The Gentle Rains of Spring - 3/31/93

Father, thank you for your help. You have been loving and gracious, as always. I hope to develop some of your traits of character as I mature. It was very difficult to surrender the love of one so close. Another time I might not have been able to let go with such contentness, happy just in knowing that she is safe and secure. It's not that I don't miss her, still. I'll miss her for a long, long time. And I'll always love the good things about her. But at least now she's safe.

When we were young, she always cared for me, and I for her; we were friends. We lived in West Virginia then, same as when she left me. But there comes a time in everyone's life when he must put off the old things and go to explore new worlds and learn new things. When we lived in Pennsylvania, she cared about my well-being, then, same as before; and she moved on to New York, but I stayed in Pennsylvania for a time. And now she's gone away again; longer this time than ever before.

We met again in Texas, she and I; still friends. I started a new job there; and she moved to California. It seemed she'd just moved to Texas from Oklahoma, in memory, although she had lived in Oklahoma the few years I was back in West Virginia. From California she moved to Washington; I remained in Texas. Then, finally, she returned to our native West Virginia. I moved to Arizona, California, Washington, and Virginia during those years. But on visits back to these hallow hills of home, we'd visit and talk about the old times and new things endlessly, for hours and hours; sometimes our conversations were completely disjointed, with her telling me about exasperations of the farm, and my commenting about albums as I flipped through them, as if neither of us were talking to anyone, nor hearing the other, but both keenly aware of everything the other said.

Those were the days; she was the ex-executive engineering secretary, ex-hospital worker, returned to the country to try her hand at country living; raising a garden, canning, and even getting a goat and investing in a cow at one point. And I, the office worker, teacher, and entrepreneur of sorts, finally returned to the calmer, saner ways of rural living. Friends again, closer than before, but growing ever farther apart, unknown to us.

It was early November when we learned she had breast cancer. To avoid chemo and radiation treatments, she chose to have the mastectomy. I was inclined against having more than the lump removed, but it was her decision and her life hanging in the balance; so I remained quiet, as not to risk influencing the decision and cause harm in an effort to help. And it had been worth all the pain and injury to be declared free of cancer; until they told her it had spread to the bones and lungs. Then I regretted that sick little joke I'd made because she once complained the size of her breasts were like lemons and seemed more inclined in the direction of a couple of grapes than toward oranges or grapefruits. I attempted to make light of the decision to have the breast removed by remarking that at least she did not have that much to lose. It was funny at the time. How soon such laughter can turn to tears. The surgery failed to heal as it should have healed. And then it was necessary to begin that which she had sacrificed a member of herself in order to avoid; the chemo and radiation therapy.

The booklets said that her hair might fall out, but fortunately, that never happened; the worst part of that was in the hospital when I started to brush her hair, and it started to come out; so I explained I might feel more like brushing her hair another time, but not right then, that it looked fine the way it was.

Father, thank you that her emotional condition finally returned to some degree of normalcy and became more akin to what it should be, free from that overwhelming, maddening fear; the terror that overcame her amid the drugs and treatments, finally usurped by that ever-present, inner peace. And for teaching me that I might be able to use those same abilities for talking with you to reach out with the mind of my spirit and touch her mind; to touch her thoughts and guide them gently back into the banks of their channels and keep them steadily on the tracks of faith with that unyielding peace and comfort amid the storm of pain and turmoil. The doctors must have thought my notes a bit odd, at least, to comment so directly on the condition of her thoughts and state of mind as they attempted to change and adjust the medicine daily. But because it's the way I talk with you, it was a fairly natural, simple thing for me. Except for the dangers of losing control and discernment between my own emotions and hers. With you, Father, that is never a danger, because you establish and maintain perfect control and harmony, eliminating all dangers. But with people, the dangers are very real. It is the difference between laser light and incoherent light; your thoughts, Father, are so perfectly pure and harmonic as to be controlled to the same frequency without interference and overlapping. But with people there are so very many emotions and memories that must be sorted and filtered; it became three weeks of draining, exhausting exercises of both the spirit and the mind, to sort through her emotions and thoughts, to touch her mind with my own. But the worst part of it was not awareness of her thoughts and emotions, but those of others; their doubts and disbeliefs, and beginning to sense feelings, attitudes, and thoughts of everyone else. It became a maddening experience to be around people, awareness of their doubts and sins. But at least her thoughts became ordered and at peace, that she could talk to you herself and know to come to you.

Father, perhaps the most hurting part for me was seeing her in the nightgown at the funeral home, with the expression of the injured child so clearly on her face; the brave, injured child, knowing she must begin a journey alone and apart from every other person. Some years ago I had thought her life span would be 52 years. That seemed much shorter than what one might expect for a healthy person, but it seemed strangely correct. It was not quite correct, but in the wrong direction, from my perspective, although you always know best.

And now she is gone away from me, for a very long time I should think. Yet, to you, Father, the time is nothing; no more than a moment until we meet again in still another place.

And your wisdom, Father, is marvelous. Because I have always found it so very difficult to be a liar, which is so very socially acceptable today, I have not always gotten along with those who willingly substitute lies for intellect and gold-bricking for dignity. I recall leaving the public school teaching job at mid year, and only just over a year ago. It seemed like such a total disaster since I thoroughly enjoyed teaching, but found the over-paid principal-liar such an abomination as he repeatedly attempted to destroy my credibility with students and parents. Most of us have trouble enough avoiding errors of fact without willfully misstating that which we know to be true. I never have gotten along well with two-faced, treacherous people, of which there seems to be such an abundance these days. Leaving the teaching job before the year was finished seemed no loss at all but somehow gain even then, although for all the world it looked like a complete disaster. But the disaster blossomed miraculously into the best blessing with the year lost now revealed as a year gained, giving me the last full year to be with her, to enjoy the good, happy times and to be here to assist through the sad, unhappy times. The statement, Father, that all things work together for good for those who love You has always held true for me. When I think of the error I might have made to remain and fight with that poisonous snake in human form instead of moving on and leaving him for You to handle, I cherish my time here all the more; my happy year with her before she left.

I love You, my Father-God. Thank You for Your infinite wisdom, mercy, Goodness, and Grace. For You are the one constant person in my life, so visible to those who are Your own children, yet rarely deigning to grant awareness of Your presence to those not Your own.

I have learned much from this lesson of life and love, Father. Indeed, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. All the sorrow of being apart is comforted by the blessed assurance that the parting is only for a moment. And, by Your presence, there is truly a blessing for those of us who weep; for although at times it feels as though my heart shall burst with sorrow as tears flow down my cheeks like rain drops flowing down the panes of a window, within me is that inner peace and somehow joy springing forth from the knowledge that we shall meet again, and without the storms of pain of this life. And those tears, Father, are like the gentle rains of spring, soft and warm that bring forth the flowering beauty of a season not yet full.

I love You, my Father.

(In memory of Bessie M. --- 12 November 1942 - 8 March 1993.)

LJD

Fruits of “Aggressive Communism”

Most people here in the U.S. have not read the Constitution of the United States, much less Communist Manifesto. Therefore, when de facto communists proclaim that all facets found in Communist Manifest are “constitutional,” and everything contrary to Communist Manifesto is “unconstitutional,” many people simply swallow the communist propaganda mindlessly with the view that a person of prominence has made the statement, and therefore, it must be true. This “aggressive communism” began in the courts and has bled over into many areas of American society.

The politically correct, feeling especially possessed of “superior enlightenment,” are the first to decree that whatever their personal political views are is what everyone must do; and intimidation is their tool of choice. Therefore, anyone who ignores race, “culture,” and the overall principles of Communist Manifesto and simply uses fixed and immutable standards for everyone is immediately decreed to be a “racist” of the worst ilk; because he or she DARES to believe and even promote the view that competent people of all races have the same chance to rise to the same standards; pretty much the way recognition in athletic events is still used to determine who is selected and who is not. De facto communists, on the other hand, whine and complain that so-called “minority” groups must never be expected to rise and meet fixed standards; that the standards must be lowered; because it was the outstanding white achievers who established the high standards; that filtered out incompetent whites, exclusively, during all the years of racial segregation, but let’s not mention that bit of truth because it is difficult to explain. Instead, we are encouraged to believe that all the high standards established by whites such as Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton, George Washington, Theodore Roosevelt, William Shakespeare, Michelangelo, and Jesus Christ Himself were each and every one designed to denigrate and oppress non-whites throughout the ages; and, therefore, MUST be eliminated altogether in order that “flexi-standards” can be used so that “good little bootlicking and groveling communists” have a better chance of obtaining supervisory and leadership positions. Clearly, only hardcore racists – or non-communists at the very least – feel the need to use those old, traditional, fixed-and-immutable standards that pronounce it takes all 36 inches to make a yard, all 1,000 millimeters to make a meter, and each and every gram in 1,000 grams to constitute a kilogram. Good communists and communist sympathizers know that they and all their associates should be exempt from such old-fashioned, traditional standards established entirely by “white society.” Thus, de facto communists have managed to lower standards throughout U.S. society, beginning in the courts and ultimately bleeding into other areas of government, such that laws promoting “aggressive communism” have been enacted to ensure standards were lowered to enable the most incompetent individuals to rise through the ranks; provided they belong to some “minority group,” of course. Fact of the matter is that virtually all de facto communists belong to that vast majority of people who lack common sense and other measurable and observable abilities related to a well-developed intellect, which is usually reflected in academic achievement. Therefore, we now have complete idiots whether black, white, or spotted, in control of much of society whereas in earlier times such incompetent dolts would have been weeded out during high school, much less making it through college.

Years ago when I was both blind and deaf to “fawning racism,” I simply regarded people as people and did not give much thought to the other person’s race, particularly in the workforce. The person was either agreeable or disagreeable, competent or incompetent, and likeable or dislikeable based on all the traits that contribute to such factors when people meet, whether at work or on the street. Since during childhood nearly all my teachers and principals were academically competent and generally possessed of common sense, it never really occurred to me to use race as a factor when accepting or not accepting a job. Apparently, the modern degrees in education have enabled hoards of people who likely would be working as unskilled laborers to become not only teachers but also administrators in control of schools.

Ultimately, I decided to teach and fulfill long-held desire, and a school in Virginia was in need of a teacher. My view of teaching was that one taught academic information which students were to learn. My teachers rarely or never became involved in political games, and certainly, no administrator ever so much as hinted that students could feel free to run to the principal or assistant principal anytime they disagreed with a teacher; or just did not want to follow a teacher’s classroom policies. I was sent to the office perhaps a half-dozen times during my childhood; alack and alas, by modern, communistic, “flexi-standards” my conduct had gotten so bad during adult years that the black principal at my first teaching job felt required to counsel me repeatedly and incessantly (not unlike my last teaching job with a white principal, now that I think of it, and several black principals in between the two); less I fail to benefit from his vastly superior intellectual prowess and experience as a first-year principal just promoted to the position because … he was not white, I presume in retrospect. Thus, during the first semester this “GENIUS” principal felt obligated to call me to the office about three dozen times; more than was the case for my entire twelve years in school as a student. Clearly, the most important thing for modern principals to do is to prove that they are superior to the teacher due to their modern degrees in “education theory.” This first principal would pronounce that his (one) year of high school Spanish was coming back to him when correcting my teaching of Spanish.

The conflict with this principal actually began on the interview when the principal basically explained that he liked a teacher who groveled, bootlicked, and agreed with him on anything he might suggest. I made it rather clear from the start that groveling, bootlicking, and agreeing with everything said were not my strong suits, apparently inspiring him to recommend to the superintendent not to hire me. However, the superintendent felt my academic coursework in Spanish, French, Russian, and German outweighed the principal’s political aversion and hired me anyway, thereby setting the stage for the principal to prove that he knew better than the superintendent which one of them was best qualified to hire someone to teach Spanish and German; because there undoubtedly were hoards of people out there somewhere who would surely be willing to grovel, bootlick, and agree with all things related to the principal’s political views if they REALLY wanted to teach. The following items reveal the challenges “aggressive communism” presented by way of having the academically incompetent evaluate the academically competent.

11 September 1991

TO: Principal

FROM: Teacher

SUBJECT: Teacher Classroom Observation Form

Your comments and evaluation on the above-referenced form are of concern in that they imply incompetence.

After rating my Classroom Procedures in Item 1 as competent, you state in your comments that my organizational skills need improvement. I contend that classroom procedures are inherently organizational in nature.

