My buddy Garon sent this.

For all of us who are married, were married, wish you were married, or wish
you weren't married, this is something to smile about the next time you open
a bottle of wine:

Sally was driving home from one of her business trips in Northern Arizona
when she saw an elderly Navajo woman walking on the side of the road. As
the trip was a long and quiet one, she stopped the car and asked the Navajo
woman if she would like a ride.

With a silent nod of thanks, the woman got into the car.

Resuming the journey, Sally tried in vain to make a bit of small talk with
the Navajo woman. The old woman just sat silently, looking intently at
everything she saw, studying every little detail, until she noticed a brown
bag on the seat next to Sally.

"What in bag?" asked the old woman.

Sally looked down at the brown bag and said, "It's a bottle of wine. I got
it for my husband."

The Navajo woman was silent for another moment or two. Then speaking with
the quiet wisdom of an elder, she said: "Good trade."

It seems that the protest rallies last week may have backfired. Many Americans and congress persons are chapped because "They think they can be here illegally and protest and demonstrate on U. S. soil. Not if I can help it!!!!" Check for comments
http://www.time.com/time/na... target='_blank'>HERE

A reader asked via email the best way to handle the situation when other blog commenters or Discussion Forum participants get down right nasty, accuse you of dastardly things, etc. It reminded me of the story about the bull that dumped a great big green "cow patty" right in front of three crows. They were sitting on a plow handle. As soon as the bull left they swooped down and filled their bellies and flew back up onto the handle.
They sat there about 10 minutes when the first one announced, “I’d better get on home.” He took off and went about 10 yards and fell on the ground deader than heck.
The remaining pair sat there about 30 minutes before the second took off. He made it about 50 yards before falling dead.
The third one analyzed the situation and sat there about another hour. He made it about 150 yards before falling from the sky.
Do you know the moral of the story?

FINISH THIS: “Don’t fly off the handle when you know YOU'RE******"

During my travels the Lord has always had someone available to make me feel welcome. There was a church home away from home and folks who treated me like family. Probably most memorable was the Christmastime Sunday that found me hobbling into a small, unfamiliar church in Plano, TX. My trying to slip into a back pew unnoticed didn't work. My bottom hadn't hit the seat before the hand shaking and "Welcome, my name is..." started.

A thin young lady dressed all in black, including a pair of shoes with what had to be at least four inch platform soles, was hugging people right and left. There seemed to be something special about the girl whom I guessed to be between ten and thirteen years of age. When she spotted me she came to me and announced, "I'm Ashton. You need a friend so I'll sit by you today."

When others entered the church, she'd rise and welcome them and indicate me and say, "This is my friend." She had a captivating smile and a loving heart.

Did the Lord send me an angel that day? What do you think?

This first came to me labled, "Something for Stevie". Bet you won't have a dry eye when finished. Rusty
BUSTER MITCHELL sent this:

The Folded Napkin...

A Truckers Story
(If this doesn't light your fire ... your wood is wet!!!)

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie.

He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.

After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag.

If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.

Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked.

"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."

"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie".

"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.

I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern.

Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it.

I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,".

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow.

At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need! If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

Well... Don't just sit there! Send this story on! Keep it going, this is a good one!!!

DOC sent me this one: Rep. Charles Rangel, (D-NY) when asked his opinion of the President replied, "Well, I think he shatters the myth of White Supremacy once and for all."

Can you believe one of my blog buddies(?) called me "Rusty the narcoleptic wiener dog"? http://www.devilducky.com/m... target='_blank'>HERE

DOC aent me this on the 22nd. This arab-American psychologist is really spitting it out at the Muslims. The link may dry up. http://switch3.castup.net/c... target='_blank'>HERE

GRAB YOUR HANKY. This ranks up with my favorite emails.

Subject: Two Choices

What would you do? You make the choice! Don't look for a punch line; there
isn't one! Read it anyway. My question to all of you is: Would you have made
the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children,
the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be
forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated
staff, he offered a question:

"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is
done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other
children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the
natural order of things in my son?"

