 1943, to realize full dictatorship in Austria. Had it happened overnight, my countrymen would have fought to the last breath. Instead, we had creeping gradualism. Now, our only weapons were broom handles. The whole idea sounds almost unbelievable that the state, little by little eroded our freedom. No more freedom of speech. Anyone who said something against the government was taken away, not only Jews, but also priests and ministers who spoke up."......
http://www.newswithviews.com/Lane/lauren101.htm
by Lauren Lane
Sunday, February 3, 2013
CANCER VICTIM'S STORY SPREAD ALL OVER THE WORLD THROUGH PHOTOGRAPHY -
http://www.picturecorrect.com/tips/cancer-victims-story-spread-all-over-the-world-through-photography/
Please take a lesson from this film. If a loved one or a friend is a victim of the ravages of any disease, keep them forever - good days and bad - on video. Someday, when you can't hear their voice in your brain, can't hear the laughter, you will be very glad you did.
Documenting your history with your family and friends is never a mistake. It is a treasure to be enjoyed over and over again.
I miss my parents' voices. I miss the twinkling eyes and the laughter of friends who have left this earth.
While still photography is a magnificent joy to me, videos would have been better.
Think about it as it applies to your daily life - the antics of your pets, the interaction between you - and I'm thinking of Ruby the swearing parrot on Youtube, and her owner Nick
Please take a lesson from this film. If a loved one or a friend is a victim of the ravages of any disease, keep them forever - good days and bad - on video. Someday, when you can't hear their voice in your brain, can't hear the laughter, you will be very glad you did.
Documenting your history with your family and friends is never a mistake. It is a treasure to be enjoyed over and over again.
I miss my parents' voices. I miss the twinkling eyes and the laughter of friends who have left this earth.
While still photography is a magnificent joy to me, videos would have been better.
Think about it as it applies to your daily life - the antics of your pets, the interaction between you - and I'm thinking of Ruby the swearing parrot on Youtube, and her owner Nick
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
WHITE HOUSE DECLINES NETANYAHO REQUEST TO MEET WITH OBAMA - HIS SCHEDULE WON'T PERMIT IT, AND BESIDES, THERE'S LETTERMAN
http://www.haaretz.com/news/diplomacy-defense/white-house-declines-netanyahu-request-to-meet-with-obama.premium-1.464328
That rat bastard. No time for Israel, but Letterman and campaigning is ok.
And then again, the daily briefing which he attends only 38 per cent of the time.
Time to go.
I put an empty chair out today.
That rat bastard. No time for Israel, but Letterman and campaigning is ok.
And then again, the daily briefing which he attends only 38 per cent of the time.
Time to go.
I put an empty chair out today.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Monday, December 26, 2011
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEAGULLS
It happened every Friday evening , almost without fail, when the sun
resembled a giant orange and was starting to dip into the blue ocean.
Old Ed came strolling along the beach to his favorite pier.. Clutched
in his bony hand was a bucket of shrimp. Ed walks out to the end of
the pier, where it seems he almost has the world to himself. The glow
of the sun is a golden bronze now.
Everybody's gone, except for a few joggers on the beach. Standing out
on the end of the pier, Ed is alone with his thoughts...and his bucket
of shrimp.
Before long, however, he is no longer alone. Up in the sky a thousand
white dots come screeching and squawking, winging their way toward
that lanky frame standing there on the end of the pier.
Before long, dozens of seagulls have enveloped him, their wings
fluttering and flapping wildly. Ed stands there tossing shrimp to the
hungry birds. As he does, if you listen closely, you can hear him say
with a smile, 'Thank you. Thank you.'
In a few short minutes the bucket is empty. But Ed doesn't leave.
He stands there lost in thought, as though transported to another time
and place.
When he finally turns around and begins to walk back toward the beach,
a few of the birds hop along the pier with him until he gets to the
stairs, and then they, too, fly away. And old Ed quietly makes his way
down to the end of the beach and on home.
If you were sitting there on the pier with your fishing line in the
water, Ed might seem like 'a funny old duck,' as my dad used to say.
Or, 'a guy who's a sandwich shy of a picnic,' as my kids might say. To
onlookers, he's just another old codger, lost in his own weird world,
feeding the seagulls with a bucket full of shrimp.
To the onlooker, rituals can look either very strange or very empty.
They can seem altogether unimportant ..... maybe even a lot of
nonsense.
Old folks often do strange things, at least in the eyes of Boomers and Busters.
Most of them would probably write Old Ed off, down there in Florida.
