Rikers 45,000. Per Prisoner

    That's the cost to keep one prisoner each year at Rikers in New York. By now that may have gone up. So I wonder why these no goods are being paid to work there? Why? First they break the law costing taxpayers, then go to prison and continue to cost taxpayers and yet the trash gets an education, free medical and dental, haircuts, prison clothes, showers-yes shower-waters cost money- food, phone calls. This is BS, yet we as citizens are told if we don't educate them, they will get out and repeat.
   I really believe, put them in an ARMY uniform and give them a real education by dropping this trash off in war zones. Go in cowrads, come out men. Prisoners are nothing but cowards who can't face life ! You want a free pass, defend your country you slime, and we also need to bring back the electric chair!

Close Worldwide Borders for FIVE years !!!

       Let's work on cleaning up our own country, feeding and caring for our own children , elderly parents and vets, our health care and education system. That also means energy containment. Lets get back to square one. We have our own energy, so let's use it.

       Now today I saw and listened to Mandy Patinkin and he made a lot of sense. He stated things like lets invite people into our homes, show love as he did, but he really never went into more detail about how that came about. We would really invite a Muslim or Arabic, Syrian family into our homes knowing what we know now? Honestly, not sure. But I get Patinkin's point. He spoke about the Gaza strip and how to make it better. He said freedom, justice and integrity, meaning we, the US should give people what we have, education, housing, food and a quality of life. Then they won't want to harm us. Maybe, but why take it out on the US. Why not take their guns, bombs out on their own countries?
 
     Okay now here I am about this Fiance' visa's? Bull Crap loud and clear. That show 90 day fiance is also bull crap. It has to stop and stop yesterday. These people who are grabbing spouses from other countries are saying loud and clear-MY PEOPLE ARE NO GOOD-i HAVE TO GET A SPOUSE FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY!
     Okay, good, Fine, then you move to that country !!!

      Our borders need to close for five years along with international travel.  Sure other countries are beautiful, but so is ours. Ships get hi jacked trying to do good, planes are hi-jacked in normal travel, schools are bombed, shot up, businesses blown up, kids killed and yes, I know, I know, our own home grown idiots are doing it also which is more reason to contain Americans here for five years. Close all borders. Take care of mental health, improve the system and work on legal weapons. Give American jobs back, don't let Americans use overseas for greedy business and if so, AMERICANS do not buy. That product is not allowed here. If we're not good enough to make it then we're sure as hell not good enough to buy it.
    Let AMERICANs live peacefully and not in fear in their own, in our own, in my own Country. Now.

Mr. Harding and The Twins

      I very much enjoy watching Sunday Morning every week. Today was much more enjoyable even with same repeat segments, because you see, in part it was about two little boys who had a fascination playing battleship which then became a fascination with planes, aircraft carriers and battleships. Sorry kids, I did forget your names, but I'm sure many people are very proud to see the hearts of each of you, and the respect you showed to Mr. Harding.
     Mr. Harding is a vet. The twins became fascinated with him once they discovered his name, what he was connected to and that he served during war-time. An elderly gentleman, Mr. Harding has all of his faculties and sat in a chair in a room awaiting a meeting with the twins. The twins enter, not knowing that man a distance away when suddenly one twin smile and asks, looking at Mr. Harding: Mister Harding? The man smiles an ocean wide as the smaller sized twin rushes to hug him and he keeps on hugging him as the other twin joins. You can see through out the personalities of these twins, not identical.
    The passion and emotion in the smaller sized twin is heartfelt. He shows it as emotions arise. Mr. Harding walked steps with the boys on ships, spoke about planes and in the interview showed his emotions too as he spoke to the boys about his war time, something he never spoke about before. Maybe it was all about timing, or simply all about the respect two very young boys who loved playing battleship, deeply had for a man,a man named Mr. Harding.

