I don’t use the term “illegal immigrants”, because it’s inaccurate. Immigrants are honest, hardworking people who paid the fees, went through a ton of paperwork, did a lot of work, and passed the test to become a U.S. citizen. The earned the right to be an American. Those who come here illegally are not immigrants, they’re illegal aliens who cut in line in front of others and cheat the system.
But I heard today that an internal memo at Homeland Security has now relabeled Illegal Aliens as “Recently Arrived Asylum Seekers”.
My brother-in-law and I took three of our nephews from Georgia skeet shooting yesterday. Despite the fact that we drove an hour to take them to the nicest gun club in Tennessee (where the governor goes to shoot), and the fact that I allowed them to use my beloved Beretta 12 gauge over-under that I bought at the world headquarters of Bass Pro Shops in Springfield, Missouri, two of them were text messaging between rounds. I was appalled and speechless, but my brother-in-law got their attention when he said, “We’re going to stop shooting skeet and start shooting iPhones. I’ll throw out the next one I see, and Glenn, you shoot”. No more iPhones were to be seen.
There are thirty-something people coming for Thanksgiving this year, but there's always room for one more.
Thanks to everyone who sent Thanksgiving greetings. Here’s our favorite one. Just reading the name of her businesses, as well as where they’re located, makes me want to go there:
Happy Perky Turkey Day Glenn and Rebecca!
Wishing You and Your Family a Blessed Thanksgiving.
Laurie Olshefski, Owner
Jake at the Beach-Life is Good Shoppe & Shimmering Seas-Jewelry & Gifts, Panama City Beach, FL
Interesting story that just hit the AP wire. An Indiana prison is eliminating lunch on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays to save money. Georgia prisons have apparently already eliminated lunch on weekends. Civil rights groups are threatening to sue, but most everyone I know doesn’t eat three meals every day of the week. What do you think?
One would think that a best selling author who can write in way that connects with strangers in six languages would have no trouble writing a love letter to his wife.
But every time I try, the thoughts just seem to get all jumbled in my head and what flows from my fingertips into the keyboard never seems to be worthy.
I feel as inept as Steve Carell’s character in the movie “Dan in Real Life”.
When I Googled “how to write a good love letter to my wife”, I found a website that said…
“Men often have trouble vocally expressing their feelings. We’d rather show our love through actions. But it’s not quite that way for a woman. Women definitely appreciate our acts of love, but their brains are also quite a bit more language oriented than ours. They want to hear the words behind the actions. They want to know exactly what’s in our hearts.”
So as imperfect as this is, I want you to know how I feel about your birthday tomorrow.
I love birthdays so much that it’s hard for me to grasp that you don’t want to make a big deal out of yours, but I know it’s a woman thing.
I love birthday cake so much that it’s hard for me to grasp that you don’t want a cake, but I know it’s a calorie thing.
I know you don’t like it when I put you on a pedestal, but I know it’s a modesty thing.
But I just want you to know that I am so excited about your birthday tomorrow, and I know why – it’s a love thing.
Last night when John Fogerty sang “Proud Mary” for his encore, I kept thinking about how proud I am to be your husband.
You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I sometimes have a hard time grasping how I got so lucky.
I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo excited about tonight. The first time I put a dime in the jukebox was at the local Tasty Freeze in 1969. I was six, and the song was “Proud Mary/Rolling on the River” by John Fogerty and Creedance Clearwater Revical.
Tonight is the night I’ve been waiting on for 40 years. I’ll finally get to see John perform that song live at the Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville, which is so symbolic. Not only is it the birthplace of country music, but it’s also by the Cumberland River. I’m sure there’ll be an upcoming issue of Work Is Not for Sissies that comes out of this.
The mortarboard graduation cap was a little too big for Mr. Brady’s head, but he did manage to master Sit, Stay, and Leave It well enough to earn his diploma and graduate from obedience school at PetSmart.