That's too bad. They'd do well to know him better.
His full name: Eddie Rickenbacker. He was a famous hero back in World
War II. On one of his flying missions across the Pacific, he and his
seven-member crew went down. Miraculously, all of the men survived,
crawled out of their plane, and climbed into a life raft.
Captain Rickenbacker and his crew floated for days on the rough waters
of the Pacific. They fought the sun. They fought sharks. Most of all,
they fought hunger. By the eighth day their rations ran out. No food.
No water. They were hundreds of miles from land and no one knew where
they were.
They needed a miracle. That afternoon they had a simple devotional
service and prayed for a miracle. They tried to nap. Eddie leaned back
and pulled his military cap over his nose. Time dragged. All he could
hear was the slap of the waves against the raft.
Suddenly, Eddie felt something land on the top of his cap. It was a seagull!
Old Ed would later describe how he sat perfectly still, planning his
next move. With a flash of his hand and a squawk from the gull, he
managed to grab it and wring its neck.. He tore the feathers off, and
he and his starving crew made a meal - a very slight meal for eight
men - of it. Then they used the intestines for bait.. With it, they
caught fish, which gave them food and more bait......and the cycle
continued. With that simple survival technique, they were able to
endure the rigors of the sea until they were found and rescued (after
24 days at sea...).
Eddie Rickenbacker lived many years beyond that ordeal, but he never
forgot the sacrifice of that first life-saving seagull.. And he never
stopped saying, 'Thank you.' That's why almost every Friday night he
would walk to the end of the pier with a bucket full of shrimp and a
heart full of gratitude.
Reference: (Max Lucado, "In The Eye of the Storm",
pp..221, 225-226)
PS: Eddie started Eastern Airlines
resembled a giant orange and was starting to dip into the blue ocean.
Old Ed came strolling along the beach to his favorite pier.. Clutched
in his bony hand was a bucket of shrimp. Ed walks out to the end of
the pier, where it seems he almost has the world to himself. The glow
of the sun is a golden bronze now.
Everybody's gone, except for a few joggers on the beach. Standing out
on the end of the pier, Ed is alone with his thoughts...and his bucket
of shrimp.
Before long, however, he is no longer alone. Up in the sky a thousand
white dots come screeching and squawking, winging their way toward
that lanky frame standing there on the end of the pier.
Before long, dozens of seagulls have enveloped him, their wings
fluttering and flapping wildly. Ed stands there tossing shrimp to the
hungry birds. As he does, if you listen closely, you can hear him say
with a smile, 'Thank you. Thank you.'
In a few short minutes the bucket is empty. But Ed doesn't leave.
He stands there lost in thought, as though transported to another time
and place.
When he finally turns around and begins to walk back toward the beach,
a few of the birds hop along the pier with him until he gets to the
stairs, and then they, too, fly away. And old Ed quietly makes his way
down to the end of the beach and on home.
If you were sitting there on the pier with your fishing line in the
water, Ed might seem like 'a funny old duck,' as my dad used to say.
Or, 'a guy who's a sandwich shy of a picnic,' as my kids might say. To
onlookers, he's just another old codger, lost in his own weird world,
feeding the seagulls with a bucket full of shrimp.
To the onlooker, rituals can look either very strange or very empty.
They can seem altogether unimportant ..... maybe even a lot of
nonsense.
Old folks often do strange things, at least in the eyes of Boomers and Busters.
Most of them would probably write Old Ed off, down there in Florida.
That's too bad. They'd do well to know him better.
His full name: Eddie Rickenbacker. He was a famous hero back in World
War II. On one of his flying missions across the Pacific, he and his
seven-member crew went down. Miraculously, all of the men survived,
crawled out of their plane, and climbed into a life raft.
Captain Rickenbacker and his crew floated for days on the rough waters
of the Pacific. They fought the sun. They fought sharks. Most of all,
they fought hunger. By the eighth day their rations ran out. No food.
No water. They were hundreds of miles from land and no one knew where
they were.
They needed a miracle. That afternoon they had a simple devotional
service and prayed for a miracle. They tried to nap. Eddie leaned back
and pulled his military cap over his nose. Time dragged. All he could
hear was the slap of the waves against the raft.
Suddenly, Eddie felt something land on the top of his cap. It was a seagull!
Old Ed would later describe how he sat perfectly still, planning his
next move. With a flash of his hand and a squawk from the gull, he
managed to grab it and wring its neck.. He tore the feathers off, and
he and his starving crew made a meal - a very slight meal for eight
men - of it. Then they used the intestines for bait.. With it, they
caught fish, which gave them food and more bait......and the cycle
continued. With that simple survival technique, they were able to
endure the rigors of the sea until they were found and rescued (after
24 days at sea...).
