I sent a letter to my Congress Critters today. It was less than polite. In fact, on reflection it was probably downright rude. On further reflection, I’m sorry. Not sorry that I sent it. Not sorry that I was rude.
Sorry, that the people we have elected to represent us aren’t listening to us. Sorry, that they look sincere, nod their heads (kind of like a bobble head doll) and then go ahead and do the things they just said they wouldn’t do. Sorry, that they evidently don’t take the oath they swore upon taking office very seriously. Sorry, that they don’t learn from history.
So far, my letters have elicited a generic form letter, thanking me for my interest. I’ll be willing to bet that some lower level flunky will (eventually) skim the letter and either file it in the round file or put a tick mark in the spread sheet in the “Doesn’t support your policies” column. I doubt if the Critters themselves will ever see it.
Occasionally, I used to have to grab my Border Collie by the collar and say in my best “Attention Voice” “YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!!!”
Do you suppose it works with government officials?
Well, the leaders (gack, cough, cough) of our country are poised to screw us over pass more legislation that will send us to the poor house lead us into a new era of politically correct, peace and prosperity.
The “Health Care Reform Bill” (and boy, will it ever reform us) has even more little goodies that they hope the common serfs will never see until it’s to late.
“After spending almost $80 million during the last election cycle, unions are on the brink of reaping a significant return on their investment. Despite representing only about 7.6% of private sector employees, unions are poised to gain significant privileges, authority and financial windfalls from health care reform. Coming at the expense of tax-paying patients and businesses, these specific benefits would do little or nothing to improve our health care system.” The Houston Chronicle reports that pro-union legislators have quietly slipped many provisions into the bill that will directly benefit unions, and guess who gets to pay for it?? BINGO – WE DO!!
Check this out:
$10 billion in taxpayer-funded bailout money, innocuously referred to as a “reinsurance program.”
Unions would have guaranteed seats on various Federal Panels, which would take the lead in recommending health care policy.
Exemptions for union-negotiated health care plans from taxes on “Cadillac” health plans.
Senate proposals include language that could force home health workers into unions.
Exclude non-union employers from eligibility to work on program-funded contracts.
Lucrative state training partnerships that contain little or no opportunities for non-union employee organizations.
With all of the special interest groups that have their heads up BO’s ass, it must be getting crowded up there.
“For all of those that have son’s or daughter’s at bootcamp let me pass on what I found. Let me give you a little back ground first. When my son left home he had no motivation, he was lazy, slobby, no pride, no self worth. This is the boy that got off the bus March 18th at Parris Island. The man that I met on Thursday for parents day is AWESOME. There is no way I can describe to you all the difference. He looks different, he walks different, he talks different, he has such a sense of bearing and pride all I could do was look at him in awe. Oh yes, the training is hard, what he went through is unimaginable to any one that has not been there. They are definitely taught to be Warriors. Let me tell you the surprise of what else they are taught. My Marine son has better values, better morals, better manners than any one I know. It is so much more than Yes Sir, Yes Mam…so much more. He cares about how he looks, he cares about what he does, and its not a boastful, bad ass thing. He is a true gentleman. I saw patience, and a calmness in him that I have never seen. I could never express my gratitude enough to the Marine Corps for what they have given my son. I know this, I have an 11 year old Devil pup still at home. When the time comes for his turn if I had to I would take him kicking and screaming all the way. Although I’m sure that will not happen. The hero worship I see in my younger sons eyes for his Marine brother tells me I will have two Marines in the family, and I will be one very proud mother.”
“Cybil”, Mother of a Marine
Today is a red letter day for Marines all over the world. It is the Birthday of the Corps. 234 years ago, on 10 November 1775, the Continental Congress formed the Marines. It is also the Birthday of Medal of Honor Recipient, Jason Dunham.
On April 14, 2004, 3 days after Easter Sunday, Corporal Dunham was manning a checkpoint in Karabilah, Iraq, when an insurgent leapt from his car and began choking Corporal Dunham. A scuffle ensued as two Marines approached to help. Reportedly, the last words from Corporal Dunham were, “No, No. Watch his hand.” Suddenly, the insurgent dropped a grenade. Corporal Dunham took off his Kevlar helmet, dropped to the ground, and covered the explosive as best he could.
The blast seriously wounded all 3 Marines. Eight days later, Corporal Jason L. Dunham died at Bethesda Naval Hospital from wounds he received in the incident. He was 22.
Upholding the finest traditions of the Marines, Corporal Dunham made the ultimate sacrifice, and in doing so saved the lives of his fellow Marines. Due to his actions on that fateful day, Corporal Dunham has been awarded the Medal of Honor.
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his
country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s, but he has never collected unemployment either.
He’s a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without
spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his
food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life – or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and
still find ironic humor in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short
lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to ‘square-away ‘those around him who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying
the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the
American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. . .
A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.
These are the men and women who protect our country. They are your sons and daughters, husbands, and wives, friends, and neighbors. Say a prayer for them, if you are so inclined. And, DONATE a few dollars to Valour IT to help out the ones in need of our help, when they come home.
