“MSU SHADOWS”

 

A series of essays….

BERKEY HALL ON THE CAMPUS OF MSU

MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY STUDENT UNION 

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

The girl walks the beaten path to her 8 o’clock class with hands freezing in her purple knit gloves and her stockinged feet numb even after they’ve been stuffed into calf-high, leather boots. She’s thinking how winter term is often brutal, weather-wise, but to have scheduled an early morning French class across campus was absolutely unwise, practically verging on insane. 

She looks up from her strained cadence to see other students marching to the same, slow beat, making their way to classes scheduled far too early in the morning. Snow begins to fall softly, brushing her exposed face with its delicate chill and directing her to pick-up the pace. 

One more turn to the right and the building she’s seeking will pop into view. The young grad-student, Ms. Hamlin, teaching this class, has seen the girl arrive late for class way too often this term but is kind enough to understand the logistics involved. However, today the girl pulls open one of the large, wooden doors of Berkey Hall two minutes before the stroke of eight and briskly clomps her way down the marbled hall to her classroom, three doors down on the left. 

Little did she know then that several decades later, the dark, unimaginable fate of two students attending evening classes in this very same hall would lead to their cruel, unjustifiable deaths. Why would she believe that such a horrific act would even be possible? 

Heading west down E. Circle Drive to W. Circle Drive, the fourth building down from Berkey Hall, the MSU Union welcomes her students with open arms offering a respite from the elements with comfortable sitting areas, bookstore, food court, and so much more. Not a place you would expect to come face-to-face with a shooter bent on extinguishing young lives. Yet, one such life was snuffed out by this gunman on the cold, winter’s evening of February 13, 2023.

These older buildings that make-up the brick and mortar history of one of the largest and most beautiful self-contained college campuses in the United States are treasures to behold. From their classic stone-arched doorways, brick facades draped with green ivy, and varied peaks adorned with cozy looking dormers decorating the rooflines, their architecture rivals the beauty of anything we see today! 

I have always loved my time on campus. Our wedding photographers held a photo shoot with me at Beal Botanical Gardens next to the main campus library. These photos became my engagement pictures from nearly fifty years ago. Lots of history there. 

Having both attended MSU as undergraduate students, Dan and I have invested a good deal of time walking the sidewalks and small pathways that crisscross the entire campus. My favorite area being old campus with Beaumont Tower, the circle of older residence halls off Beal Street and Abbott Road, and the MSU museum where Dan donated his grandfather’s MAC (Michigan Agricultural College) baseball uniform from his time on campus back in the early 1900’s when he was an engineering student who graduated in the Class of 1913.

That same young lady who chastised herself for having to take such an early French Language class in Berkey Hall years ago certainly passed through the shadows of her future husband’s grandfather many times. Lancie W. Dunn’s campus spirit may have given her an encouraging push every now and then in order to get her to class on time. I’d like to think so, anyway. 

After the years progressed, Dan and I would find ourselves enjoying picnic lunches along the grounds surrounding Beaumont Tower as we watched our two young daughters play within the shadows of this inspiring structure. Blink—and we are tailgating with them before attending football games in Spartan Stadium or walking together, hand-in-hand towards Munn Ice Arena to watch the Spartans slide into yet another victory on the ice. 

I remember the Red Cedar River meandered along in my backyard while living in W. Shaw Hall for the first two years of my MSU career. How fortunate I was to live in such a centrally located dormitory on campus. It wasn’t until I moved out to Twyckingham Apartments located on S. Hagadorn Road on the extreme eastern edge of campus that I experienced class scheduling difficulties. An eight o’clock French class was the only time slot that happened to work with my class load that term! 

Following all of the time we spent on campus with our girls and all of the stories and good times we created throughout the years, it was inevitable that both girls attended and graduated from Michigan State University, their blood running green as it continues to do so today.

We are among the people who shiver in disbelief from the actions of this one man. Leaving five more students shot and in critical condition during his rampage through Berkey Hall and the Student Union, this coward of a man decides to walk off campus in the direction of Lansing. If it is true that he ended his own life when confronted by the authorities, his cowardliness reached its peak and so many now must suffer for it. 

Eight families, an entire campus of students, MSU faculty and administration, law enforcement and first responders, the City of East Lansing, the State of Michigan, the United States, the entire world…..suffer from this callous, horrendous act of violence.

