Untitled

[solwluna-deactivated20210523]

[perfectfeelings]

“Don’t make excuses for why you can’t get it done. Focus on all the reasons why you must make it happen.”

— Unknown

[floridaboiler]

"They found the coats on Thursday morning.

Fifteen winter coats. Good ones, not garbage. Hanging on the chain-link fence outside Lincoln Elementary. No note. No explanation. Just coats, zipped up like ghosts waiting for bodies.

Principal Morris freaked out. Called the police. "Could be stolen," she said. "Could be some kind of prank." But then Kayla Martinez, eight years old, said her mom worked nights cleaning offices and couldn't afford a winter coat this year. She'd been wearing three hoodies layered up. She touched a purple one on the fence, the right size, and whispered, "Can I?"

Mrs. Alvarez, the PE teacher, said yes before anyone could stop her. By lunch, all fifteen coats were gone. Fifteen kids who'd been shivering through recess were warm.

The next Thursday? Twenty coats. Different fence, same neighborhood, outside the community center. Then thirty coats appeared at the downtown shelter. Then blankets. Then winter boots.

No cameras ever caught who did it. No social media claims. Just… coats. Every Thursday. All winter long. The news picked it up. Called them "The Fence Angel." Interviewed grateful families. But nobody knew. Until March.

Old man died, Earl Hutchins, seventy-one, lived alone in a basement apartment on Fourth Street. When they cleaned out his place, they found receipts. Thrift store receipts. Hundreds of them. He'd been buying every decent winter coat he could find, spending his entire disability check, and hanging them up at night.

His nephew found a journal entry, "Lost my son to exposure in 2004. He was homeless, prideful, wouldn't take handouts. Froze to death behind a dumpster wearing a T-shirt. If I put coats on a fence, nobody has to ask. Nobody has to admit they need help. They just take it. Dignity intact."

I'm Kayla Martinez. I'm sixteen now. That purple coat got me through fourth grade. I never knew Earl. Never got to say thank you.

But last November, I took my babysitting money to Goodwill. Bought six coats. Hung them on that same fence. My friends saw. They bought coats. Then their parents did. Then the high school started a coat drive, not for a bin, for the fence.

Last Thursday, there were 200 coats. Scarves too. Gloves. We call it "Earl's Fence" now. There's one in Detroit. One in Manchester. One in Vancouver.

I never met the man who saved me from freezing. But I'm becoming him, one coat at a time. Because the best kind of help doesn't ask for credit. It just hangs there, quiet, waiting for cold hands to find warmth." . Let this story reach more hearts…. . Ai image is for demonstration purpose only. . By Mary Nelson

[1americanconservative]

It was never meant to be a moment etched in baseball history. No one walked into Fenway Park on August 8, 1982, expecting to witness anything more than the usual rhythm of summer baseball—hot dogs in hand, scorecards scrawled with pencil, and the comforting murmur of the crowd blending with the sounds of the game.

But that day, the game itself became a footnote.

The crack of a bat broke through the afternoon air, a sharp, clean sound that sent a foul ball screaming toward the stands. In the split-second that followed, time seemed to slow for everyone—except for one man.

A four-year-old boy, there to enjoy the game with his family, didn’t have time to react. The ball struck him in the head. Gasps rippled through the stadium, and in a heartbeat, joy turned to dread. Spectators rose in confusion, and panic began to mount. The boy collapsed. His family froze. Security hesitated. Medical help was somewhere in the maze of Fenway.

Then Jim Rice moved.

From the dugout, the Red Sox slugger had seen the whole thing. And in that moment, he didn’t think about the game, the cameras, or the risk. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t point fingers. He ran.

He sprinted into the stands, lifting the unconscious child into his arms like he’d known him his whole life. He didn’t cradle him with caution—he held him with a purpose, with urgency, with the unmistakable determination of someone who had already decided this boy was going to live. No security checkpoint, no crowd control—just one man weaving through the chaos with a bleeding child in his arms and his heart in his throat.

Rice laid the boy on the dugout floor where team doctors were waiting. EMTs arrived, and eventually the boy was taken to the hospital. He survived. Not because it was a miracle. Because Jim Rice made it happen.

Doctors later said that if Rice hadn’t acted so quickly, that boy might not have made it through the night. It wasn’t just the gesture—it was the seconds he saved. Seconds that mattered.

And still, the story didn’t end there.

Rice visited the hospital later, quietly, away from the headlines. That’s when he learned the family didn’t have much—no wealth, no cushion for hospital bills. And again, Rice did something that never showed up in any stat sheet. He walked to the hospital’s business office and made sure the medical costs were redirected to him.

No press release. No spotlight. Just grace.

He returned to the game that same day wearing a bloodstained uniform, no theatrics, no posturing. Just a man who had done something heroic and saw no reason to tell anyone about it.

This wasn’t a baseball moment. This wasn’t a highlight reel or a tale to inflate a career. It was human. Raw. Real.

And maybe that’s what makes it unforgettable. Because in the midst of a game designed to celebrate strength, speed, and stats, Jim Rice reminded the world that true greatness isn’t measured in home runs or batting averages.

It’s measured in instinct. In compassion. In the willingness to run into the stands—not for glory, but for life.

That moment—more than any MVP award or All-Star appearance—became the truest mark of Jim Rice’s legacy. A legacy written not just in the record books, but in the life he saved.

[daolemutt2]

ICONIC......

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

A Kentucky coal miner took his son to watch a basketball game after he got off work. Work ended at 5p. Game started at 6p. Promise made, promise kept

[peony911]

DADS! ❤️🙌🏻👏🏻

[disgruntled-foreign-patriarch]

King

[magapatriot64]

😂😂😂😂

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

A Kentucky coal miner took his son to watch a basketball game after he got off work. Work ended at 5p. Game started at 6p. Promise made, promise kept

[peony911]

DADS! ❤️🙌🏻👏🏻

[disgruntled-foreign-patriarch]

King

[1americanconservative]

It was never meant to be a moment etched in baseball history. No one walked into Fenway Park on August 8, 1982, expecting to witness anything more than the usual rhythm of summer baseball—hot dogs in hand, scorecards scrawled with pencil, and the comforting murmur of the crowd blending with the sounds of the game.

But that day, the game itself became a footnote.

The crack of a bat broke through the afternoon air, a sharp, clean sound that sent a foul ball screaming toward the stands. In the split-second that followed, time seemed to slow for everyone—except for one man.

A four-year-old boy, there to enjoy the game with his family, didn’t have time to react. The ball struck him in the head. Gasps rippled through the stadium, and in a heartbeat, joy turned to dread. Spectators rose in confusion, and panic began to mount. The boy collapsed. His family froze. Security hesitated. Medical help was somewhere in the maze of Fenway.

Then Jim Rice moved.

From the dugout, the Red Sox slugger had seen the whole thing. And in that moment, he didn’t think about the game, the cameras, or the risk. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t point fingers. He ran.

He sprinted into the stands, lifting the unconscious child into his arms like he’d known him his whole life. He didn’t cradle him with caution—he held him with a purpose, with urgency, with the unmistakable determination of someone who had already decided this boy was going to live. No security checkpoint, no crowd control—just one man weaving through the chaos with a bleeding child in his arms and his heart in his throat.

Rice laid the boy on the dugout floor where team doctors were waiting. EMTs arrived, and eventually the boy was taken to the hospital. He survived. Not because it was a miracle. Because Jim Rice made it happen.

Doctors later said that if Rice hadn’t acted so quickly, that boy might not have made it through the night. It wasn’t just the gesture—it was the seconds he saved. Seconds that mattered.

And still, the story didn’t end there.

Rice visited the hospital later, quietly, away from the headlines. That’s when he learned the family didn’t have much—no wealth, no cushion for hospital bills. And again, Rice did something that never showed up in any stat sheet. He walked to the hospital’s business office and made sure the medical costs were redirected to him.

No press release. No spotlight. Just grace.

He returned to the game that same day wearing a bloodstained uniform, no theatrics, no posturing. Just a man who had done something heroic and saw no reason to tell anyone about it.

This wasn’t a baseball moment. This wasn’t a highlight reel or a tale to inflate a career. It was human. Raw. Real.

