Shared post from
Connect with Bridget and other members of Phetasy community.
Hello new followers, I hope I don’t disappoint you. I want this place to feel like home, where we can escape the Thunderdome and process the world. Where we can post dog pics and recipes and book recommendations. Where we support each other as we get sober, lose weight, embark on new business opportunities, creative endeavors, relationships and travels. I want this to be your oasis of sanity and laughter in an increasingly mad world. A creative outlet where you can share your spirit with us.
We might not have any control over the news cycle—but we can control our habits and attitude. It all starts with us. And hopefully a little piece of that will start here.
Every time I hear a politician start talking, the chorus of this song starts playing in my head.
"Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies." And now it's in your head, too. You're welcome.
Geary@Indiucky's post reminded me of something. You'll see why if you read further. This is another true story. Skip it if you're wearing your All Politics filter mask.
My parents were railway clerks. They each worked for the old Missouri Pacific for over 40 years. They met in the Kingsville Division office in 1929 and were married the Sunday before Black Monday. They always felt a little guilty about that, thinking that maybe they had caused the Great Depression.
Anyway, they travelled together and with the family all over the USA, always on trains. I went with them to Lafayette, Louisiana, my father's hometown, many times. To Chicago several times to see about my brother. To Austin, of course, to visit my rich Aunt Bina in hopes of an inheritance that never came. And to Houston to visit my Aunt Tine, who is a whole nother story. We also went up into Colorado once, but we were broke and didn't ski.
The trip of a lifetime, though, was from our South Texas border home to San ...