Don't Forget to Vote!

Many of you may have already watched this short video, 

but I wanted to make sure everyone sees it before the election. 

 

Our local library invited me to create something about our town, the founder, and the 19th Amendment. 

Though a huge honor, it took some planning due to the pandemic. Everything had to be done with computers, phone calls, books, emails and text messages.

What to do? 

So, I wrote an introduction, a skit, a song and a short narrative. The song is called, "I'll Never Stop Thinking" and I needed to find a composer! I have a few musical friends on Facebook but only asked one, and he came through like a true professional. (Last time I saw Keith, he was 8. I remembered a flurry of fast-moving freckles.) Anyway, I have no other words for Keith Walsh, other than amazing. He understood my words and interpreted the song better than I could have imagined. 

Also amazing, is the singer, Candace Grewe who sang the song and performed the skit with the talented Suzanne Saunders.  Candace and her family assembled the entire video! Again, I'm speechless. 

Thank you to the Wildomar Library and all involved with this short production. I am proud to live in this town and thankful for wonderful friends! 

 

A Poem-The Tireless American Rose

The Tireless American Rose

Eve Gaal

The tireless American rose.

Graced our fallen,

pricked our foes.

A graveside decoration,

saluted by soldiers,

a comfort to widows,

the perfume of angels,

to any discerning nose.

A queen’s bouquet,

a honeymoon kiss,

where petal strewn walkways,

grace romantic getaways.

Glistening with a bride’s tears,

or a lucky graduate’s surprise,

maybe a new mother’s gift,

and those wreaths explode with beauty,

when loved ones die.

The tireless American rose,

seen at parades,

waiting after war.

There backstage,

awarding every star.

A centerpiece at the gala,

a holiday corsage,

there to win,

every battle,

every kind of heart.

With, or without thorns,

Through raging pain,

On altars,

At hospitals,

In the ICU or ER,

where dying breaths remember,

the tireless American rose.

The Fiona and Pinky Debates

Pinky

Fiona

(PPN) Last night’s primary debate intensified and ended with both sides howling, baring teeth and yet still mugging politely for the cameras. “I like Pinky,” Fiona shot back towards the end. “In fact, she’s very entertaining. But she’s also a liar.” The two sides leveled personal attacks on issues ranging from foreign policy, sleeping arrangements at the White House and immigration.  

Though each side scored some points, it seemed Pinky turned in a noticeably better performance. Her mild mannered comments and quick wagging tail gave viewers and voters hope for the upcoming election. “You will do or say anything,” she shot back with a smug smile and an assertive tone. After the moderators rang the bell, she added, “You don’t belong in the White House, unless it’s some small whitewashed doghouse out near the Rose Garden.“

Fiona’s camp thought she made some points talking about the harsh conditions for Chihuahua’s coming across the border. “My immigrant parents had to work hard to make sure I made it to the United States. I was born in Arizona and immediately separated from my siblings. My adoptive mother couldn’t keep me and a nice older couple in California raised me. You aren’t even a full-blooded American-Chihuahua. Your mixed heritage and time spent in the shelter make you a questionable candidate. When elected, I plan on making sure the wall has small places for digging opportunities so that other Chihuahuas can find a home.”

“Digging?” Pinky knew she had the upper hand when it came to digging. “Look at your tiny paws and compare them to mine.” She held up a paw and smiled for the cameras. “My adoptive parents rescued me from that shelter and couldn’t keep me due to illness. I dug my way out of the barricades they put up and held daily demonstrations about the harsh living conditions I endured while they were ill. That’s when Eve and Steve took me in and made sure things would be better. Steve served five years in the Army and taught me discipline. Something Fiona knows nothing about. As a young pup, I held sit-ins, marches for various causes and rallied for our troops. If you want a true American in the White House then cast your vote for me.” The bell rang and Fiona’s ears stood straight up before she ran around in circles and began barking her head off.

"Sorry, about that," Fiona told the audience."It's a doorbell thing."

The moderators decided to forgo the bell in order to settle things down before any further questions could ensue. Though pundits on cable television are calling the debate a tie, it seems only time will tell which candidate had their wet nose on the pulse of American voters, in this unusual race for the Presidency.

The Gift of Freedom!

Travel Journal Memories

One year after the fall of communism, I stood near the Danube River watching the fireworks on St. Stephen’s Day. It was a warm night, August 20^th to be exact, and we couldn’t believe the throngs of joyous people who came out of their homes to celebrate the momentous occasion. To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. My day began the previous morning in Los Angeles where I had taken a few weeks off from my job at the Times. Wearing a skirt with short heels and a scooped neck tank, I remember feeling both exhausted and exhilarated. When the fireworks finished, we noticed the buses and cable cars had ceased operation for the holiday and we had a three or four mile trek ahead of us at nine-thirty at night. Remember, I had heels on and since I can’t sleep on airplanes, though still fairly youthful, my batteries definitely needed recharging. Still, we made it. In fact, the next day I was off for some more sightseeing and later a train trip to Rome. I remember dragging heavy suitcases around and pulling them over my open-toed sandals. By the time, I reached home I had reached my limit and thought I’d never travel again. But of course, I did.

Google Images

So now, twenty-five years later I’m spending a relaxing summer at home. On August 20^th, I thought of St. Stephen, the first king of Hungary and that trip I had made so long ago. I thought of that beautiful evening full of wonderful colors and cheerful faces. I thought of freedom and what it means to be free whether someone lives in Budapest, Hungary or somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. People generally want similar things and one of those things has to do with how we feel on the inside. No amount of control can change hearts unless they want to be changed. No amount of fatigue could have kept me away from that magical display of exploding rockets and pyrotechnics. No amount of cruelty could keep communism in Hungary, because I’m solidly convinced, God wants people to be happy, even if it takes a saint from 1000 years ago to make His point.