And maybe that’s what makes it unforgettable. Because in the midst of a game designed to celebrate strength, speed, and stats, Jim Rice reminded the world that true greatness isn’t measured in home runs or batting averages.

It’s measured in instinct. In compassion. In the willingness to run into the stands—not for glory, but for life.

That moment—more than any MVP award or All-Star appearance—became the truest mark of Jim Rice’s legacy. A legacy written not just in the record books, but in the life he saved.

[daolemutt2]

ICONIC......

[whencyclopedia]

Battle of Brandywine

The Battle of Brandywine (11 September 1777) was a major battle of the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783), fought between a British army under Sir William Howe and the American Continental Army led by General George Washington. The battle resulted in an American defeat and ultimately led to the British capture of Philadelphia.

Continue reading…

[everythingfox]

Happy dog

(via)

[delicious-dream-before-the-storm]

The Ghost Menace

🔊🎼🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎸

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

𝗪𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗔𝗱𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗮 𝗙𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗿'𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝗳𝗲:

Whenever you return a borrowed pie pan, make sure it's got a warm pie in it.

Make home a happy place for the children. Everybody returns to their happy place.

Always keep a small light on in the kitchen window at night.

It's a whole lot easier to get breakfast from a chicken than a pig.

Always pat the chickens when you take their eggs.

Biscuits brown better with a little butter brushed on 'em.

Check your shoelaces before runnin' to help somebody.

Homemade's always better'n store bought.

A tongue's like a knife. The sharper it is the deeper it cuts.

It's easy to clean an empty house, but hard to live in one.

Enjoy doing your children's laundry. Some day they'll be gone.

All children spill milk. Learn to smile and wipe it up.

There's no such thing as woman's work on a farm. There's just work.

Invite lots of folks to supper. You can always add more water to the soup.

A good neighbor always knows when to visit and when to leave.

A city dog wants to run out the door, but a country dog stays on the porch 'cause he's not fenced-in.

Always light birthday candles from the middle outward. Nothin' gets the frustrations out better'n splittn' wood.

You'll never catch a runnin' chicken but if you throw seed around the back door you'll have a skillet full by supper.

Visit old people who can't get out. Some day you'll be one.

The softer you talk, the closer folks'll listen.

The colder the outhouse, the warmer the bed.

[darkmaga-retard]

[diablo1776]

[americana-plus]

“The 21 Laws of Manliness 1. A man must be self-reliant. 2. Understand the hard work that success, even happiness, requires of you. 3. Forge your own path. Step into the arena. Don’t be the coward who lives a small life. 4. Practice self-denial. Completely forget about instant gratification. 5. Don’t be afraid to stand alone on your principles and values. The weak need numbers because they have none. 6. Fight. Even though you know you may lose, fight. A coward will throw someone else under the bus to clean up his mess. That isn’t you. 7. Accept responsibility for your actions. Go out of the way to take the blame. A coward rarely sees his own faults, and blames others for his lack of success. 8. Don’t be afraid to fail. Be far more afraid of never trying. A coward fears everything, and does nothing. 9. Practice kindness, but not weakness. 10. Be just and fair. 11. Never turn a blind eye to injustice. Never walk past a fellow man or women in need, if you can help. 12. Read often. Read everything. 13. Unplug weekly. 14. Laugh daily, especially at yourself. 15. Don’t live on the internet. 16. Be chivalrous. 17. Have at least one grand adventure. 18. Speak with your actions, not with your mouth. 19. Don’t chase money, find meaning. 20. Be the best at what you do. 21. Make the best out of every situation.”

— (via dolce-vita-lifestyle)

[usmcfe]

[emendousan-blog]

Here's respect and appreciation

[sbyswgentlemenscigarsociety]

Why can’t the news show stories like this

I couldnt share....but it brought me to tears

Normally people will send me an email with a good old fashioned clean joke, but not this morning. Read this as you won't regret it.

Two Choices,

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning..'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt.. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. Athe pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:

We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.

The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:

Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:

1. Delete

2. Forward

May your day, be a Shay Day.

MAY GOD BLESS EVERYONE WHO

DECIDES TO PASS THIS ON.

[47burlm]

Gladly re-blogging this- I hope others do as well-