I wish the past would invite me back to rectify a thing or two; disallow the existence of those who believe in the utter destructiveness of gun-power and how it is so necessary, in their feeble minds, to use it against their fellow humans. Sick. How important it is to make the changes necessary through legislation and to never misinterpret the words of the Second Amendment, again. 

In the meantime, may these student’s deaths help to serve a greater purpose and never be forgotten in the interim. DO NOT FORGET THEIR SACRIFICE!!! The news media has already shifted to many new stories about George Santos, a liar and unabashed cheater, with only a blip dedicated to the massacre on State’s campus this past Monday night. We cannot forget them and how this senseless act has effected all of us! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! We must keep our focus on why these young lives were taken away from us and the changes we need to make in order to never repeat this heinous act.

Our hearts bleed green today…

In 1928, Bernard Traynor, a line coach for the football team, composed the music and lyrics, to MSU’s Alma Mater, MSU Shadows. On April 21, 1949, the students of MSC (Michigan State College, at that time) voted to adopt this song as their  Alma Mater.

MSU Shadows, Arranged by Joshua Davis

Lyrics: 

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

LITTLE MIRACLES

 

A series of essays….

STORIES CONNECT US WITH OUR PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Stories are like miracles.

When you write a story, or a poem,

it’s like putting a message in a bottle

and throwing it into the ocean,

or throwing a life raft out to someone

you might never meet.  

You don’t know if your words will be read,

but when they travel into the heart of the right person,

at the right moment in time –  

that’s the miracle.   —Laura Lentz

Beautiful… Yes, it’s exactly like that. 

Each one of us is filled with collections of stories or poems to tell, recite, write down, and share with others. Each story is a small miracle caught in time and space with its own purpose to fulfill while rendering a personal journey into a vast world presented to us as the ultimate gift to ourselves; a breath of fresh ideas consciously created, honed in on, and then handed out to others to be shared, compared, and analyzed. And, for good reason.

Humans, although connected in mind and spirit in one way or another, are still prone to underestimate these little miracles gifted to us by others. How often do we finish reading a good book, note to self that we liked it very much, but then wait for something, anything, to trigger its memory enough to discuss it with others? The story becomes the message in a bottle thrown out to sea. Secretly hoping that it is found, read, and appreciated by someone else as time goes by. 

This is why books, poems, short stories (little miracles), can become the life raft thrown out to someone we might never meet. If we are fortunate enough to be able to write our own stories and have them connect with others who, at any particular moment, needed them as they touched their heart or led them in a stable, positive direction in life…our job becomes apparent even if we haven’t a clue about what just happened. 

Perhaps our stories remind someone of their own childhood. Good memories, long forgotten, become refreshed and nearly tangible, once again. That’s a small miracle. Or, wanting to know more details about our people, places, and times that helped shape our own lives might be found in listening to stories of our elders; those only too happy to pass these stories down to a generation who is willing to listen. What a great miracle of life this would be for everyone. Poetry is a form of storytelling that bleeds from the storyteller’s heart. It is meant to open up a new way of thinking that washes over us and fills our being until nothing but truth courses through our veins like the indispensable lifeblood giving us strength and vitality to carry-on. This can be a life changing miracle; a poet’s gift to others.

The author, poet, life coach, and educator, Laura Lentz, strikes a chord in all of us when she attributes storytelling to being miracles. Like Cupid’s arrow that may or may not hit its mark, with all good intentions applied, even if we don’t know if our words will ever be read, “…when they travel into the heart of the right person, at the right moment in time - that’s the miracle.”

This is the encouragement required to keep people writing the stories; composing their poetry. Should they happen to strike home and earn a place in your heart, always be grateful for these little miracles. Learn all you can from them. Pass them along to others. Even though they may never know it, you will be making storytellers all over the world happy about what they do. Writers keep writing and readers, enjoy and continue to read!!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

AND SO THE STORY GOES…

A series of essays….

THE SIMPLISTIC JOY OF MOTEL ACCOMMODATIONS IN THE 1950’S

     Courtesy of Pinterest

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Who doesn’t like a good road trip? These past two years have taken the art of travel back into the middle of the past century for me as the act of being a small family unit provided interactive road trips that offered uniquely memorable, yet slightly frustrating and uncomfortable family vacations.