I take exception to Item 2, Planning for Instruction, as it implies I came to class unprepared when I had prepared the transparencies for the objective pronouns prior to class; I also had determined to use three items in the class: the transparencies, dictation in Spanish, and the sentence I had already written behind the projection screen on the chalk board, "The vociferous, supercilious Neanderthal found salient reciprocity while matriculating in "Hard Knocks U." The sentence was a direct response to my conference with you the previous day during which you stated I had to project more "self-confidence" as the teacher since some of the students seemed to doubt my capabilities [and that I should not use the term "teach us" to ask student to perform tasks]. You found the sentence to be a put-down to the students in that I was showing superior ability or knowledge. Considering that I am supposed to know more than students know, I hardly feel demonstration of a superior vocabulary causes lasting damage, and the purpose was to demonstrate in English that there are unknown words even to those who have spoken the language all their lives, same as in Spanish.

Item 3, Selecting Appropriate Teaching Strategies and Resources was also listed as needing improvement, despite my obtaining the over-head projector immediately after my conference with you yesterday, continuing with the same lesson I had presented to the class on Monday and Tuesday, and reemphasizing the absolute importance of the lesson relative to comprehension of Spanish.

Item 4, Delivering Instruction, was also checked as needing improvement. You stated I had no lead into the lesson, that I used too much voluntarism instead of commanding a specific student to do a task at the board, that my dictation in Spanish was too fast, that I should not use the phrase, "teach us," to students at the board to motivate them to explain what they had done due to complaints from some students, and that I should gear down rather than have students works the entire class time.

Since we had already worked on object pronouns two days, the simple statement referencing our work the prior day on object pronouns and that we would continue seemed an adequate lead for the lesson at hand. I take exception to your written statement that directions were not clear on "many" activities when there were only three activities; repeating the sentences from the projection/board, writing them in notebooks/on the board, and taking the Spanish dictations; admittedly, students misunderstood the meaning of "Spanish dictation" and thought I intended for them to write in English, possibly because I had them recite aloud in Spanish and then translate into English orally the same material some days earlier. As for speaking too rapidly, it is fairly essential to use speech somewhat moderate in speed to help students develop an ear for the actual language, which is one of the main goals of the course, and although I may have sounded fast, my speed was actually quite slow relative to a native speaker of Spanish. And since the students indicated most of them got the three sentences dictated, I tend to the view that my speed, response to student needs, and general presentation was at least competent. Also, during new teacher orientation it was specifically suggested that we not call on a student to do an exercise before the class if it exceeded the student's capabilities. I fail to see how at this point I am to comply both with the new-teacher orientation instruction and your instruction simultaneously regarding my tendency to ask for volunteers.

I can agree that I need improvement in motivating students, mainly because of the German II class which I had until Monday morning, and which required virtually every spare moment of my time just to make the effort to conduct the class in a half-way intelligent manner. As I am sure you were aware, I had one 4-semester-hour course in German about 10 years back, which made teaching the second-year German virtually impossible. I am immensely thankful to have been relieved of the German II class and can now concentrate on the German I and Spanish classes.

Because I had been working evenings and weekends on the German II class contents, am taking an evening class in German (as I agreed to do) two nights weekly, and missed the class Monday night immediately before an exam tonight (Wednesday) at your request in order to be here for parents' night, the overall evaluation strikes me as less than objective and not actually representative of my overall abilities on the whole.

Although you said some very complimentary things during our discussion following the evaluation, the written evaluation is what carries the weight. Since you chose to respond that there were only the numbers (i.e. 2 - Needs Improvement) when I questioned the evaluation, I shall appreciate your ensuring a copy of this response to the evaluation is attached to the same.

Thank you.

4 December 1991

TO: Principal

FROM: Teacher

SUBJECT: Teacher Classroom Observation/Evaluation

This is to provide a written response to your evaluation of 11/26/91 to ensure a balance of views since few people recall specific details surrounding situations with the passage of time. Please ensure a copy of this response is attached to all filed copies of my evaluation.

First, let me thank you for expressing your concerns after observing my fourth-period Spanish II class, and for the recommendations provided. I checked with the library for the tape, "How to be a super-successful teacher," and learned it was not on file. I left word with the secretary to check with you about obtaining the tape and will review it when it is available.

Now allow me to express some concerns of my own.

1. You state I am to develop a system for conduct grades that is positive and not punitive; and recommend awarding points daily for good conduct rather than deducting points for negative behavior.

Frankly, I prefer the idea of students knowing they earn points by doing what they are supposed to do in conduct/behavior. On the other hand, students should not be deceived via euphemisms into the false view that negative conduct has no negative consequence. I am not at all sure how one explains that when a suspension occurs due to negative conduct that the suspension was not a direct consequence of the negative conduct. Cutting through the niceties of wording, negative conduct must ultimately result in negative consequences or the negative conduct remains unchanged. Therefore, I have told my class that they earn their conduct grade, but nonetheless I still use a minus sign in the gradebook to indicate those few students who fail to earn the grade as it would be ludicrous to attempt to enter a plus sign for 90-95% of the students in an effort to distort the facts for the few students who most need to know the facts on the spot.

My classroom tends to be fairly orderly with students seated BEFORE the tardy bell begins to sound. I have stated in writing how students lose (or fail to earn) points and do not feel it is in the best interest of my credibility to reissue my classroom policy sheet a third time. If you will recall, I changed the policy and reissued it in November at your request after you had reviewed the original policy sheet which I gave students.

2. Despite the fact that lesson plans tend to change daily based on student progress, I intend to prepare lesson plans in my planning book for the week and provide you a copy of the lesson plans each Monday, as requested. Judging by the number of erasures that have occurred in prior weeks' lesson plans, these will be tentative plans subject to change daily based on the daily progress of each class.

3. I fully intend to provide several activities for each class; however, some items necessitate continuous devotion in order to complete the item at hand with each student. Since you observed recitation of verb conjugation, I shall address this point. It is, by its nature, a boring, monotonous routine; and a routine apparently not emphasized in the first year as the students are grossly lacking in their ability to pronounce words with proper syllable stress/accent. Rest assured it is no less monotonous for the teacher who must listen to about 70 students pronounce the same words repeatedly. In a class having in excess of 20 students, which is the case for all my Spanish classes, it takes approximately 3-5 minutes (or more, depending on ability) per student to cover the three verb-forms in two tenses. Usually it takes two class periods to accomplish this task just once, and the task must be repeated a minimum of several times. The students do not pronounce present-tense verbs correctly after one year of Spanish, they study only the present tense during the first year, there are about 15 tenses (counting command forms) to learn in Spanish, and this necessitates covering at least five tenses per year in order to cover just 10 of the 15 tenses the last two years. Pronunciation requires individual student attention as this is not something which can be delegated to better students acting as classroom assistants; each tense tends to have a slightly different pronunciation of the same word; and my best second-year students do not possess proper pronunciation skills as they either learned the pronunciation wrong or not at all. If these students are allowed to complete a three-year Spanish program and enter college without concentrated effort on their pronunciation, it will reflect very badly on the school; any speaker of Spanish will readily notice lack of speaking skills. Although it will undoubtedly extend the length required per tense to at least a week for one run-through, I will include a mixture of activities in the class; and students will complain that we spend weeks on the same thing, which will be the case. There are much more interesting things than pronunciation to teach, so selecting a different topic will present no problem.

4. Classroom management skills, no doubt, can always be improved, but I am unaware of any serious deficits on this matter based on observations. I would like to know specific reasons for addressing this matter as an area less than competent since my Spanish classes tend to remain rather orderly. Some students tend to realize they will have no consequence which they find particularly undesirable and, therefore, tend to be incorrigible, which brings up another major concern of mine.

Several students have the perception that whenever they disagree with me as the teacher, they can walk out of class without permission and talk to an administrator, who always excuses the student and allows him/her to return to class. In addition, one student specifically told a student who was walking out of class, "Talk with the principal!" as though absolutely certain any decision I made in the classroom would be overruled. In this instance I refer specifically to Zack and Chris in first period. Also, Wednesday before Thanksgiving I observed, as I walked from A building to C building to cover an English class, Tina from the same class talking with you immediately after class and disruptive conduct for which she was first asked to stop talking, warned about her conduct grade, given a detention warning, assigned detention, and taken into the hall and informed a referral for disciplinary action would be written on her if she refused to comply with my requests to behave; Tina had been overtly defiant. Later that day you spoke to me about Tina, so I must presume you gave her time to talk with you immediately after first period. You asked an assistant principal to discuss the situation with both Tina and me because you had a meeting, and at the assistant principal’s request I asked what your concerns were regarding my established classroom conduct policy, at which point you stated you wanted it changed as it was too negative and that there had been too many complaints from parents. It concerns me that apparently the one student's complaint inspired you to make a decision affecting all my students without discussing the matter with me first hand and at length. This is particularly disconcerting when the complaint is from a disruptive student who refused to retake a test she grossly failed and preferred to fail the course rather than make an effort to pass the same test with answers she had been given to study. This student still insists on doing things her way despite what I tell her to do, although she has curtailed her talking.

The handling of the conference with Tina also caused concern. The assistant principal received a phone call during the meeting and asked me to step outside the office while he took the call; he did not ask the student to leave the office. I feel this sends a clear message to students that administration is going to side with them and give them more consideration than teachers. Regardless of the nature of the call, it concerns me that students would be afforded privy to information teachers are denied; I see no reason a teacher cannot be present in any conversation in which a student can be present since teachers must deal with these students daily in their classes; I do not feel anything said regarding student conduct in my class should be held in secrecy from me, whether said to the student or anyone else. During this conference Tina stated I had pointed at her; admittedly I use hand gestures (most people do to some extent), although when she made the statement in class, both my hands were in contact with the desk; this apparently was an issue on which she had learned she could expect support from administrators if she stated it as an issue. The assistant principal negotiated that I would not point and Tina would behave herself in class. Although I do not mind making an effort at self-improvement, I do not feel it is appropriate for teachers to negotiate with students on such matters when the student's obnoxious classroom conduct should be the focus without refocusing attention on the teacher as though the teacher is at fault instead of the student.

5. I look forward to peer observation and will take the initiative on occasion during planning time in addition to observations you choose to arrange.

Another major concern about student discipline relates to my last day of hall duty at the end of the first six-weeks grading period when student, Lee, dared to push me, twice, and twice threatened to knock me down. I asked a fellow teacher, Jean, to call for a principal, recommended the student be suspended when the assistant principal arrived, inquired about the disposition of the matter the following school day, and the assistant principal asked if the student had come and talked with me; he had not, and this answer suggested that my recommendation for suspension had been disregarded. It had puzzled me that the assistant principal had asked me how hard the student had pushed me; this seemed totally irrelevant to the issue as the mere threat to knock me down seemed entirely sufficient for the suspension. I came to you and asked if you had objections to my assigning Lee two days of detention. You stated the assistant principal was handling the situation, you would not get involved, and that whatever the assistant principal’s decision was on the matter would be the final decision. Lack of immediate action with firm discipline for a student accosting a teacher rapidly spread throughout the school with the message it was acceptable for students to push and threaten teachers, my credibility and authority with students were severely damaged, and this same incident about my being "pushed all over the hall" by the student was gleefully stated weeks following the incident by one of my students in a class of 23. Aggressive students dearly love to brag about how they "got away" with assaulting a teacher, same as was the case during my high school days. Later I was spontaneously pushed by another student, Jacob, during a discussion he requested; Jacob is not even one of my students, but he apparently had heard student gossip from the earlier incident. As the incident occurred outside the view of other students, I sternly warned Jacob such contact would result in immediate detention should it recur, he obviously recognized I would not tolerate repetition of the act, which resolved that specific incident as I perhaps had assigned him detention once before.

A final concern I have is your observation of my Spanish III class during which I had prepared a summary of a Shakespearean play, "The Winter's Tale," in English and Spanish; I dictated the English summary for the students to translate into Spanish, read the Spanish summary to the class for an overview of the wording they would use, and then had the students work in groups to translate the English dictation into Spanish, during which I assisted as necessary. Although you did not remain in the classroom the entire period, you were present throughout the dictation and for some time during the group-work time. This occurred in November as I had selected the work as part of the "November is Reading Month" program. I had obviously planned for the class quite adequately and wonder what became of this observation?

Admittedly, I, like everyone else, can always improve and benefit from watching experts at work, so I reiterate the point that I look forward to observing other teachers teach. However, since you feel I need improvement in four of seven areas, I obviously need to devote all my time at school to self-improvement; particularly since I had been arriving regularly at school by 7:30 a.m. and staying until 4:30-6:00 p.m. My impression is that I was trying too hard. I shall appreciate your ensuring that I am not asked to cover another class during planning since my time needs to be devoted directly to my own self-improvement, preparation, and classes; and not to classes of other teachers. When I am deemed competent in all areas, we can discuss the possibility of my covering for other teachers when necessary.