Eddie Rickenbacker lived many years beyond that ordeal, but he never
forgot the sacrifice of that first life-saving seagull.. And he never
stopped saying, 'Thank you.' That's why almost every Friday night he
would walk to the end of the pier with a bucket full of shrimp and a
heart full of gratitude.
Reference: (Max Lucado, "In The Eye of the Storm",
pp..221, 225-226)
PS: Eddie started Eastern Airlines
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
REMEMBERING WHERE WE CAME FROM - EXCERPT FROM WALLACE NUTTING'S 1922 BOOK, VERMONT BEAUTIFUL
Wallace Nutting loved New England. I do too, and I'm always proud of my "Yankeeness" even though my roots are in Italy, Cuba and Spain.
I am reading this lovely book (there are several in the series) with the author's flowery language, and looking at old black and white photos he took and hating to read to the end. He not only takes the reader on a trip through Vermont, a state I love dearly and always have, but to times I remember on an extended family's Vermont farm that didn't have electricity yet 63 years ago. Haying was done with a team of greys, a flatbed hay wagon, and backbreaking, hot work with a sickle and scythe. Blade sharpening was done on a stone which spun when you sat and peddled. There was no indoor plumbing; there was an outhouse. There was a cistern in the kitchen which was spring fed, the dipper hanging by the side. An ornate black and chrome woodstove stood like a queen in the sitting room for heat. The cooking was also done in the kitchen on a woodstove and consistently fed a family of six. There was a tall pump outside and a little one on the counter by the sink. There was no telephone service yet. Hogs and a cow as well as the team of King and Joe were housed in a big red barn whose foundation was made of stone picked up in the field.
So let me take you to the small section called "Home Virtues" in Mr. Nutting's book as I wonder, did I teach my son as well as I could? No children I know are much aware of these times. It has to do with culture and self-reliance. and that's a terrible thing to lose.
It is probably true, as a broad statement, that generations of men living in apartment houses cannot remain free. The habits of independence in thought and action which are stimulated by dwelling in a detached home are necessary to educate a free man. An apartment house, with a suite of rooms in which everything is furnished, is calculated to sap the manliness of young Americans and so far will in time come to be immoral. That is to say, if everything is furnished for a man he grows to be a parasite.
Our fathers hewed watering troughs from logs. They made buckets of wood and thus became their own coopers. They wanted a damp-proof powder carton, and found it in an ox horn, and from other horns they made their buttons, and even swore by "the great horn spoon". Few families had much china; fewer had tin. The plates were trenchers of wood turned on home lathes. Pottery though rude was serviceable. But the age was, above all others before or since, the wood age. Wood of so many good sorts was ready to their hands. There is no non-conductor better than wood. Place your hand on a log a foot away from a blaze and you find the wood barely warm. Finding colder winters here than in England, the settlers soon fenced out the winter by the lapped clapboard and the wainscotted wall. Their vehicles, even to the axles as in the "one hoss shay," were all of wood or leather, except perhaps the tires and linch-pin.
What they could not make they did not want. They were a fine example of Socrates' half-humorous, wholly wise saying, on going through the stalls of a market: "How many things there are in the world that I don't need!"
There can be no doubt that the versatility cultivated by their situation in life was the source of that contempt in our ancestors for shiftless people As a child I remember the term shiftless used by my grandfather as an epithet of opprobrium as strong as any attaching to moral turpitude. The contrast was vast between their time and ours, when the same man who lays brick cannot lay a tile.
The hand of our grandmother! It was worthy to be carved in marble by a master and the effigy kept under glass like the crown jewels! What of deftness and cunning and experience and strength and tenderness did it lack! Surely the hand - when it is glorified by such knowledge and use and such a spirit - is a fascinating and adorable member, worthy to be kissed, nay almost worshiped, despite its wrinkles and hardened knuckles. It founded and fed and furnished a family and a nation."
I ask you - whether you are a Yankee or not - what happened to the core of us?
We have been whipped into submission of a small group of people who we elected and a media that fills us with vile propaganda with the message pounded relentlessly into our heads that we must follow unjust law, made by corrupt elected officials and crooked lawyers. These rules are made to punish us, to take us down to whimpering, sniveling babes and make those very politicians and lawyers we believed in, very, very rich and powerful.