We were just on the outskirts of the beginning of the Interstate Highway System in my early lifetime. From the day President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, the Interstate System has been a part of our culture as construction projects, as transportation in our daily lives, and as an integral part of the American way of life.

Before 1956, our trips were planned out to the extent of distance in mind, never lasting more than five days (probably less), and the typical long and winding, two-lane roads were negotiated by means of the family vehicle. My Dad was ‘the man’ at the helm, seated in the driver’s seat, mesmerized by the allure of the open road, he navigated from behind the steering wheel of his pride and joy, our American made car.  

My Mom, firmly holding on to the purse strings, found enticing Mom & Pop restaurants, would point out an abundance of farm animals grazing in a pasture, or read out loud the multiple Burma Shave road signs that whizzed by our windows. These signs amused all of us and we’d look long and hard for the next series to be seen along the shifting fence posts.

Between tussling in the backseat for prime window positions (mandatory seat belts a thing of the future), entertaining our sixty pound German Shepherd named Queenie, and contending with the wind stream of the opened front windows as Dad chain smoked, his left arm tanning in the sun, we’d play games. Yelling out (after all, we were competing with the wind) the letters of the alphabet from A to Z from words we’d see on billboards, road signs, and barn advertisements was, definitely, the most popular. 

The map of any given state we’d be passing through was good for ‘find the small village’ as one of us would choose a town’s name and the other would have to find it on the map. Then there was the color game. Our eyes were peeled to everything passing by us in order to find the colors suggested by someone in the car. No wires, earbuds, or devices to be found (including the safety of seatbelts!). But we did find these games provided amusing ways to pass the time as we traveled through the cornfields and small towns of the U.S.A.!

Secretly, our parents hoped that by occupying our minds we would quit kicking the back of their car seats and annoying them throughout the trip.

Ah, yes… Occasionally my older brother and I would appease the road trip gods (as well as our parents) and chill for periods of time. These quiet moments were very special and allowed us to listen to the swish of the tires on the pavement, the gentle banter between Mom and Dad, and the beating of our own hearts. I wouldn’t trade this time, this memory, for anything else in this world.

Some of our destinations included the Ozark Mountains State Park of Missouri and Arkansas, driving out to Pike’s Peak, the highest summit of the southern Front Range of the Rocky Mountains in North America (not climbing it, rather observing it from down below), traveling up to the Mighty Mackinac Bridge soon after its opening (not crossing it, just looking at it), and visiting Aunt Hattie on the farm in Central Illinois. The month of August, several weeks before the beginning of the school year, was my parent’s preferred vacation time. It was something we looked forward to each summer.

Sadly, not one National Park was included in any of our itineraries.

Reservations! I don’t believe I even knew what that word meant until much later in life. Mom had three criteria for our night’s stay on the road: the place must look clean and neat, there should be a family restaurant nearby, and a swimming pool for us kids was always the added bonus. And we’d swim by the light of dusk in square, kidney shaped, and rectangular pools, the water so cold our lips turned blue after only a few minutes. Small motels in America were the heart of our trips, especially when most of them accepted pets no matter what and provided a cot (for an extra charge) if required.

I recall trying to untangle the knots in my long, blond hair whenever we’d stop for a meal, sightsee, or purchase gas when one of us would exercise and feed our dog. How we managed to survive the swirling of dog hair, keep items from flying out of the windows, and try to hear one another talk, remains a mystery to me. AC in cars was a godsend and comfortably abridged the negative atmosphere of subsequent family road trips.

COVID-19 has resurrected the simple act of car and travel trailer vacations these past few years. Replacing planes and trains with their passengers in such close proximity to one another, the spike in sales of recreational trailers has greatly appeased an industry that is dependent upon the whim of their popularity in order to survive. COVID did its best to reinvent and promote this nomadic lifestyle.

The wave of travel modes is changing once again. Even though the past few years have increased the nostalgia of traveling the open roads and taking family trips by car, these trips will never totally replace the speed and versatility of flying. Airplanes bridge the gap between continents and allow us to see places we could, previously, only dream about. Or, have seen before and desire to revisit.