In my adult life I do not recall having encountered half the obnoxious conduct from others as I have experience at this high school, and I have traveled, worked in several areas, and dealt with a larger number of people than most. Except for one demented woman who escaped from her mother's care and made it to my place of employment years ago, I do not recall ever having had hostile physical contact since my high school student years; although there have been a few close calls.

If this response seems somewhat documentary and indifferent in nature, it is only because I do not intend to tolerate such unfortunate situations as described herein on a long-term career basis. I am fully capable of obtaining employment in a field which I enjoy less than teaching but which pays more should I choose to pursue it, and I am somewhat unaccustomed to evaluations that indicate I'm more incompetent than competent. I would have followed the recommendation with a far more positive attitude had a few more "competents" been checked with recommendations for improving competency to an outstanding level.

Thank you.

DATE: 15 January 1992

TO: Principal

FROM: Teacher

Pursuant to our conversation yesterday at or about 3:30 p.m. in which you directed changes in my classroom policies, I cite the following:

1. You had the opportunity to review and make changes to my classroom policies, did so, and I complied with those changes and reissued to my students a policy sheet reflecting those changes in early November 1991.

2. You stated "we" had tried my policies for one semester. Since students have told me outright that you told either them or their parents that I "was not allowed" to use my policies, it becomes clear that I was the only one trying my policies, and that you were not supporting me even after the changes.

3. One parent indicated to me that you stated I had made an error in calculating his child's grade and that the student actually had a higher grade; this was after I had told you pointedly that I had raised the grade one point based on my conversation with the parent, due to a misunderstanding in which I stated the student had done five assignments, and which the parent understood as my having stated the student was completely caught up; I raised the grade due to this misunderstanding and with the condition that the student would demonstrate improved conduct and academic performance throughout the year, which the parent has been earnestly attempting to ensure.

4. According to the above, and situations cited in my response to your last, negative performance evaluation, it occurs to me that you have been less than sincere and above-board in your dealings with me, and that you have been undermining my authority and credibility with both students and parents. You also stated that "we" have no problems with my teaching methods but only with my established policies; if this is a true statement, one can only wonder why you felt the need to cite 4 of 7 areas as needing improvement on your last evaluation of my teaching as you have not observed my teaching since that time.

5. You shall NOT destroy my remaining credibility and authority with students in my own classroom with further changes.

6. I will NOT institute further changes in my classroom policies in grading, testing, or any area.

7. I will complete my contract for this year and under no circumstances work at any school where you are the supervising principal hereafter.

8. In early September 1991, I stated in our meeting with the superintendent and the director of personnel that I would be here "for the duration," provided I had support; and I agreed to give "125%" per the superintendent’s request when he stated he did not want to "dig in" to support me and then have me "buckle" under pressure and leave in mid year. Yesterday you stated effectually that "if I intended to work" I would comply with your latest effort to destroy my credibility. Frankly, I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to destroy my credibility, as I stated flatly to you yesterday, and if I am to work at this high school, my credibility will remain in tact.

9. If you cannot offer better support, you should start looking immediately for someone to teach my German and Spanish classes for the remainder of this year, but you WILL pay me the full amount remaining on my contract regardless of your decision to work with me or find another teacher.

Obviously it has not yet registered with you that I am from the "old school" which places God and honor above all else. I attempt to be honest with my students and their parents to the fullest extent possible. Your efforts "to improve" me are giving students the impression I do not know my own mind. It is my impression that you make no distinction between casual student griping and serious complaints that warrant investigation. You have repeatedly called me to the office to discuss one student gripe after another, usually involving the same students, and even felt it necessary to expend my time to discuss the minutes I had allowed two student on a test; then chose to encourage the students to protest later disagreements by asking that I allow both a higher grade on the retake test than is my policy, despite my stating to both students in your presence that their lack of preparation was the reason for their inability to complete the test. Even with a copy of the test answers, neither student achieved the grade I normally allow; off hand, I'd say their preparation remained inadequate. I have dealt with worse managers than you, no doubt, but I do not recall when or where.

My main problem has not been from the students, but from you and your eagerness to encourage students to challenge me in class and run to you when they disagree with me. While I am teaching this year, my classroom policies will stand as stated when I reissued them to students in November 1991. I am not an education theory major but a foreign language/science major with considerable business office experience, and in fact, taught for over a year at a business college; thus I am fully competent to work in the business world and earn a living, and with higher pay, fewer hours, and considerably less "game-playing." I teach because I enjoy teaching and helping others better themselves.

copy: Superintendent
Director of Personnel

Needless to say, with such a modern “genius” as supervisor, who was doing everything within his power to undermine my credibility with both students and parents, I did not stay for the entire year. This black principal, having been advanced under the guiding principle of receiving “fawning racism” as the basis for his selection (euphemistically referred to as “affirmative action,” but more accurately labeled “aggressive communism”) was firmly convinced that black students were inherently entitled to receive “fawning racism” from whites and, therefore, exempt from laws, policies, and rules in general; which was the reason the racist principal was bent on eliminating my classroom rules for conduct and grades. Most of the conflict situations involved black students, as in the case with the student, Tina. One must understand that the black hero, Martin Luther King, Jr., had challenged white authority, was known to have lied, cheated, and politicked his way around “white standards and laws,” and de facto communist whites were quick to proclaim that King should NOT be held to “white standards”; which is the reason King’s doctorate degree was not revoked after it was made public that King had plagiarized most of his work during college; “fawning racism” was used to pronounce that NO thought should be given to holding the communist King to “white standards” in academics. Thus, in this Virginia school that employed “fawning racism,” blacks were simply excused when they demonstrated abominable conduct; unless, of course, one regards as “cruel and unusual punishment” the request that the aggressive black student “talk to me” about his assault, provided he did not mind such horrible punishment, of course, and he clearly did mind such tiresome accountability.

Interestingly, in the Texas school where I taught nearly ten years later with yet another black principal who had been promoted under the guiding principle of “fawning racism,” a fellow teacher commented that this racist black principal would readily excuse black students from rules and policies, yet would come down like a ton of bricks on white students, brown students, and non-black students in general. The main difference between the racist black principal in Virginia in 1991 and the racist black principal in Texas in 2001 was that whereas the Virginia black principal did his treachery behind the scenes, the Texas black principal actually led students in open criticism of me as his method of discipline for their undisciplined conduct; and requested the students come to his office with suggestions on how I could be improved. There were only about 10% white students in my classes at the Texas school, and this racist-black principal was a real eye-opener on “fawning racism” and the belief that whites must accept that blacks function under a different set of standards than whites use. I did not finish the year at the Texas school, either, needless to say; particular since the racist black principals (there were more than one at that school) seemed to be encouraging black students to challenge me. These idiots promoted by the vast white majority who use “fawning racism” instill in blacks that all whites will use “fawning racism” when dealing with all blacks; and then get the shock of their lives when encountering anti-communists like me who hold everyone to the same standards, rules, policies, and laws. Communism promotes the elimination of all competition, all morality, and all truth. Needless to say, I determined it best not to accept any type of teaching job that had racist blacks as principals after these two incidents.

Obviously, it is not as though one could not immediately knock a dose of reality into a student-thug like Lee, and thereby speak the language such thugs understand and enlighten such “dear children” on the realities related to thug conduct; which is what traditional paddling did, but communists of the heart successfully outlawed commonsense paddling of students in many states. With about fifty children watching to see how the matter is handled, and with awareness that the communistic NAACP is always quick to rush in and sue the school, the teacher, and everyone else who deals with assault from such “precious little darlings” by speaking the language they understand fluently, one necessarily must use some degree of forethought when handling such situations. Mainly my awareness was that children were watching the situation, and I intensely did NOT want burned into their memories the picture of “white teacher beats black child with both fists”; for no reason whatever other than white racism toward peace-loving black children being the obvious theme that communists would have quickly promoted. Needless to say, dealing with such racist blacks was a waking nightmare. Had this been an adult daring to touch me, my response might have been different; at least had there been only adults around. Father-God seems to have restrained me for the sake of impressionable children … not that the thought of decking the aggressor’s halls with black and blue so much as crossed my mind … at least not more than a dozen times or so, I hasten to add.

This “aggressive communism” principal in Virginia flagrantly lied to parents in his efforts to destroy my credibility, always painting himself as the superior “genius” who had to watch and correct my every move. This principal actually told a boy’s father, alleged to have been a form SEAL, that he had to raise the son’s grade due to my having made an error. When I questioned the childish principal on this point, he began to babble incomprehensibly with disjointed, nervous sounds and words that did not actually form sentences or complete thoughts such that I was embarrassed by his utterly childish insecurities at being caught in his lie. The two assistant principals were white, but equally thickheaded and void of common sense. In one of the endless “after school meetings” with principal, parent, and student protestor a white girl was never in her seat before the tardy bell sounded, did not like having to adhere to the policy, and the idiot principals were quick to hold me accountable as entirely at fault. I informed that my stated policies would be enforced. After about an hour of attempting to get me to eliminate the standards since the one student disliked having to meet the standard of being seated and ready to learn BEFORE the tardy bell sounded, the astute, modern education major inquired how far the student had to walk, hoping to ensure I understood that I simply could NOT use fixed and immutable standards because the campus was so wide and the distances between classes so vast; this white “genius” principal was informed by an embarrassed student that she had to travel the entire width of the hall, being perhaps eight or ten feet, three meters, or whatever; and there simply was no way she could do whatever she wanted, ignore stated policies for my class, and also walk the distance in only five minutes. The student’s mother was visibly embarrassed with this wealth of information the “genius” school administrators finally unearthed in their attempts to eliminate my classroom policy sheet, which was the only means I had of maintaining order or discipline since the incompetent principals were intent on game playing and clearly were not going to enforce school policies. They much preferred to be friend with the students.

Two people were needed to replace me, and I agreed to accept only part of the time remaining on my contract since by that point I was sick of dealing with the “dung-for-brains” modern “genius” promoted using “aggressive communism flexi-standards,” who was leading the idiot white assistant principal in the true methods of treachery and undermining teacher authority should the teacher fail to grovel, bootlick, and agree with whatever the idiot principals said. Yet no one can figure out the reason U.S. schools have plummeted from a consistent ranking of first place in academics in all years prior to using “aggressive communism and flexi-standards” (roughly before 1968) to around 25th place out of 30 nations in recent years. I do not know that an individual suffering from Down’s syndrome could have been a worse manager; certainly, the intellectual level and general concern for academic development of students and the academic reputation of the school were the last concern for this principal. To say the school administrators (principal and assistants) were treacherous, thickheaded, stubborn, arrogant, braying pack mules would be describing them with all due kindness.

These disagreeable situations bring to mind a recurring comment from my late friend, Ruby Conway, of Dallas, who would tell of having to deal with the most God-awful people who sincerely believed they were entitled to run roughshod over her using lies, treachery, or perhaps just thickheaded arrogance and ignorance. Ruby would ultimately close her description of the event with the comment, “I’ll go down swinging, I guess.” After, lo, these many years it occurs that Ruby and I were a lot alike in our distaste for treacherous, lying, conniving, backstabbing, thickheaded, stubborn, braying pack mules that pretended to be civilized human beings.

LJD

While in Seattle, Washington, I wrote the following. It seems I had a bit more humor in younger years. (The salutation is not actually what I wrote; it merely offers a bit of variety.)

21 December 1987

Dear Sir or Madam:

Father-God and I have this wonderful, open, frank relationship; He tells me my areas that need improvement, and I tell Him His. With His being Perfect and all, His areas needing improvement tend to relate to me rather closely. Some time back I was telling Him that if He were trying to teach me patience, He'd have to do better as I had less now than ever. The Lord rarely tells me I'm wrong; He shows me with such ease.

The unfortunate situation with some of my nearest - and dearest - neighbors accelerated; obscenities began appearing with increased frequency on my door, followed by more feces outside, and finally a switch from wood glue in the lock to superglue, which I discovered while getting ready for work one morning, and which caused me to miss a day's work; two large pizzas were ordered for me late one night, but I fooled the culprit by taking the one I wanted; later someone thoughtfully cut my telephone line. What does one say at such times? "Aw, shucks," of course. Well; that's not exactly what I said; but close enough for a printed quote. Edgar Cayce recommended that those of us suffering from paranoia due to some form of "possession" simply refuse to feel harassed. Now, why didn't I think of that? It works! Eventually.