The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued. "I believe,that
when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the
world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it
comes in the way other
people treat that child." Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were
playing baseball. Shay asked,"Do you think they'll let me play?" Shay's
father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their
team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play,
it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be
accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay
could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and said,
"We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he
can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning."

Shay struggled over to the team's bench put on a team shirt with a broad
smile and his father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart.
The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of
the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by
three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the
right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic
just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his
father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning,
Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the
potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the
game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all
but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly,
much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing the other
team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few
steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make
contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The
pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.
As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball
right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and
could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been
out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first
baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both
teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life
had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the
baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!" Catching his breath, Shay
awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second
base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had
the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero
for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second
baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions and he too
intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head.
Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled
the bases toward home.

All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay!" Shay reached third
base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the direction
of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third" As Shay
rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their
feet were screaming, "Shay, run home!" Shay ran to home, stepped on the
plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the "grand slam" and won the game
for his team.

That day, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the
boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into
this world.

Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter, having never
forgotten being the hero and making his Father so happy and coming home and
seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND, NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes
through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending
messages about life choices, people think twice about sharing. The crude,
vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public
discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and
workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're
probably sorting out the people on your address list that aren't the
"appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who
sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have
thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the "natural
order of things." So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people
present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and
humanity or do we pass up that opportunity to brighten the day of those with
us the least able, and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats its least
fortunate amongst them.

****
For a copy of this email, hit the CONTACT RUSTY link on this page.

May your day, be a Shay Day,sunny today tomorrow & always!

Do you have any such stories we can share with our readers?

It's a sad day for baseball. It looks like Jeff Bagwell's playing days may be over. Jeff's hanging up his spikes for now. His return to spring training for the Houston Astros was a gamble both for him and the team. In January the team took out a $15.6 million insurance policy to recoop most of his $17 million salary in case he couldn't play. If he started on opening day the Astros lost their stake in the insurance.

Jeff's reason for going to spring training was to prove to the team, the world, and mostly himself, his reconstructed shoulder was good enough for him to play this season. It wasn't so he's bowing out, for now. There is a slim possibility the removal of bone spurs from his throwing shoulder could give him more playing time.

In spite of playing with the pain and problems the last five years he still batted .266 from 2001 through 2004. I'd say he gave the Astros all he could.

I used to get a kick out of announcer Milo Hamilton telling all us the team members attending the Annual Italian American Banquet in Houston including Biggio and Bagwelli. We'll miss him.

What are some of your Bagwell memories? To read the news story and to play his interview CLICK http://msn.foxsports.com/ml... target='_blank'>HERE

We never got feedback allowing us to print the name of this author. Part of it is too funny not to print it. Just didn't want to humiliate "da mama".

This was written by a second grader. She wrote, ”The sadest thing that happened to me was my kitten got hit by my dad’s van because he had got out of our fence. When I went outside cause I heard a familiar sound outside and it was my little kitten dying and when my dad baked up our van we got the kitten and put him in a black plastic bag and buried him in our backyard.

“And then another pet of my also had gotten hit and his name was mittens. This time it wasn’t a car that hit my puppy because I had left him in our house because he is a inside dog. And he had got under our couch and when my mom sat down she axadently drop her self on the couch and I heard a weird soud and we picked up the couch and my puppy was suffering when he died. I had buried him close to my kitten but first I had to put him in a plastic bag just like my kitten.”

Her second story went, “The happiest thing that happened to me was on Christmas. My mom had got me a Christmas kitten and I named it Coco becaus he was brown as hot coco and he had whit spots on his chest. My mom took me to the store and let me buy a bow and clothes for my pupy. He didn’t die until I was 10 years old.”
——
Rusty's note: Must not have been a very tough puppy, huh?

Now that the gay rights folks have had such success in the courts, the polygamy groups and hollering, "We get equal rights. You can't discriminate against us if you let them do what they do."

At least these are man with woman, and woman, and woman, and woman, and woman, and... regardless what ages the little girls are.

For the NEWSWEEK link, click http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id...>HERE

I wonder how missing girls will end up in these places? What do y'all think about this?

The title of this one by a fifth grader at Hopkins Elementary tore me up.
"NEVER WANTED." "One day I was at school. It was picture day. My favorite day. Then all of a sudden my mom picked me up and said, "We're going to go get some lunch.

"I knew something was wrong because she was smiling more that she usually does when she sees me. Then about ten or fifteen minutes later we were at someplace, the DNA center. I asked her why we were there and she said that I was going to take a DNA test to see if XXXXXXXX was my dad. I met him and he was with his wife. I was happy and mad. I was mad because for ten long years he never bothered to come and meet me and it was the day before my birthday.

"We got tested and we waited for the results. A couple months later we got the results and he WAS my dad. A year later it was summer and I was visiting for three weeks (two at my aunt's and one at my dad's). It was fun but I was rarely with him. I was with his friend Susan, Tori and Thomas, Susan’s kids. Tori and had a lot in common.

"He was always working or with his friends. He was funny. Days went on and I finally had to leave. He dropped my off at my Aunt Ronnie’s house and he was afraid of her dog. The next morning I went on the plane and headed home.

“I had two emails, one from my mom and one from my dad. It said hi and to tell my mom hi.” Weeks pasted and even months and he never called me. I called him and it’s been six months since he last called me.”

Rusty here: When was the last time you contacted your away-from-my-home kids?

Readers please comment on these kids' stories. Thanks

This shy second grader from Roland Elementary penned this: "My dog's name was mason. He got ran over by a cop car and he wasw flat like a noospaper but he was still alive but he was bleting. His fase was skrached.

"We had to take him to the hospetel and he was not fine because he was all skrached up and he was not ded but the necked day he was ded and we had to bery him.

"He was not hir so we got a now dog and his name was hungry and he went into the road and he got ran over by a cop car and he was not ded but he was ded the nex day later so we had to bery him and he was not ok and he was not the same way. He was a good dog but I never seen him. I was sad. My mom was sad to so I wint to the gest room."

For her happy story she wrote, "My day was fun because I was my birthday. I had a pruty cake so I got a now bike and now shoos."

Give her a big hand. Dwayne Bennett at the club said, "She's my little athlete. She might be shy and quiet but when she gets on that basketball court she's a ball of fire. She really hustles."

Readers please comment on these kids' stories. Thanks

It was my good fortune to spend some time at the Boys & Girls Club in Victoria yesterday. My mission was to encourage and hopefully tutor young writers. My opening comments included, “I’m here to learn from you and hopefully you’ll learn something from me.” Boy, was that an understatement about my learning from them.

Besides listing some of the reasons we write and discussing various kinds of stories, we did the KICKED DOG exercise (after they wrote their first two stories). We highlighted, and counted, all the times the word “I” appeared in an article, column or letter to the editor. The kicked dog moniker came from “I, I, I, I, I, I, I “. The kids counted some 33 or 34 “I”s in one item. Then they figured out how to eliminate so many of the pesky words and then rewrote those sentences. They even found one such infraction in one of my old Amblin’ columns.

While it’s customary to give full credit to an author by listing his or her name, we’re going violate that rule here to protect the identity of the family involved in this story because we don’t wish to embarrass them. The assignments here were to write sad and happy stories. We’ll combine both in this piece done by a fifth grader.

“The saddest day of my life” When I was small, about the age of five, I saw my dad get taken away to jail. I felt very sad. Seeing my dad get handcuffed was the worst I’ve ever seen. I was useless, there was nothin’ I could of done to help him. I kissed him good night and they took him away. My mom, my sister, my brother and I went home.

“I went to bed crying. I cried myself to sleep that night. I felt so lonely because I always slept by my dad but tonight was different. Without him near I felt unsafe. I was very scared.

“The next day we went to town to see him. When I saw him I pored into tears. My dad said, “Don’t cry my child. I will be out soon.” When we went to see the judge he said my dad was going to be transported to Mexico. I ran out of that room and into the girls’ restroom. My mom found me there crying. She said, “Everything will be better.”

“When my dad saw me he also started to cry. We had to leave but I refused to leave my dad there. The next day he called to tell us he was leaving. I didn’t want to talk on the phone because I would start crying all over again.”

The second part went, “The happiest day of my life.” The day my dad came back was the happiest day of my life. When he came back I didn’t know who he was but then I knew it was my dad. He promised me he would never ever go back to jail. But he broke that promise two weeks ago.”

That prevented old Rusty from having dry eyes while eating his lunch.

HOW DO YOU LIKE US PUBLISHING THESE STORIES FROM KIDS?

SLIM TIM was talking about the cost of investigative reporting. Here's something which seems to fit into that category.
http://www.madcowprod.com/1... target='_blank'>HERE

Got this from Garon: A dog had followed his owner to school. His owner was a
fourth grader at a public elementary school. However,
when the bell rang, the dog sidled inside the building and
made it all the way to the child's classroom before a
teacher noticed and shoo'ed him outside, closing the
door behind him. The dog sat down, whimpered and
stared at the closed doors Then God appeared beside
the dog, patted his head, and said, "Don't feel bad fella'....
they won't let ME in either

An autistic kid in a high school was the teams basketball manager. For the last game of the year the coach, on a whim, had Jason McElwain suit up. That would have made the whole season for the Jason. When, with four minutes left in the game, the coach called time out and pointed to number 52, the crowd went wild. His first shot was an air ball but the crowd yelled any way. Ditto, his second shot. For a real treat click http://www.collegehumor.com... >HERE To borrow a phrase, "If this don't light your fire, your wood's wet." Bet you don't have a dry eye.

A turkish family having 16 kids who all walk on all fours can be seen of a video

http://video.msn.com/v/us/v... target='_blank'>HERE

CAPTAIN D sent this. Sit down, turn your speakers on and swallow whatever you're drinking. You want nothing liquid in your mouth when you hear this or your screen, keyboard and tower will have to be cleaned up. Enjoy. It's safe for the kids to hear this.
HERE

At least the Aussies have some mucho cajones. too bad Americans don't. Garon forwarded me this:

Three Cheers for Australia!
Muslims who want to live under Islamic Sharia law (and ignore Austrailian national laws) were told on Wednesday to get out of Australia, as the government targeted radicals in a bid to head off potential terror attacks.
A day after a group of mainstream Muslim leaders pledged loyalty to Australia at a special meeting with Prime Minister John Howard, he and his ministers made it clear that extremists would face a crackdown.
Treasurer Peter Costello, seen as heir apparent to Howard, hinted that some radical clerics could be asked to leave the country if they did not accept that Australia was a secular state and its laws were made by parliament.

"If those are not your values, if you want a country which has Sharia law or a theocratic state, then Australia is not for you," he said on national television.
"I'd be saying to clerics who are teaching that there are two laws governing people in Australia, one the Australian law and another the Islamic law, that is false. If you can't agree with parliamentary law, independent courts, democracy, and would prefer Sharia law and have the opportunity to go to another country, which practices it, perhaps, then, that's a better option," Costello said.
Asked whether he meant radical clerics would be forced to leave, he said those with dual citizenship could possibly be asked to move to the other country.

