A Totally Appropriate Move That Strikes Me As A BOSS MOVE FROM A WISE CAREER WOMAN

Rachel Maddow, the top-rated anchor on MSNBC and one of the most influential figures in liberal media, is set to take a hiatus from her nightly cable program.

Her break is expected to last until April, although a return date has not been specified, according to two people at the network with knowledge of her plans, requesting anonymity to describe private discussions. She is expected to begin her leave after Thursday’s broadcast.

“I am going to take a little bit of time off from this show,” Ms. Maddow told viewers at the start of her Monday night show. “I’m nervous about all this. It’s a change in my life. But it’s all for the good.”

It was that third from the last sentence that caught my eye. I ask myself, how could one so wise, poised, articulate, and demonstrably passionate about producing quality content across multiple platforms be nervous at all about a decision she made keeping counsel mainly with herself???

I think we, the people of the United States of America, in order to form a more perfect union, really need to take stock of ourselves on the first Wednesday in the Second Month of the Third Year of the most tumultous Century our planet called Earth has ever known.

Earlier today, I witnessed something I never thought I would ever see. Through the technology of remote meetings, I was eyewitness to a crime against an innocent and super smart BIPOC female aged five years old. Thankfully the child is super smart and knows how to call out "Stranger! Danger!"to get immediate attention whenever they need immediate parental advocacy and professional intervention. As crimes against children go, it could easily have gone unobserved and never rebuked swiftly and robustly.
Note well, Loving Parents, Guardians, Grandparents, Siblings, Uncles, Aunties and Cousins: Children are LISTENING, CHILDREN WILL ALWAYS LISTEN. So whenever and however they speak, We, the people united to form a more perfect union, must act accordingly, swiftly, vigilantly and safely, always abiding in the BEST INTERESTS OF THE CHILD. ( And more often than not, the children we all were, Once, upon a time.

When the cause is just, the best interests of the child pair seamlessly, powerfully, and jaw-droppingly perfectly with the responsible, passionate, tough-but-fair-and-ethical adults who have been gifted by their genetics with certain inalienable rights. Chief among those rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

And, when you are Rachel with an M(!), you leave the audience waiting with bated breath for what somehow you know will be a triumphant return.
In my spare time, praising Him,
Oh lord I'm not tired yet.

The Wed-nes-day had begun for our hero. It was a new beginning and a remembrance for him of things past. Waking from a sound yet brief sleep, Coach Vernon began the slow and careful process for his first Individualized Educational Plan Team Meeting as a new member of the GenPop ( general population/ hoi polloi/ masses). Vernon was yearning to breath free even though he had, not actually, ever been born free and clear.

Flossing, brushing, gargling, and tongue scraping. That last one not nearly as painful as it sounds, by the way. A refreshing finishing Water Pik shower.
Staring smiling in the mirror, Coach V decided to opt for the white hint of a mustache, highlighted from its base of melatonin-challenged upper lip skin. Having a bigger bushier mustache since the pandemic, he could shave , wash and coconut oil the rest of the facial and head topiary. Voila, a Bronzed-skinned Adonis of indeterminate age! The perfect professional-yet-mature man of mystery look he wanted to portray to his as yet unmet audience.

Next, it suddenly made perfect sense to full-body hot rinse, lather up with moisturizing body wash, rinse, then epsom salt infused with the scent of lavender for a bubble bath. This was a chance to gently massage each one of his "little piggys", each foot pad, heel, ankle and calf. In the walkable neighborhood well supplied with mass transit, these precious and powerful limbs, feet and toes had missed the attention our hero/ schoolcoach now gave them. A well-deserved home spa in the pitch black silence of a cold winter's morning, dawning.

Here is the text of the inaugural poem , “On the Pulse of Morning,” written by Maya Angelou and delivered Wednesday(!) at the swearing in of President William JEFFERSON Clinton:

A Rock, A River, A Tree

Hosts to species long since departed,

Marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens

Of their sojourn here

On our planet floor,

Any broad alarm of their hastening doom

Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,

Come, you may stand upon my

Back and face your distant destiny

But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than

The angels, have crouched too long in

The bruising darkness,

Have lain too long

Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today, you may stand upon me,

But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,

A River sings a beautiful song,

It says, come, rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country

Delicate and strangely made, proud,

Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit

Have left collars of waste upon

My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,

If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs

The Creator gave to me when I and the

Tree and the rock were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your

Brow and when you yet knew you still

Knew nothing.

The River sang and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to

The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew

The African, the Native American, the Sioux,

The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek

The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,

The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,

The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.

They all hear

The speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree

Speaks to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed

On traveler, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you

Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you

Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then

Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of

Other seekers--desperate for gain,

Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot . . .

You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought

Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare

Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am that Tree planted by the River,

Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree

I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need

For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,

Cannot be unlived, and if faced

With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon

This day breaking for you.

Give birth again

To the dream.

Women, children, men,

Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most

Private need. Sculpt it into

The image of your most public self.

Lift up your hearts

Each new hour holds new chances

For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever

To fear, yoked eternally

To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,

Offering you space to place new steps of change.

Here, on the pulse of this fine day

You may have the courage

To look up and out and upon me, the

Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then

Here on the pulse of this new day

You may have the grace to look up and out

And into your sister’s eyes and into

Your brother’s face, your country

And say simply

Very simply

With hope

Good morning.


Stop. Look. Listen to your heart. Hear what it is saying. Love, LOve, LOVE.