I had words with three of my nearest - and dearest - neighbors, two of whom resented my presence as I checked the hall with each sound. The second neighbor actually thought he could order me around, due to my mild-mannered, meek nature. There was no reason to correct his error until he issued a direct challenge to my contact with the first dear neighbor. My answer of, "I don't think it's any of your damn business; what do you think," as I geared to enlighten him as to the texture of the walls, the floor, and the other side of me that I rarely display - except to such nearest - and dearest - people who insist repeatedly. This new presentation seems to have corrected his error in judgment rather quickly; he hurried down the stairs, eluding my many charms. The third encounter even got into name calling; and I almost never call people names. "Unpleasant person!" I said (not an exact quote). The guy had dared threaten me. The NERVE of some people to intimidate us timid, meek country folk! After I had suggested he try me if he thought he were big enough to handle me (one presumes there was some degree of doubt on his part), I mentioned, just in passing, the unfortunate circumstance of his being a God-forsaken WORM. (Tact and diplomacy are occasionally among my stronger points, and “unpleasant person” is a quotable paraphrase that covers ALL actual quotes said to such nearest - and dearest - neighbors.) This guy moved in about a month after I did, then had the audacity to state that all he knew was that things were peaceful until I moved in, and that I had "mental problems." Well, being my usual unique self, my "mental problems" have their own rooms; and, I presume, the financiers of my "mental problems" live elsewhere as these three men do not appear to work while I have two jobs (three counting my temp agency bookkeeping and etc.). This minor oversight in who moved in before whom was made known to him with reiteration of "Unpleasant person!"

I noticed this DEAR chap had developed friendships with people I suddenly had trouble with. There are times one simply must resort to one's natural, innate charms. (Rather reminds me of the comic book called Fantastic Four of about 20 years back and the character "The Thing," a tender, delicate-natured man, not unlike myself; except he appeared to be made of brick, who said things like "Mercy me!" while leveling rotten adversaries.)

The situation became shocking. Especially after I covered the key hole with magnetic tape to ensure conductivity, and connected the hot side of an electrical outlet to my lock following the second super-glued lock. (Acetone dissolves superglue, and is a wonderful paint remover, incidentally, but requires time and effort, so I kept a spare lock.) Along about 10 p.m. I heard this thump outside my door as though someone had bounced off the opposite wall or landed on the floor unexpectedly. Mercy ME! (Some of my humor is derived from the character "James Bond, Agent 007.) I considered leaving a tongue on the magnetic tape so my "mental problems" could get a good hold on it and have to take it with them to turn loose of it, but I decided to be nice and Christian.) I'll bet someone tried to remove the magnetic tape from my lock. Silly me! I neglected to post a warning note about electrical shock hazard. By the time I had moved the chair which reminded me not to rush over and grab hold of the lock, unplugged the thing, and finally got the door open, two of my nearest - and dearest - neighbors (Nos. 2 and 3) were down the hall talking, #2 apparently shaken a bit; they entered the room of aforementioned worm (#3) and closed the door on seeing me; anti-socials, I guess. I saw #3 and #1 chatting and heard them discussing some unfortunate fellow they felt they could force to move. (I have a good view of Seattle and the snow-capped mountains, when it's clear enough to see them.) As a disclaimer, my particular brand of charm is not recommend for anyone who determines a hot wire by touching it; there are safer, more scientific ways.

This all just goes to prove that The Lord DOES look after His own AND that all things work together for good for those who love God.

The GALL of these rotten devils to intimidate us innocent, timid Christian folk! Another dear neighbor (#4) inquired, "Doesn't it SCARE you to have these things happen?" Well, of course not. After this many years, it's like asking if waking up each morning scares me. The Lord's lessons in locksmithing and electricity as a defensive measure were not actually that bad, relatively speaking. Besides, the lock needed to be changed anyway, no doubt.

The new manager and his wife inquired just why these things happened only to me and no one else. Well, I won't bore you with details of their conclusion and inquiries; I was even Noble via The Spirit, no doubt, when I invited him to leave. This is reportedly a Christian couple, and this guy's advice was ultimately, "Count it all to joy." How very helpful. I counted it JOY when #3 (previously cited worm) moved back to Montana, so I heard. The best way to eliminate one's "mental problems" is to inspire them to move away from you, preferable two states' distance. Trying to move away from them won't work as I've tried that (which is how I ended up in Seattle, among other places). Have not had a bit of trouble since. The police said I could not box the jaws of my "mental problems," but they were mistaken. Except Father-God indicated I was not to take such action.

My infant temp agency is near toddler size for the moment as The Lord has blessed me with new temporary positions for late this month, which finally will give me returns on ads for new employees.

Father-God has further blessed me with my own personal computer system that has most everything; and, my printer is the latest on the market in a color dot matrix; except I cannot yet get a color ribbon for it. It can be programmed to do most anything and emulates Epson and IBM, but Epson mode does more with superscript, regular, subscript, and even italics, and bold. Ultimately, I can go into private consulting and teaching softwares. And, I can pick up writing again, in my spare time.

Let's see; there's a department meeting/pot luck for my permanent job, a cookie exchange at my temp job, state taxes for the last quarter were overlooked, which I just paid with penalty, I believe federal taxes are due, I need to run an ad for data entry people, interview, check references, and hire before January; my first Christmas card has yet to hit the mail, both jobs are converting to new softwares, I've misplaced my telephone bill, my conversion software is due in Monday, which I must learn before selling it to my employing companies, I have yet to learn all the softwares I bought for my business, and if I forget about the alarm on my door once more, I may scream. I'm the only one who ever sets it off; thank God. To top it all off, I put the tax check in Christina's pay envelope and kept her paycheck - but I caught it in time. And, I'm a week behind in billing for services, this bookkeeping is driving me bananas, and I told a prospective customer I'd give her a copy of something from my PC; then discovered the floppy drive would not format the diskettes. After taking the thing apart, removing the floppy drive and the main board, going 10 miles to the service center, and letting technicians examine it as they told me by phone; they then realized that all that was needed was for me to push three keys on the keyboard and enter the type of floppy drive in the system, that there was nothing wrong with anything. Back at home I had 50 minutes to throw the PC back together before I was due on my evening job, keeping in mind which connections went to which of the three drives. I am beginning to think that perhaps I could survive education courses easier than what I'm doing.

Then there are these damn pests with cameras; so help me, someone seemed to be photographing me AGAIN; or perhaps it just seemed that way and he was really aiming for the dilapidated building with the broken window panes as a background for his buddy. Whoever seemed to think it humorous that I turned my back to him. No doubt he would have found it less humorous had I decked him and broken his camera; I KNOW! "Oooh; how GAUCHE!" I wonder just what kind of queer people these are that follow and photograph complete strangers. Some old bat stuck right to me, stopping in the middle of the street when I stopped; and reversing directions two of the three times I did, and walking right beside me; she was rapidly exceeding my tolerance limits, realized this, and cut through a parking lot, still paralleling my direction at a distance. I only did all the stopping and change of directions because it "felt" like she was a PEST attempting to latch on to me. I'm slightly tempted to start tripping such people, and then stepping on them as I help them up. Perish the though. Then there was the guy who came quietly up behind me at the bank machine; with gobs of room on the sidewalk plaza and no one else around, he felt the need to stand close to me, so I requested he step back a bit. "Why?" he inquired. "Because I don't want you to see my ID number," said I with my extraordinary tact and diplomacy. Well, he assured me he was not interested in my ID, so I told him we'd just wait until he moved back. Of course, it helps if one is prepared to knock the devil right out of such people then and there, while remaining perfectly calm in tone and conduct. Diplomacy is another of my strong suits; right up there with my natural charm. And twice I've mailed Edgar Cayce books and had the mailing wrapper returned to me, stating the books had been lost in the mail; once in LA, and now here in Seattle. (Actually, it happened in Phoenix, too, now that I think of it.) I do not know what happened to the books, but there is no way the wrapper accidentally came off the second one as I learned from the first incident. Alas, it's the cross of paranoia some of us must bear, no doubt.

If only I were madly in love, I could turn to my sweetie and say something like, "Oh Darling; I'm so exasperated I could croak!" Of course, if I were madly in lust, I could say about the same thing. Tisk, tisk; I seem to be spared from both situations, thank God. If only these damnable pests would simply leave me alone, life would be simpler. By the way, I took a personality test a while back. I ain't got none. Well, actually I had a stability rating of 100%, hard as that may be to believe. The woman told me I tended to be critical of others. Now how EVER would she have gotten a wild idea like that of little old me; she also said that I seemed to be a basically happy person, was a bit on the depressed side, and had an activity of about 86% when all these ratings should be at 100% in line with the stability rating. One question was so neat; "Do you sometimes think people are talking about you when they're not?" An easy no; basically when you hear your name mentioned, and they're pointing at you, it's you they're talking about. But I have thought people were trying to make me think they were talking about me when they were not. Life is tuff. There is only one thing to do when feeling really pressed on all sides; stop, have a banana split, discount everything irritating, and ignore everybody and everything that BUGS you. IGNORance has nearly become a career with me. Anyway, as is indicated from the test results, it seems I am always (100% stability) delighted (happiness) to criticize others, and find it depressing when I can't, or something like that. This just goes to show I should have been a teacher, preferable of primary grades, so I'd stand a good chance of being smarter that the students, and therefore in a position to criticize and belittle with a superior attitude of near-God-like perfection - except brighter students might threaten my intelligence and position; but overall, I could stay happy by making hundreds of people miserable, year after year. Which reminds me of my third-grade teacher, who shall remain nameless; she had a phobia of mice, as I recall, and tempting as it was, I didn't catch mice to give her, but there were enough others who did and enjoyed her screaming in front of the entire school. She complained before the class once after looking at her paycheck, "$350; that's not so much," which was for the benefit of us poorer people, I gather, whom she seemed to despise, in a superior sort of way, and would paddle at the drop of a hat, while restraining herself with students better off, such as a student whose parents had a store; I was paddled, he was not, and I gave the same answer he gave as it worked for him. A dear woman. It's good to bring up such things 20-30 years later as a message to current teachers that students tend to grow into adults. My recall tends to be extensive and detailed - for years.

Actually, as a teacher I found it more difficult to deal with younger students than older ones, mainly because the little ones exhausted me completely on all levels. They move like greased lightning, can outsmart most any adult - except perhaps the parents who've had years of experience learning their methods - and come up with things you'd never think of; ever.

Honestly, I don't know what is wrong with me, but one of these neighbors with whom I've been fighting happens to be ill, and my every instinct is to offer to help. At such times I think more of them as creatures of Father-God than enemies.

Believe it or not, I once wanted to be a news reporter; lately a hermit seems a more appealing career. The Lord looks after His own.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! This coming year will be better. I say that every year, and sooner or later, I'm bound to be right.

LJD

Letter to Friends – 11 May 1991

This is yet another letter of yesteryear I came across while sorting through old items. I find it difficult to believe that I endured these annoyances, but since I’m here and the experiences are in the past, I survived them all. Perchance with waning humor, albeit.

11 May 1991

Dear Friends,

Hope each of you is happy and well. And what have you been up to? I started thoroughly enjoying myself in the wilds of Oklahoma with backpack replete with ground sheet that doubled as a pup tent; a sleeping bag, and blanket; just about then Father-God seemed to feel hiking cross-country was not entirely desirable. Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

On Friday evening of 15 March I left WV driving the newer Dodge Aries to the City by the Bay, where I was confident I'd find work immediately. In Cincinnati Father-God directed quite clearly, "Go home to Dallas," which I did, saw most of my friends there, and left for San Francisco Thursday or Friday morning in the wee hours. I bathed and shaved at truck stop facilities and the like and mainly slept with pillow and blanket when the mood struck me, usually during the day, encountered slight snow in the Colorado Rockies, but had no trouble that I recall until approaching Reno, NV, where a spark plug blew out half-way up a high mountain on a two-lane road. It must be a fairly frequent occurrence since about 10 years earlier I'd had the same thing happen in another car in Dallas. Anyway, I barely made it to the summit about 50 miles from Reno on the two-lane highway with no place to pull over until the top, screwed the plug back in, proceeded on about 25 miles when a tire went flat. It seems the pressure in both front tires had somehow dropped sufficiently to cause both tires to wear down to the steel belts, but for a mere $110 both tires were replaced. I noticed both rear tires seemed to have a slash in the side of each when I started to move them to the front so left them on the rear. It was Sunday in Reno, an I-80 electronic sign read chains were required 75 miles ahead, so for $30 I got a set, but by the time the new tires were on, I-80 was closed; going south via Carson City and south of Lake Tahoe, down into California a blinding blizzard was encountered, but it turned into raging rain on into San Francisco.

Fortunately, my luck was about to change. Unfortunately, it was a change for the worst. Four temp agencies having excellent work reports from my prior history with them failed to call me for even a day's work. Normally all four would call at least once. Walking down around Fisherman's Wharf, too many people were about; I walked up a street too steep for bicycles and lost them all; shortly a guy with a bag came hurrying up behind me; and just happened to stop to rest inches from me on the same corner; he did not speak; I crossed the street and continued up the hill; and he came running up on his side until even with me; I let him take the lead before reaching the top; a block down he seemed to be waiting, so I stepped back out of sight and lost him. Preparing to leave the hotel, a stranger who'd stood about howled as I left with my bag, "You people are SO paranoid!" Yes, indeed; I always feel like I'm being followed when people follow me. So, I left San Francisco, destination undetermined, headed south, and had the annoying feeling my car had been tampered with, which was intensified by awareness that the steering was not the same as when I'd arrived.

In San Jose a check of the tires showed the left front had 38 pounds, the right front 32, and the two rears mid 20's. Since 35 pounds was the maximum for the tires, this could have presented interesting results at higher elevations crossing the Rockies. Tire pressure adjusted, I continued southeast to Fresno via secondary roads with miles of farming fields.

I nearly never pick up strangers. Father-God indicated I was to pick up a stranger, I disagreed, told Him one of two farm trucks behind me would give him a ride, they did not, so I returned for him. A Mexican, no English; said due to the difficulties of life he'd come to doubt the existence of God, and that due to corruption in the church he had no interest in that either. I told him no one had suffered more than Christ, Who had died so that each who accepts His Gift of Salvation could enter Heaven, that there was corruption in every church (of man), and that one's personal relationship with Jesus Christ is the only important thing that had any bearing on anything. I gave him a can of Vienna sausages as I sensed he was hungry, let him out near his home, and traveled on. And told Father-God it was really quite fun to do His work, but thanked Him that it was a short visit (17 miles) as mentally I was tired of Spanish.

That night near Sequoia National Park I happened onto two stranded people. I had just growled at Father-God, "What on Earth am I doing in this isolated area!" as I checked the map to learn it was a dead-end road near Hume; just then two beings came rushing out of the dark yelling and running toward the car; scared me half out of my wits; I put the car in gear and might have run them over in my haste. They looked weird; they were barefooted, and every evil I'd ever heard flashed across my mind from "abominable snowmen" to wild mountain men. Fear is something I rarely experience, but normally I'm not thinking I'm totally alone and am not concentrating on a map in the dark. The Spirit halted my panic, I realized it was only a man and a boy; ordered them away from the car and evaluated them. We could not get their car out of the snow, so I took them home, about 75 miles south, which was my direction anyway since the park road was closed. Spanish again with the man; the 9-year-old dozed off, and after about two hours of using Spanish, I was getting fairly adept at it. Father-God's purpose was to get the children into church where they'd hear about Salvation, and the guy agreed to this. Then I was lost after letting them out. Using the stars to find my way out of the isolated, rural area, I continued toward Bakersfield, CA, and encountered the third guy. Spanish again.

This guy demonstrated excessive caution at every point; approaching the car, opening the door, getting in, and closing the door; then went immediately into telling me he was married and had two children. I was irritated to the core and with caustic sarcasm mused, "So! Most people marry and have children; do you expect a medal or something!" My having had no negative experiences in getting into cars with anyone made me grossly ignorant and haughty, there was the feeling I should consider his prior experiences but I didn't and decided the guy was just stupid, so Father-God designed one of His special education lessons for the especially dense soon enough to correct my haughty ignorance. This guy was 15 miles from home and seemed to find it incredible that anyone would help him and want nothing in return. Anyway, I told him I was Christian, and this instantly set him at ease; he was Christian too, and we had a very cordial chat, and he was perhaps a little embarrassed at his excessive caution earlier.

Via Barstow I traveled on through Las Vegas, down across Hoover Dam to Flagstaff, AZ, and on into Phoenix where I visited with a dear friend, Rhea, for about seven delightful hours of Christian fellowship. A most fascinating lady who'd had a fascinating life.

There was fabulously beautiful scenery; I traveled U.S. Route 60 east from Phoenix, stopped in the desert and got a few cactus plants, and headed for New Mexico. Meanwhile, the water pump started to go out, so for $38 I got a new one; immediately after awakening from a mid-afternoon nap of over two hours, the battery light came on indicating either the voltage regulator or alternator was bad. It was nightfall, and only by turning off the headlights and flashing them on every few seconds did I make it to Magdalena, NM, and to a service station where the guy referred me to another station back a few blocks; I parked out of the way and camped for the night. Well, the police happened by at least once, then around 10 p.m. the owner of the station reopened the station, the police came by again, and they tapped on the window as I had the blanket over my head. The owner said it was probably the alternator and would recharge my battery the next day, which he did, so I traveled on toward Albuquerque, had no trouble, and went on; in the middle of nowhere the battery light glowed again. Despite Father-God specifically warning that the voltage regulator was not the problem, it was all the small town (Vaughn) had in stock, so I spent another $38 for a new one which did nothing. I made it to Fort Sumner where Father-God indicated a station on the left would be correct; got there just as the guy was locking the door for the night, he stated he'd recharge my battery next morning, and I said I'd camp there for the night. The police came by my car several times during the night but did not disturb me.

Next morning by some remarkable coincidence a guy happened to stop before the station opened, he also had battery trouble, and said he had a calling of God, used to work for the Mexican government, and etc. Interesting that Father-God did not indicate to me that anyone but the attendant was designated for my contact.

The next battery charge was in Snyder, TX, southeast of Lubbock. This guy seemed to be Christian and was incredibly patient; I spilt water on the sidewalk where he'd just painted, and he insisted it was no problem; I felt like a complete idiot.

In Dallas, again finally on Sunday morning, I immediately located an apartment by the week; things were looking good. Unfortunately, it was the same song, second verse of San Francisco relative to temporary employment. I tested at several agencies, did around 100% on their tests, was there three weeks, and did not get even one day's work; not even dishwashing. I was quite impressed with the 100% on the first part of the Lotus 1-2-3 test as it had been two years since using it and never had used it for long; The Lord was with me, obviously. I had intended to leave after two weeks, but developed the flu, and had to stay a third week. Meanwhile, the transmission seemed to be going out in my car, so I sold it, jettisoned all excess baggage onto friends, and decided to hike a bit.

Sunday, 28 April, it was raining in Dallas, but I left anyway with bag on back; the weather cleared by evening. In Frisco, north of Dallas, at about 12:30 a.m. a policeman stopped me, asked my destination and name although he did not ask for ID; said he just wanted to know when I inquired for his reason since I was neither hitch-hiking nor stopping but merely walking through. It was a cordial chat, and I commented that the backpack had seemed so light in the apartment, but every mile it seemed to grow heavier. About an hour later a car slid to a stop, and amid the odor of burning rubber the young guy offered me a ride, said he'd been partying, and needed someone to keep him awake.

We were about 40 miles from Sherman, which was where I'd told the policeman I was going, and by chance this guy happened to be going there, too; said he enjoyed drinking beer and seemed to be enjoying himself as we talked; he was speeding, I commented about the potential of being stopped by the police, and we were almost as soon as I mentioned it, but no ticket, and the can of beer went out the window while the police car turned to return. We discussed his being a highly accomplished student, he intimated good financial condition by commenting he did not have to work for a living, mentioned his divorce which cost him $81K not counting lawyers, etc. The topic turned to sex, then homosexuality; I can talk about nearly anything, but the amazing thing was that I maintained a highly professional mode of calm such that nothing unsettled me; I was perfectly sure-footed and rather well in control of the situation. The guy asked for "special favors" in what he seemed to considered affection. I'd heard the terms before, but they'd never nauseated me until then; fortunately my professional mode halted the rising tide of nausea and handled the situation as though it were something with which I routinely dealt and lectured on daily. I cannot even explain my casual conduct other than The Lord must have been dealing with the situation, mainly. This was Father-God's lesson in spades for me not to be so haughty about the caution of the Mexican guy. To be perfectly honest, it was not at all funny at the time. Somehow I brought in God and Bible, AIDS, the way God intended for sex to be, something about the therapeutic value of sex, and God knows what else; stated that he did not have to answer to me but only to God for his conduct, etc., etc., etc. The guy struck me as quite pathetic; he took my hand. Normally I avoid touching strangers to avoid sensing their feelings because I do not like negative feelings. I might have been a medical doctor with my casual dealing with the situation. At 70 mph one hardly slugs the driver of the car, less one be caught dead with someone one would never be caught dead; not that such violence ever crosses my mind. We continued to talk, and when he finally released my hand, I retrieved it. I'd nearly swear this was a set-up by the devil himself. We had gotten to Sherman, he had left the lighted area, my thoughts were pre-empted by the situation in the car to notice much about what was happening outside except that we had been in the lighted area and had gone to an unlighted area. Ah, but The Lord was with me, I commented on unfamiliarity with the area, and we returned to the lighted area of Sherman for the second time, and after requesting his idea of affection again, which I graciously declined, I escaped. THEN when it was convenient to do so I felt that nausea right in the pit of the stomach that causes one to want only two things; to vomit first and then roll over and die. All in all a most educational experience; I shall never again be irritated and haughty with anyone who displays caution about accepting a ride when I offer it. It was weird; I could sense his feelings, and he somehow viewed such acts as something akin to affection in a warped sort of way, almost in desperation it seemed. Father-God must have taken an extremely dim view of my attitude toward the Mexican guy's caution (I considered telling him to get out and walk and see if I gave a hoot, but it being Spanish I could only think of polite words and expressions to tell him it was his choice to ride or walk; underneath I was thoroughly irritated with his excessive caution) to let me go through this type experience, even if He did stay right with me all the while. As much trouble as I seem to stay in with Father-God, one must wonder on occasion how I claim a relationship with Him at all. It's the regular parent-child type thing where the Parent is always disciplining and teaching the child good manners and conduct; the child must learn to be civil in both thought and deed. The guy let me out about five miles from the bus station and told me to enjoy carrying my heavy bag. Except for The Spirit of The Lord, I cannot explain why, but I actually felt pity for him; in addition to all the other energy he transmitted, there was that of a person hurting. Perhaps the weirdest thing was that I actually said, "God bless you," on leaving the car, and this surprised me so much that I'm convinced The Lord was with me. The guy needed help; he needed help? IIIIIII needed help!

I just knew there would be a stranger at the bus station in Sherman when I got there. At the bus station a stranger waited; and when I walked up he stated, "You just missed the bus. If you're going north." Surely a lucky guess as most backpackers go north, no doubt; it was about 3:30 a.m., I left the bus station, the guy watched me from the corner of the building which was closed as I walked behind the station and behind trees out of his line of sight. Another stranger happened by me immediately and hovered nearby the next morning, attempted to speak to me, and asked if I spoke Spanish. I asked if he spoke English. I did not actually sleep that night but napped a bit after daybreak. Recalling the prior night seemed unreal; it was hard to believe it really happened.

After stopping at a Fur's Cafeteria for an all-you-can-eat lunch for $5, napping, and shipping out 20 pounds from my backpack, I decided this lesson was for the birds, and not this one. It seemed sensible to whip out my credit card and catch the next jet away from Father-God's lesson plan. It was then it occurred that with the dead weight I'd just shipped out also went my Visa card and bank books. There I was with about $200 on me, thoroughly dissatisfied with The Lord's educational methods, determined to drop the course, and discovered the drop date had already passed, so to speak. So, I hoofed it onward toward Oklahoma City, and someone stopped to give me a ride.

Elbert said he had been in prison for 17 years. Ha! But, he had a light in his eyes indicative of Father-God. Said in the 1960's in Houston, TX, a plainclothes policeman was breaking down his door, so he shot him, escaped to Canada, but was caught when he returned to Los Angeles to visit people. Said he now had his own business and hired mainly ex-convicts as they were the ones who usually had learned his handicraft in prison. So Elbert went out of his way and took me across the border into Oklahoma, then returned to Texas. I camped out at the rest stop for the night.

Next morning as I walked along the highway a guy with a "snake-nature" in his eyes gave me a ride. Father-God told me not to give him the $3 he requested, but I explained I did not know how to decline since I'd already said I would after the guy said he was going within 50 miles of OK City. Then he went east toward Hugo, OK, I commented OK City was west of us, but he insisted the road would ultimately connect. I had to backtrack a mile or two, but came across an intersecting road that took me in the correct direction. And met a lovely Christian lady at the convenience store where I was getting a huge soft drink to help me along the way. I had a canteen of water, but tried to save it for isolated areas.

