Ms. Lillian
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Posted:Oct 15, 2016 4:03 pm
Last Updated:Oct 19, 2016 2:00 pm
47084 Views
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Lillian Anderson Arboretum is on M43 highway a few miles west of Kalamazoo. Lillian was a graduate of Kalamazoo College and she was a city librarian for decades. She inherited her family’s homestead farm and donated a hundred acres of it to her alma mater in 1982. The park is now a hundred and forty acres and is open to the public, free. It’s a mixed hardwood forest of oak, maple, cherry and hickory. On the far western end is Bonnie Castle Lake and in the southeast corner lies Batts Pond.
We first hiked the arboretum a week ago- it’s several miles for us to drive there. The drive is well worth it. This is a natural preserve very much like Al Sabo and Asylum Lake. The trails are kept clear but otherwise deadfalls are left to lie where they fall and go back to the earth. We walked west through the marsh and circled back to try the east side by Batts Pond. Then we walked back through a pine grove.
Thursday we took the marsh trail again. It was bright and sunny and still pretty warm hiking with a sweater on. After the marsh we looped north and then west on the trail to Bonnie Castle Lake. Gracie could smell the lake and was beside herself wanting to get to the water. We found a bench on the shoreline and sat and watched while she swam. Then we looped north and east again on the Gathje Hill Trail and back to the truck through the pine grove once more. We probably covered two and a half miles altogether.
Along the lakeshore and in the marsh the colors are splendid. The red maples and sugar maples stand out in red and pink and yellow. In the uplands the greens are getting lighter and some yellow is creeping in. I’m guessing that in a week the forest will be spectacular, especially if we get some frost, but the forecast for daytime temperatures is for above normal, maybe even as high as eighty one day.
Gracie has to walk on a leash here- it’s a new park to us and like all public parks that’s the rule, but we cheat at Al Sabo since we’re so used to it, and she knows the trails by heart. The arboretum is a beautiful forest, and parts of it are old growth- not original old growth but left untouched for a hundred years. There’s very little brush in those groves under the thick canopy, much like the oak-beech-hickory woods along the south of Atwater Pond at Al Sabo. We’ve only hiked here on weekdays so far but we’ve more or less had the place to ourselves those days. I’m sure we’ll be spending more time there this fall and winter.
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Al Sabo
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Posted:Oct 13, 2016 2:33 pm
Last Updated:May 8, 2019 9:36 pm
46759 Views
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We've been hiking every day through September and October. A new paved bike trail was built this spring and summer. It runs along the street in front of our house through the southeast corner of Al Sabo Preserve. When they started gouging that trail through the preserve we were angry. But the damage was confined to the southeast end, and since it was a done deal and we couldn't stop it, we rode the trail on hot August evenings on our bikes and we walked the dogs there too.
Our favorite part of the preserve to the west and north were not affected, and autumn has arrived. We aren't at peak color yet. Along the marsh and in the swamp the reds and yellows are popping out. Bright red berries are all that's left of this spring's jack in the pulpits. The dogwoods are turning purple and the forest is lighting up with bright yellow hickory leaves. I haven't seen much of the swans this summer but they were out four days ago and I got several photos of them at the pond by the landbridge.
We started walking a trail at Lillian Anderson Arboretum this month. Al Sabo is still our favorite and it's right next door, but it's fun to see a different woods from time to time. Al Sabo is also getting crowded in the evenings and on weekends we have to sneak in from the west, and cross the marsh on planks laid over the creek south of Kalamazoo Valley Community College. This takes us to an island in the marsh, and we can hook up with the Lookout Trail this way by crossing another plank walk on the east side of the island. It's a bit shorter hike this way, but we also encounter fewer hikers and a lot fewer off road bicycles. This is Gracie's favorite route because of all the water. And she's been taking mud baths in the swamp to bring a sheen to her coat.
We found sandhill cranes browsing next to the plank bridge by the island one afternoon. They weren't at all disturbed by our presence there and I took as many photos as I wanted. In the spring when they're nesting I have to fight my way through brush and muck to get a shot- they're skittish and won't let me get very close.
Over the coming week we should start seeing the colors pop in the upland forest. The middle of October is the brightest and most colorful here, and we're ready for it. This is my favorite time of year, and the forest is changing every day.
