It’s very difficult to believe anything the Obama administration says after the many times it has lied to the American people. The latest involves the death of U.S. journalist James Foley.

The day the world learned that ISIS/ISIL had beheaded Foley, Obama trotted out before the camera’s to speak half-heartedly about what a dastardly thing this was and how the terrorists would pay. Later it was learned that less than ten minutes later, Obama was back out on the golf course yucking it up.

Because of this and to avert detention from looking like a schmuck, the Obama administration went on the defensive. They released a statement claiming they had tried to rescue Foley, but because of ‘faulty intelligence,’ the top-secret raid into Syria failed.

This is where the lie begins. The administration said the raid, which killed several ISIS/ISIL members, was carried out with such stealth that the Syrian government never knew it happened.

Oddly enough, the Syrian government has remained quiet about the deadly raid. However, the second the Obama administration announced plans to over-fly Syria to look for ISIS/ISIL activities, the Syrian foreign minister threw a fit saying such actions would be considered an act of aggression.

It doesn’t make sense. That’s because its all smoke and mirrors meant to deflect any criticism Obama incurred from callously returning to the links instead of the White House.

The obituary read: “Wilma Rita “Billie” Myers born March 7, 1926 in Alliance, Nebraska passed away on May 5, 2014 in Crescent City, CA. She was a Del Norte County resident for 67 years.”

Every Saturday morning for years I delivered the Time-Standard to Mrs. Myers’ house in Klamath. She lived across the field from us with her husband, Vern.

When I was younger, rumors swirled around her and Judge Hopper, who live a few doors away and across the street from the Myers. I paid no mind to the stories because I never saw any evidence of any untoward behavior between the two.

About three years into the job I was attacked and sexually assaulted by a mentally ill man. At the age of 13 this caused me some confusion as to my sexuality.

Mrs. Myers always asked me in and offered me a cup of coffee, some bacon or sausage and perhaps a biscuit. Being a teenage chow-hound I accepted.

Over time we talked about all sorts of things including some personal stuff. I had grown comfortable enough to tell her about my assault and how I must have done something to have caused it.

On the Saturday morning following my 14th birthday, I knocked on her door. I heard her call out: “The doors unlocked, come in!”

The kitchen was dark and the curtains were closed in the living room which was uncharacteristic for Mrs. Myers. Once my eyes adjusted to the shadows, that’s when I saw her walking down the hallway from the back of the house.

She looked like a spirit as she moved towards me. She was wears a white translucent negligée with light pink ruffles and a pair of clear high heels adorned with pink fur on the strap.

As she drew closer, I stumbled back against the door. I had nowhere to turn to get away and by that time I wasn’t certain I wanted to escape what I believed was about to happen.

Soon her face was so close that she could have kissed me had she wanted to. Instead, she gently traced my eyes, nose, lips and neck with the tip of her nose.

Next she took both of my hands and placed them on her hips. She guided them up and down her body from her thighs to her rib cage.

I took her hand in exchange and placed it firmly on my groin. She jerked her hand away and smiled.

“Don’t you ever worry about your sexuality again,” she whispered, “You’re a one-hundred percent all-American, red-blooded male.”

I melted at that second.

Mrs. Myers turned and started back down the hall, “See you next Saturday.”

Though Sue and I live only a few miles apart, as friends  we generally talk to each other using our computer cameras. It’s all part of living in the 21st century, I guess.

One evening while we were talking, I saw what I thought was an old man standing her hind her. I couldn’t make out any of his facial features as the lamp behind him cast his form in shadow.

No sooner had I realized I could see this man, he moved out of frame. It was somewhat of a surprise as I knew she lived alone.

“Whose that?” I asked out of curiosity.

She frowned, “Whose what?”

“The guy that was standing right behind you,” I shot back.

She spun in her chair to look, but there was no one there. She looked back at me and snorted.

“Must have been my imagination,” I finished.

I believe she had a spirit visit her that night, unfortunately I haven’t seen him again.