Nutting's recollections were made when Anericans still believed in such ideals as freedom, hard work, success, and self-reliance. We were not degraded by men and women intent on socialist/left wing change. The heavy hand of government had not yet laid its fist on our chests.
I ask you once again...What happened to us as a people, and why aren't we stronger when strength of character and conviction is absolutely essential to our lives and that of future generations in this time of great danger from the tyranny of Washington, DC?
I make my own soap. It is a simple, inexpensive task that turns out pure soap without scent and chemicals with three ingredients - lye, water, beef fat. If they take away the lye because of meth labs, prohibiting me the luxury of just buying it to make soap, I will make my own with wood ash and water.
I can sew by hand if I need to, and the christening gown my granddaughter wore at her baptism was made by hand. I have a spinning wheel and can take a fleece and spin and knit the yarn into a sweater that is both waterproof and warm (but not for Florida). I watched my father butcher cottontails in the fall down in the cellar by the coal furnace, and I could dress a deer or a rabbit if I had to. I think I can still harness a horse or a pony to a cart. I can milk a horse, a donkey or a goat and then make cheese (did you know donkey milk is better tasting than cow or goat milk?)
I can put a bee hive together, embed the supers with beeswax base comb and start a hive (which I may do in the spring), or care for a flock of poultry. In other words, IF NECESSARY, I could live REALLY HARD because besides being an art form of sorts, I was taught these things along the way of my life. I have lived by lantern light, without television and without plumbing because I had to. I have ironed at that time with a sad iron and sent my boy to school unwrinkled. I think I could make a moccasin out of leather. I know I can tan an animal hide. I've done it. I have not endured great tribulation or trial because I learned these things.
And I look around today at people in Walmart, especially those of 40 and younger, wondering how they could survive without...without instant communication, HDTV, huge, honkin television sets, mindless video games, social networks, the big game, and cheap Chinese goods that fall apart quickly. In their wildest imaginings, could they follow a recipe in a book and make a loaf of bread? Or know how to identify wild berries, and that simply sugar and those berries can be made into jam, sealed into jars with boiling water and saved for next winter?
Look at the grandchildren next time they're with you for a visit and remember Aristotle's remark: "How many things there are in the world that I don't need!"
Think of what you really need to survive in this strange and dangerous world we have allowed to be. Can you survive what may be in store for you?
I am reading this lovely book (there are several in the series) with the author's flowery language, and looking at old black and white photos he took and hating to read to the end. He not only takes the reader on a trip through Vermont, a state I love dearly and always have, but to times I remember on an extended family's Vermont farm that didn't have electricity yet 63 years ago. Haying was done with a team of greys, a flatbed hay wagon, and backbreaking, hot work with a sickle and scythe. Blade sharpening was done on a stone which spun when you sat and peddled. There was no indoor plumbing; there was an outhouse. There was a cistern in the kitchen which was spring fed, the dipper hanging by the side. An ornate black and chrome woodstove stood like a queen in the sitting room for heat. The cooking was also done in the kitchen on a woodstove and consistently fed a family of six. There was a tall pump outside and a little one on the counter by the sink. There was no telephone service yet. Hogs and a cow as well as the team of King and Joe were housed in a big red barn whose foundation was made of stone picked up in the field.
So let me take you to the small section called "Home Virtues" in Mr. Nutting's book as I wonder, did I teach my son as well as I could? No children I know are much aware of these times. It has to do with culture and self-reliance. and that's a terrible thing to lose.
It is probably true, as a broad statement, that generations of men living in apartment houses cannot remain free. The habits of independence in thought and action which are stimulated by dwelling in a detached home are necessary to educate a free man. An apartment house, with a suite of rooms in which everything is furnished, is calculated to sap the manliness of young Americans and so far will in time come to be immoral. That is to say, if everything is furnished for a man he grows to be a parasite.
Our fathers hewed watering troughs from logs. They made buckets of wood and thus became their own coopers. They wanted a damp-proof powder carton, and found it in an ox horn, and from other horns they made their buttons, and even swore by "the great horn spoon". Few families had much china; fewer had tin. The plates were trenchers of wood turned on home lathes. Pottery though rude was serviceable. But the age was, above all others before or since, the wood age. Wood of so many good sorts was ready to their hands. There is no non-conductor better than wood. Place your hand on a log a foot away from a blaze and you find the wood barely warm. Finding colder winters here than in England, the settlers soon fenced out the winter by the lapped clapboard and the wainscotted wall. Their vehicles, even to the axles as in the "one hoss shay," were all of wood or leather, except perhaps the tires and linch-pin.