Nostalgia can be a beautiful thing. It keeps us humble as we travel back into our youth and remember the simplicity we cherished and never knew we could miss as the years rolled along. Swigging pop from ice-encrusted, long-necked bottles purchased at a gas station/grocery store in rural Arkansas to eating pork & bean sandwiches on the front porch of the farm in Illinois, I know I will savor these memories, forever—no matter how many airplane adventures I collect in my lifetime.

Note: Happy Birthday, Ronnie!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

A BIRTHDAY DINNER REMEMBERED; A FUTURE PROSPECT TO SAVOUR

 

A series of essays….

GAVIN’S FONDUE BIRTHDAY DINNER PARTY!

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Okay. I admit it. I feel slightly abashed for doing this but, it was fun, a bit messy, and a total waste of way too many dishes and utensils in the process of it all. It was for a very good cause and, honestly, I would do it all over again as soon as possible. Even though I recall feeling a bit uncouth and primal at the time, I know I would bloom in the aftermath like a growing teenage boy with a satiated appetite.

The Melting Pot, a restaurant located on the northeast side of Grand Rapids, was a chance to introduce dining on Swiss fondue to our ‘Birthday Boy’ and grandson, Gavin. I believe, Ali, our eldest daughter, suggested a fondue night to celebrate Gavin’s twelfth birthday because she enjoyed it so much while growing-up and participating in family fondue nights. Fondue wasn’t just a fun family treat in our household, but a satisfying meal that bordered on undisciplined eating tactics; something that most parents understand attracts young children in a strange sort of way. 

SWEETNESS SMOTHERED IN RICH MELTED CHOCOLATE

Being a bit different and off-the-beaten track engages kids with the charm of taking things into their own hands. What is better than stuffing long forks tipped with juicy pieces of steak or dried bread cubes into steaming hot cauldrons of oil or cheese? I can still smell the pungent odor of highly flammable Sterno in its can, flames supplying enough heat to melt cheese and boil vegetable oil. To this day I cringe thinking about how much effort it took to extricate burnt dairy product from the inside bottom of our bright orange fondue pot…

And yet—somehow, it brought our family of four closer together via the rhythmic dance of fondue forks, topped by our personal color coding, being plunged into the pots in order to coat and/or cook our food according to our own specifications. This rhythm was basic and attracted us to these meals based on independence and learning proper cooking times. 

Inevitably, the simple words, “Oh, no!” would ring out several times during the course of the meal and it was certain that a mushroom or chunk of meat had disengaged itself from the two-pronged fork and was instantly floundering about without the help from a color connection to its owner. Work to reclaim the morsel had to be activated immediately or the old adage “you snooze, you lose” would apply. Fondue night took no prisoners.

This September, I may be partaking in yet another form of cheesy delight called raclette. Here, instead of melting cheese in a pot, this dish, native to parts of Switzerland, heats a round of raclette cheese, either in front of a fire or by a special machine, then the melting cheese is scraped onto diners’ plates. Often the cheese will drip over boiled new potatoes, whole small onions, and dried meat such as ham or salami. Served with a Kirsch or white wine it would be nothing short of magnifique!

RACLETTE CHEESE WITH POTATOES

If Dan and I choose Paris as our destination anniversary in September, we may be having to walk-off daily croissants, decadent treats from the patisserie, armfuls of baguettes, and bistro lunches made up of raclette cheese and potatoes! This prospect places me in my happy place. I will keep you posted as time passes. Fingers crossed!

The fondue dinner the other evening was not about all of us, it was about Gavin; It was about making happy family memories that will last a lifetime. Gavin loved it! The pleasant look of joy on his face was evident throughout all three courses. Beginning with the cheese and bread fondue, next came the meat entrée, and all was sweetly finished off with strawberries, marshmallows, miniature macarons, bananas, and so much more all dipped into melted chocolate— guaranteed to melt in your mouth. 

Between heavenly bites of culinary bliss and opening his birthday gifts, I believe Gavin was a very happy guy. Seeing your child or grandchild smiling from ear to ear is always the frosting on the cake. Having them try something to eat that is so different and brand new to them and see that they truly like it—would make any parent happy. Great job, Ali! 