Stop putting your own needs on the back burner.
The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.
Yes, help others; but help yourself too.
If there was ever a moment to follow your passion and do something that matters to you, that moment is now.

In 1957, Chairman Bill Boone, announced that Crescent City was prepared for “One of the biggest Fourth of July celebrations in the city’s history.” It was the 28th year that Boone led the Fourth festivities.

He was the impetus for this major event. There is a monument to him in Beachfront Park as it was the heart of the community activities.

The newly formed Junior Chamber of Commerce created a float that took first place in the parade. Their red and white flowered float featured two bathing beauties, Sharon Jones and Mary Hallmark.

Other floats that received awards were entries by the Indian Welfare, the Foursquare Church, the Epsilon Sigma Alpha sorority, the Moosehead Lodge and Jobs Daughters. A line of trucks called Industry on Parade was part of the fun.

The crowd of onlookers cheered the procession as it marched toward parade’s end at the beach. At that time, the area that is now Beachfront Park was a sand dune. It was used much as it is now with booths and attractions.

It was one of the warmest, sunniest days of the summer to the delight of the visitors. The major feature was a merry-go-round, where children lined up for this exciting opportunity.

Also during 1957, the redwood attraction Curly Redwood Lodge opened in July. Contractor Warren Richardson was proud to show off the unique features of the building.

The beautiful curly redwood came from trees owned by Tommy and Lucille Wyllie who were the proprietors. It was especially milled for this purpose by George C. Jacobs Company on Northcrest Drive.

The 26 units plus owner’s apartment featured television, electric heat and pure well water. It was the newest and most modern building in the county. All the redwood came from one tree that was felled in Klamath Glen in 1952.

It was a rare tree in that it was curly right to the tips of the branches. The tree was 85 feet tall, and over 18 feet in circumference.

It was a grand addition to Crescent City and a tourist attraction.

Finally, another asset to the area in July of 1957 was the Coast Guard Patrol Boat. The 83-foot boat needed a proper place and the harbor needed to construct a docking facility, electric power, water and a rain tight building for the personnel paid for by the community.

Commander Neilson of Humboldt Bay said that ten officers and men would work at the site. This was the culmination of many hours of work by The Triplicate, the Board of Supervisors, Crescent City fishermen and other groups interested in the safety of those who use the port.

The county coroner, Norman Weir, stated that a drowning that occurred recently was “uncalled for and could have been avoided.” The need was urgent and the Coast Guard was advised by Congressman Scudder to expedite the patrol boat’s arrival in the port.

As far as I can remember, my brother Adam had always been hyper. Many times I recall my parents shouting, “Adam, sit down!” “Adam, be quiet!” or “Adam, pay attention!”

After a while it drove my folk’s nuts and they sought medical help at the recommendation of the Del Norte County Unified School District. Adam was perhaps seven or eight years old when he was prescribed a drug called Dilantin.

Initially, it turned Adam into a dull and lethargic boy. Later, as frustration built-in him over his condition, he grew angry and aggressive.

I had only known him up to that time as kind and gentle and it was hard for me to watch him change.

One day as we were standing in the kitchen where his meds were kept, he offered me his daily dose. Adam really wanted me to experience what he was going through.

Reluctantly I accepted, finding the two triangular-shaped pills tasted minty and not unpleasant at all. Less than half an hour later I had forgotten about the taste as the medication took effect of my mind and body.

Plainly put, the shit slowed my heart rate down the point I felt light-headed and dizzy. Meanwhile my mind was racing and I was unable to keep a hold of one thought or another.

The color of the sky, the grass, my skin all took on brighter than normal hues. Birds singing, cars zipping by on the highway and people talking all became an insult to my ears as they were so distorted.

Later, after the effects wore off, I told Mom and Dad about what Adam and I had done. I also tried to explain what I had gone through, but in the end all I got was a butt-whipping.

