The Original Stuff Was The Best: Happy Independence Day.

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We celebrate our independence from Great Britain on July 4th. Big deal, right? I mean, the Brits are pretty cool. They have better bands, better medical for the poor, etc. So what.

To put this in historical perspective, Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Franklin, and the others all stood up and said, “Get out. Go back to England and take your tyranny with you.” Each knew they might be dead at the end of a rope for saying this, and that all their property would be forfeit to the King. They would leave their families nothing and die as traitors.

But these men, all of whom shared a vision, banded together and threw out the most powerful nation on Earth. How? Well, a lot of them had guns. The kind of guns that the opponents of the Second Amendment won’t acknowledge: privately owned guns. You see, a “well organized militia” at that time just meant that you couldn’t claim the protection of the Constitution if you were a lone jerk with a rifle shooting tax collectors for fun. Nope. But when you, and your fellow subjects, decided to become citizens and not subjects, that’s what the guns were for. Not hunting. Not even home protection. But your right to keep an oppressive government off of your back.

Recently, a very liberal friend of mine said, “I wanted to ask your opinion on this because you’re pretty anti-government.” I laughed. Then I thought about it some more. I am pretty anti-government. I like not having some jerk in city hall, or the state capital, or Washington, decide how many eggs I can eat for breakfast. Laugh if you will, but the Nanny State is already deciding how many ounces of soda you can buy in one serving. More than being anti-government, I’m anti-stupid. It’s just that the Venn Diagram of Stupid and Government overlaps almost perfectly.

Government should be far smaller than what it is now. The founders figured it would be good for collecting tariffs and organizing our defense. Not much else. Too many things are overly regulated by, and subsidized by government. The feds are the worst: they think that if it happens inside of the borders, they ought to have a piece of the action. Shall we explain federalism?

But for the Fourth, let’s go back to where it all started: individual freedom granted by God. Last time I looked, Nancy Pelosi and Orrin Hatch had about as much right to tell me where my moral compass is out of skew as Charles Manson and Ted Bundy. The second pair are better, only one is still alive. We, the American people need to vote these fossilized remnants of another age out of office. Term limits on every office. Once again, citizen legislators to represent the people, not their retirement check. Right now, the ensemble in most legislative bodies, as well as city councils, does not have the average citizen in mind when they rule.

I love this country. I have served this country. I will defend it if called upon again. I advocate no violence against any politician, but I do advocate a damned good thrashing at the ballot box in every election for every incumbent.

I leave you with a song that never fails to move me. I can still tell you where I was the very first time I heard it: University Avenue in Saint Paul, Minnesota outside a car dealership where I was helping my mom shop for a car. Enjoy it today, along with the freedoms so many have given their all to provide.

God Bless America.

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When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

Good Churches Are Good Neighbors

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Many of you know that I participate in The Good Neighbor Meal program at the Good Neighbor Center in Saint Paul. It’s a building that houses a couple of churches, but the owners use it for the benefit of the city. There’s a kids tutoring program in addition to the meal program. I’ve been involved for about 10 years, and it’s truly been a blessing.

I started out washing pots and pans, moved up to dishes (it is a promotion, trust me) and now I’ve gone on to plan, purchase, and serve meals by my self (with the help of a regular crew of dedicated volunteers.) Individual’s come in and sponsor a meal (or a group, up to you) and relieve the burden from the host. During all that time, our biggest need has been for other groups to come in and take over doing some of the meals. The founders, really great people, fund the place with the proceeds from a car lot they own. So if you’re going to buy a used car, head on down to Bob’s Auto Ranch. Not just a well-run business, but great prices and true integrity. It also helps educate and feed people.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

My church, Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church, has come in to help me several times over the last few years. A spectacular group of volunteers, all of them with a smile. This year, for the first time, Shiloh has started to host some of the meals. Hallelujah! For their maiden voyage, Deacon Johnson ran the show and served Shepherd’s pie, salad, corn bread, bread and butter, assorted beverages, cupcakes, and pastries.

As you can see from the pictures, we put the whole crew to work, even the little ones. The pretty pastries are all donated by Panera. Yes, we get all the leftover product from the day before. Superior quality treats for our guests, and almost always the bread served with our meal.

If you’re a church-goer, you will understand just why this is a big deal. If not, let me tell you: some churches are selfish. Mine is not. Some churches will only work on events that take place in their building. Mine cares about all the community and the building doesn’t matter. Some churches will only do things if it’s “branded” with their name. Mine works for Jesus. My church, a great church, took a huge leap of faith and came in with a member on a project – because it was the right thing to do.

Now, after the event, the church ladies want to know when the next meal is, so they can come and help. God, bless them. They are so full of love.

The answer is: the second and last Saturday of every month.

So, here’s my offer, Twin Cities people: if you’d like to do this with your church/group/friends, send me an email or put a comment in with your contact information. I won’t publish it, but I will contact you privately. If you wind up joining the crew and taking on one of the 24 meals this year, I’ll come and help you get organized that first time. I’ll cook if you like. But I’d be just as glad to do the pots and pans. See, I know that job pretty well.
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Assault on Saint Agnes is available here. Just click this link!

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

Marie Osmond Needs To See A Pulmonologist.

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I don’t often dream about Marie Osmond, but after a late night at the church on Wednesday, and a bit of television to try and kill the migraine (along with the drugs that sometimes help, and a head-rub from my spouse) I went to bed a little later than normal.

0100 rolled around and there she was, on the television screen, and she was having a hard time breathing. It was loud, very loud, and she was obviously in distress. Leaning in closer to see what was wrong, I felt her breath on my face – bad breath. Televisions don’t have bad breath.

But Shelties do. I awoke from my slumber to see Stormy with her paws on the edge of the bed, and her snout six inches from my face. The flash of lightening and roll of thunder confirmed my fear: there was an unmedicated Shetland Sheepdog in my room during a thunderstorm. No Marie Osmond. Sorry, Marie, I wish it had been you.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Stormy, as some of you know, is badly named. She hates storms. Any storms. Even a really windy day will send her into anxiety fits. The big thunderstorm was enough to seriously unhinge her.

Normally, as in if we have a clue, we give her a couple of Benadryl before the storm hits, and put on her Thundershirt (WARNING: Autoplay sound!). It works. (Don’t bother sending me hate mail about drugging the dog: my vet approves. I approve. I’d have to strangle her without it.)

Up. Shuffle down to kitchen to find pills and pill hiders. Drug dog. Watch television for 20 minutes so dog starts to digest. Go back upstairs with dog.

Look down stairs. No sign of dog. Dog peering around the corner. Dog afraid to come up stairs, rain loudly pelting window behind me. Cripes.

Down the stairs, and at 0130 pick up a chubby Sheltie and lug her upstairs, shaking (her) as the storm rages.

Set dog on bed. Close door. Anxious dog leaps off bed, flops to floor next to door.

Experience tells me that even if the noise of the ceiling fan drowns out the rain and thunder, she’s still going to freak out every time the flash of light hits her under the door. Trust me, been there a few times.

My ceiling fan has a setting where a few small bulbs light, but not the main lights. I click it to that dim setting, and pull the covers up. Thankfully, as a long-time night-shifter I can sleep with the light on. That’s good, because she won’t be able to sleep without it.

Every hour for the next 5 hours I wake up to check the time and the dog. Not overly restful, but when 0700 rolls around, she’s well recovered.

There are things we do for our dogs/spouses/kids/neighbors that go above and beyond. I’m okay with helping the girl out, as she’s my friend.

But why, God, couldn’t she be afraid of the noise of crashing surf. I’m pretty sure she couldn’t hear it from Saint Paul.

Be blessed, and may the thunder that frightens you in your life be silent this night.
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Assault on Saint Agnes is available here. Just click this link!

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

Let Us Examine This A Bit More Closely.

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An hour ago the verdict was rendered in the Yanez manslaughter case in Saint Paul. The officer was found not guilty on all counts by a jury of 12 citizens selected by the defense and prosecution. They deliberated for five days. The verdict is in accordance, from what I know, with the appropriate laws.

This means that while a life, Philando Castille’s, was lost, another has been adjudged not guilty of malice in the incident. Castille was black, Yanez brown. And, blue. You see, the shooting happened when, as Yanez described it, Castille reached for a gun during a traffic stop. Castille’s girlfriend said he was only reaching for his wallet, as instructed by the officer.

Was it a good shooting? None are. But was it justified? The jury did find it so. You see, Castille had told the officer that he had a gun just before reaching for the wallet.

Now, before you go one step farther down that road you were itching to take, do this:

It’s a one time opportunity for you, as the officer, to get it right. If the guy in the driver’s seat starts digging for a gun, and gets it out while you’re weighing all the options, he’s going to be able to shoot you. If you have told him not to get the gun out, and he starts digging, you will likely be shot. White, black, brown – you will likely be shot.

How do I know? I’ve been on both sides of that window. When I deal with officers, my hands are in sight at all times. I don’t make sudden moves. I have survived to talk about it. Sad but true, do otherwise and you take a chance.

Does that mean Castille was a bad guy, or that he needed to die? No, but it means that in that time, and in that place, events moved in such a manner as to lead to his death.

Going forward we can do better, both as citizens and as police. I know the police are getting a lot of training as a result of cases like this one, but citizens should realize that they have a part of the bargain to uphold as well. Watch a few nights of LIVE PD on A&E and you might hold a different point of view. But you have to have an open mind about it to gain from it all.

What makes me sad is that people I know, and consider friends, in the black community, lashed out and spoke about “pigs” and the need to get even. Even for what? A bad night on Larpentur Avenue? The fact that Yanez is brown, not black? The fact that there are problems in some places between cops and citizens? Or the … what? What exactly will the violence, and anger, and hatred based on race and a uniform accomplish. Do they hate the black cop that sits in their pew at church? Or the thought of cops in general.

I read more than a few statements that the city should burn. Why? What will that do besides hurt more people?

I am not asking for subservience to the police. I am not asking for anyone to give up their rights. I am asking for everyone to take a breath, think about how this could be avoided in the future, and remember that it’s dangerous not to follow instructions when dealing with a man/woman with a gun.

It’s that simple: do it right, you’ll come out the other side. Pride has no place in that situation. I am one seriously compliant, humble guy at that moment.

I also frown on burning down the city I live and work in. I’m praying for peace. I’m hoping that people remember that those juries find an awful lot of people not guilty every day, and sometimes it’s the guy you’re rooting for, sometimes not. But it’s the way our law works. And it’s the most fair system I know of.

So, be cool, Saint Paul.

Darius & Duke: God Sent Some Angels Today.

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The morning walk to the bus was required because I was lazy. Instead of getting into my workout clothing and walking the couple of miles to work, I elected to have a cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal, and watch the news.

Fifty yards from the bus stop I noticed Darius. He was waving a vodka bottle at me as I passed the door to the liquor store. I got the sense that he was asking if I’d grab another and join him. Even in my wildest days, 0905 was a bit early.

As I crossed the street, he offered me the bottle. I’ve seen him around for the past few years, we trod the same streets and he occasionally has been to the church where we have the Good Neighbor Meal. I declined the offer and shot the breeze with him while we waited for the bus. Very cordial fellow, and in spite of his wardrobe (he was only a bit shabbier than me) he carried him self with the dignity of that rare bread of intoxicant who isn’t oblivious to their own world. In short, he was a happy drunk, and he was glad to share the morning air, and his vodka, with a fellow traveler.

After boarding the bus, we chit chatted a bit, but I mostly gazed out the window. It was a companionable silence for the most part. I carry some gift cards for McDonald’s with me most of the time, and I palmed one before we hit the final miles to my stop, intending to hand it to him as I left.

Darius looked at me staring out the window and waved something at me: it was a McDonald’s gift card. “You need anything for lunch? I’ve got a card for you.” Touched? Here was a guy who was living on his brother’s couch, and who’d walked a full mile to get to the only liquor store in the area. He was concerned about me. Yeah, I was touched.

He got off at the next stop, and I just prayed a bit harder for him as we pulled away from the curb. He had money. Lots of it (he confided the amount to me.) I was worried that some predator would hurt him for the money. But I have a hunch that he’ll be fine – angels seem to be that way.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Why do I suspect he was an angel? Because for the next 8 hours my workday was filled with misery. My every attempt to do the right thing led me into one more minefield, one more trap, one more migraine, and one more explanation to the powers that be that while I’m slow, I’m not actually incompetent.

The end of the day came, and Darius’ kindness had sustained me during the worst moments. But it was largely a day of learning just how ignorant I truly am in some ways. I took the elevator down to the lobby and walked out the security door to see people skirting a madman on the corner. That’s how it looked.

I had to pass him to get to the bus home. As I approached, he asked me if I believed in Jesus. “Yes. I certainly do.”

“Can I pray for you?”

He put his hand on my head, and it was obvious that the Holy Spirit had filled this man. He prayed for a full two minutes, blessing me and encouraging me. At the end, I shook his hand and introduced myself. He grabbed my hand tightly and commenced to pray even more fervently.

When the “Amen” hit, he released my hand and thanked me for stopping. He encouraged me to pray and seek God. I wished him well. I felt that aura that you get from time-to-time when light enters your life.

Tonight, sitting here putting this to paper, I know God sent those two messengers to book-end my day. He knew I’d need those two angels to carry me through the doubt and pain I felt in my ignorance.

Thanks, God. Say hi to those angels. I’m sure they’re close by both of us this night.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is available here. Just click this link!

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.