This is reputed to be a Chinese curse. Since this Corona virus came out of China those people may know first hand what it means. My generation missed the big wars. Missed the depression. Yet here we are living in interesting times. My husband and I are self sheltering. My gym is closed and I think about all of the staff who work so hard to help us. My yoga class is cancelled. I am concerned about Roberta, the yogi who is never late and sets a lovely scene for us. My doctor called to cancel me. I have a painful hand, but he is asking all patients over 65 to reschedule. My writing class is canceled. So is the poetry reading which was supposed to take place at the end of April. I am blessed to have a housekeeper twice a month. She has become a friend. She brings 3-4 other women so I must cancel her for Monday. I will still pay her because she is so loyal. She is probably at more risk than I. Since I am home, I can clean and keep myself busy. I have gone through old files on the home improvements we have done the last 39 years we have been blessed to live in our home. I added all the work and am amazed at what we have spent.

I am tackling my house inventory. Know how you keep thinking I really should do this. Take photos for insurance. Tell the story of how and when something precious was obtained. Now’s the time. I have more past than future and I want my kids to know why these things that clutter my home are important to me.

I’m calling my darling sibs, and my friends just to check in. I am NOT running out to buy toilet paper. Read today that a woman went to the market and asked where to find nuts. The clerk responded, “in the toilet paper aisle.” If I had a business, say selling scarves, I’d put a message on social media that there is a shortage of scarves. Boom, my business would be overwhelmed.

Think of all the books you can read. Think of how you can clean and organize your home. My very last, scary thing is to clean out my closet. My size 8’s are still hanging there. I call it my “hope chest.” I realize I don’t want to starve to get there and I’m getting comfortable with my weight. Sofia Lauren said that after 50 you have to choose between your hips or your face. I’m choosing an extra slice of cheese and a martini.

This crisis tells us we are more connected than we think, or maybe that we want to be. I heard of a young man who is incensed because he doesn’t want the government to tell him what to do. Hey, fella, there is no one else out there to protect your family at this time. What can you do about this virus? If your child gets sick because someone didn’t follow the guidelines given by the CDC who will you call?

I am staying home. Not because I am sick. Not because I am afraid. It’s because we need to be concerned about each other. The CDC exists to protect us. I will follow their guidelines.

To shelter here is a privilege. Our garden is beautiful with spring renewing the earth. We can all look at the sky, look at the rain or snow, slow our lives down and perhaps think. As advanced as we are a small virus may be here to teach us to savor the day. To appreciate our families, play some games with them and return to the basics that will ultimately make us better than before.

Blessings, Bubbles


That’s the Aussie description of wandering, physically and mentally. I’ve been down with the “croup.” A 2 1/2 week doldrum type cough and fatigue. I became conscious to find Corona Virus is coming and Super Tuesday wasn’t so super. I’m sorry to find Bernie took California. I don’t like his “free for all” story or his shouting and finger-pointing.

I am sorry to see EW go. I’m not fond of her “almost everything free for all” either. She is, however, bright and honest. We can’t have that in a woman. If she’s smart, she’s condescending. She did shut up another arrogant billionaire. I hope she stays around as a conscience for the pols.

How long has this election been droning on? I believe we need legislation to have a time frame on running for office. Start in June for the Nov. Election. Surely that’s enough time to get a message across. Have a limit (a real limit) on spending and have everyone release their taxes. Let’s see who has “skin in the game.”

Not to worry about the Cvirus. Mr. Pence is in charge. If someone wakes him up or clicks the on button under his coat, he may begin to move. Like he didn’t in Indiana. Clever of the Orange Man to put him in charge. When all goes south or down or we all try to find health care and an epidemic hits, it won’t be his fault. Then a new VP can be chosen. someone who is really vulgar and nasty, a match for Mr. Orange.

I’m thinking of going back to bed for a while. Perhaps all this is a nightmare. When I wake up civility will be the norm and all shall be well.

Blessings, Bubbles


I am working on a memoir called, “Woman-Be Quiet.” I thought I was almost finished then I joined the Thursday Critique Group at Sea Country. They are a group of talented, creative and honest writers. Their criticism is valuable. Often it is hard to hear. Hard to hear, but I need to listen. They want to help me. It’s called tough love in parenting.