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I had too much to dream last night
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Posted:Oct 8, 2016 10:06 am
Last Updated:Jun 19, 2023 8:58 pm
45791 Views
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October Symposium 23 and the Winner is Pocogato12 has generously volunteered to sponsor the twenty third Virtual Symposium. This is my post.
The Electric Prunes: ”I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night”……..
Last night your shadow fell upon my lonely room
I touched your golden hair and tasted your perfume
Your eyes were filled with love the way they used to be
Your gentle hand reached out to comfort me
Then came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone
There are dreams we have when we’re asleep, and dreams we have when we lie awake at night and our minds won’t keep still. And there are idle daydreams too, musings upon what if, oftentimes.
As I’ve got older I’ve wished plenty of times that I had never wasted an erection. When you’re young you get hard and stay hard for no particular reason. Even a passing thought will stimulate you- you’re programmed as a young male to stick that thing wherever you can whenever you can stick it, and my own body didn’t fail me. I’d make a call to my dispatcher and the receptionist would answer the phone with that mellifluous voice of hers and I could see her in my mind’s eye, wearing that tight short skirt bending over to get in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet……. and the next thing I know I’m back in the tractor and squirming in my seat because I’ve got a rock hard prick trying to bust out of my jeans. In this case it was provided by the eighteen year old honey haired receptionist with those small and silky teardrop breasts, but it might just as easily have been a woman in the street with a slit skirt flashing me or my customer who was nigh to popping the buttons on her far too small blouse as she leaned over her desk to sign my shipping papers, smiling with her eyes at me and giving me a long languid look at her cavernous and considerable cleavage.
And so I’d drive for an hour and my erection would barely subside to relieve my stress. At any time I could have forced my train of though to something less arousing- but what young man does that, especially with miles yet to drive? No, he tortures himself with more fantasy and he shuffles through the Rolodex of images in his brain and pulls out card after card of luscious women he has known or simply seen and remembered, and filed away for later daydreams. And still he keeps drifting back in his daydream to Myrna sitting at the phone in that office, one gorgeous stockinged thigh crossed over the other and nearly baring her butt cheeks….and that pounding, pulsing dick is back to fifteen hundred PSI again.
I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night
And this goes on for years. Over and over again, through the decades, and you become convinced that erectile dysfunction is not about you and never will be, because you know very well you have an endless arsenal of rock hard hymen hammers in your magazine. But it ain’t so. Most men, by the time they reach the age of fifty, have had some diminishment of their cherry splitter. Oh, it may be still plenty stiff enough to pry open and penetrate the poontang, but it begins to lose it’s diamond cutting edge. That camel poker won’t quite crack walnuts anymore, and it has a way of sneaking up on you too, until one day you think the thing must have iron poor blood or something. It’s there, and trying to do it’s job, but the carnal stump is a bit whittled down. And it just doesn’t pump up to quite the same dimension that it once did. If you’re a grower, what used to inflate to six and a half inches is struggling to raise itself up off its elbows to six. And if you’re a shower it might even be worse. You could be faced with a flaccid flesh flute. It might still be a full sixteen centimeters, but the woody quality has wilted and wandered off.
The room was empty as I staggered from my bed
I could not bear the image racing through my head
You were so real that I could feel your eagerness
And when you raised your lips for me to kiss
Came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone
Now, there are remedies for this. Plenty of men use cock rings to enhance stamina even when not suffering from ED, and better living through modern chemistry has given us pharmacological fixes. Blood pressure problems, constriction of blood vessels and nasty item called cavernosal failure can all result in a failed muscle missile launch. Without getting into the technical details and the mechanics of it, these chemicals work, and for most men they work well. But this isn’t an instructional post about how to rejuvenate a rusty rectum wrangler- this post is about dreams.
I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night
So I had got to musing one night while somewhat inebriated and simultaneously chatting with two fine friends, namely KItkat1415 and Rachel0718 and it occurred to me that the dream solution would be to have an Erection Vault. Therein would be stored in pristine and perfect condition, ready for use, all those unused erections of days gone by. It had occurred to me while conversing with these two winsome wenches that I had wasted a lot of hard ons. What would I not give to have some of them back? Well, why think small? Why not have all of them back, and stored in perfect humidity and temperature for use at a later date, when an opportunity to make the beast with two backs might present itself in future years?
