Hillary's Pants Spontaneously Combust Courtesy of Judicial Watch

So. Hillary knew nothing about the Benghazi attacks on September 11, 2012, other than some American film critical of Mohammed caused a few annoying problems in northern Africa.

Not according to documents obtained by Judicial Watch from the Departments of State and Defense. The whole Obama Administration knew something was afoot, and they knew it ten days in advance of the slaughter.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. That's not an attractive look, Ms. Presidential Candidate.

Still Remembering

I'll get to happier things another day -- such as our recent trip to ALASKA!!! -- but today is September 11th.  It's September 11th, the day after our president commandeered the airwaves and thoroughly confused the nation with his irreconcilable position(s) on a strike against Syria. (An "unbelievably small,  limited kind of effort" according to alleged Secretary of State, John Kerry.)

[Telegraphed by Kerry, the Young President drops back and quick kicks to Russia . . . ]

 Anyway, being dreadfully confused, and needing to focus on more pleasant things, I believe I'll re-post 2010's 9/11  entry.  It's about how the 9/11 attacks changed my life for the better:

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Remembrance and Reflection

September 11th.  9/11.  9 - 1 - 1.

The repercussions from that day are many and diverse, aside from the obvious holes in the ground and in our hearts. 

The wound -- the pandemic pain and suffering that we all shared with one another and the families of the fallen -- is still here even though it's scabbed over now.  I suspect, however, that it wouldn't take much to knock the scab off and start the blood flowing all over again.  I think the kerfuffles over Koran-burning and mosque-building the last couple of weeks are proof positive of that suspicion.

For the last 8 years, I've gotten pretty contemplative during the days leading up to this date, as have most Americans, I imagine.

My younger cousin posted on Facebook this morning that she had just dropped off her young children at school when the first plane hit.  She firmly believes her oldest is now a Cadet at West Point as a direct consequence of that day's events.

Pepper was on one of the first civilian flights cleared to take off on September 14th.  He was headed to a meeting originally scheduled to take place at the Pentagon, but re-located after al-Qaeda crashed a plane into it.  There had been friends in the Pentagon that September morning.  It was hard to watch him get on that plane.

We all recall where we were, what we were doing, how life changed after the towers fell.  My own life changed dramatically but, oddly, for the better after that day.

Having moved down to New Orleans full-time only a couple of months beforehand, I knew but a few souls in the whole city and those few were still just passing acquaintances.  My father was in Little Rock.  All the kids were out of the house, married or in college towns in Arkansas and Louisiana.  On the 11th, the girls badly wanted to ditch classes and run to mama's and daddy's arms for comfort as they did when they were little, but we encouraged them to stick it out where they were.  That sounds like "tough love" but, truth be told, we were scared to put them on the highways, not knowing what was next and conjuring up Armageddon.  It was a very, very lonely time.

The week following the attacks, I saw a newspaper article about a service designed to support local military families that had been affected.  I called the telephone number in the article, and when the voice at the other end of the line asked how she could help me, I replied that I wasn't seeking help, I wanted to volunteer with the program.  She handed the phone to a man who has since become a close friend, and that conversation led me to eventual membership in the Mayor's Military Advisory Committee, The Military Officers' Wives' Club, and ESGR (Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve).  September 11th molded my life in New Orleans and blessed me with new friends and volunteer opportunities.

I'm not sure why, but I never really appreciated that blessing until this year: out of disaster came a fresh start; out of reflection came recognition.

Would that it could be that way for the world. 

Now.  If we could just get a little satisfaction on Benghazi . . .  .

There Actually Were More Innocent Times . . .

(L to R) Elder Daughter, Younger Daughter, and JB's Little in more innocent times:

Sometimes this photo haunts me.

As does this day.

God bless America.

Razorbacks Don't Forget

For those of you unfortunate enough to have missed the Razorbacks' drubbing of New Mexico's Lobos last Saturday night, let me fill you in on something pretty cool.

To commemorate the 10th anniversary of 9/11, War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock (where the game was played) became Patriot Central.  The ordinarily fiery-red running Razorback painted on the center of the field became this:

And looked like this on the field:

And the stands almost became Old Glory as alternating sections wore red or white shirts; the students wore blue:

And people actually did it!  It looked very impressive.

There was even a special logo designed for this particular game -- Razorbacks Remember:

I'm told the halftime show was very moving.

I'd say the nation, as a whole, pulled off a fitting tribute to 2001's national nightmare.  Let's pray we never have to be quite that creative again.

This day . . .