I thought my story was important. No one disagrees on that. It just needs to be interesting, not a rant. I am not as angry about the plight of women as I was when I started this story. I want people to hear what I say. I want them to really look at that little girl in their life and ask, does she have an equal chance with her brother?

Yes, things have gotten better for some women, but violence is still a danger for every woman no matter what her age. Several years ago, the AMA was having a conference in San Francisco. The majority of the attendees were men. There was great hue and cry because the doctors got a letter before the convention stating security rules. These precautions might ruin their good time.

When I read them, I nearly laughed out loud. Don’t walk down the street alone after dark. Don’t get into an elevator with only one man inside. Don’t open your hotel room door unless you know who the person is. Don’t set your drink down and walk away. The cautions went on. They were what every woman deals with her whole life.

What world did these guys live in? Their baby daughters and grandmothers lived in a reality where the world is dangerous because they are female. The odds that a woman will be raped are high, the odds that a man would be raped are low. The odds that a woman will be believed if she is raped are low.

We are seeing women speak out. Some took the abuse for advancement in their careers. I think some just knew no one would believe them if they reported the abuse.

Read about the two jerks that owned Victoria’s Secret. Women have accepted their jaded view on what women should wear. Bustiers, garter belts, thongs, designs of old misogynist creeps.

When I look at photos of these guys and Weinstein, I don’t want to even see them clothed. Thinking of them naked is not an image I want in my mind. Some women walked away. I salute them. Some stayed and did what they thought would bring them fame and fortune. I feel sorry for them and hope they will be an example for other young women, so they will know they don’t have to conform to men’s skewed desires.

We women, need to rewrite the story. We need to have other women critique what we allow, what our story is. Don’t be quick to criticise her. Listen to each other. A fair loving critique will help improve her story and yours.


I’ve been reading H.J. Desmond’s history of the Nativist Movement, copyright 1905. This group created a political party called the “American Party,” more popularly known as the “Know-Nothing Party.” They became strong in the mid-1800s. This was the time of great immigration to the U.S.

There were rules about joining the secret society known as the Order of the Star-Spangled Banner (OSSB). An initiation rite called “Seeing Sam.” The memorization of passwords and hand signs. A solemn pledge never to betray the order. A pureblooded pedigree of Protestant Anglo-Saxon stock and the rejection of all Catholics. And above all, members of the secret society weren’t allowed to talk about the secret society. If asked anything by outsiders, they would respond with, “I know nothing.”

There were 5 million people (all immigrants because they didn’t count the Native Americans.) in the United States before 1850. By 1900, 20 million had joined the land. The KnowNothing Party intended to prevent Catholics and immigrants, mainly Irish in the east and Germans in the mid-west, from being elected to political offices. Its members also hoped to deny these people jobs in the private sector, arguing that the nation’s business owners needed to employ true Americans. More radical members of the KnowNothing Party believed that the Catholics intended to take over the United States of America. The Catholics would then place the nation under the Pope’s rule. We heard this again when Kennedy ran for President.

By 1852 the Know-Nothing party was achieving phenomenal growth. It did very well that year in state and local elections, and with the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act in 1854 it won additional adherents from the ranks of conservatives who could support neither the proslavery Democrats nor antislavery Republicans. When Congress assembled on Dec. 3, 1855, 43 representatives were avowed members of the Know-Nothing Party.

It seems to me that our Senate, Democrats and Republicans could be called the “Know-Nothing’s.” They certainly Know Nothing about integrity, the general good of our country or even the Constitution. They do know about re-election, lobbyists, and lining their own pockets.

Do they know what generativity means? What they are leaving their grandchildren and mine? Do they know weakening the EPA will give us black air like the cities of China? Do they know what Civil Rights Means? Do they know that our National Parks are in danger? Do they know what good example means? What the hell do they know?

When you put on your “Make America Great Again” hat. Ask how is this going? Does voting along party lines make this a better country? Does vulgarity enrich us? Does leaving out a portion of our citizens make this country great? What can each of us do to make this happen?

Immigration to the United States has always been a confusing subject if you read history. I believe there is a moderate method to take in people who have nowhere else to turn. My ancestors came here legally (yes I have the papers to prove it) but they came and worked hard. Other people walked across the border, stayed and worked hard too.

Here in California, the Anglos invaded and moved the border, marginalizing the Native Americans and the Spanish Immigrants who had been here 200 years before them.

