Black Reparations? Heroes vs Slaves?

Watching a feel good movie. Happy ending!   Love triumphs!   My favorite.   Joni Mitchell is the theme song. Donald Trump makes a cameo appearance.   And the X, Y or G generation that we were makes the right decision.  

And then I see where we are and wonder how the heck did we screw it up so badly! Because in the end, it is our fault.   No one else’s.   We – are to blame.

Idealists.   We were going to make everything perfect.   We were going to conquer judgment and injustice.   And yet, everything we believed was a lie and instead we brought in – fascism.   The most heinous ideology imaginable.

How does one go from Joni Mitchell to Fascism?

The best man at my wedding, the jock, the extreme skier, golfer, jock, is now a transgendered woman.   My ex-husband is afraid of his own shadow for fear he will contract CoVid and die.   Pictures abound of young people who have mutilated their appearance as though this self mutilation will somehow purge them of their self hatred and dark dreams.

Our president is an Alzheimer patient, his wife props him up like a demon puppet, and our government delights in death and pedophilia.

How does one go from Joni Mitchell to Satanism?  

And the fault? It is ours.   We are to blame.   Perhaps they played us, but we allowed the play. Afraid.  We are – to Blame.

It is said that John Lennon was coerced into making the song “Imagine”.   And it was afterward that he tried to extricate himself from the Cabal that owned him.   He sought to re-establish himself in his faith.   But he knew too much.   And thus this is what happens when a person attempts to distance oneself from the Cult.  They are annihilated.

I treasure these movies. Happy endings. Love wins.   Ideology reigns.

But they are twenty years old now.   And none of the ‘actors’ are real.   They are simply figments of imagination. Illusions.

The loves that I embrace, Debussy, Hemingway, Twain, the joys have been deluded into reams of self deprication.   I am called to denigrate myself for no reason other than the sins of others who have offended the 6%.   And the argument is so incredibly absurdly alien…   The notion that I, the you, that we, have perpetrated anything devastating on a people of color is not even worthy of discussion.

I am – a child of God.   I hope you are too. But if you are not. That is your devil to tend to.   Not mine.

There is only ONE outcome of this black ME-ME Movement.  If ‘you’ choose to prostrate yourself, do so without demanding that anyone else follow your self deprecation.   If your choose to destroy your self person, do so alone, and stop demanding that everyone else follow blindly in your depth of Hell.

Personally, I will turn up the volume on Debussy.   I will advocate for ALL.   I will not be your slave of ideology.   My faith, my tower, my God does not honor your deprived human Will.

If you choose to pay reparations – so be your finances.

If you choose to bow and scrape – so be your honor and integrity.

If you choose to judge and demean – so be your self.

But sirs and madams, do not for a second believe that your self deprecation is mine.   Do not impose your disgust, your lack of respect, your self hatred, on anyone other than your self.   And I will accept your self disgust, just as I will hail my own honor in repeal.

I find great healing in music.   Particularly classical – although I have a special place for Enya.   She brought me great healing in a time of immeasurable strife.   And I know we each have our stories. Each are amazingly impactful.   What lies behind closed doors.

I used this phrase with my boys when they felt slighted by a friend.   “Who knows what horrors they endure that they could never tell you…”  

MY middle son’s friend was whipped brutally.   He remembers the screams that reverberated the house when once he was privy.

My neighbor who found her son dead on the street from a horrific car accident at age 16.

A boy I grew up with who fell from a high ladder at his dad’s factory and became a quadriplegic.

A friend whose son was blown up in Jordan. Body parts.

My nephew riddled with cancer.

And you – you want to argue slavery and reparations from 200 years ago and that’s your focus?

What about the 5 -13 year old girls trafficked for politicians?

What about the high school boy who commit suicide or the 14 year old girl who OD’d?   Yesterday…

But you want to focus on slave reparations for slaves you can’t identify, or slave owners you can’t name, because they suffered along with countless white men, women and children that you don’t want to acknowledge???

Stories.   Brutality.    