Even though enjoying a fondue meal can be a little aggressive and absolutely messy at times, it is so delicious. Ali and I are planning on dusting off our stored fondue pots and creating our own fondue night, very soon. I see two great things about this: happily what goes around comes back around, in due time, and eating a fondue meal with your family within the comfort and seclusion of your own home will be priceless!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE UNCHARTED SPACE CALLED CHANGE

 

A series of essays….

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
ARE YOU READY FOR CHANGE?

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

With the beginning of a brand new year, a certain amount of change is inevitable. Resolutions are firm decisions to do or not to do something. And, sure enough, most of us resolve to make changes, hopefully for the betterment of our lives: lose weight, read more books, advance our career with a better job that pays more money, quit smoking, eat more healthily, share our love for others more openly, and improve our lives in general. 

Often, our resolutions prove to be difficult to keep as the days and weeks of the new year roll out before us. Our intentions are good but the hard work required to see the changes take place can prove long and tedious and life itself often gets in our way. 

Yes, some might choose to call this added pressure that we place on ourselves. After all, we were born to be real and not to be perfect. It’s always nice to know that we tried even though we may not always succeed.

This past September marked my ninth year of diligently placing my weekly stories out into the ethos with my individual thought processes, mindset, floating along the waves of social media and direct to you. I believed that if I understood what made me tick (travel, people of other cultures, new landscapes discovered), I could better understand what makes others tick and share ideas and experiences with them.

My ideas evolved into so much more as time passed. Life rubbed off on me—in a good way.  My travel recollections progressed into childhood memories, to fictional characters sipping coffee and tea in their neighborhood coffeehouse while exchanging ideas about life, to the positive side of politics that, suddenly, became the negative side of life in general on Tuesday, November 8, 2016. Yes, politics engulfed me and I felt it my duty to express truth over all of the evil that surrounded us during his four years in office and beyond!

My innocence back in September of 2013, right after my return from the Wild Atlantic Way of coastal Ireland, was coupled with passion for the two things that pulled at my heart and soul—writing and travel. My Blog post was entitled Moving On…2013 and was born out of guts and determination. It reflected my love for travel, but it proved to be laying the groundwork for something much bigger and stronger: my imagination. 

I was building a forum for my thoughts and expressions that knew no boundaries; was open to my own interpretations and could float me along an uncharted space by just closing my eyes while choosing which direction to travel inside my mind that particular week. It was a very heady scenario for me as a writer which, eventually, proved delightful and often quite therapeutic. The research alone behind most of my stories was a form of knowledge and enlightenment that opened up my mind to even bigger and better things. And then, I got to write about it and share it all with you.

You may or may not have noticed the mini-vacation from my Blog post these past few weeks. I’ve taken this time to try and work out several aspects that have relentlessly nagged at me after nine years of blogging. I asked myself if blogging was the best way to communicate with my readers and was I able, via my Blog, to reach out to more readers each week? Given the algorithm employed by Facebook, readership was not growing. 

I discovered that more hard work was needed and that submitting to various writing journals for publication would be a favorable addition to weekly posts. I understood the importance of making time to publish my manuscript that began long ago but continues to pull me in multiple directions like a small child freed from parental restraints. This work has taken me back to the reason I fell in love with writing in the first place, as a young elementary student reading Nancy Drew mysteries I’d checked out from the school library.

So—I believed that my attempt at working out what is right for me was better accomplished during the busy holiday weeks when time can be filled with organic detritus and white noise anyway. I could afford to take a mini-break. Being with family and friends helped me think about what my future plans might be; place what is most important into proper perspective.

Some of you missed my weekly frolic into the unknown, simplified, and unsupervised world of my imagination. Thank you for noticing and expressing your thoughts. I’ve written about this, before: the ego of most writers (artists in general) is happiest when it is stroked by those who appreciate all of their hard work and effort. I, unabashedly, fit into this portrait and attribute some of my best work with this thought in mind. After all, you, my readers, are who I aim to please and, for this reason, I take my work, seriously!

So, with the New Year, 2023, right around the corner, I resolve to make various changes in my work, hopefully, for the better. If you, as a reader, decide to leave my story hanging like a piece of fruit on a tree—I must either accept this or work even harder for your comments and reactions to my posts. Also, with you sharing my work on social media it would help to play it forward for more people to see, read, glean and harvest the messages my stories are sending out.

