Jonathots Daily Blog
(4182)
Sitting Thirty-Nine
Seeds meticulously planted weeks before suddenly came to bloom in the blazing desert sun.
For Macklin Harrisonburg was not your garden variety genius. He was an audaciously wealthy man, the founder and director of Mackie’s Ice Cream—the one with all the cavalcade of flavors.
Well, you see, Macklin opened up his newspaper one day (which he read religiously despite the current preference for receiving such international information via the computer). Peering through the paper, he came across the picture of Iz and Pal—the one taken by Matthew Bradley. Although there was nothing more than a small caption, he was deeply moved by the tender embrace of the boyhood companions. He decided to call Mr. Bradley on the phone, get details about this Middle Eastern pair, and also, in the process, offer Matthew a job.
“How would you like to make $80,000 a year taking pictures of ice cream?” posed Mr. Harrisonburg.
“Cones or sundaes?” Matthew inquired with a chortle.
“Both,” quickly retorted the billionaire.
Matthew agreed to accept the deal and join Mr. Harrisonburg at his one-hundred-twenty-two-thousand-acre ranch in Nevada. The place was big enough to apply for statehood. The ranch included five thousand head of cattle, two thousand sheep, one thousand hogs, two hundred buffalo, fifty camels, thirty llamas and one unicorn (which was really just a llama vexed with a large wart on its head).
It was from the headquarters of this ranch that Macklin Harrisonburg devised a plan. His secretary informed him that he had received a call from the editor of the local newspaper near the campsite of the boys. He returned the message and in doing so, learned more about the story, including a secret part—about the buried hand grenade.
Macklin loved to plot, so this got him thinking, which led to some chuckling, and ended up with the ice cream mogul hatching a master delight.
First, calls were made to the International Environmental Agency, telling them about the hazardous waste possibilities at the desert location. Then he contacted Armistice International, informing them of potential buried weapons. And finally, he called some friends he knew in the Israeli Army. He quickly created a coalition of allies—cooperative, willing, and determined to secure the space.
One final thing—Macklin decided it would be best if he owned the surrounding property so there wouldn’t be any furor with the locals over trespassing. Through some careful negotiation and bizarre translations, Harrisonburg purchased a kilometer of the desert in all four directions.
He wanted to do what was right—not an easy thing. Often what’s right gets in the way of what’s expedient. But he placed calls to the father of each boy, to explain his intentions, but they would not speak with him except to claim that they had no sons—since the young men birthed from their loins were in “devilish rebellion.”
He checked for additional relatives, studied local law on the custody of children, and finally, he made a personal call, to Nevada—to a little lady who had been his wife for nearly thirty-five years.
“Marguerite?” he sang. “I have found me two more boys to work our ranch and to love back to life, if you think we have room at the table.”
There was a brief delay on the other end, and then a sweet reply. “I’ll get Jose and all the boys gathered, and we’ll just begin building a bigger table.”
He laughed—the kind of laugh a man emotes when he knows he’s with a good woman and his soul is tickled by the fingers of blessing.
When Macklin arrived at the desert scene in his yellow limousine, he was immediately intimidated by the large hill. Physical exercise was rarely necessary for an ice cream executive, but he was determined, and steadied himself on the arm of a friend who walked by his side, and with a little extra oom-pah in his polka, he made it up the hill, breathing heavily, and knocked on the door of a Port-a-John.
At first there was no answer. And then, a boy’s voice crackled from inside. “Who is it?”
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Jonathots Daily Blog 
G-Poppers … February 2nd, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3571)
Although there are proponents who would suggest that he falls into one or the other of these categories, the truth of the matter is that Donald Trump is President of the United States. He achieved this by campaigning and receiving the lion’s share of the electoral votes.
G-Pop wants to make this clear.
G-Pop is the veteran of many presidents and can tell you that most of them were accused of moral indiscretion, the majority considered crazy, and all of them touted to be dictators who over-extended their power.
It is important to understand the nature, the function and the mission of the job.
Most of the time the President of the United States is not negotiating with foreign powers nor plotting global wars.
He is the closest thing to a daddy that 320 million immigrants have.
As our daddy, it is his job to provide a sense of security and a voice of kindness. That’s it.
G-Pop’s not even sure if it’s a political position. Approaching it from that angle only seems to render the job mean-spirited, stalling action and legislation.
He is our father, who art in Washington–and maybe someday, our mother who art at the White House.
Questioning the morality, sanity, motives, hidden meetings or deceptions of our President is just political maneuvering to gain control of our country.
What the position really requires is kindness.
No one understood that better than Abraham Lincoln. Although President Lincoln had good reason to be furious over the attitudes of the Southern states, his second inaugural speech characterized his tenderness toward his children in Dixie by saying, “With malice toward none, with charity for all…”
Yet every President G-Pop knows has selected to be vindictive against his enemies, contending that if you don’t punch back, they’ll just punch harder. But Abraham Lincoln, in four short years, saved the Union, freed the slaves and was able to end a horrible conflict.
Did he do it by being mean?
Did he do it by being angry and sending out nasty notes to his enemies?
Did he do it by sleeping with his interns?
Did he do it by torturing the prisoners of the Confederate Army?
No, he did it as kindly as a man can do when waging a war against insanity.
Kindness is when we look in the mirror and practice the words we’re going to say to another to get a sense of how it might feel.
You don’t have to be a moron or a genius to be President.
But G-Pop wants you to know that it’s the mission of our President to allow kindness to flow to the north, south and east…from the West Wing.
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on February 2, 2018 at 1:35 pm Comments (1)Tags: Abraham Lincoln, charity, Confederate Army, crazy, daddy, dictators, Dixie, electoral votes, foreign powers, G-Poppers, genius, immigrants, inaugural speech, interns, kindness, malice, mean-spirited, morality, moron, nasty notes, President of the United States, President Trump, sanity, union, West Wing