What they could not make they did not want. They were a fine example of Socrates' half-humorous, wholly wise saying, on going through the stalls of a market: "How many things there are in the world that I don't need!"
There can be no doubt that the versatility cultivated by their situation in life was the source of that contempt in our ancestors for shiftless people As a child I remember the term shiftless used by my grandfather as an epithet of opprobrium as strong as any attaching to moral turpitude. The contrast was vast between their time and ours, when the same man who lays brick cannot lay a tile.
The hand of our grandmother! It was worthy to be carved in marble by a master and the effigy kept under glass like the crown jewels! What of deftness and cunning and experience and strength and tenderness did it lack! Surely the hand - when it is glorified by such knowledge and use and such a spirit - is a fascinating and adorable member, worthy to be kissed, nay almost worshiped, despite its wrinkles and hardened knuckles. It founded and fed and furnished a family and a nation."
I ask you - whether you are a Yankee or not - what happened to the core of us?
We have been whipped into submission of a small group of people who we elected and a media that fills us with vile propaganda with the message pounded relentlessly into our heads that we must follow unjust law, made by corrupt elected officials and crooked lawyers. These rules are made to punish us, to take us down to whimpering, sniveling babes and make those very politicians and lawyers we believed in, very, very rich and powerful.
Nutting's recollections were made when Anericans still believed in such ideals as freedom, hard work, success, and self-reliance. We were not degraded by men and women intent on socialist/left wing change. The heavy hand of government had not yet laid its fist on our chests.
I ask you once again...What happened to us as a people, and why aren't we stronger when strength of character and conviction is absolutely essential to our lives and that of future generations in this time of great danger from the tyranny of Washington, DC?
I make my own soap. It is a simple, inexpensive task that turns out pure soap without scent and chemicals with three ingredients - lye, water, beef fat. If they take away the lye because of meth labs, prohibiting me the luxury of just buying it to make soap, I will make my own with wood ash and water.
I can sew by hand if I need to, and the christening gown my granddaughter wore at her baptism was made by hand. I have a spinning wheel and can take a fleece and spin and knit the yarn into a sweater that is both waterproof and warm (but not for Florida). I watched my father butcher cottontails in the fall down in the cellar by the coal furnace, and I could dress a deer or a rabbit if I had to. I think I can still harness a horse or a pony to a cart. I can milk a horse, a donkey or a goat and then make cheese (did you know donkey milk is better tasting than cow or goat milk?)
I can put a bee hive together, embed the supers with beeswax base comb and start a hive (which I may do in the spring), or care for a flock of poultry. In other words, IF NECESSARY, I could live REALLY HARD because besides being an art form of sorts, I was taught these things along the way of my life. I have lived by lantern light, without television and without plumbing because I had to. I have ironed at that time with a sad iron and sent my boy to school unwrinkled. I think I could make a moccasin out of leather. I know I can tan an animal hide. I've done it. I have not endured great tribulation or trial because I learned these things.
And I look around today at people in Walmart, especially those of 40 and younger, wondering how they could survive without...without instant communication, HDTV, huge, honkin television sets, mindless video games, social networks, the big game, and cheap Chinese goods that fall apart quickly. In their wildest imaginings, could they follow a recipe in a book and make a loaf of bread? Or know how to identify wild berries, and that simply sugar and those berries can be made into jam, sealed into jars with boiling water and saved for next winter?
Look at the grandchildren next time they're with you for a visit and remember Aristotle's remark: "How many things there are in the world that I don't need!"
Think of what you really need to survive in this strange and dangerous world we have allowed to be. Can you survive what may be in store for you?
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Friday, October 8, 2010
DIY FIRESTARTER - THE BEST! LIGHTWEIGHT, DEPENDABLE
What a great idea. You could start one heck of a fire with that, dry Spanish moss and dry magnolia leaves. You can carry these in your pocket in a pill vial, or a baggy.
Work petrolatum jelly (Vaseline) into a handful of cotton balls - work it through the cotton balls.
If you miss a couple of spots, don't worry. The guy in the video, for those who can't see the video, is using a Swedish fire starter. Important while out hunting, fishing, hiking. You may need a fire. Winter is coming on.
Work petrolatum jelly (Vaseline) into a handful of cotton balls - work it through the cotton balls.
If you miss a couple of spots, don't worry. The guy in the video, for those who can't see the video, is using a Swedish fire starter. Important while out hunting, fishing, hiking. You may need a fire. Winter is coming on.
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