After three rides with much nicer people and lots of walking in between for miles, I reached the highway that would take me north to OK City; the last ride let me out at the intersecting highway just as the sun was setting, I located a place to camp, and did so as The Spirit lead. It was really quite wonderful to see the stars overhead, and I was rather content all in all. Next day a police car went by me, turned about a half-mile up the highway, went back by me, and I just knew someone would soon be by to give me a ride. Sure enough, within about 15 minutes a retired military man happened by and gave me a ride to Ada, OK, where I refilled my quart soft drink cup. Two more rides and I was 20 miles south of OK City. The last guy was a fence builder, rather interesting in his view that all lawyers should be shot, that all laws except the U.S. Constitution should be eliminated, and that any lawyer that once attempted to twist or distort the law should suffer automatic death penalty. Sounded rather reasonable, all in all. We also discussed Bible and Christianity a bit. Rode to Norman, OK, about three miles from the bus station.

About 30 yards from the bus station in the shade of a tree I spread my ground sheet and was reading or writing when a stranger walked over from the bus station and inquired my destination and if I were taking the bus. "Eventually; why do you ask?" I inquired coolly. The dingbat seemed to think I wanted company or something, but after ignoring his presence he finally got my drift and left my grassy area. I camped out nearby that night after another all-you-can-eat dinner at Fur's, overslept the next morning, and ultimately caught the noon bus into OK City. Leaving the station in OK City a man on the street inquired, "Where are you going?" One is nearly inclined to check oneself to see if a sign is about the neck requesting strangers to be nosey. I ignored him completely. Hoofing northward in OK City, I paused to adjust my tiny AM-FM radio, and from nowhere a guy appeared, asked if I were all right, and said he thought he knew me. "I've never seen you before in my life," I snapped and discounted the possibility that he knew me; and hurt his feelings, which made me feel terrible. Stopping at a laundromat, I changed, washed my clothes, then changed back, and proceeded onward. It had started to rain, the night was coming, and I sought a place to camp out from the rain. Fortunately, I came upon a huge Methodist church with a large front porch, so I spread my groundsheet and camped there for the night. Next morning it seemed a return to the bus station for a ride outside OK City would be prudent. So I caught a city bus back downtown. I noticed my left ankle was slightly sore, considered taking the bus from OK City to wherever, but I'd begun to enjoy my camping out once I got used to it.

At the station a stranger stood before me staring at me for the longest time; I glared back at him periodically, and he finally left. After waiting until there was no one in line, I rushed to the window to purchase my ticked. A female bumped into me she came up behind me so close; I turned and stated, "Excuse me." "Oh, that's alright," she said. "Do you need to speak to the attendant immediately?" "No," she said. "Well, why don't you stand back there until I finish, then." Well, she did not move a step but stayed right by me, acting hurt by my suggestion. By some incredible coincidence the man who had been watching me just happened to get on the same bus and get off at the same stop as me; just the two of us exited in Edmond. I located UPS and shipped off another 12 pounds from my backpack, came across the park across from Central State University, and camped out there for the night. Before sunset a guy with a camera happened by, I switched sides of the pick-nick table to put my back to him, and he left almost immediately. The police showed up at the park that night, had some form of confrontation with someone, but I was in a tiny valley, my sleeping bag was the military green, my backpack was the military camouflage design, and unless a light were directly on me, I was rather invisible. And, Father-God was with me, too, which increases invisibility considerably when necessary. I went back to sleep and have no idea what the flashing lights and shouts atop the small hill involved. Next day I left Edmond via Route 66. The stiffness in my ankle seemed to be due to tension, so it would pass.

Right about the middle of nowhere with no buses to catch, it hurt more. But I commented to Father-God that the beauty and fun of walking with Him was well worth the minor annoyance. So the pain rapidly increased as a signal that I should take the bus. In fact, it got so bad that I had to stop and rest twice, finally told Father-God that I wanted one of OUR people - then thought better of including myself and said one of His people - to give me a ride. Shortly I came to a road intersecting the highway, a car came out the road as I arrived, the guy spoke to me and offered me a ride. Told me he was a lawyer (and a CPA), so I decided mentioning God, Bible, Christianity, etc. was a lost cause and didn't. Then he did; and commented that spiritually he considered himself a Jew. I answered that since Christ was a Jew, if we were to be His brother, each of us must be a Jew spiritually. We discussed God, Bible, and Christianity; the guy, Jay, said he was a Seventh Day Adventist; and he had two sons ages 2 and 4 with him. We also discussed Bible prophecy regarding the United States; there is none, but Jay insisted there was and that he would send me a book. Well, he did; it's the same book a stranger in San Francisco stuck in my hand on the way to work when I lived here, and which I gave to coworker, Ruth. This time I said I'd read the book, so now I'm stuck with it; 650 pages. And it turns out, according to the letterhead, that Jay is a partner in the law firm instead of merely an employee; he invited me to lunch if ever I'm in OK City again, and told me to feel free to call him in the note with the book. Once I finally finish the book, I'll have to write and give comments. So in addition to the sprained ankle, I may have developed a pen-pal since I do not anticipate going to OK City again.

My ankle ached so much after just a few dozen yards that I had to stop and rest about three times in two miles; I was four miles from Yale, OK, but could not make it. A 100% chance of rain with severe thunderstorms had been predicted earlier. I located a vacant pasture with an open gate, entered, located a correct area, and immediately knew how to make a pup tent with materials available although I'd only seen them on TV. I tied a line between two trees, put the ground sheet over it, put tie strings on each corner using two sets of shoe strings I happened to have, and secured the tent against the wind; then told Father-God I would rather not have rain, did not want lightning to strike the barbed-wire fence beside me, and preferred not to have any tornados, either. So, I snacked on beef jerky and flour tortillas, corn chips, and cookies and went sparingly on the water. I got all my requests of Father-God and was up and going by 9 a.m. the next morning as the night had been cold and I was disinclined to rise until after the chill had been broken by the sun.

Next day another ex-military man gave me a ride to Sand Springs, which borders Tulsa, there was an exercise walk all the way to downtown Tulsa, so I followed that, found a place in Tulsa behind an abandoned building to camp out for the night, cut branches off bushes with my trusty pocket knife to make my bed a bit softer, and camped out. This time I told Father-God that I wanted a few guards about me as people could happen by. No one bothered me. I'd also told Father-God He could just make my ankle better; it improved markedly.

Next morning I walked to the bus station, went ahead and bought the ticket back to West Virginia, and actually saved $8.70 by hiking from OK City to Tulsa. Again a woman who had been sitting near the door for the longest time suddenly came to the counter while I was there; I insisted she go ahead of me. Then she returned to stand and stare at the schedule three feet away while I conducted my business, after which she left the station altogether.

My ankle still tolerably sore, I was slow crossing streets. A female was displeased with my crossing an alley or driveway into which she wanted to turn and began shouting obscenities at me from her car. I waved an OK and shouted for her to hold her horses or something. Then she had the unmitigated gall to park near me and get out; so I turned and stated flatly, "You're not accustomed to being a lady, are you." The little darling screamed another obscenity at me and told me to get a job. Bad move, for I can match and exceed such people in a heartbeat. I turned her obscenity back on her in spades and told her she was a "dungy dog" which rather well shattered her pompous self-image of being so chic and sophisticated. I felt terrible, probably due to my monitoring her feelings during the attack and the feedback; but I'll bet that's one little darling that will think twice before attacking another homeless person. I could hardly believe I'd used the same language she'd used as I limped away, but that was the language she understood; diplomacy and civility are lost causes on such people.

Tulsa seemed to have an excess of snooty people. Admittedly, I had not shaved in a week, but I'd washed my face and actually looked pretty good, all things considered. The ground sheet and sleeping bag had kept my clothing very clean, although it was blue jeans and a brown-striped shirt, perma-press. Other Fur's had been very friendly, but the one in Tulsa regarded me with disdain. I'd tried to be there when it opened so I could miss the lunch rush, but it was three miles, and it had been open 15 minutes when I arrived. The woman refilling the water glasses served me, but she acted plainly as though it were a most undesirable thing to be waiting one anyone like me. And the reorder woman walked away just as I approached to request a second piece of pie, had to be called back, and was courteous once I spoke to her. One guy who passed me commented that the place was really losing its class. I decided I would be much more comfortable outside the cafeteria and hurried on my way. The three-mile walk back to the station was not so bad since I stopped and rested several times. The bus left on schedule about 3 p.m.

On the bus at a transfer point with people ahead and behind me entering the bus, one older woman asked if my bag would fit in the over-head compartment of the seat near hers. "Yes, but I'm going to sit back here," I answered. Rather odd she did not ask the other passengers, or so it seemed to me. It must be my animal magnetism.

I am virtually convinced at this point that the U.S. government is and has been for years conducting experiments in psychic phenomena. Prior to my "full background investigation," nobody paid any attention to me, and I did not have these recurring, harassing situations of strangers hovering about. I'd had several most "coincidental" occurrences here in "Bugtussle," like a car from Dallas-Ft. Worth stopping in front of my grandparents' rural home a month after I moved back here from Texas in 1983; and other things. Ultimately, I ended up applying with CIA due to being unable to obtain employment anywhere else; then I discovered temporary work was quite lucrative, and withdrew that application also. When I first got into temporary work, I had made flight reservations out of Cincinnati but went to Charleston, WV, airport and changed the reservations at the last moment to fly to Los Angeles. The "coincidences" I could gripe and growl about since 1977 are nearly endless. For example, in 1978 after moving to the third floor of the dorm at UTA, a guy, Craig, from U.S. Department of State happened to move into the room across the hall, came over and introduced himself to me, introduced me to another student whose father was in the military, and somehow we ended up buddying together for a good part of the semester, until Renauldo exploded over a stupid card game, called me an obscenity, and I refused to play with him again; and moved into my own apartment before the semester was out.

Then at the apartments (a long, two-story building with roughly 22 units) ultimately there was Steve as immediate neighbor (our doors were side-by-side), Sunday school classmate, and church associate at Woods Chapel in Arlington, TX, who commented to me at my apartment door about hoping he could obtain the $80 rent by the end of the month. We got along fine until then. Suddenly he came into the best luck, got a stereo that made my $300 system look very cheap, got a car, and got into the annoying habit of happening to be about while I was out on walks with Father-God whether at 10 p.m., midnight, or 2 a.m. I seek privacy and isolation from people when talking with Father-God and fellowshipping with Him.

Virtually anything cited could be coincidence. It's rather like the evolutionists who claim life developed by accident of nature, that millions of atoms happened together repeatedly over time to create life in all its varied forms. [Anyone who promotes such wild religious views with claims of being “scientists” are proving themselves to be religious fanatics and politicians that reject mathematical probability, true science, and truth in general in order to promote their atheistic-communistic religions and agendas; such self-proclaimed “scientists” are worse fanatics than people who lift unrelated statements from the Bible out of context in efforts to claim support for their personal agendas. Degrees in science no more make a true scientist than degrees in theology make a true prophet of God.] It makes more sense to state Webster's Dictionary accidentally came into being by an explosion in a print shop from my perspective since there are fewer letters in the alphabet than elements on the Periodic Table, but it could happen in all fairness. Most common-sense people agree it never did happen. (With wicked sarcasm I like the thought of seeing someone point to a manual typewriter and proclaim that if one merely watched it long enough and waited patiently, the ancient typewriter would evolve into an elevator, a ski lift, a Royals Royce, the various forms of computers, and finally the space shuttle, etc. And failing to have any other proof, most religious fanatics simply claim computers and the space shuttle “evolved” on their own, without any help or involvement of “higher intelligence”; figuratively speaking, of course, when considering the claims of so-called “scientists” promoting their fanatical religious views related to the development of life, which is infinitely more complex than any manmade machines and all of them put together. Therefore, religious fanatics claiming to be “scientists” are insisting that relatively simple items like typewriters and space shuttles are by “intelligent design,” but all infinitely more complex things by way of life absolutely developed by pure happenstance; what a crock of insanity.)

Anyway, I cannot prove any of this mess (related to my personal annoyances of a pest following) is more than coincidence; however, the mathematical probability for all these things to be pure coincidence seems somewhat slim based on the experiences of most people, including myself prior to the full background investigation by federal government. I'm perfectly convinced it is a well-organized and well-financed, government-sponsored harassment spanning years; (that was farmed out to so many agencies, universities, and organizations such that it snowballed out of control and assumed a life of its own). Fortunately, they picked exactly the right person, because Lord willing, my very faith is being directed to recommend retribution. These thick-headed, stupid people master-minding such a mess would have to be dense enough to qualify as a new element on the Periodic Table. Obviously if anyone has spiritual (or psychic) abilities to warrant such horrendous harassment and related expenditures for years, the person has sufficient abilities to extract retribution in spades from every damn one of them. Lord willing, of course.

I'm convinced the main goal of this mess is research for developing methods of mind control and espionage to accomplish that age-old goal of a few lusting for power to control masses of other people or other nations. The "psychics" employed by the government seem to require extensive and continuous physical data about my activities, such that without the physical information, they have no information at all. Or it could be an effort designed to drive me over the edge. Well, my "edge" is that of a sphere, by the Grace of God.

I'm inclined to the view that these idiots in government (since none of this happened prior to government snooping, and local police forces nation wide seem involved) seem to believe that if they close off all avenues except the one to them, I'll be forced to go crawling back. In their dreams! I'll live as a hobo first. Father-God uses this method to keep me on track, but He's God and can, and He's Father and still can.

Occasionally I suspect some long-term friends and family members have been party to this mess; emotionally I reject this, but intellectually, it verifies. Case-in-point with family was an uncle in the military and with whom I was mainly reared like a brother. While I lived in Phoenix he called, I sensed extreme treachery, asked how and when he'd gotten my unlisted number, and he admitted his mother gave it to him but lied about the time he'd called her and gotten it. I called her and asked the next morning it bothered me so that night; "Oh, he called yesterday evening about 8 o'clock ... Why? SURELY it was alright to give your number to him!?" I'd told my grandparents the whole insane story in a fit of anger after the car from TX had appeared here in WV. I'd thought it was a local thing in TX, which was the logic in leaving that area. "Of COURSE it was alright," I soothed her concerns since it'd already been done. So, the dear uncle had gotten my number from his mother either minutes before or minutes after calling me yet said it had been days earlier on the weekend. Except for situations related to his military career, he had no reason for lying about so small a thing. I'd sensed the call somehow related to his military job and hardly had my best interest in mind, to say the least. These "coincidences" make me sound like a paranoid nut to everyone who knows me; but I've come to the point of not caring how I sound or appear. In all fairness, the dear uncle could simply have forgotten when he last spoke with his mother long-distance.

But then there was also the aunt from my natural father's side who contacted me after 20 years of silence; and later a cousin who seemed to have information on me my own brothers and sister did not have, but U.S. Department of State did have. I got into a mess that time by accusing a sister of my natural mother of providing the information because the (paternal) cousin intimated to the Nth degree that was the source by saying she'd read the letter from the aunt in WV, then immediately asked a question related to the other information. Happenstance again, no doubt. Then I got a scathing letter from WV denying my accusation of telling complete strangers my life's history in every detail with one contact. All these "coincidences" certainly add extra challenge to one's life. Anyway, over the years I've taken to telling everything to everyone so there's not much manipulation snooping pests can use in the way of information about me. Unfortunately, so much has happened since 1977 that in conversation I can no longer discuss all the "coincidences" intelligently because I cannot recall everything that happened and associate them. It comes out as endless, disjointed statements that could not possibly be related.

I suppose the really annoying part is that snoops that watch me would have to watch friends with whom I associate, simply because there is no way the two can be separated when the two are together. Lord, deliver me; I may have all of you looking over your shoulders after that observation.

Today (5/13/91) I bought a new battery for my good old Dodge Swinger, and it started right up and runs fine after sitting here for about two months. This one will be harder for strangers to mistake for theirs since I remove it and put it in the trunk during the night. So, at least I have a car for interviews. Speaking of which, Kelly Temps was supposed to schedule one for me, but alack and alas the same amazing coincidences that followed me to San Francisco and Dallas seem to be with me here since they never called back. I mean, how many people can state they know a half-dozen of the most widely used softwares on the market? Manpower here was outright snooty on the phone. Well; there's always manual labor. I can do yard work, which is healthier anyway. Oh thank GOD I suffered through college and especially those hideous calculus and physics courses, foreign languages, etc. I've already earned $40 mowing the yard and digging and shoveling dirt. (This is 22 May, and my ankle is fully healed, finally.) I've heard of eking out a living, but this is ridiculous. And, I may put out my own garden as the year is yet young and there is about a half-acre of garden space that's unused, just waiting to be ploughed and planted.

By the way, recall last year when Father-God wanted me back here pronto, apparently due to the imminent arrival of an old goat that wanted to take over the small church. Well, it took him long enough to strike his colors, but he finally stopped attending and put a sign in front of his house announcing himself as pastor of a following he reportedly has attempted to start out of his garage. I am quite pleased as some members got a tiny bit huffy when I stated his goal was to take over the church after his first or second Sunday in attendance. It seems I can stay in trouble with somebody with so little effort in stating obvious facts; or obvious to me at any rate. The really pleasing part is that he seemed to think my presence prevented his being recognized as the rightful leader of the church, which was the case in the beginning, but he left during the two months I was away; which means the other members recognized his true nature, finally.

Well, take care. Ultimately I'll find work of one sort or another. Just as soon as my stupid ankle is well. It gets old fast just lying on one's back with the foot propped up. I'm confident this is the same injury of the chipped bone that happened in 1981 when I was disagreeing with Father-God about His insistence that I return to church and related things when I did not see the need. He seems to believe this area ("Bugtussle") is the place for me for at least the time being. Au revoir, hasta luego, etc.

With Christian Love,

LJD

Letter to Friends – 9 August 1990

While sorting through things, I came across some old letters I wrote years ago. I had forgotten many of the details that now amuse me; I had a fair sense of humor … once upon a time.

9 August 1990

Dear Friends,

This is an update from my last letter. Much to my surprise, I'm back here in "Bugtussle" (as I refer to it when in urban areas), the cultural center of nowhere situated conveniently to nothing, and having all the most advanced technologies - for the 1800's or thereabouts I should think. Anyway, in July Father-God and I spent some quality time together traveling. I was supposed to be furthering my abilities at discerning His leading; and apparently lead snoops on a wild goose chase. Thursday I left WV in my good old Dodge Swinger with the Slant-6 engine; Friday I was in Canada via Michigan. The time with Father-God was fun; the incidentals were less intriguing.

As I approached Thunder Bay, a semi came thundering from that direction, a loud thud sounded on the car roof directly above my head, and later I noticed the object had ripped a half-inch of the vinyl roof and scratched the steel underneath. While still in Ontario, Father-God indicated I was to head toward Alaska. I insisted I did not want to drive to Alaska as the roads were miserable, and it was farther than I cared to drive, and Montana seemed better to me. Nonetheless, I continued on through Alberta to the town of Grande Prairie just east of British Columbia, where abruptly The Lord's leading vanished completely. This was a very strange feeling, rather like being on a deserted planet lost in space. I decided He was not going to tell me repeatedly what direction to take and suspected I should either stay where I was or return home; but decided to prove to Him that I would go to Alaska despite not wanting to in case that's where He was leading. My dread was replaced with the sense of adventure the more I contemplated on Alaska.

In Dawson Creek, just inside British Columbia, Father-God instructed me to return home. I decided this must have something to do with my negative attitude back in Ontario, told Him we would go to Alaska, and if things did not work out perfectly on first effort, then I'd return home; that I wanted to be certain I was willing to do His will whether I agreed with it or not.

In Fort Nelson the thermostat on my car stuck, the engine overheated, and I had to dig out from the back of the packed trunk the new thermostat, the repair manual, and tools. I was supposed to have replaced the thing in CA but had become frustrated with finding where it went and abandoned the job.

In Skagway the clutch failed. What a blessing! I thought it was the transmission since I'd had a new clutch installed immediately prior to starting this trip. Coming through Canadian Customs gears would change only with utmost coaxing; both hands pulling and pushing the gearshift while pressing the clutch like stomping a flea to ensure it never bites again, the car limped into motion. One is forced into experimental examination of field data at such times. By turning off the engine (and thus locking the steering wheel), I could change gears. I managed second gear; first gear was most recalcitrant. Downshifting seemed impossible, but up-shifting worked okay. Skagway being at sea level, I knew it would take a bit of speed to get over the mountains in high gear. Accelerating away from Customs like a mad bat out of torment, I headed up the mountains at just over 80 mph. As I was flying up the mountain side with the avalanche warnings directing drivers not to stop on the one side, and a straight drop down to almost certain death on the other, I had some rather passionate thoughts for the mechanic who put in the new clutch. What a challenge! Some might think I go through these things just for the shear breath of Hell. Au contraire! The Lord has lessons involved in each hideous experience we survive to tell about. There was also road construction, of course, which made the highway about like driving on a creek bed in smoothness and comfort, and forced me to battle the gearshift into second gear when low would have been best. The nicest way to express my thoughts toward the mechanic, who entered my mind each time Death seemed to have been thwarted again however briefly, would be something like, "Having the time of my life! Wish you were here!!" Things were as bad as they could be; then they took a turn for the worst.

Coming east at Watson Lake my rear windshield shattered completely and fell into thousands of pieces inside the car just as a small, white RV passed traveling west. Only minutes before I had picked up a native who was hitch-hiking; this native turned out to be from Japan. And I had just explained how I as a Christian tended to remain relatively happy regardless of circumstances. What a splendid opportunity to demonstrate the truth of this point. When in a state of disbelief, it is always best to ignore the object of disbelief until it is forced upon oneself.

Incredibly at Canadian Customs in AK, there had been a scout-type jeep with WV tags. Took me back to July 1983, when I returned to WV from TX, and there right in front of my grandparents’ home a car had stopped with TX tags. Small world.

Meanwhile, the clutch was offering wonderful new challenges in cross-country driving while rocketing through the Rockies. Call me a novice, but I have always found it difficult to drive with both hands on the gear-shift, one foot on the clutch, the other pumping the accelerator, and steering with an elbow. A RARE opportunity to develop new skills.

In Edmonton rain began to sprinkle, so I stopped, pulled out a poncho which I attached via the molding screws inside the rear window. With nylon cord I also made tie-strings so the poncho could be rolled up to enable a good view through the rear-view mirror. One should always travel with multi-purpose items.

Looking and sounding like a nightmare version of the Beverly Hillbillies in the Twilight Zone with broken window combined with "stripping gears," I finally made U.S. Customs in Montana. The woman checked my tags; my driver’s license; and asked what I did for a living. "Is this normal?" I inquired, knowing it was not. "Yes," she insisted, "Do you want to come inside?" "No," said I in a most cavalier tone. The thought occurred, "Why, I'm independently wealthy; can't you tell by the car I drive?" As an international representative of WV, by virtue of my license tags, it was such a comfort to represent our lovely state back inside the bounds of our own bountiful country.

In Great Falls, Montana, the battery died. Probably had something to do with the bad clutch causing the car to die in an intersection with a semi approaching; with my usual resourcefulness the starter and battery were employed to back out of the intersection. How exciting! What an unprecedented golden opportunity to display my physical prowess as traffic backed up behind me. Fortunately, the ground was virtually level and I get stronger when angry, so by the Grace of God I was able to push the 3100 pound car around the corner and down the street almost to the next corner and park it. When driving through cities with a bad clutch, one should avoid red lights, stop signs, and general use of the brake since braking tends to kill the engine if the clutch does not work. In about 30 minutes the dead battery was resurrected; just from resting itself.

Sunday morning in Nebraska while changing clothes in a rest room stall, I heard what sounded like a group of men enter. It was only the military in camouflage clothing, so I went on to the next rest station and found the same thing. A military escort; precisely what one craves to top off an unforgettable trip.

I met some extremely nice people out West. Many still have the "old-world" values of courtesy found in Godly Christians. Father-God, incidentally, held back the rain for me; it rained all around me, but I tended to travel in a circle of sunshine reminiscent of the eye of a hurricane. Until I reached Indiana and decided my remarkable faith managed the feat; then it rained pitch forks briefly. A subtle message from Father-God, perchance?

What did I learn from all this? Basically, that I'm an easily annoyed, occasionally hateful, angry person lacking a forgiving nature and having no patience whatsoever. God only knows how He puts up with me at such times.

The Lord was gracious and forgiving of my many transgressions, however, and the clutch and windshield were repaired once back where He indicated I should return, despite the senselessness of it all from my point of view. This new flexible, hard plastic made an excellent rear windshield for under $25. I noticed some newer cars tend to have plastic rear windshields anyway. I was grumpy for days, until the damage was undone. Because I did the window myself, it was an excellent learning experience. All in all, traveling is educational, regardless of how miserable the trip. Unforgettable as this adventure was, I've nearly forgotten it already; with just a little inspired effort.

Now, all the above was not nearly exciting and challenging enough, of course. Before I'd been back a week an even more intriguing situation occurred. One of the dogs "came in season" and thus attracted male dogs. Auntie decided to take her (hand) gun, go out, and fire it to scare the dogs away. I suggested she not do so, but 20 years back she'd been in the Army, Air Force, Marines, or some such institution, insisted she knew best, and proceeded to do so anyway. We all have had these annoying feelings that a mishap is going to try its level best to occur. I sensed this, but beating one's head against a brick wall is so much more sensible than trying to convince other human beings not to be stupid about anything on which they have set their minds to be stupid. Auntie fired one shot into the ground, returned to the living room, removed the magazine from the handle of the gun, and the gun managed to point in my general direction. Instantly I gave warning that live ammo can still remain in the gun even after the magazine is removed and headed across the room from the arm chair in which I was sitting since that's where the barrel was directed as Auntie examined the gun for loose bullets. Naturally, Auntie was twisting and re-angling the gun mindlessly the whole while, incredibly tracking my move across the room without even looking at me, and the gun went off. I was surprised that I was not hit; just by the GRACE of Father-God, I might add. Auntie merely shot through the coffee table instead of me; I was watching the whole while in a "full-alert" mode of defense. I watched fire shoot from the barrel; smoke came out the open handle where the magazine (cartridge) went; the smoke blasted Auntie on the leg. A large glass ashtray jump about two inches; I was amazed it was still in one piece and inquired if she had "blanks" loaded; she said they were regular bullets; the coffee table top ended up with a mere nick in the top such that it really was not possible to tell it had been shot; the underside of it, however, had more material missing. The Spirit of The Lord was with me, and I did not say anything like what I might have said otherwise, but my fury was such that I briefly considered packing up and leaving that same evening.

At first Auntie tried to make light of the situation and stated, "The most you could have lost were a few toes." "I happen to need all my toes; I've become rather fond of them over the years," I answered in a dead-pan tone and commented, "I'm going for a walk." It was raining, but I didn't care.

Anyway, deep down I was rather furious about the matter; after returning from my lengthy walk, Auntie and I discussed the situation; I stated that guns were generally used for killing, and that unless she specifically wanted to kill something, it would probably be a good idea not to bring out the gun. It shook her up enough that she probably won't play around with it for some time. She was nearly killed about 25 years back when a bullet when whizzing by her head because two mindless males (Auntie’s first husband and his brother, Fungus, from my childhood years) were proving their stupidity, so she rather understood my anger.

Before she brought out the gun, I told her not to and commented as a joke that she'd hit one of the cars. Normally she has more sense with guns than what she displayed in this instance. Imagine for a moment the humorous side of the situation. Auntie - "Oh silly ME! Did I wound you? It's not serious, I hope. Well, for goodness sakes! In all the year's I've handled guns, you're the first person I've shot ... accidentally at any rate. Well, I'm sure you'll feel much better about the whole thing in a few weeks or months after the wound has healed. Shall I remove the bullet myself, or would you rather have a medic do it? I worked in the hospital for some years, you know. You really should learn how to stay away from guns; they're dangerous." This humor is about the way I view the mentality of people who whip out a gun like a child brings out a toy. I have never liked guns specifically because they are used to kill. My grandfather was careful in the extreme with guns; he NEVER let a gun point in the direction of a person regardless of how certain it was that the gun was empty. It seems even when a gun was apart and being cleaned, he'd still growl at anyone who let the barrel point with random carelessness. Out of the many children and grandchildren that frequented their home, no one was ever injured by a gun, and this is the only mishap I recall or heard of in the family, and nearly everyone went hunting while growing up. I personally did not like to hunt and was thoroughly thankful the squirrels and rabbits stayed hid the once I recall going hunting. I once shot a chicken through the head; and felt terrible instantly. When we had fried chicken, it was fresh meat.

Well, now I have that out of my system. Father-God seems to have sent me back here specifically for something related to helping this sister-type aunt, and the message made no sense to me whatever; and still doesn't. So I'm just here.

Fortunately, I saved enough while in CA that it's not essential that I find work immediately at this point. I certainly need to spend wisely, but nonetheless, my meals are a fairly sure thing.

Sunday the lay-preacher got off on a few more tangents from the pulpit. Commented on his wife's very short hair and how some felt that it was against the Bible; then stated that he didn't care what others thought, that he liked the short hair, and it was his wife; which was fine although inappropriate from the pulpit, and had he shut up there no harm done. But immediately he continued that it was a shame for a man to have long hair and got off on another tangent on his personal views of that. There was another Bible misquote, which I forget at the moment, but Father-God and I took him to task just as soon as services were over. "Paul. You said it was fine for your wife to have short hair because she belonged to you and it was nobody's business as long as she pleased you. What if a man's wife likes him with long hair?" I presented for evaluation. "The Bible says it's a shame for a man to have long hair!" he returned. "The Bible also says that a woman's glory is in her hair, and that we are not to give thought to our appearance," I answered. Well, he still felt he should be the judge of hair length, and speaking to another member, Ernestine, continued, "That nephew of yours; for someone representing the community as prosecuting attorney, he looks worse than some of the criminals he prosecutes, and he goes on television with that long hair!" "Do you know why he wears his hair long?" Ernestine inquired. Of course he did not, so I answered, "Because he had cancer." Ernestine continued that the long hair covered the scar left from surgery.

Later that afternoon I went up to his home to talk with him; he lives essentially on top of a mountain, it had rained, and I had to try a second time to get up the steep, slick, muddy road. The Lord was with me, thus providing extreme diplomacy as I explained he did okay while sticking to the Bible sermon of Jeremiah 31-31, and asked if he felt led of the spirit to make the comment on hair. "Not particularly," he answered, but continued to growl about the bad representation Michael gave with his long hair. "Do you believe it is worse for Michael to give a bad appearance as a representative of the community than it is for you to give a bad appearance as a representative of God?" This inspired him to consider sweeping his own doorstep before he insisted on sweeping another's. We got onto discussing Thru the Bible Radio with the late Dr. J. Vernon McGee. Someone had asked a question in church; he did not know the answer, but I did because I try to listen to the teaching program daily and have done so for nearly ten years for the most part. "J.D. (a retired teacher who attends the other church where Paul preaches) said he did not believe Dr. McGee was even saved," came the answer to my suggestion he try listening to the program. I was not entirely pleased. "Dr. McGee is one of two people Father-God chose as my teachers of The Bible, in addition to teaching me Himself; I have listened to Dr. McGee since 1981, he teaches specifically Salvation through the Crucifixion, death, burial, Resurrection, and Ascension of Christ. If I were J.D., I might consider getting on my knees and praying for forgiveness for making such a statement," I offered. I have been invited to that church, incidentally, but it's the same people who once came into the church I have attended all my life and decided to take over, that the nonmembers should be allowed to vote. I disagreed with the lot of them on the spot, and they were none too happy about that, one whining the intimation that I was of the devil (she developed cancer later, possibly because Father-God was right there with me, looked at her, and knew she was living with the man who accompanied her without benefit of marriage; before the cancer she also became pregnant and thus the whole community knew she was not the virtuous thing she tearfully presented herself to be). I went to talk with one of my co-members who supported the views of the nonmembers, and she snapped that my conduct was purely of the devil, but Father-God was more merciful; the woman was so furious with me that she nearly left the church. It was not a pleasant ordeal, but The Lord and I stood our ground, and now the little church is few in numbers same as then, but spiritually much stronger and in a closer walk in the Spirit of The Lord.

This is the deadest area on top-side of planet Earth, and why Father-God wanted me back here is still a mystery. I have applied for a teaching job in a county bordering this one, but I have yet to hear a word from the school system. They needed a Spanish teacher; a math teacher for lower grades with a knowledge of computers, and several other positions. I virtually despise the education system as it now stands; Christ Himself would be deemed too ignorant and unqualified to teach in public schools until He took about 30 semester hours of education courses in most states. I can probably run circles around most "certificated teachers" in general abilities, mainly because the colleges here are about like high school; and the so-called "professors" have about an eighth-grade mentality and level of maturity. In the one education class I agree was beneficial (they grew progressively useless afterwards), it was suggested that on occasion there would be dingbat teachers with which to deal. However, it was not my impression from the class that 75-90% of them would be that way. I hope this is restricted to just this area, because if it's not, U.S. schools are far worse off than anyone can imagine.

My ambition is somewhat lacking. Being a teacher is the only thing to which I aspire. And, I do not want to teach at a business college again; what a boring job. I nearly interviewed for a typing teacher position at a business college here, but I came to my senses at the last minute and cancelled the interview. "Put your hands on the keyboard, move your fingers, and words come out on the paper, screen, or whatever ..." Teaching something I could nearly do in my sleep is not my idea of a fulfilling career.

8/11/90
Yesterday the other aunt (Hope) with the goats, cow, etc. was away due to her husband being in the hospital for a brief stay; the older aunt (Bessie) was supposed to do the milking. Guess who ended up milking? Moi. It was such a laugh to think that I came from a job at IBM to a job of milking two goats; even the one time. I had escaped milking cows through all the years of childhood because there were always others who did it, and I only watched mainly. My late grandfather's later sister was afraid I'd cause her cow to hold back its milk, so she let me try milking for about two minutes 20 years ago or thereabouts. These goats are for eating weeds and briars; the milk is a by-product of their main purpose. The cow has not yet "come fresh" (had her calf) and thus did not have to be milked (thank The Lord!). Goats have only two tits whereas cows have four. During my childhood years people in this neighborhood had only cows; no goats. Anyway, I fed the chickens, looked for eggs but two hens were "setting," and there were no eggs to collect; fed the peacocks, the rabbits, and the dog and cat. I neglected to feed the geese, but they were in the fenced area where the cow and goats are and can fend for themselves. They look too fat or lazy to fly, so the electric fence keeps them in same as it does the other animals. Come to think of it, there used to be ducks, too, but they must have flown away.

I don't know where these people came by the wild idea that I know nothing about farm work. "Does HE know how to milk?!" one of the neighbors apparently said to Hope when she was stating I took care of the animals. "I guess he does since he did the milking," she answered. Someone said that people here tend to think of me as being book-oriented. Actually, I can read and even do so on occasion; but I can do other things, too. I'd seen all those things done for years as a child, done most types of farm work however briefly at one point or another, and merely because I don't particularly like doing it does not mean I can't. Those younger than me in the family might not know how and be pure "city-reared" in capabilities, but I happen to be functional in both the urban and the rural settings. I can even ride a horse; or once could; presumably I still could if the need arose. Actually, I once was a fairly good rider and could stick to the back of my pony like I was born there. Admittedly I did bite the dust a few times and slammed into a tree once or twice, but one learns how to avoid such annoyances with the proper motivation - like shear terror - until self-confidence grows such that one ultimately feels perfectly at ease riding. I could even stand up on the back of my pony, although not very well if he moved about much. "Dusty" was a good, gently pony. Once for some wild reason I got on him backwards, accidentally let the reins slip out of my hands, and he decided to take off. It was not a pleasant experience. Dusty was also occasionally mischievous, seemed to know he was in control of the situation, and walked faster into a trot the more I tried to get him to stop. I can tell you it is far easier to ride when seated facing the horse's head rather than its tail. Anyway, after a hundred yards or so I talked him into stopping, or he just took pity on me and stopped on his own; I never felt the urge to try that stunt again. It was not a pleasant experience.

Today I put a dead-bolt lock on the back door and adjusted the front door a bit. Someone had borrowed Auntie's (I never call Bessie that, but it just sounds so comical; I think of a sketch from The Carol Burnett Show of years ago when using the term) power drill, so I was reduced to using mainly a wood chisel, hammer, and related tools to accomplish the job, and it only took about 15 times as long to get the job done.

Good grief! I'm already on page 7. I do tend to ramble on and on and on. Maybe I can cut out a lot of this. Except I want to add color graphics throughout the document, so it may be longer still. Maybe by the next time I write I'll have figured out what this software is talking about in naming files so I can access my other print fonts and do the whole letter in "Old English," or maybe just a few lines in script. I got a fairly good representation of "Betty Boop" except for the feet. Now I'll have to make her about three inches tall and two inches wide in order to get the correct ratio in this software. Take care! Let me hear from you if you feel so inclined. After all, Lord knows where I'll end up next if He does not inspire these numskull education politicians (they prefer the title of administrators, I believe) in this area to begin looking at hard-skill abilities instead of the Mickey Mouse "certification" that they seem to believe makes just anyone's fool an expert teacher.

Take care!

With Christian Love,

LJD