. . . is a day of images indelibly burned forever in our memories, obliterating the divine gift of forgiveness. A day born in the commonplace became uncommon in the space of four heartbeats as four aircraft came to an untimely . . . stop.  And, for awhile, everything else stopped, too.  Even our breathing.

I think this date shall always be thus as long as I tread this Earth.  And, perhaps even beyond those days.

The scab is healed, but the scar remains, never to fade.

God bless America.

I'll Let It Go For Awhile After This One . . .

I'll get to something more fun a little later, but I seem to have a 9/11 hangover -- can't seem to shake "that feeling."  I ran across this one, and I think it bears repeating as we try to get back into the rhythm of life:

Tuesday, October 13, 2009


New Orleans Gives the U.S.S. New York a Send-off Befitting Her Heritage

The master shipbuilders at Avondale, Louisiana, have crafted an emotional work of art and might: the U.S.S. New York.

In a labor of love, the artisans began construction in 2004 on the 684-foot amphibious transport dock ship. This morning -- on a fog-shrouded Mississippi River -- she began her maiden voyage to her namesake City for commissioning into the United States Navy. Thousands of southeast Louisianians lined the River to bid her "fair winds and following seas;" she was saluted with two separate 21-gun salutes, hundreds of fluttering American flags, and musical tributes.

Northrup-Grumman's Avondale shipyard has produced countless ships for our mighty military over the years, so what makes this particular transport vessel so remarkable?

She has already known adversity, this gray beauty -- during her construction, she weathered Hurricanes Katrina (and its aftermath), Ike, and Gustav. But she's also a survivor -- incorporated into her bow stem are about 7 1/2 tons of steel from the New York World Trade Center, felled during the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on our nation.

As an unofficial Honor Guard, near the starting line of her voyage a swarm of police and emergency vehicles flashed their lights in honor of the 343 firefighters and police officers who died in the World Trade Center. Through the steel in her bow, commemorating the thousands of innocents and heroes who unexpectedly lost their lives on that clear September morn, she's already blessed by scores of Guardian Angels. Even so, we add our blessing to theirs.

Bon voyage, New York; may you know fair winds and following seas indeed.

Remembrance and Reflection

September 11th.  9/11.  9 - 1 - 1.

The repercussions from that day are many and diverse, aside from the obvious holes in the ground and in our hearts. 

The wound -- the pandemic pain and suffering that we all shared with one another and the families of the fallen -- is still here even though it's scabbed over now.  I suspect, however, that it wouldn't take much to knock the scab off and start the blood flowing all over again.  I think the kerfuffles over Koran-burning and mosque-building the last couple of weeks are proof positive of that suspicion.

For the last 8 years, I've gotten pretty contemplative during the days leading up to this date, as have most Americans, I imagine.

My younger cousin posted on Facebook this morning that she had just dropped off her young children at school when the first plane hit.  She firmly believes her oldest is now a Cadet at West Point as a direct consequence of that day's events.

Pepper was on one of the first civilian flights cleared to take off on September 14th.  He was headed to a meeting originally scheduled to take place at the Pentagon, but re-located after al-Qaeda crashed a plane into it.  There had been friends in the Pentagon that September morning.  It was hard to watch him get on that plane.

We all recall where we were, what we were doing, how life changed after the towers fell.  My own life changed dramatically but, oddly, for the better after that day.

Having moved down to New Orleans full-time only a couple of months beforehand, I knew but a few souls in the whole city and those few were still just passing acquaintances.  My father was in Little Rock.  All the kids were out of the house, married or in college towns in Arkansas and Louisiana.  On the 11th, the girls badly wanted to ditch classes and run to mama's and daddy's arms for comfort as they did when they were little, but we encouraged them to stick it out where they were.  That sounds like "tough love" but, truth be told, we were scared to put them on the highways, not knowing what was next and conjuring up Armageddon.  It was a very, very lonely time.

The week following the attacks, I saw a newspaper article about a service designed to support local military families that had been affected.  I called the telephone number in the article, and when the voice at the other end of the line asked how she could help me, I replied that I wasn't seeking help, I wanted to volunteer with the program.  She handed the phone to a man who has since become a close friend, and that conversation led me to eventual membership in the Mayor's Military Advisory Committee, The Military Officers' Wives' Club, and ESGR (Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve).  September 11th molded my life in New Orleans and blessed me with new friends and volunteer opportunities.

I'm not sure why, but I never really appreciated that blessing until this year: out of disaster came a fresh start; out of reflection came recognition.

Would that it could be that way for the world. 

Evil + Eight Years -- and Still Out There

Remembering this day and each day.

Ever vigilant.

Never to convince me that the U.S. Coast Guard would conduct such an exercise on this, of all days.