To this day, I don’t know if Adam disliked what the pills did to him, or if he came to enjoy his medicated world. What I do know is that my experience led me to fight to keep my son, Kyle from being medicated when the Washoe County School District recommended he’d be a god candidate for such a program.

Jus’ before bed, I took the dog outside. While standing by the garage door, next to our rose bushes, I was touched with the idea to clip one and take it into our bedroom for my wife.

Since she was already asleep, I grabbed a glass and filled it with water and placed the rose in it. Then I set it in our bathroom next to her toothbrush so she’d be certain to see it.

Mary gets up and goes to work early and is long gone before I claw my way out of bed to begin my day. Because of this, there are times when we don’t get much time to visit and the rose was my simple way of saying, “I’m thinking about you.”

When I got up the next morning, much to my delight, I saw there were now two roses in the glass. My wife let me know she was thinking of me too.

Stop lying to yourself.
You can lie to anyone else in the world, but you can’t lie to yourself.
Our lives improve only when we take chances, and the first and most difficult chance we can take is to be honest with ourselves.

When I was a kid, our next-door neighbor, Charles Coke told me when a person sneezed that opened the body to invasion by the Devil. Therefore, it was not only polite but an act of faith to say “God bless you” or “bless you” to ward off evil.

I say it automatically anytime I hear a sneeze, even if I don’t actually know who sneezed.

Adding to what Mr. Coke told me, a 2009 article in National Geographic claimed that during the plague of 590 AD, “Pope Gregory I ordered unceasing prayer for divine intercession. Part of his command was that anyone sneezing be blessed immediately (“God bless you”), since sneezing was often the first sign that someone was falling ill with the plague.”

But now even publicly ‘blessing’ someone is politically incorrect as the Dyersburg, Tennessee ‘State Gazette,’ reports: “The incident involved 17-year-old Kendra Turner, a senior at the high school. Turner was in class on Monday morning and said ‘bless you’ after a fellow classmate sneezed. The phrase was listed on the chalkboard as one of several students were not supposed to say during class, according to Turner.”

Evidently, the phrase is one of several that the ‘respected’ 40-year veteran teacher doesn’t allow spoken in her classroom. This list also includes “my bad,” ”hang out,” ”dumb,” ”stupid” and “stuff.”

Turner may have broken the ‘rules,’ but I think was she being polite out of habit not being disobedient towards the teacher or her classmates. I think this is why it is up to parents to teach their kids ‘good manners’ and not leave it up to school teachers.

Let me jus’ put it out there – the media in this country is neither fair, impartial nor ethical. It’s full of bigoted people whose points of view are continually on display, corrupting the truth.

An unarmed Michael Brown, a Black 18-year-old died Saturday, August 9th after being shot by Darren Wilson, a white police officer with the Ferguson Missouri Police Department.  Two day’s later FOX News 13 in Utah reported the same thing happened on Monday, August 11th:

“A man is dead after an officer-involved shooting in South Salt Lake Monday night, according to Salt Lake City Police. Relatives of 20-year-old Dillon Taylor, the man who was shot, said he wasn’t armed.”

Seems as if we’ve all heard this before – but there’s a twist according to the Deseret News:

 “(Salt Lake City Police Chief Chris Burbank) also addressed speculation about the ethnicity of the officer who shot Taylor, saying the officer is not white.”

Grainy video released by Salt Lake’s KUTV shows what appears to be a Black officer confronting Taylor and two other’s jus’ seconds before the shooting happened.

So, a Black police officer shoots and kills an unarmed while man and no one comes to the defense of the dead man. Where are Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, attorney Benjamin Crump, the rioters and the looters?

They’re where the camera’s are, that’s where. Unfortunately, those same cameras ought not to be in Ferguson unless they’re also willing to report on what is happening in Salt Lake City too.

But since it doesn’t fit the national media’s progressive agenda, there isn’t one camera from ABC, CBS, CNN, FOX or NBC focusing on the Dillon Taylor case. After all, whoever heard of a white man falling victim to the racial prejudice of a Black man?