So what’s the point? History does repeat itself. The people who took the Native American lands despised those who came later for the same reasons they did. Now the descendants of those people are railing against anyone new. The names are new, but the actors are the same.

Round and round we go- where it stops nobody knows.

For more information check out The Smithsonian Magazine’s article on the Know-Nothing Party.


You knew this would come up. Yes, the inmates are running the asylum. My wise sister, says every person that goes to congress should have to watch, “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” three times before they take office.

Whether the Chief Executive should be impeached, needs to be decided with impartiality. Neither party is doing the job we elected them to do. Let me put it out there now. I am an Independent voter. I cannot agree with either party. If there were a couple of representatives or senators who had a conscience, some guts, and listened to the evidence. I wouldn’t care how they voted. But the party line is disgusting.

When I see senators reading a book during the proceedings, it’s evident they don’t care about what is true or about our democracy. A jury in a trial is supposed to be impartial and listen to the evidence. This impeachment proceeding seems to be a waste of time. They have made up what is called their minds.

Hey folks, just go home and mail in your vote, because you are not taking our constitution seriously. All you care about is re-election. I wish the American people would suspend judgement and bias, and listen, really listen, and vote you out of office for your arrogance.

I was appaled when Pres. Trump was fined for taking money from a charity he established for veterans. He never put any money into it. He used the money for a large portrait of himself and some other personal things. If you gave money to this charity, you should be enraged. No one seems to have paid much attention to this travesty. It’s stealing. Stealing from the men who have sacrificed their lives for this country. The ones who Mr. Trump pretends he cares about. This is recorded in court proceedings, it is not “fake news,” as he so often says.

I agree with the Pres on some things, I don’t think we can sustain unlimited immigration or women coming here to have their children. They have the honor of citizenship with no responsibility. But I am afraid for our environment. Where will our grandchildren go to experience nature? Trump is cutting the protection for our beautiful parks and national monuments. Climate change isn’t a political football, an opinion. I have been to Patagonia and seen the glacier melt. I have been to China and tried to breathe in the pollution. I lived in Los Angeles when we couldn’t see across the street. I do not want that again.

Read scientific journals, National Geographic, publications that aren’t political. Keep an open mind. Think of what you want to leave your grandchildren.

I am always concerned with a good example. I do not see it in this President or the Senate. The tweets and language Mr Trump uses are inane and vulgar. I taught 5th grade and his kind of behavior and name-calling were not allowed. They are soul-crushing. Indeed they are more on a third-grade level. The whole scene makes me sad. Is this the best example we can offer to our children, to the world?

Where is Mr. Smith when we need him?

Anxiously, Bubbles


I always wondered why women put up with it. They bow their heads and pretend, with finger to cheek, that they don’t quite understand. They let a man win a game so he won’t feel diminished. They take inappropriate comments with a smile and think to be “a lady” is to be invisible, to be sweet. In nearly every culture, women need to be quiet to be accepted, as in keep your opinion to yourself and shut up. That’s what mama told them.

            We are set up for this historically. In the ancient story, The Odyssey, Penelope in her experience and wisdom tries to speak; she is told by her young son, Telemachus, to go back upstairs…speaking is for men.” She does what he says. She should have smacked him and sent him to his room for a long time out. 

            Over the years, women writers took male names to tell their stories. Even today it is a rare woman that is heard in a church or temple or government.

            Be quiet is what I was told the day I came into the world. Be quiet is what I have been told throughout my life. Women’s voices need to be heard. It’s time to talk. It’s time to tell you my story.

            As a small girl in the 1950’s, I found a place of comfort in the liturgy, music and community of our parish church.  My family lived in a small three-bedroom house in Compton, California. My two sisters and I slept in a double bed in the girl’s room. The three boys had bunk beds and another single in their room. The sound of my parents praying together at night lulled us to sleep.

            My life felt safe, but I was a contrary child.

            Even then something didn’t seem right. I began to see that there were opportunities for boys that didn’t exist for girls. I asked questions about this unfairness at home and at school and was given annoyed looks or told to “Be Quiet.”

            My parents encouraged the girls to “get an education,’ which usually meant be a teacher or a nurse. In the late ’50s, early ’60s our horizons were limited.  We were told that we would enroll in the local Community College because it was the cheapest. We also worked to pay for our books and education costs. There were no student loans then. 