I thank you for your kind patience. Soon, I will be changing the look of my site with regards to freshness and being a bit brighter, softer. Sometimes change comes easily and sometimes it takes a village to make things happen. Surprisingly, I’m all for change if it is a means for making things better and clearer for others to understand and accept.

Here’s wishing all of you one of the Happiest New Years you could possibly imagine. After all we’ve been through in the past several years, I think each and every one of us deserves it! Let’s embrace the changes being made in order to accept all of the wonders this coming year has to offer. And, let’s make ‘Love’ shine through in every way possible…!

Live Kindly

Laugh Wholeheartedly 

Love Deeply

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

YOU MUST HAVE, TOO!

 

A series of essays….

HUMAN LIFE AND WELL-BEING IS REFLECTED IN THE BEAUTY 
OF NATURE. ALL LIVES ARE BEAUTIFUL AND EACH ONE OF US
SHOULD BE TREATED WITH DECENCY AND RESPECT.

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

“Yesterday was a good day for democracy and for America!”

                                                                  —President Joseph Biden

Recently, I remember having lived (uncomfortably) through the rumblings of lies vs. truths (boy, how this one covers a lot of territory!), hate vs. love, what is wrong compared to what is right, and possibly learning how to exist within a world so foreign to most of us that our lives would be compared to those living in an insecure, developing country. You must have heard the rumblings, too!

And, the deep rumblings continue to be heard. I feel them in the depths of my being. Then—yesterday happened! People of all ancestries, religions, and ethnicities helped pull together, literally, at the ballot boxes, drop boxes, and via the USPS and gave us hope to cling to. We are not perfect, by any means, but we sure know how to work together when we need to. You might be feeling this, too!

Whether Democrats can hold on to the House, as well as take the Senate remains to be tallied. Democrats are resigned to the fact that anything worth having is not something that is easily obtained. That’s just the nature of the beast. But, we are learning to fight harder, be stronger, and not accept the easily conjured lies that bounce off GOP walls, as out of control as a bright red, rubber ball; the skid marks left behind indicating chaos and decline. You might be seeing this happening, too!

I have never been a poll watcher or even believed in the speculative accumulation of numbers based on sections of lives gathered by a handful of others. I feel good about this choice. Yesterday’s voting proved to me that my feeling about never following polls is a good one. Knowledge over conjecture is a winner every time. Do you feel this way, too?

The future we desire is not based upon our politics alone. Up until six years ago, we were able to live under a red or a blue administration because we realized that to be happy and progressive, it was best to learn how to work with one another rather than against one another. And, this was pretty much the political standard we all enjoyed within a democratic society as we continued to carry-on in our daily routines. Do you believe in giving everyone the benefit of the doubt? 

I now have renewed faith in our youth and believe that they do care and are concerned about the future. They are not little robots being fed certain data and expected to grow into their parents footsteps, without personal feelings or hope. The protection of the Earth and climate related concerns do take priority in their lives. They are the tough ones who have had to live through the murder of a fellow classmates and the distinct possibility of not owning the rights to their own body after believing that they did. Their struggle to survive is based on their strengths and personal experiences. We must learn how to place ourselves in their shoes in order to understand where they’re coming from.

We continue to grow-up together, side by side, and strive to be stronger than ever! Yes, the deniers still exist after yesterday’s elections. We have, unfortunately, allowed them to infiltrate our daily lives. Their undoing will always be their lack of proper, working policies that would propel us forward in peace and harmony, as well as their unwavering hatred of hard work and forward thinking. I recall my dear Mother insisting that it’s always better to just tell the truth. Lies can only lead to more lies until you can’t distinguish the lies from the truth. Do you remember this hard learned lesson of your youth? When did the Republican Party forget about this?

Yesterday, I learned that there are more people expressing hope and love than people embracing the open greediness established six years ago in Washington D.C. I heard the bells ring on top of the hill drawing people from all walks of life into a much better, kinder place. Our love for Mother Earth and all of the lives she nourishes are the musical voices that are learning to harmonize in glorious solidarity. The tide is turning. I do have faith in the bells, voices, sighs of hope and love that I hear surrounding me today. You must have, too!

Thoughts: let’s be patient, but strong; unified in being truthful and honest with one another. Understand that spreading lies is a sign of weakness. Truthfulness will shine a light on progressiveness. Please remember that democracy is not for sale!

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved