Man advances from the complex to the simple. Good plan, Bob!
Just think, $40,000,000 can do this. That is a A tid-bit to the nearly $17,000,000,000,000 National debt or the $285,000,000,000 sequestration o proposed and got.
It is far too simple for our simple pUSA or the mostly over-stayed supposed representatives in our federal government. They can spend millions, billions, and trillions on their pet projects and on themselves. Don't let the dollars get to the ordinary non-represented citizens or to the wounded warriors whose families still suffer.
Kerry and o gave $$$$$$$$$$ to Egypt as well as equipment to Morsi, an avowed enemy of Israel. . An add on TV this evening shows the elders of Israel wanting for food and donations from the citizens of America. Aren't the Jewish people our allies? And American Jews still vote more for o the new dictator.
Subject:Fw: Fwd: SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN!!!
BEST THING I HAVE READ YET.....
From a senior citizen around 80 yrs. of age. We aren't useless yet.
The Fix
There recently was an article in the
St. Petersburg , Fl. Times.
The Business Section
asked readers for ideas on: "How Would You Fix the Economy?"
I think this guy nailed it!
Dear Mr. President,
Please find below my suggestion
for fixing America 's economy.
Instead of giving billions of dollars to companies
that will squander the money on lavish parties and
unearned bonuses, use the following plan.
You can call it the
"Patriotic Retirement
Plan":
There are about 40
million people over 50 in the work force.
Pay them
$1 million apiece severance for early retirement
with the following
stipulations:
1) They MUST
retire.
Forty million job openings -
Unemployment
fixed.
2) They MUST buy a new
AMERICAN Car.
Forty million cars ordered -
Auto Industry fixed.
3) They MUST
either buy a house or pay off their mortgage -
Housing Crisis fixed.
It can't
get any easier than
that!!
P.S. If more money is
needed, have all members in Congress pay their taxes.
Mr. President, while
you're at it, make Congress retire on Social
Security and Medicare. I'll bet both programs would be fixed pronto!
If you think
this would work, please forward to everyone you know.
If not, please disregard.
-- BOB
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
A wonderful recycle, friend John Bob L!
And we need our angels now. We aren't Jewish, Bob, but you bet o's youth will want to wipe out all ex-GIs and USA patriots. Sadly, I must say that I believe the re-Hitlerization is happening now in this wonderful country we served to preserve its freedom.
SamKat
> God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform!
>
> August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland
> The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously.
> All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto
> Had been herded into a square.
>
> Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only
> recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded
> ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.
>
> 'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell
> them your age. Say you're sixteen.
>
> 'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be
> deemed valuable as a worker.
>
> An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones.. He
> looked me up and down, and then asked my age.
>
> 'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and
> other healthy young men already stood..
>
> My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick
> and elderly people.
>
> I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?'
> He didn't answer.
> I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her..
> 'No, 'she said sternly.
> 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
>
> She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was
> protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not
> to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
>
> My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany.
>
> We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and were
> led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and
> identification numbers.
>
> 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
>
> I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
> hand-cranked elevator.
>
> I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
>
> Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
> sub-camps near Berlin.
>
> One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.
>
> 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'
>
> Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.
>
> But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And
> hunger. And fear.
>
> A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks,
> near the barbed wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was
> alone.
>
> On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with
> light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
>
> I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in
> German. 'Do you have something to eat?'
>
> She didn't understand.
>
> I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She
> stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet,
> but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
>
> She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.
>
> I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
> 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
>
> I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She
> was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better
> yet, an apple.
>
> We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.
>
> I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she
> understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me?
>
> Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence
> gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.
>
> Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car
> and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia .
>
> 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'
>
> I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye
> to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
>
> We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and
> Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.
>
> On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.
>
> In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed
> ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.
>
> I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
>
> But at 8 a.m. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running
> every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
>
> Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was
> running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived;
>
> I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key
> to my survival.
>
> In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
> life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.
>
> My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
>
> Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
> charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
> and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam
> had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
> returned to New York City after two years.
>
> By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to
> settle in.
>
> One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.
> 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'
> A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few
> days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend
> Roma.
>
> I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a
> Bronx hospital.. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling
> brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
>
> The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy
> to be with.. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!
>
> We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the
> boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the
> shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.
>
> We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.
>
> As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been
> left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she
> asked softly, 'during the war?'
>
> 'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable
> loss..I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
>
> She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin
> ,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.'
>
> I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And
> yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.
>
> 'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and
> I would throw him apples every day.'
>
> What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did
> he look like? I asked.
>
> 'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six
> months.'
>
> My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be.
> 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving
> Schlieben?'
>
> Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'
>
> 'That was me!'
>
> I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't
> believe it! My angel.
>
> 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on
> that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
>
> 'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
> Shabbat dinner the following week.
>
> There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most
> important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many
> months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given
> me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.
>
> That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
> marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
>
> This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.
> This e-mail is intended to reach 40 million people world-wide.
> Join us and be a link in the memorial chain and help us distribute it
> around the world.
>
> Please send this e-mail to 10 people you know and ask them to continue the
> memorial chain.
>
> Please don't just delete it.
> It will only take you a minute to pass this along. Thanks!
>
SamKat
> God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform!
>
> August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland
> The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously.
> All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto
> Had been herded into a square.
>
> Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only
> recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded
> ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.
>
> 'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell
> them your age. Say you're sixteen.
>
> 'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be
> deemed valuable as a worker.
>
> An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones.. He
> looked me up and down, and then asked my age.
>
> 'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and
> other healthy young men already stood..
>
> My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick
> and elderly people.
>
> I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?'
> He didn't answer.
> I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her..
> 'No, 'she said sternly.
> 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
>
> She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was
> protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not
> to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
>
> My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany.
>
> We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and were
> led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and
> identification numbers.
>
> 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'
>
> I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
> hand-cranked elevator.
>
> I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
>
> Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's
> sub-camps near Berlin.
>
> One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.
>
> 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'
>
> Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.
>
> But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And
> hunger. And fear.
>
> A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks,
> near the barbed wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was
> alone.
>
> On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with
> light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
>
> I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in
> German. 'Do you have something to eat?'
>
> She didn't understand.
>
> I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She
> stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet,
> but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
>
> She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.
>
> I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
> 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
>
> I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She
> was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better
> yet, an apple.
>
> We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.
>
> I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she
> understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me?
>
> Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence
> gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.
>
> Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car
> and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia .
>
> 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'
>
> I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye
> to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
>
> We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and
> Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.
>
> On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.
>
> In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed
> ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.
>
> I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.
>
> But at 8 a.m. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running
> every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.
>
> Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was
> running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived;
>
> I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key
> to my survival.
>
> In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
> life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.
>
> My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
>
> Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
> charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
> and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam
> had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
> returned to New York City after two years.
>
> By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to
> settle in.
>
> One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.
> 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'
> A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few
> days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend
> Roma.
>
> I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a
> Bronx hospital.. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling
> brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
>
> The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy
> to be with.. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!
>
> We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the
> boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the
> shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.
>
> We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.
>
> As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been
> left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she
> asked softly, 'during the war?'
>
> 'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable
> loss..I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.
>
> She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin
> ,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.'
>
> I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And
> yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.
>
> 'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and
> I would throw him apples every day.'
>
> What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did
> he look like? I asked.
>
> 'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six
> months.'
>
> My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be.
> 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving
> Schlieben?'
>
> Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'
>
> 'That was me!'
>
> I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't
> believe it! My angel.
>
> 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on
> that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.
>
> 'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for
> Shabbat dinner the following week.
>
> There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most
> important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many
> months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given
> me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.
>
> That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
> marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
>
> This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.
> This e-mail is intended to reach 40 million people world-wide.
> Join us and be a link in the memorial chain and help us distribute it
> around the world.
>
> Please send this e-mail to 10 people you know and ask them to continue the
> memorial chain.
>
> Please don't just delete it.
> It will only take you a minute to pass this along. Thanks!
>
Check your bank account ... thanks Lyle S!
CHECK
YOUR BANK ACCOUNT (I love
this).
Bank
Account
If
I don't get this back , I will
know
You
really didn't read it.. I got
this
From
someone and thought the last
Part was really a good thought..
Too bad that the person who sent it
Part was really a good thought..
Too bad that the person who sent it
To
me did not know 10 people who
Would admit to knowing the Lord.
I know 10 people..
Would admit to knowing the Lord.
I know 10 people..
(If you don't know 10 people, that's
ok-send it to those you do know...)
AND "... in my Father's house are many mansions" is the most wonf=derful promise this world has ever known!
SamKat
One second before ... Thanks Lou F!
One second before...great pictures and timing
..
|
One second before...
Awesome pictures....
GREAT PICS
|
Lions and lyins ... Thanks Ramey H!
Not
a Photoshop. Taken with an iPhone on Rt. 101 in Thousand Oaks,
California this week.
Send this one on and on and on . . .
Send this one on and on and on . . .
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