Why should we take what has no color and focus securely on a color code?   A fake story?   Convoluted.

I think I will choose Chad Lawson – whose piano music opens the vagrancies of all without a color code or a 200 year, 5000 year punitive.

What about the man who has a stroke and loses everything?

The woman whose life is upended in a contentious narcissistic divorce?

The Veteran who needs new prosthetics because some imbecilic vagrant stole his?

The café Owner whose business was torched because it was located in the wrong city?   His life, his family left with nothing.

What about Jake Gardner!   A man who gave everything for his country in the military but commit suicide when the preposterous DA in Nevada sought to make a vagrant example of him for attempting to protect his BUSINESS?   He did NOTHING wrong.   He was a good person.   He DESERVED so much more.

Don’t EVER Forget!  Jake Gardner Is and Should Be the Hero we Honor.

The 18 year old boy put into solitary confinement for participating in the DC protests.   His life is ruined. His family devastated.   His fate still inconclusive while illegal rapists, pedophiles, and thieves are allowed to have rampant range of our country!


HOW DARE YOU challenge me for slave reparations from 200 years ago.

You can’t even muster an ounce of compassion for the hideous heinous crimes perpetrated today. Why would I even consider anything you can’t even prove or distinguish from 200 years ago?

Jake Gardner holds a special place in my heart.   To be sure.   I never knew him, but I listened to him, I paid attention to who he was, what he did for our country, his sacrifices, his desires that were without an ounce of selfish ideal.   He epitomized the boy, the man, who I would and will always value, respect, honor and wish we could replicate a hundred thousand fold.

But blacks want to demand reparations for ‘themselves’ not because they did anything worthwhile, not because they exhibited honor and integrity and sacrifice, but because ‘whites’ were to blame.   Never mind that their African “Brothers’ Sold them. Never mind that’ their African Brother’s Owned Them.   Never Mind that their African Brothers sold White men, Women and Children.   Somehow that is obliterated.


I think I’ll honor Jake Gardner.

I think I’ll honor Ashli Babbitt.

I think I’ll honor the men and women of whatever color who sacrificed for the cowards.   Who gave their lives for the ungrateful.   Who died for the self-entitled.

RIP Jake Gardner!!!  You were truly a good person…

Memorial Day – To My Daddy

Dear Daddy,

I wanted to thank you for sacrificing your life, your health, your honor, your emotions, your heart, your limbs for this country that we call the Land of The Free. I wanted you to know that everything you did ‘mattered’, it made a difference, it gave hundreds of thousands, and perhaps millions the chance to live when you had to die.

I wanted to say that the burning hole that filled your heart was not in vain and that despite the vagrancies of a few self consumed children, there are many, more than many, who truly appreciate that you gave your life so that we could live. Do not be grieved. Do not be fearful that we are a fallen country, that your sacrifice was in vain, for even if you saved one life, it was more than anyone else can claim. What we seem to have forgotten is that to save even One, is worth the consequence of that action.

I wanted to say that even though you had such a short life, and you had such high spirits to find salve for the brokenness inside you, you made a huge impact on one life – mine. When I am down, I think of you. When I am in trials, I think of you. When I am melancholy, I look at your picture and I find peace. You were an amazing dad. An amazing man.

You were stricken with multiple cancers. You suffered miserably. Your heart was broken by the terror you witnessed, and yet, you were able to try and put it behind you, more pain, more suffering, more violence than most experience in twenty lifetimes. Thank you daddy. I wish I could soften that pain.

I think of you every day even though you passed nearly forty years ago. I think of how you were my personal savior, my hero, my strength, my rock amidst the storms. I miss you terribly and wish you could help guide me through my own trials, but take comfort in knowing that you are still with me in spirit, if not in the physical form.

Thank you daddy.

I know that sometimes you had fun while serving this country, sometimes you found humor, and sometimes you found death and hardship, but you persevered – until God took you while you were yet so young, I know that you watch over me every single day of my life. I want you to know that your sacrifice means everything to us even if some of us don’t see it – but have patience, one day, I believe they will come around and see how much you gave for them, for me, for all of us. One day, they will come to understand that each man is unique to his calling, and that while there are the few who fail, there are many more who are so incredibly self sacrificing, so giving, so focused on making this world a place of good, that the Hillarys and the Obamas and the Bills and the Nixons and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, well they are just a fly to be swat in the scheme of things. They are nothing. The proverbial specks of sand…

I wish you could be here today with your grandchildren and great grandchildren and even great-great grandchildren! What a legacy you have created, a vine of love, and of honor and of respect, that I can not ever be anything but humbled by your heart.

Thank you daddy.

I wish I had been older and wiser and could have asked you more questions, and listened harder, learned deeper and held your hand more often. I wish I could have you near me now in my trials and ask for your advice. I will forever hold you as my hero, and will try to honor your name through my children, their children, and for generations beyond. I will pass on everything I know in stories and anecdotes and hopefully, your memory will be passed for eternity to come.

Dear Daddy, I really wish you were here with me today, because I’ve made so many stupid mistakes and I think maybe I would have been better if you had been there to guide me and set my path straighter. Because right now it really, really sucks.

I wish the military had been brighter and more compassionate toward their people. I wish that you had not been a guinea pig in the Nevada nuclear tests. I wish that I could have learned more than the whisper of time I was given. I wish you could have had the wishes you wished for in your life and that maybe I could have shared some of those with you.

But most of all – I wish you were here with me today to take away the pain and make it right like you always did – because you were my – hero. And I miss you so terribly.

Thank You -obama,ptsd,military

I was thinking about PTSD. I was thinking how it can alter a brains’ very chemistry structure and create – it’s own. I was thinking how PTSD offers the divine and beautiful hope in God. I was thinking – you couldn’t get much closer on this earth than all the military soldiers who have fought for us to the complete and utter sacrifice of themselves.

How complete. Most of us could never imagine!  Amazing!!

Me, I’m an artiste. I think in realms. But there are these pragmatic mindsets that are so completely devotionally giving that their life is a part of the contract. We accept them – as our security – our military. And I believe 99% of them have the most golden of hearts God would never reject them. But, as in all things, it is the few. It is the few that inject into our society a new norm, a new agenda, a new morality. And each time we cave. How can we be so strong… and yet so weak?

The same reason we get up after we fall, brush ourselves off, and vow to try a bit better – next time.

I try to imagine the PTSD after WWII where my father fought as a Colonel of a tank battalion. He never outwardly showed any PTSD aggravation, but I can’t imagine he didn’t harvest it internally. The Glass’s were – are a very proud genealogy. We do not like to show weakness, and would therefore prefer to suffer in isolation. Weird, but it is who we are.

While my father must have experienced great pain during his tenure in WWII, he never really alluded to this weakness in our presence. And I think some of my brother’s therefore had no concept of who he was so much a who he was expected to be for them. A doomed expectation. They could never see him, they could only concentrate on what they were denied. A pivotal spiral that has no win.  But I had One.

Still, somehow, he rose above. He climbed past the grotesque images, and the horrific memories, and he was a great father to me. In fact, I think he was so good, he could have been an incredible inspiration to the masses of young people. Because he embodied the precept ‘I am here’. And he was. Amazing. I imagine my strength in diversity certainly comes from him. My ability to persevere, as my son says, definitely comes from him.

So, to you the men of honor and integrity and value – to you the men who sacrifice and live the memories, to you the men who have been our shield, our sword, our honor, our life, thank you!!! Sometimes we take for granted that which is most precious.  And I don’t want my appreciation to be shallow.

Military Heritage – An Honor

I come from a military family. It is a heritage that we honor and respect. My father, my brother, grandfather, great grandfather and so on, date back to the Army. And it was considered one of the greatest legacies a man could have! No one questioned, backs straightened, eyes became more focused when you said you were of the military. And then it changed.