You're alone all time
Does it ever puzzle you, have you asked why
You seem to fall in love, out again
Do you ever really love or just pretend

Why fool yourself
Don't be afraid to help yourself
It's never too late, too late to

Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying
Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying
Love, love, love

Though you try, you can't hide
All the things you really feel, this time decide
That you will open up, let it in
There's no shame in sharing love you keep within

So jump on in
Head over heels, and fall right in

So jump on in
Head over heels, and fall right in
It's never too late too late to

Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying
Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying
Love, love, love

Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying (Listen to your heart, can't
You see it's not too late)
Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying (La, la, la, la, la, la, la)

Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying (Listen to your heart, can't
You see it's not too late)
Stop, look
Listen to your heart, hear what it's saying

The Stylistics

Song Stop, Look, Listen (To Your Heart)
Artist The Stylistics
Album The Stylistics - The Original Debut Album
Writers Linda Creed, Thom Bell
Licensed to YouTube by [Merlin] Tommy Boy Music LLC, UnidiscMusic, UMG (on behalf of AVCO Records Corp.); LatinAutorPerf, LatinAutor - UMPG, PEDL, Sony ATV Publishing, Kobalt Music Publishing, Warner Chappell, AMRA, BMI - Broadcast Music Inc., CMRRA, and 9 Music Rights Societies

Song In My Spare Time Praising Him
This is track 11 from the 1981 album "Be Encouraged" Florida Mass Choir "Live" From Orlando, Florida
Written by Bishop Charles Lyles
Keyboards: Jeffrey LaValley and Bishop Freddy

Artist The Florida Mass Choir
Album Be Encouraged
Licensed to YouTube by [Merlin] The Malaco Music Group (on behalf of Savoy Records)

Now, what to wear. For Southern California's bucolic Valley/Glen, it was cold enough for a turtle neck. However, indoors, comparatively warmer and still temperature controlled, Vernon of the Legendary packed to the Gills Ford Explorer Extended Cab courtesy of master sober living BGFF Stephen Berman rolling wardrobe chose something dark blue striped on a field of orange, dark beige skinny- legged pants over his sole concession to "arthur's" arthritic knees- black velcro knee braces and an OG pair of tidy whities. Slightly too big for his leaner, meaner frame, the stretch pants from the House of Kirkland, exclusively AT COSTCO paired comfortably yet tastefully with the black flip flops. He would never go out into the foot-fungus-rich outside world in those shoes, but in the privacy of his " home office" they made perfect sense.

But yet, in the sweet reverie of the poet's muse, I digress. And there, just now, are the gentle rumbles of a stomach surrounded with a preternaturally satisfied soul!

But a wrong must be righted, now with minimal delay. Ms. R. A grey-haired femme fatale/ a.k.a.- The Cruella DeEvil Latinix of our story muted a parent, while the parent was speaking truthes to the powerful. THEN(!) TO TOP IT OFF, THEY(!)lied to over six assembled and incredulous faces, blaming said parent for muting THEMSELVES. Bat shite prima donna- petty, spiteful and truly needy and decompensating. This followed fast on the heels of a thoroughly lackluster Caucasoid/Iberian-Greek chorus in a thoroughly mediocre performative Kabuki Dance in monochromatic California Business Attire. More than likely it had all been purchased from the Covid-19! CLEARANCE! racks at their local Walton Duck Dynasty Doocy Market, a.k.a. WalMart. When your income after deductions is 95K too 150K , lifeless and sterile bargain basement coutre is English
de rigueur.

For those unfamiliar with IDEA, IEPs, FAPE, and LRE, when the paragraph above never mentions actual work the student has completed after sharing a list of 30th percentile(!) assessment results to describe a nascent bilingual mainstreamed SPED kindergartener, their is more than " Trouble in Ocean City, you can take that straight to the insane asylum which ironically, is exactly where they all need to be held on a 72- hour watch.

So what is a point to all this peaceful prose poetry?
Once upon a 2021 New Years Eve in the City That Never Sleeps ( and frankly it shows a de-frocked and Impotent AOC), our much respected Queen of the LGBTQIA+ Tribe(!), watched in mock horror as her colleagues debased themselves in contravention of FCC regulation by choosing to be drunk and belligerent on world wide GLOBAL television. She knew that it was time NOW to take her leave BEFORE the Body Snatchers came for her our royal high priestess of Journalism. She would get safely away. She would only return to oversee the Mother and Father of All the US State of the Union Addresses. This would allow her to get a "sense of the US Senate" and House of ill-repute and reprobate US Representatives. Her personal army of Trap-her-keep-hers would then wisk her back to an undisclosed location. A few short months later, she would, regardless of the way the whirlwinds of change blew, preside over a miraculous and stunning resurrection or a pathetically predictable and preventable impotent defeat. Yes, gentle listener, in either outcome, Representative Democracy in the USA would be Center Stage under a particularly Spartacus/ Helena Bone-John-Hamm-eresque klieg light. Time, an eternal CONSTANT, hiding, as it always does,IN PLAIN SIGHT of the huddled masses yearning to be free, would reveal the Final Countdown to the Neuvo-Riche Hunger Games. Or mayhaps, Something Completely Different.

To be continued, but only for 10 million claps 👏👏👏 or more on www.Medium.com, registering as followers and fans, and sharing, globally! Okay, Aloha Joe! CUE THE E-CRICKETS!😉🤣😄😃😀🙃😉💯💯💯🌈




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Vernon Nickerson

STOP ASSESS FACILITATE EDUCATE/EVOLVE/ EFFECT PERMANENT PEACE I Also am a minority advocate for humans choosing to be unconditionally loving. Be S.A.F.E.