My Brother Doug and Vietnam

       I never thought to want to write about him before but I probably have in earlier blogs, yet not in this way.
       My brother Doug was the thrid youngest or the sixth from the eldest. He was truly built like a stringbean and last I knew he was six foot-six tall. Doug has greenish blue eyes and always had very thin hair, but grew into looking like  a guy name John Russell, a TV character who played The Lawman. He even grew a mustache and as far as I know still has it.
       As kids Doug loved to tease and play stickball or baseball. He hoped to grow up and pay pro ball. I can't help but think my father dashed that dream as all Dougie wanted to do, finally, was leave home and join the Marines.
       Dougie had a great sense of humor but I think many would say dry. Teasing, he did like he was born to do it and I and my little brother was his number one target. Of course I didn't blame him about the baby brother, he was spoiled rotten and to the core. Dougie was so different than the rest of us as I thought I was too. We were more like observers, not always believing we had the kind of parents that we did, and that they were even called parents. I would watch Doigie stare at my father many times as he puffed with a big nasty mouth. Doug would sit, holding his chin,  finally looking at the floor, he'd get up and walk away. In an apartment there wasn't much room to go away to, except the kitchen, or possible donwstairs on the stoop.
        It appeared to me Doug preferred to be where the male parent wasn't and I didn't blame him. To me he looked like his thoughts were always on his freedom. One day Dougie took exceptional pleasure in teasing the baby brother, and then me. To make it worse he refused to take the trash down when my mother told him, very unlike Doug. But I had it and as soon as my father walked in from work, I told him what was going on. Know this; I never tell, because I know what's coming. Little did I think  about what was about to happen then.
   Here comes Doug to face the music, admits to his fun, and what happened in the next seconds really broke my heart. Dougie found himself on the floor in the next room with my father bellowing over him all kinds of profanities and as he got up, punch! Another hit, in the stomach with Doug in yet another room. HE lay still, doubled over, moaning.I went to him, bending near his side asking if he was hurt and crying. Doug, holding his stomach, knees up to his chest, said, nah, he didn't hurt me. The courage that guy had. I promised from that time on he could tease me all he wanted to and I'd never tell. He did, I didn't. But when he got up, he grabbed the trash and took it out apologizing to my mother, my mother who sat drinking coffee.
     Dougie turned eighteen before we knew it and there he stood saying goodbye with a sargeant promising he wasn't going to war. The Sarge said we don't take them right from boot camp. He was now a Marine, owned by the Government. He went to Vietnam, twice.
      IT seemed like the second time was the hardest. I remember a Marine coming to our Brownstone one day to tell us Dougie was missing, but everything was being done to fine him. Then we got a telegram saying he was wounded and being cared for in a tent in Vietnam, more info would follow. It was almost a month before we received word he was coming home on leave.
   We had a party. I got drunk. We all got drunk. Dougie went to a local park and his grilfriend came to us saying he was crying, hugging a tree, that he didn't want to go back. We were so scared. What? Go Back? I got in the car with my father, who I depsised, but needed to see Dougie. We ran red lights, but arrived. There here was, all six foot-six of him, broad shouldered, thinning hair, a squared chin, in his Marine uniform. It was then I saw my brother leave the tree and hug and cry with my father. Shortly, he came home, slept and packed up to leav the next morning.
    I woke up, hung over, swolled about the eyes, knowing Dougie was leaving and yet had to get on the train. Some lady asked me if I was okay and another said, look at her, she drunk. I withered in the corner thinking of Dougie. My train stopped and I got off at the Broadway stop. The twin Towers started ground breaking across from where I worked and that day a ticker tape parade was going to go on in a couple of hours for an astronaut. My office was on the second floor facing Broadway. Coffee was waiting and my boss saw what a mess I was. I started to cry. She asked me why, that I should be happy, he's home and safe. Then I told her. IN the next seconds a phone rang and a supervisor called me. He yelled, Hey Nance, do you know some guy named Doug? It's for you. He called to say Goodbye.
      I tried, I really tried so hard not to cry. We talked for moments and he too cried a little but I pictured his chin, strong, with that little dimple and in his Marine uniform. We said, so long Doug, so long Nance and see ya soon. About an hour later the parade started. I was called to take a break with others when all of the confetti rang down from the top of my bank and there was the astronaut, waving, smiling, and celebrating. I felt like I hated him. What was there to celebrate? MY brother was going back to war-again!
      Well the time came and Doug did come home, thnak you God and thank you all of his friends who tried so hard to keep one another safe. Doug took some time off, hung out with the baby brother, still spoiled, but Doug was a changed man, very much so. He was wounded and schrapnel left in his back. Medical reacords were botched because many medics were on pot and also over worked without the needed tools. Doug suffered serious effects from Vietnam, yet he married, one marriage, four sons and is I as remembered him, a saint.
     The only brother I ever knew as pure, I am proud of you Doug. I love you Doug forever.