It was raining this morning when I set out for my exercise hour in Castle Rock. I stopped at Baker’s Corner for a quick breakfast bite … and at Mr. Bill’s Espresso Shack for a Peppermint-flavored Latte.
I noticed when I was getting into the Highlander at Baker’s Corner, that I could see a whole line of housing. Clearly. I remember thinking that the construction going on at the end of Schneiter Dr. (across from Willow Grove Road) must have really taken off the past two weeks: those buildings I was looking at looked pretty established in such a short period of time.
As I was sitting in line at Mr. Bill’s, the preverbal {light bulb} went on in my sluggish morning brain, and I thought, “the house is gone! That’s the change”. I had been looking at established buildings earlier in Baker’s Corner parking lot – I could see them clearly because the house surrounded by trees was no longer blocking them.
I don’t know who is buying all the land in this neck of WA … but I’m willing to lay money down, that the money trail leads directly to barak hussain obama, and joe biden.
New apartment buildings have been going up all over Longview, from one end to the other; and in other demonrat controlled counties too.
I started getting mad. Americans don’t get a free pass to invade other countries and ignore their laws. Americans don’t get set up in cushy living quarters just because they breathe … and if biden is going to fork out $450, 000 to parents who have had their children lost – or stolen – and their entire familial background erased from them due to government screwups, I want my $450,000. The public school system, funded, staffed, and supplied by government henchmen/henchwomen brainwashed my daughter when she was 9 years old, and stole her from me from she was 16 years: for 25 years, I never knew where she was, or more recently … what her new name is (I heard through the grapevine she has changed it – along with her gender). All due of government intrusions and screwups that led to permanent seperation from me.
If biden is going to “make things right”, he can start making things right with American parents that the demonrats have shafted. Money can’t undo the damage the demonrats have created and caused, but if he can fork out big bucks to known terrorist sectors of society, and illegal aliens just because they breathe … he can fork some my way for the mental anguish and soul-searing pain his hellish political party has inflicted on my life: my life has been shattered beyond repair, due to the poisoned political propaganda clinton, obama, and biden has been preaching for decades.
When my latte was ready, and paid for, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that muddy empty lot – or get out of town fast enough.
But there were more unexpected events unfolding.
Turning onto Coal Creek Road, I saw that there had been more recent arson activity:
And a bit further up the road, around the first bend, I sat out ten minutes with my hazard lights flicking (I didn’t want to be ass-ended by a speeding car unaware of the deer activity): two full size deer were pacing back and forth in the roadway before finally making the decision to meander off the left bank side.
The drive over Delameter Road; and exercise in Castle Rock, was lively and filled with good-natured ribbing and lots of laughter – I enjoy that hour. And I’m really glad that they’ve decided to snub insleeze and get on with life: life isn’t life if you’re not enjoying it.
On a hunch as I was leaving Castle Rock, I decided to drive the other end of town and see if Pleasant Hill Road had been opened up. I miss driving that road. As I came out of the corner and into the straight stretch, I whooped and veered off onto Pleasant Hill Road: it was open again!
What a nice unexpected surprise 😊
I enjoyed the reopened backroad drive.
When I got back home, I barely had time to get inside the house before my neighbor across the way was on my porch with mail the mailman had misplaced. Most were bills already paid … but one envelope stood out.
And staring at the Name addressed – and contents noted; my blood began to boil.
More government screwup.
More mental anguish.
More unexpected upheaval.
I am six days away from the 3rd year of Bob’s physical death.
I really do not need this thoughtless and cruel reminder.
Coffee was not going to be strong enough – I grabbed my coat and purse and drove back into town: the large white envelope on the dining room table, and the rainy day, arson too close to home, and Americans being royally shafted ... ALL of it begging for a relaxing Hot Buttered Rum distraction.
I aimed to please that beg.
Normally I have a hard and fast rule about liquor and anger; DON’T. It doesn’t mix well.
But, then again, widowhood, a looming three-year-death-anniversary, and a shitshow government doesn’t mix well, either. MPO
So, that is how I ended up in the liquor store section of Winco.
Standing in the aisle trying to decide which rum would better suit … I was shocked to see what was stocked next to the bottles of hard liquor.
Later, at home; I made a cup of hot buttered rum, lit a candle, read a few chapters of my new read … and hoped, as I rinsed my cup out, for better times ahead.
Please, God.
I’m not asking for the sun and the moon …