I remember my brother telling of being pummeled by tomatoes and fruits when he landed in the US after serving in Vietnam. The humiliation and confusion must have been intense. And then he talked about Kent State and bra-less women, and The Beatles, and a changed value system and society that had sprung up and morphed into something alien or foreign while he was gone. This new society was what greeted him when he had spent his days in war, in battle, in a fruitless mask of deception and death. You Have To Believe! Or you have nothing left. Foreign. Hostile. And entitled, they breathed fire!

When my dad served, I remember it was – different. We were living in East Berlin. There were parties galore. Most of the parties were considered ‘Spook Parties’ in that they drafted people from the UK, Australia, France, New Zealand, Russia, Germany, Austria, there was no country exempt. And they had a party. Everyone pretended they didn’t know that the other person was a ‘spook’ and yet they all knew. Because ‘everyone’ was. It was really an excuse for a party – and it was an era where parties were routine – biweekly, quadweekly… We would perch ourselves on the stairway when they had their parties. The loud and raucous laughter was energetic and fun, it was filled with gaeity and I was mesmerized. It was like watching grand balls from the Sound of Music, except that these were  much more raucous parties in the sixties.

We had a train at our beck and call. When my father needed to be somewhere and we were for some reason required to attend, a train would be called to transport us to our destination. We were the only occupants. And we were kids, subject to the craziness of mental deficiencies attributable to goofy youth. The train easily became a house of horrors as my brothers would lock me in the bunkbed, abandon me in a remote area, lock me in a closet, all in fun of course. Ha-ha. NOT. But the train was pretty neat nonetheless.

Germany from the eyes of a child was magical. I remember the Ice Capades where I was allowed to drink wine and I danced on my fathers feet before the wood floor rolled away to reveal the ice rink. I remember skiing with him in the Zugspitze and being absolutely terrified. I remember my first and last party that was crashed by every delinquent this side of the Mississippi. And I remember my first best friend in which my father was instrumental in the introduction. My riding lessons. My finishing school in Paris.

He retired the rank of Major General – two star. And should have gone further except it was when the military succumbed to politics. And everything changed. Poof.

My dad had a humorous streak in him so he would attend these soires dressed in his finest tux, replete with top-hat, cape, and walking stick. It was the mask. The play. And I guess he rather enjoyed it. The walking stick was actually his crop from when he was in the Cavalry. Which he also used as a pointer when giving lectures. So you see it had three purposes, a frugal society where we recycle without even understanding that is what we are doing.

The honor our society feels towards its military has shifted tremendously. It’s not a good thing. In fact, it is that very pride and embrace that we lack, that might be – our ultimate downfall.

For without pride, we have hatred.

I look at the military today and the pride and truth doesn’t seem to exist. There is so much condescension, so much shrugging shoulders, whatever, they are just like every other corrupt organization, they have no honor – and it is NOT the fault of the men who serve – it is the fault of the men who RULE. They have failed us as human souls. And they have failed as Leaders.

How sad.

MY father may have been a General, but he ruled like a Chinese warrior, with quiet and tact and a plot for success. And it worked. The corruption hit before he retired. But when it hit, you could see it in his demeanor. He lost respect. He lost desire. He lost loyalty. Still, he retired and immersed himself in the private sector hoping and believing that in this focus – he could make a difference, he could win. The military had died for him. The loyalty had been sold. And that was probably the largest division one could make in the “Brotherhood”.

But his faith and patriotism lived high and large! Because it wasn’t about the individual faults and fault lines, it was about the fundamental ideals – and those were and are the fall back that makes this country Great!

Bottom line? It isn’t about our faulty leaders, it is about the ideals and fundamentals that comprise the human experience in the US and define what and who we are. It is about a belief in something bigger and more cohesive, something of value and honor, that we aspire toward each and every day.

This teaches us that having a strong sense of morality and ethic, of compassion and leadership can be the cornerstone of a perfect society. If we let it. But what is it that rules our decisions? Is it ethic? Or is it self demonic?

The question has no answer. It has millions of answers. It is non-answerable. And thus, allows us to persevere, to hope, to attain that which we truly believe is perfection. For without that – we really have – nothing.

And it all goes – poof…