            Our salaries, like today, were less than a man earned for the same job. We played sports but the opportunity for scholarships did not exist for us as they did for our brothers. The Sport’s Illustrated Magazine only presented women in its’swimsuit issue, that is women as a sport. It had nothing to do with a woman’s athletic skill, nor did it honor her skill, only her body.

            I knew the world was skewed for males, but it wasn’t until the first years of high school that I began to resent the ease with which men moved in the world. I hated the off-color comments and deliberate touching that women were supposed to ignore. I hated the feeling that no matter what my age I was not safe in the world just because I am female.

            In college, I studied other religions and other cultures and came to my conclusion. No woman is safe in any society. No woman can reach her full potential in any religion. Obey, be quiet, stay a virgin until marriage, do what your father, priest, minister, imam, rabbi husband, brother, or boss says and you will be safe, revered. Otherwise, you will be ostracized and shunned. Your names will be bitch, ball buster, liar, uppity, whore, on and on. There are so many epithets for women who will not be quiet.

            My uneasiness became more focused as I had children and saw how most little girls are trained. From babyhood, they are taught to defer to males, to be good, be quiet. Women also had their place, and I learned that, sweetheart, you’d better stay in that spot or it will be very hard on you.

            In my forty’s I read Sue Monk Kidd’s The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. Her observations on the attitudes toward women and her narration on the full position of the female situation in the world matched mine. 

            I began to ask why. Why do girls and women continue this dance? Why do mothers of daughters and sons keep this tradition of bondage going?  That is what is, control of another person.

            I see it like the Chinese binding feet of women or the female genital mutilation in Africa and the Arab world. The truly frightening fact about those two torturous acts is that the older women in the society perform them on the girls. They want to please the men. Many men won’t accept a woman if she is not controllable if she does not reflect him. A free woman is frightening.

            In my forties, I discovered the teachings of Karl Jung and his wisdom of male, female integration. I had been struggling with keeping my head down, with seeing the injustice of the patriarchal world and staying quiet about it.

            I was like the kid in the story of “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” Everyone else seemed to think all was good.  What was my problem? This disquieting attitude toward me came from both men and women.

            In my fiftieth year, I discovered the monastery in the desert and told my story out loud. It was necessary for me to listen, to be a witness to my own story. This examination of what I knew to be true gave me the direction I needed. My path to understanding and peace.

            This account of my quotidian life reveals how subtly and slowly a girl gets the message of her society and religion. This story is specific to the time of the ’50s until now, but nearly every woman in any culture can fill in her own narration with its tranquillizing message of “Be-Quiet.” It is shocking how risky it is for a woman to find a different path, to understand and state what she has lost, to speak out.

            Sometimes I felt my religion killed me, spiritually. Then I rallied and tried to ignore the church politics. I remembered Sofia, the feminine aspect of God, the Holy Spirit, is with us. I took responsibility for my own spiritual growth. I learned that my faith is separate from a church. It is not based on a doctrine or a denomination or a priest or a preacher. My relationship with God is not doctrinal, it is functional. I do not need their rules.

            It is because of my awareness of the lack of balance in churches, the injustice toward women and the corruption of the hierarchy that I made my decision. The message of my own parable became clear to me. We need to speak up against wrongs. We need to change the attitudes about what is feminine and what is masculine. We need to begin with religion.

            Religions and societies evolve but true change comes slowly. I cannot alter either institution a great deal. I work within my own sphere. I share with you the story of how the message of being substandard was and is conveyed by churches and society and even families, like a life-long circumcision ceremony. These are institutions that honor their traditions even if they are based on cruelty, ignorance and domination.

            The rites are accomplished with careful practice of traditions, one small wound at a time. It is done with such finesse and unconsciousness that often it isn’t until menopause that some women, numb for so long realize that something is absent. When the void is acknowledged a woman must search to find what element in her psyche has been excised. Her faith in God is still intact, but why does she feel diminished?

            I am content after years of turmoil. Faith is mine. I pray and try to live the message of the Golden Rule. I have a family I love, and a close community of friends I care about and who care about me. The hole in my heart and sorrow in my soul are filling with peace. I live with thanks for the past and hope for the future.


