​Dear America,
 
You’re going through some troubles right now. You’re looking beaten down and battered. Some of my friends and family members, most of them much younger than I, are wondering whether the American Dream, which was always more about freedom than about material success, though the two go hand in hand, is coming to an end. 

Below are some posts that may help keep the candle burning.

https://www.intellectualtakeout.org/hindsight-is-2020-moving-forward-post-pandemic/

https://www.theepochtimes.com/virtue-and-character-lessons-learned-from-winston-churchill_3351219.html

https://www.theepochtimes.com/remembering-the-meaning-of-memorial-day_3354463.html

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Here's an article I wrote for The Epoch Times: https://www.theepochtimes.com/grace-notes-cooperation-and-kindness_3354494.html

Please clip and paste.

Kindness, like coronavirus, is contagious. 

In Memoriam: Kristine Gillet (September 9, 1952- May 17, 2004), beloved wife and mother

Tonight the moon brings back the night my nights
Alone were swept from me. Some thread of fate--
God’s hand? The wheel? The stars? A meteorite?--
That night bound you and me to us. Our freight

Of words bore weights that words were meant to bear.
Each smile conveyed a code, each coded glance
Encrypted secrets only we could share.
An angel said, “Give the guy a chance!”

A drunken sidewalk Gabriel whose arms
Gave comfort to that chill prophetic night.
He gave no hint, nor did the stars, that charms
May fade, that roses bloom but also bite.

​I do not care. By moon I stay foresworn:
That night we met was worth ten thousand storms.

A great book. Some thoughts at the end about the Blitz and our pandemic.

https://smokymountainnews.com/aae/item/29043-churchill-s-spirit-comes-through-in-new-biography

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A verse written 14 years ago. May all find shelter in this time of distress. 

Antidote
 
The mechanisms of the brain can break
When catastrophic loss pierces mind with grief;
No word nor touch may this hard cut unmake:
Grief’s dirk strikes deep, a wound beyond relief.
Some curse their lot, some weep, some pray, some mar
Their furtive sleep in hopes that carnal cures
Convince their bleeding gash to turn to scar--
All such devices trick, beguile, lure.
Now I, though lanced by grief, confess this May
Has rounded me with healing convent walls;
Here mockingbird and robin plainsongs sing;
This path is church with fragrant, blossomed halls.
            When winter’s icy blade next makes me prey,
            I beg, sweet Christ, to recollect this day.

An early Mother's Day greetings to all moms everywhere.

https://www.theepochtimes.com/a-thank-you-letter-for-mothers-day_3328807.html

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Dear readers, 

Somber evening here in a gray, cool Virginia dusk. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with me. 

First up, a French song from the movie "The Painted Veil." A lifetime of too many lost ones, too many regrets makes this one special for me. For those whom I loved and who have loved me, thank you, and for those I have wounded, I am sorry. As the song says,  "Long have I loved you, never will I forget you." My living and my dead friends, please know I mean this. Here's the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9kWRpPy1ic

Next up is for those few who still read my posts. I am sorry I have blogged so infrequently here. The days have kept me busy writing for several sites: Intellectual Takeout, The Epoch Times, and The Smoky Mountain News. Emails from various readers, personal obligations, and other demands have also snatched my time,  especially with this mess of virus and fear. 

God bless you and your loved ones in this hard time, 
Jeff

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