I would of course be the only human to have access to this bank, and I might enter it from time to time to visit with my Banked Dicks, (with apologies to W.C. Fields) and fondle and caress them tenderly. I might in this way develop favorites in much the same way that a wine connoisseur has great expectations of a particular vintage, say a Schlongmaster 2000 or a Muffin Buffer ’96. They might be reattached like a Snap-on Tool, or better yet, a Twistloc. A firm push and a crank to the right and the love train is back on the tracks! I could have brochures printed up for prospective customers- women say they don’t care for dick pics, but they haven’t seen my catalog! It would of course be very tastefully done, not on that flimsy glossy porno paper but printed on the finest quality heavyweight stuff, and suitable for a coffee table book. Get one for each member of the family…a Book of Fine Members. A Who’s Who of Womb Raiders
In my vault there would be row upon stacked row of memorable erections, of course every one with a product description and historical details as to the occasion and cause of arousal in each case, and a rating on the Mohs scale of hardness. I might spend entire afternoons admiring my collection, and while away the time stroking them and pampering them, a Gentleman’s Garden of Groinstalks.
I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night
I had too much to dream last night.
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Spanky's back!
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Posted:Oct 3, 2016 10:30 am
Last Updated:Oct 5, 2016 5:44 pm
42324 Views
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spankandsquirt20 was temporarily suspended over a misunderstanding for a few days and it made her pretty nervous, but that all got straightened out and she's back with us today. I want to welcome her home and invite everyone to hijack her post. Let's give her as many comments as we can. Get crazy and have fun and as always be respectful to Spanky and to the other commenters. spankandsquirt20's latest post is I39m back bitches- "Im back bitches!- so let's pile on and give her a Blogland virtual hug! The more the merrier so come one come all. Let's have a party at Spanky's place!
P.S. Bring your own beer!
Spanky's Back
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HNW Pimping Missy
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Posted:Sep 21, 2016 9:09 am
Last Updated:Apr 14, 2020 11:42 am
43993 Views
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The theme of this week’s Half Nekkid Wednesday is pimping a favorite blogger. [blog ethicalslutMissy] has been a favorite of mine for a long time. I respect and admire her and it certainly helps that she’s gorgeous. I’m a sucker for a pretty face to begin with but when you add to that a bright and engaging intellect and a spectacular attitude it’s a winning combination. Missy sponsors the Half Nekkid Wednesday group and is also a member of UnicornHaven. I’m pleased to call Missy a friend. In her post [post 3886344] she asked for someone to invent a heated onesie for her. I told her I’d be afraid to invent such a thing for fear of electrocuting her, but I decided to give it a try anyway and shock her in a different way. I did indeed construct a prototype and I’m testing it myself , like any self respecting scientist or inventor would when he has faith in his product. It works! I was sweating profusely in this thing.
So, here you go, Missy. A heated unicorn onesie with mittens and some toasty boots, perfect for those frigid Alberta nights when you find yourself alone and chilly. Think of me when you wear this.
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Thumbs Up, and Out
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Posted:Sep 10, 2016 7:14 pm
Last Updated:Nov 30, 2017 1:40 pm
46414 Views
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pocogato12 suggested a tribute to the Symposium, to be posted on 11 September,to show how much we’ve appreciated them. She named travel as the topic.
Hi. My name is Bill and I’m a hitchhiker. I would like to welcome you to the Sunday morning Hitcholgy Centre meeting. We would like to give a special welcome to new attendees and have you introduce yourselves. Let’s begin by making some promises to ourselves.
1. We are going to relinquish the freedom of the open road and try to find happiness anyway.
2. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it, and we will pay for all our own transportation even if it means getting …jobs.
3. We will comprehend the words gas money and we will stop pretending we’re broke.
4. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.
I first became a hitchhiker in high school. I lived five miles from town and I didn’t always have a working car, or money for gas, even though gas was as cheap as thirty cents a gallon back then- sometimes cheaper. I can recall a gas war in Detroit in the torrid summer of 1970 when gas and cigarettes were selling for the same price- seventeen cents per gallon and seventeen cents a pack. Anyway, when I didn’t have wheels or cash I’d walk, and plenty of times I walked the whole five miles, but whenever a car came along I’d stick out my thumb and try to bum a ride. The reception was mixed. If it was dark I was probably have to walk the entire distance to town, unless someone recognized me- and didn’t try to run over me as soon as it dawned on them who I was. This could happen in daylight too, but at least I could see what was in the ditch I was diving into.
Cars were inexpensive back then too- you could buy a new Volkswagen for under two grand, and fill the tank for two or three bucks, but there were other priorities at that tender age, women and dope being a couple of my top priorities. If I found myself with five bucks in my jeans and an offer of either a nickel bag or a tank of gas, I was faced with a serious internal debate. One option of course was to score the reefer and siphon the gas from a school bus, or my girlfriend’s father’s car. You didn’t want to go to the same well too often. People might start getting suspicious. Anyhow, my frugal ways often led to more hitchhiking, since the bag of pot was considered an essential purchase.
In the summer of 1971 I determined to follow in the footsteps of Sal Paradise and hit the road for the west coast to see San Francisco. Naturally, I opted to hitchhike. There were thousands of long haired freaks lining the highways back in the day, begging rides from city to town and rock festival to commune. I stood beside Interstate 80 just north of Middlebury, Indiana with a buddy named Moon Mullins, our thumbs out. I would always get my hopes up when I spotted a paisley painted van, especially a Volkswagen Microbus. That was gonna be an almost certain ride, and there might be something to smoke and someone to grope. We didn’t snag a Microbus on that first ride, but you didn’t often turn down rides unless it looked downright dangerous so we ended up in and old Cadillac with an inarticulate redneck whose name I’ve forgotten, but he looked a lot like Jim Gaffigan.
Over the next few years hitchhiking became a habit. I liked having the freedom that comes from not having either a car or a home. This may seem incomprehensible to those of you have grown accustomed to sleeping indoors and eating regular meals, but for a while I loved it. I had no ties and nothing holding me down. I hitchhiked from coast to coast more than once, and kindly strangers fed me, gave me a place to crash for the night and invited me to share their communal living arrangements with other hippies. And sometimes you would score unbelievably lucky rides. I once hitched from Phoenix, Arizona to within four blocks of my sister’s apartment on Cornelia Street in Greenwich village in two rides. It was a hitchers mother lode- Phoenix to New York City in two rides!
On another occasion I hitched from Albuquerque to my folks front door in Michigan, again in just two rides. I had got picked up by a guy driving a rented Uhaul truck who was moving to Washington, D.C. and wanted help driving in shifts. He dropped me just across the river from St. Louis and before I could get my backpack on, a man headed for the Edwardsburg, Michigan beagle club stopped for me. He just wanted someone to talk to during the ride. We got along, so he drove me to my ancestral home.
Again in St. Louis, a cab stopped to give a friend and I a ride. We leaned over and said we didn’t have any money. The driver had a guy in the passenger seat and he said “Fuck that, he’s off duty! Get in!” so we didn’t look a gift in the mouth, and got in. We had to climb over three cases of beer to cram ourselves and our gear in the back of that cab, and I didn’t even get the door shut before he was burning rubber. The driver had said he’d take us across the river and drop us at an I55 interchange. He was as good as his word and took us on a hundred mile an hour ride across the Mississippi River. I was terrified. They were chugging Budweisers and whooping it up, weaving in and out of traffic, slamming on the brakes to avoid rearending semis and then nailing that throttle again. All the empty beer cans went right out the window, and if he’d slowed down to under fifty for more than a microsecond I would have followed one of those cans. It was a long drop to that river, anyway. We were both a bit shaky when we finally climbed out of that cab in Illinois. We looked at each other at at the same time said “Ya think maybe that was a stolen cab?”
Later on that same trip we caught a ride outside of Joliet with a good lookin’ dame in a Lincoln and wearing a fur coat. She wanted to show off the coat. She said her boyfriend, her sugar daddy, and just given it to her. She looked like she had earned it- the girl was hot.
I got a ride in a Land Rover one morning from George LaForest, who was running for governor of Illinois on the Socialist Labor Party ticket. He didn’t pass a single hitchhiker, even after that Land Rover was full of us. And when we stopped to eat, he bought breakfast.
Eventually I grew tired of the hobo life. Times were changing and rides were getting harder to come by. You can’t really hold down a job and hitchhike, and get to and from work reliably. You have to be footloose and fancy free for hitchhiking and although I was loath to admit it, it was getting hard on me sleeping beneath over passes in the cold and not knowing when I might eat again. I sold out to be working class, and swore off hitchhiking for good. I don’t really miss it. I miss the days of not having any worries or cares. I miss taking off for a new part of the country on a whim, and I miss the easy camaraderie of folks who live on the open road. I miss the rock festivals and the short stays at communes. I miss the freedom of being young and dumb. I miss sleeping under the stars in a new place every night. I got old, and I swore off hitchhiking.
My name is Bill, and I’m a hitchhiker.
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Becoming Kerouac
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Posted:Sep 6, 2016 8:00 pm
Last Updated:Sep 9, 2018 9:43 pm
44688 Views
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Recently a friend asked me about my experiences with meditation. She has a friend who is quite intelligent, with a head full of facts, and he was not understanding what she meant by reaching peace through meditation. I made one attempt, and described that moment of satori, enlightenment. Apparently it didn’t do the job, so I tried remembering the practice. It was a good exercise, and a reminder to me of what a valuable part of my life it had once been. I put off writing the description for a good week. By the time I was done I was grateful she had asked the question. I haven’t practiced in years, except briefly now and then. I hesitated to write this, to attempt to describe it. It has been all those years ago that I practiced this discipline. It is very much a discipline. It was too easy for me to drift away from it. Work and family pressures get in the way, and a day missed can lead to two days and then a week.
To succeed, you have to empty your head of all those precious facts that you have so painstakingly gathered. They won’t help you, and will positively hinder you. You have to let go. This is my attempt to describe it.
I stumbled over Buddhism and meditation in reading the Beat writers, particularly Kerouac. They were quite a literate crowd, sometimes pretentiously so, I think, and a bit full of themselves, maybe a LOT full of themselves, but Kerouac never struck me that way. There were all those references to other writers- Verlaine and Rimbaud, Spengler and Spinoza. Alfred Korzybski. I never skimmed or read so much philosophy in my life....and I never want to again! OK- the French Symbolists were pretty entertaining and engaging.
But the same thing happened with the references to Buddhism. I read what I could find in the local libraries and my sister gave me a book by Thich Nhat Hanh on Theravada Buddhism. As I recall there was a description of how to meditate. From that and other sources I developed my own bastard style. Being ignorant of the proper way to do anything and not having an instructor is said to be a disadvantage when studying this, but since I was so unschooled I didn't know any better than to just put together a technique and try it.
I would turn out the lights and light a candle to keep the room dimly lit but not dark. I put the candle in my line of sight, but I didn't want to focus on the candle flame or be distracted by it. I had a small, hard pillow that I used to elevate my buttocks. That made it easier to maintain the lotus position. My knees give me a lot of trouble now and I'm sure I'll never achieve the lotus again. I can stretch for months and never get all the stiffness out of my knees or eliminate the pain of trying to sit in full lotus or even half lotus. But in those days I was young and limber, and it was pretty easy. I could maintain it pretty handily for a half hour or even an hour.
I'd sit in the lotus, spine straight but relaxed, not tense. Shoulders back but again, rather loosely- not forced. I tried to imagine pushing the top of my skull upward, as if it were raising toward the ceiling, which helped in keeping my spine straight and not sagging. My hands I held relaxed in my lap, folded not interlocked, one atop the other, thumb tips touching and I imagined an energy there, at the tips of my thumbs. I could feel that energy. Again, not forced but relaxed. Eyes half lidded, not closed. I tried not to focus my gaze on anything but to stare vacantly forward, like you'll do when lost in reverie, staring but not seeing. I concentrated on my breath and the rising and falling of my abdomen, counting breaths. My mind would wander and I would gently bring it back to my breath. With practice it got easier to do this, and I moved on to concentrating on the feel of the cool air entering my nostrils and the warm air emptying from my lungs, carrying waste and toxins with it. When taking a breath I imagined taking it very deeply, filling my abdomen first and then my chest and even my head. There was a sense of being my breath and my corporeal body receded.
My mind wandered. Thoughts will intrude when you're trying to empty your mind, and I had to gently bring my concentration back to my breath. Emptying the mind is the goal here. It's essential. All the detritus of daily life, all the worries and anxieties must disappear to become quiet enough to see. I didn't quite get it yet, but I was learning to lose my self. I had read it, but I didn't know what it meant.
As I got more and more comfortable doing this I found myself concentrating on my nostrils and even staring at the tip of my nose! It took an effort to stop that habit, and return my gaze to the vague distance before me. When practicing, naturally I would get an itch somewhere and the urge to scratch would be overpowering. A couple of times I did ruin my session by scratching, and I'd laugh at myself for that. There's no point to feeling a failure. You end the session and try again tomorrow. But gradually I learned to concentrate on the itch, to immerse myself in it...and it would disappear. I became a bit prideful about that for a while, that I had learned how to make such a thing simply vanish, and I found that I could apply that to aches and pains and even to a mild headache. If I became the pain, I could banish it! I'm certain that I could not have managed this with major pain or a serious injury, but I have found in later life that the technique does help in dealing with pain. I may not be able to rid myself of severe pain but I can deal with it better.
Of course my pride in that accomplishment was not the way to go- it was a setback to fixate on how powerful I was becoming! That was funny to me then and still is now. I was going through a process and that was part of it- learning that I had a long way to go, that I didn't know anything yet.
I can't recall exactly how many weeks and months I practiced this. I had begun in the autumn of the year and kept at it over the fall and into winter. But sometime in very late winter or early spring something remarkable happened. I lost myself in my breath and ceased to be. There was an explosion of light and I was struck between the eyes by...something, but it didn't hurt. It was quite a powerful blow...but I didn't recoil. It occurred to me that the blow I had felt was that explosion of light. It felt as if the brilliant white light was coming both from inside my head and from all around me at one and the same time. And my own spine was stretching upward, although that's not quite right...it was as if the top of my head was being drawn upward...that feeling of weightlessness. Not exactly attached to the world, but part of it. And I did feel that I had understanding- no fear. It was as if I was not in my body.
I was washed over with a feeling of peace and tranquility that, as it faded, I wanted to hold on to. And of course it seemed that as I tried to hold it it slipped away laughing. But then I realized that it was me, not exactly laughing but I had a dopey smile on my face. That feeling of peace stayed for a while. It did become less pronounced as the evening wore on, but it lasted through the night and my head felt light and empty as soon as that explosion struck. That also faded over the evening.
Upon reflection it dawned on me that it was a lot like other experiences I had read about and I wondered if it was real, but of course that was absurd. I had really had those feelings and that peace. It made perfect sense that it resembled other people's descriptions.
There was certainly no sense of loss, no pain of separation or anxiety. On the contrary it was enlightenment, and a release. I had that satori, enlightenment, understanding. I understood oneness in that moment. This was the Buddha's discovery, when he became one with the universe, and I finally knew what it meant to become Buddha. It wasn't so much that I merged with all life, but that I now knew, intuitively, that it had always been thus. I had simply not been aware before. This is difficult to describe, and that's what's so maddening for many westerners to understand, I think. It's called knowing, and they demand to know, "What? You know what?" You simply know, suddenly. This is called awareness meditation, Samadhi meditation.
The perspective in that moment of enlightenment stays with you for a long time. I know that if you practice every day you could reach that sweet spot with ease, and that it heals. My wife Pam learned a slightly different way, taught by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, but the goal is the same- as Pam says, to get you out of your head. Emptying the mind will get you there even without the rather dramatic moment of satori that I described.
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Rachel, Rachel
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Posted:Aug 25, 2016 2:36 pm
Last Updated:Sep 21, 2016 4:59 pm
45727 Views
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I have a friend on this site and another site who’s a blogger here. It’s Rachel0718. We were introduced through our mutual friend KItkat1415 and the three of us have had a lot of fun in group chats and horsing around in our group on the other site. Rachel0718 is in a period of transition now. Her has grown up and is going away to school. Her marriage is ending and she’s moving on. I read a lot of blogs here, and so many people have gone through similar changes in their lives, men and women. These blogs in some ways are a community of people in transition, and it appears to be a sort of support group and open forum for us, a kind of anchor and a place where we can connect with other folks who are going through and have gone through such upsets in their lives. Rachel0718 has become a good friend and I want to see her succeed and be happy. She’s having fun blogging right now, so if you would, stop by her blog “Insights & Observations” and say hello and wish her good luck. There are plenty of days when all it takes to make our day better is a cyber hug from a well wisher. ((((((((((Rachel0718)))))))))
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Messages
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Posted:Aug 22, 2016 8:28 am
Last Updated:Aug 29, 2016 10:44 am
46101 Views
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The message center here has been malfunctioning for a week and is now completely useless. I can't see any messages at all. Anyone wanting to message me will have to use my private post in this blog or an off site address. The private post here takes quite a while to update and show posts, so be patient. The hookup site is doing everything it can to prevent us hooking up.
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Respect for Anastasia
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Posted:Aug 15, 2016 10:35 am
Last Updated:Sep 15, 2016 7:10 am
47590 Views
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RESPECT WE all NEED to do Better RESPECT : WE all NEED to do Better
Anastasia666 and I first encountered each other on a blog post of mine back in early June. It was a post I had written about a Petition that I thought was crass, self serving and bigoted. There’s a link to that post in my signature. She commented to inform me and the other bloggers who were following that post that the vile Petition had been removed from the blogs. She kept on visiting that post and repeatedly voiced her disapproval of that Petition and her sympathy with nicelipss66 and promised to do whatever she could to right the wrong that had been done to nicelipss66. I was skeptical at first, but she was always polite and respectful in the face of my skepticism. And she stayed on task.
Anastasia666 kept her word. That can seem a rare thing these days. Anastasia666 is a rare woman. She not only kept her word but she stayed on this issue and followed through on her promises to help. There was a lot of work involved in this that we don’t see. There was research to do and information to ferret out and people to convince. There would be hours of discussion and negotiation, I expect. Through it all she remembered her promise and delivered on it.
Ana has written a post, on Sunday, in the early hours of the morning. It’s about respect, and I won’t repeat or summarize her post here because I want you to read it for yourselves. That post is both welcome and beautifully written, and she covered all the bases. I’m promoting Ana’s post here for two reasons- I want to be sure as many members as possible will see and read her worthy post, and I want to thank her for everything she’s done. She knew her motives and sincerity were questioned and she quietly and surely proved her mettle and removed any doubt I might have had that she’s honest and trustworthy. I’m delighted that she proved me wrong.
Thank you Ana! What a lucky day it was for me, and for all of us, that you visited my post that day and went to work on our behalf. We are all in your debt. Along the way I’ve learned to have great respect for you, and now great affection too.
Anastasia666 RESPECT WE all NEED to do Better
RESPECT : WE all NEED to do Better
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August 17: Wear Pink and Take A Stand Against Bullying!!
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Posted:Aug 14, 2016 2:53 pm
Last Updated:Sep 4, 2016 10:11 am
49588 Views
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[blog ethicalslutMissy] has named the 17 August HNW theme as [post 3870637].-August 17: Wear Pink and Take A Stand Against Bullying!!
This is a great cause and I encourage you all to get behind it. Put on the pink and stand up to bullies. Most all of us have been bullied at some time or other. Or maybe we've bullied someone ourselves and are ashamed of it. Maybe we've seen it and said and done nothing. It's never too late to change and it's always worthwhile to to show someone being bullied that you won't stand for it, that you have their back. There are good comments on this post too so don't skip those. Bloggers here are doing the right thing and declaring that they're sick of it and won't tolerate it anymore. We can have fun with it, we can laugh about our contributions but we have to be serious about stopping it. On this of all sites, where we'e trying to connect with others we have to come together....heh, heh, heh....and refuse to allow it.
[blog ethicalslutMissy] [post 3870637]
August 17: Wear Pink and Take A Stand Against Bullying!!
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