Yesterday there was a road runner in the front garden. It looked like a juvenile and scared. She flew up onto the fence and looked a bit bedraggled. The last time I saw such a bird was in the back garden maybe 20 years ago. He was tall as the 3 foot fence and had a lizard in his beak. I always think of road runners as desert creatures, but actually So. California is desert. Irrigation fools people.

Why is it so thrilling to see a wild thing in the garden. With all the building going on we are getting more congested, more traffic, more pushy people and less water. There is still a canyon nearby and the bay. Do people realize the wonder contained in these places? I would love to see the quail come up from the canyon and visit the garden. Now and then we see a bobcat sauntering across the patio. We keep our little dog inside for that reason, but it’s the bobcat’s territory and as far as I’m concerned I yield to him. We used to hear the coyotes at night, now they must slink into neighborhoods to find food. We took their hills and arroyos and built too damn many houses with no gardens or space between.

I wonder if we as a species will ever learn what is important. Will we ever learn to share this beautiful earth? I hope the road runner hangs around awhile..Beep beep.

Blessings, Bubbles


The Hardest thing you’ll ever do…When she was 75 years old my Aunt Alma, a real Auntie Mame type, told me that the most difficult thing I would ever do is grow old gracefully.  I instantly recognized that this was true. I wasn’t young gracefully, so to be gracefully old would be really heroic.

A young man who had just completed his PHD in counseling was working with incarcerated felons.  When questioned about how could he relate to his patients, particularly the violent ones.  He replied that it is  kind of fun to work with people who think you are an asshole.  I told him I understood completely because I raised five children. Not real graceful there either, but we all survived.

In another country, Ireland, in the same era, 1950’s, I would have been in Magdalene House, a reform type school for girls that MIGHT get into trouble. I wasn’t delinquent, my teachers, the nuns, but especially, the priests, didn’t like my attitude…what they objected to mostly  was the look on my face and my levity.  The trouble with the look on my face was and is, my utter failure of  being able to separate the expression on my face and my opinion of the person to whom I am listening. I always laughed. Not good.

I always felt like the kid at the Emperor’s New Clothes Parade. I wanted to believe people. I thought that people were good, but often body language gives them away. I had/have a hard time with the way many women erase themselves for others. I visualize them laying down like Sir Walter’s cape in the mud to show their self sacrificing value. But these women have been trained from birth to take a slap and take another, for their kids, their parents, their jobs.

And the women that put up with the Hollywood boys, Darlin’,there are other jobs where you don’t have to look at Harvey nude or watch a weirdo ruin a plant. This is not an image I want to sustain in my mind. I wish these imbeciles would have run into my late friend, Carol. We were walking in downtown Los Angeles, when a man exposed himself to us. I was speechless, but Carol looked, and without a beat, said, “Looks like a penis. Only smaller.”

Men who do and say these things, look like men. Only they are very very small.

Whew! Blessings, Bubbles


The California Pear Flag

It began on the morning of 14 June 1846 when thirty-three  heavily-armed  American-born settlers — led by Captain Jebediah Bartlett and his two lieutenants, Albert Bosc and Emmanuel d’Anjou — approached the home of General Mariano G. Vallejo, the Mexican comandante-general of California, they  demanded he surrender the Sonoma Plaza fortress to them. Even though he was a Mexican citizen, Vallejo, an advocate of the American annexation of California , told the intruders he was sympathetic to their cause. They arrested him and sent him off to incarceration at Sutter’s Fort.

They proclaimed the Republic of California and decided that they needed a flag to fly over Sonoma. They gave the new flag a red stripe and a star like the new Republic of Texas. Bartlett wanted the flag to be an emblem of the agricultural aspect of California. He was the largest pear grower in the state. Since he was a forceful man he decided  a pear would be just the thing.

They drew the new flag on a piece of brown fabric and sent it to a flag maker. The flag maker happened to be the nephew of Abe Lincoln’s wife. Which is just a note and aside. At any rate, when the fabric arrived with the desired design, either the handwriting was poor or the ink had run. Pear looked like bear or perhaps he didn’t like pears or Bartlett. So we have our California Bear, which is a good thing for Cal and UCLA. Instead of the Bears and the Bruins they could be the Anjous and the Bosc or perhaps the Bartletts, hard to make into a fight song.

1st flag of the California Republic
California Pear Flag

Blessings, Bubbles

Whose Idea Was This?

Little girls are trained to be nice. Don’t talk back, be a “lady,” whatever the heck that means.