Education Minister Brendan Nelson later told reporters that Muslims who did not want to accept local values should "clear off".
"Basically, people who don't want to be Australians, and they don't want to live by Australian values and understand them, well then they can basically clear off," he said. Separately, Howard angered some Australian Muslims on Wednesday by saying he supported spy agencies monitoring the nation's mosques.
AMERICA and Canada..... ARE YOU LISTENING?
————————& #151;———————&# 151;———————
51;——————— 1;———

——— Australia- The Right to Leave Our Country - YOU Have the right...................the right to leave !
After Sydney not wanting to offend other cultures by putting up Xmas lights.
After hearing that the State of South Australia changed its opinion and let a Muslim woman have her picture on her driver's license with her face covered.

This prompted this editorial written by an Australian citizen.
Published in an Australian newspaper.
Quote:
IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT. Take It Or Leave It I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Bali, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Australians.
However, the dust from the attacks had barely settled when the "politically correct" crowd began complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others. I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to Australia.
However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand.
This idea of Australia being a multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity. As Australians, we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle.
This culture has been developed over two centuries of struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom. We speak mainly ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, Learn the language!
Most Australians believe in God. This is not some Christian, right wing, political push but a fact because Christian men and women, on Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home, Because God is part of our culture.
We will accept your beliefs and will not question why, all we ask is that you accept ours and live in harmony and peaceful enjoyment with us.
If the Southern Cross offends you, or you don't like " A Fair Go", then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet.
We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don't care how you did things where you came from. By all means keep your culture but do not force it on others.
This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND, and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all this.
But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our Flag, Our Pledge, Our Christian beliefs, or Our Way of Life, I highly encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom, "THE RIGHT TO LEAVE".
If you aren't happy here then LEAVE. We didn't force you to come here.

You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted.
Pretty easy really, when you think about it. I figure if we all keep passing this to our friends (and enemies) it will also, sooner or later get back to the complainers, lets all try, please. Thank you

Rusty here: How about we send this to our "esteemed" leaders?

Sherry Cook, a long time email friend sent a camera which is new to me. Lucky shot.

SJ

PLEASE tell us how you like this for a blog. Do you want more like this? Thanks

A LOYAL READER SENT THIS. THANKS.

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw
a kid from my class was walking home from school. His
name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his
books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring
home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a
nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football
game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I
shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward
him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his
arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses
went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten
feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible
sadness in his eyes.

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and
as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw
a tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said,
"Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He looked
at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was

one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where
he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him
why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private
school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid
before. We talked all the way home, and I carried some
of his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I
asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my
friends. He said yes. We hung out all weekend and the
more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my
friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the
huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said,
"Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles
with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and
handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best
friends. When we were seniors, we began to think
about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I
was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be
friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He
was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business
on a football scholarship.

Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the
time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for
graduation.

I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and
speak. Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He
was one of those guys that really found himself during high
school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses.
He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.
Boy, sometimes I was jealous.

Today was one of those days. I could see that he was
nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back
and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me
with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled.
"Thanks," he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and
began. "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped
you make it through those tough years. Your parents,
your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly
your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a
friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I
am going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the
story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill
himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had
cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do
it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and
gave
me a little smile.

"Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from
doing the unspeakable."

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular
boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and dad looking
at
me and smiling that same
grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With
one small gesture you can change a person's life. For
better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another
in some way. Look for God in others.

You now have two choices, you can:
1) Pass this on to your friends or
2) Delete it and act like it didn't touch your heart.

As you can see, I took choice number 1. "Friends are
angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have
trouble remembering how to fly."

There is no beginning or end..Yesterday is history.

Tomorrow is mystery.

Today is a gift.

It's National Friendship Week. Show your friends
how much you care. Send this to everyone you
consider a FRIEND. If it comes back to you, then
you'll know you have a circle of friends.

1. Have any of you seen any Purple Martins yet this year? When?

2. What kind of air rifle do you use for the control of sparrows and starlings?

Did you ever wonder why god created lightning bugs? Besides the cute video, maybe the answer is there too. CLICK
http://tomslighthouse.net/l... target='_blank'>HERE