My mother passed away some years ago at the age of eighty-four. That fact is important here only in that most people would say that eight-four years is a decent life span. Most would like to be around longer, but it's decent.
In 1692 our forebearers, in what would become the United States, tortured and murdered their friends and neighbors for the practice of witchcraft. We recognize this as the Salem Witch Trials. Add eighty-four years to that and you come up with (wait a minute - activate the numerator and carry the positron) 1776. That was the year that our forebearers, in what was to become the United States, drafted the Declaration of Independence which stated "that all men were created equal..." What a tremendous step for our society to take in a decent life span, but it was just one step.
I feel that lately our society is leaning backward and if we continue to lean, we will take a backward step. Any time someone tells me what I should read, what I should see, what I should think, what I should feel, what I should fear, it is not for my benefit but their's. They are trying to control me, stop me from going forward, make me take a backward step.

There will be no peace as long as there is profit in war.

This is chapter two in the "mouse" saga. Yes, I know it's a mouse. I saw the little nuisance. No, it wasn't in the truck, it was in the shed, more particularly in the chainsaw box. I was going to use my chainsaw (there is nothing like the whine of a well-oiled chainsaw to destroy the serenity of a crisp winter morning) and I went into the box. No, the chainsaw wasn't in the box; the tool I use to open the gas and oil caps was in the box. I don't keep my chainsaw in the box. Who does that? When I opened the box I saw the telltale clump of leaves, twigs and paper. And, a little head peeked out from the mess. Ah ha! I slammed the lid down, took the box into a clearing and called Ms Mousse. Ms Mousse is our Labrador Retriever. No, she's not the animal "moose", she's the dessert "mousse", because she's chocolate and she's sweet. I dumped the nest on the ground, she shoved her nose in it and the mouse took off. Now, the Mousster is sweet, but she's also old and slow, much like the humans she owns. I had to take her by the collar and put her onto the mouse's trail. They played hide and seek for a while, Mousse is susceptible to the double-back, until the mouse skittered up a tree. She did have fun tearing the nest apart. I told her she killed the nest and let the mouse get away. I haven't seen the mouse since. The saga continues.