We read about women who allow their personal boundaries to be cut to the ground. Why? Are they so unsure of their talents and worth? Do they need to demean themselves for fame or to keep a job? I am sure that the lower income single moms are more vulnerable but the fear belongs to many women.

No is a complete sentence. I will not, is just a bit longer.  Little girls are sassy. Little boys stand up for their rights.  A female athlete is seldom seen photographed in her sport. More often she is posed, like a cosmetic or clothes model. Nearly every society has moral rules for the girls and “boys will be boys” for the men. Dignity is everyone’s right. To be treated with contempt is wrong but to accept it is unconscionable.

Why do women acquiesce  to rude and vulgar treatment? In my view and my book “Woman-Be Quiet” it is because we are sent to the boot camp of self-deprecation very young. Many women accept that attitude and the self-effacing manner that comes with it.

When I was raising my children I tried to have the same standards for the girls and the boys. Yes, raising them was different, but each child is different.

My mother and grandmothers worked the fields, did the cooking and canning, made the clothes and birthed and tended the children. My mother told me she worked harder than any man. It was not a lack of respect for the hardworking farmers. It was an awareness of their own strength and what they did and could do. They were true partners.

Girls need to learn that they are worthy of respect. Perhaps then, they will not need to demand it.

Blessings, Bubbles



Well, they don’t make men like David anymore, beautiful, every aspect perfect, from his curly hair to his marble toes, always young, frozen in time with a sensual mouth, ivory ear and unseeing eye. A person to admire, two and a half times as tall as an average man.

This copy lies broken on the meeting table.

Maybe there are men like David, too many really, fragmented, chopped in pieces each part admirable but separate. A lack of integration the psychologists would label him.

What has happened to the men of the world as the women fight for equality? Have women chopped their complementary yang into pieces? Are our lovers and sons, the good men, fragmented like the pieces of David on this table? Are they now objects to deride?

The shops now have tee shirts for young girls that read “Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.”  When my daughter, who has two girls of her own, objected the store owner said, “Well, we’ve sold out.” That seems to always be the most important thing.

Discernment is an unknown word. Ridicule is the basis for TV shows. If women want equality and respect, they must give it. We need to pick up the pieces of David and use our nurturing power to make him whole again.

Blessings, Bubbles

Peace On Earth, etc.

I’ve not written for a few days, but how can anyone ignore the circus going on in our government. In the Christmas readings, the King James Bible says “Peace on earth goodwill to men.” The Catholic version, the oldest, and for all you literal Bible people, there are versions. It says, “Peace on earth to men of goodwill. They are very different messages. I go with the latter.

Perhaps the so-called, “lawmakers,” in our government should read them both and try a little goodwill. Perhaps they should try to Be of goodwill. We have a president who is vulgar and without character. His supporters will say look at the economy. That’s a great idea. For the wealthy things are good. I believe they would be good no matter who is in office. It’s similar when Clinton came in, things were on the upswing and he profited. Everything else under this president has declined. Our National Parks are being defiled, the EPA is moving backwards, the poor are getting poorer and our streets look like India.

For those doing well, it may be time to think of the effects of the policies that are being put into action. There is the idea of generativity. What are you leaving for the next generation? Oh yea, Money. What about clean air? What about Yellowstone, Yosemite, the rivers, the oceans?

The President’s language is like a demented bullying middle-school kid. His tweets are pitiful and we have become the laughing target of the world. He makes deals with other countries to influence our elections. Proven, but ignored. The really sad thing is, other people who have the same attitudes think he’s funny, sticking it to the ones who aren’t PLU,(people like us) and join him. He’s the leader of bullies, racists, dishonest people and the ignorant. He hides his taxes and business dealings. He has paid a large fine for stealing from a Veterans charity that he set up. This is from court records. He has never given to the charity. He used the funds to buy a portrait of himself and other personal goods. Stealing from Veterans from a charity? That alone is disgusting and somehow ignored. None of this is “fake” news. He so cleverly uses that phrase to give his followers have an answer for his corruption.

This is not a political issue, it’s a moral issue. Pray for our congress or send them good thoughts if that’s your schtick. Pray for the Christmas miracle of backbone implants for the lot of them. It’s clear from their actions that this group can only bend one way. They cannot stand up straight for principles or the good of the entire American people. Be the person of goodwill this Christmas and stand for integrity.