There are exactly two people in the United States with the same Last, Middle, and First Name as me (It's actually still true if you leave out the middle name). The other one is a few years younger than me, and when we were both somewhere in our 20's (quite long ago), the other one had a bit of trouble paying his bills. Given the unusual name, I had a few interesting calls trying to convince some really unhappy creditors that they weren't me.
A few years later they sold spices, and the multi level marketing spice company really had a problem distinguishing between us. They married someone whose first name is one letter different than my spouse.
Now the biggest problem is they are an elected politician. The good news is they moved to a coast, and I still live in the midwest. If they became more infamous, I would change my name.
On our 37th anniversary — August 6, 2025 — we didn’t clink glasses or share a slow dance.
We sat instead in an oncologist’s office, scheduling surgery to remove three large tumors from my wife’s uterus and ovaries.
When the results came back — Stage 3 cancer — time seemed to stop.
But she didn’t. She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and said,
“We’ll get through this. We always do.”
And she’s right.
We always have.
We married young, when life was mostly hope and hand-me-down furniture.
Our honeymoon lasted only two days — there wasn’t time or money for more.
We built a life out of small beginnings and stubborn love, raising three great children who’ve given us two amazing grandsons, now 10 and 8, who fill our lives with laughter and light.
In 2015, I had a heart attack.
In 2018, we traded square walls for wide skies, living full-time in our RV and volunteering in state and national parks.
We found peace in the simple beauty of the land, giving our time where we could, living lightly and gratefully.
Two years ago, another heart attack slowed me down again, and we’ve been parked on our daughter’s property since — together, as always.
Now, as my wife battles through chemotherapy and radiation, she dreams of one thing:
To stand in Ireland, the land of her (and my) ancestors — to walk the cobblestones of Dublin, to feel the mist on her face, to know she made it.
Not just survived — lived.
This trip will cost around $6,500, covering airfare, lodging, local travel, and modest meals.
It isn’t a luxury — it’s a celebration of life, love, endurance, and faith.
If you can give, we are deeply grateful.
If you can’t, sharing this means the world.
Every gesture — every word, every prayer — brings us closer to Ireland,
and to the promise of spring after a long winter.
Thank you for helping me give her this dream.
Thank you for reminding us that love still travels farther than fear.
Here, these come up just before morels in the spring, and taste slightly of citrus. We love them, as they are usually the first thing we find after winter. They pop up again at this time but there are usually a lot more choice mushrooms this time of year, so we don't actively seek them like we do early.
No, it was based on the number of times an interpretation service was called. But you and the other commenter were right, there weren't very many good reasons to even make that comment, other than it will be an effective tool for the brown shirts to use. It was not in support of what ICE is doing.
I'm sitting on one of the 2016 starter spots, camping. Just picked a big bag of delicious golden oysters for dinner tonight. The first year I was here was 2018, and there were a few, but we picked a great many more tan/white oysters that year. My gut says this article is right, there used to be a much larger variety of mushrooms around here.
Alabama 3's (A3 in some places) cover of John Prine's "Speed of the Sound of Loneliness". This is the song before "Woke up this Morning" on the album "Exile on Cold Harbour Lane", and the two together tell a story.
There are exactly two people in the United States with the same Last, Middle, and First Name as me (It's actually still true if you leave out the middle name). The other one is a few years younger than me, and when we were both somewhere in our 20's (quite long ago), the other one had a bit of trouble paying his bills. Given the unusual name, I had a few interesting calls trying to convince some really unhappy creditors that they weren't me.
A few years later they sold spices, and the multi level marketing spice company really had a problem distinguishing between us. They married someone whose first name is one letter different than my spouse.
Now the biggest problem is they are an elected politician. The good news is they moved to a coast, and I still live in the midwest. If they became more infamous, I would change my name.
Some moments change everything.
On our 37th anniversary — August 6, 2025 — we didn’t clink glasses or share a slow dance. We sat instead in an oncologist’s office, scheduling surgery to remove three large tumors from my wife’s uterus and ovaries.
When the results came back — Stage 3 cancer — time seemed to stop. But she didn’t. She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and said, “We’ll get through this. We always do.”
And she’s right. We always have.
We married young, when life was mostly hope and hand-me-down furniture. Our honeymoon lasted only two days — there wasn’t time or money for more. We built a life out of small beginnings and stubborn love, raising three great children who’ve given us two amazing grandsons, now 10 and 8, who fill our lives with laughter and light.
In 2015, I had a heart attack. In 2018, we traded square walls for wide skies, living full-time in our RV and volunteering in state and national parks. We found peace in the simple beauty of the land, giving our time where we could, living lightly and gratefully.
Two years ago, another heart attack slowed me down again, and we’ve been parked on our daughter’s property since — together, as always.
Now, as my wife battles through chemotherapy and radiation, she dreams of one thing: To stand in Ireland, the land of her (and my) ancestors — to walk the cobblestones of Dublin, to feel the mist on her face, to know she made it.
Not just survived — lived.
This trip will cost around $6,500, covering airfare, lodging, local travel, and modest meals. It isn’t a luxury — it’s a celebration of life, love, endurance, and faith.
If you can give, we are deeply grateful. If you can’t, sharing this means the world.
Every gesture — every word, every prayer — brings us closer to Ireland, and to the promise of spring after a long winter.
Thank you for helping me give her this dream. Thank you for reminding us that love still travels farther than fear.
With gratitude and hope,
I cancelled Hulu, it's all I can do, it was all I had left.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Utah_War
This is the Dred Scott decision of this generation, and hopefully the same uproar will follow. Civil war II to follow?
Well, that's the last time I visit a Cracker Barrel. Oh Well.
Braggart
Here, these come up just before morels in the spring, and taste slightly of citrus. We love them, as they are usually the first thing we find after winter. They pop up again at this time but there are usually a lot more choice mushrooms this time of year, so we don't actively seek them like we do early.
No, it was based on the number of times an interpretation service was called. But you and the other commenter were right, there weren't very many good reasons to even make that comment, other than it will be an effective tool for the brown shirts to use. It was not in support of what ICE is doing.
I was in the ER recently. I'm going to make an unofficial estimate that 50% were citizens,
I'm sitting on one of the 2016 starter spots, camping. Just picked a big bag of delicious golden oysters for dinner tonight. The first year I was here was 2018, and there were a few, but we picked a great many more tan/white oysters that year. My gut says this article is right, there used to be a much larger variety of mushrooms around here.
Pandora's AI will be popular someday, in the small enclosures of rapidly extincting humans.
Alabama 3's (A3 in some places) cover of John Prine's "Speed of the Sound of Loneliness". This is the song before "Woke up this Morning" on the album "Exile on Cold Harbour Lane", and the two together tell a story.
This plus Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana and I can finally recreate Smoky and the Bandit 1!
Not going to read a CBS news story, they have already capitulated.
Why does this particular piece of corruption make me absolutely furious after everything else that has gone on the last month?
How does it work now? Do the Russians just call directly and ask what they want to know?
I don't have any democratic representatives to call. At any level. Anywhere. Do I call Jeffries and Schumer directly?
Voting to allow this guy to run the FBI is literally treason.
Someday, I am going to watch "The Notebook", and "Forest Gump", not on the same day.