“… our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” Independence Day, 2013.

Picture

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Aime’ Joseph never ceases to amaze me, and of the
foundations for lasting friendship that felicitous agility is surely one of the best.

Knowing my habits, the need to have everything about the new tale, the current article
readily at hand, even old napkins, smudged and ripped, valuable artifacts notwithstanding so long as they contain a single indecipherable letter, for my handwriting has never risen above the abashed level of execrable; given these habits, I say, I shouldn’t have been surprised that he had dropped over with a paper in one hand, a question in the other.

It’s the kind of good deed he does and why I permit him to raid the refrigerator with
impunity, leaving me to wail from time to time, “But I was saving that ginger beer…”,
giving the strongest possible impression that my bite is indeed worse than my bark,
but even I don’t believe it.

He knows this and at the earliest possible moment restarts his researches
into and acquisitions from the food and wine which I always purchase in far too
ample quantities for the amount I eat and the nullity I drink.

This, of course, provides the rationale he needs for raids which would impress a
Viking, though in truth the fact he is my constant helper and friend provides all the
reason he’ll ever need… although I do wish he’d ask before gallivanting home with the
last morsel or drop of any much craved delicacy.

“Do you need this?”

And, of course, I did… for this tale of Independence Day 2013 would never
have taken place — for me — without it and the grande dame who mailed it
and so literally made my day. Here is what it looked like. Here is what it said.

“Generations, Friends, Families. Please join us!”

There then followed explicit directions of what these generations, friends, and
families must do in the matter of furnishing food (“your favorite and a little extra
to share”), and drink (“Also your favorite and a little extra to share”)… with further
detailed instructions on such critical matters as “places to swim, eat, sit, chat,
rest, sing, ice, cups, plates, knives, forks, spoons”, and the most important directive
and admonition of all… to bring your crucial holiday spirit and so increase its already
ample measure stemming principally from our hostess, Diane Neal Emmons.

Distinctive right from the start.

Did you pronounce her first name DIE ANN. Of course you did. I did when first
introduced. The world does, but you, me and the wide generality of the planet,
all of us, are mistaken. For she pronounces it DEE ON and woe to thems who gets
it wrong, for as every Eskimo knows, a name is totemic, the thing that holds your
spirit and first tells the world who you are, where you have come from, and where
you are going.

In this way, with this subtle variation, Diane (did you pronounce it correctly this time?)
announced that she was not and would never be of the humdrum, prosaic or everyday
variety of mere Dianes, much less (horror of horrors) of the Dee Dees who derive
therefrom; that she was instead something quite different, distinguished, unique; though
as a lady to the manner born she couldn’t possibly tell you this. You’d have to find out for
yourself, if only you had the good sense and good manners to do so. And so are the real
gems separated and higher valued than the baubles who, at first, seem the same.

The happiest girl in the neighborhood, maybe the happiest girl in the world.

I don’t have any proof for what I am about to say, no proof at all. However, people
like me, called commentators are given wide latitude and what is called “the benefit
of the doubt” in advancing their cases; in other words so long as what we write is
not specious in the extreme or wildly implausible we may dream, wonder, ruminate
and speculate to our heart’s content. I am about to use that privilege here….

There is something larger than life about Diane, and this is especially true when
she first glimpses you. There is in that moment the ghost of Ezio Pinza singing
“Some enchanted evening.”

You sense rather than see that her eyes light up and she is no longer that woman of
a certain age, but a girl in flying dance slippers with bright pink ribbons in the much
considered hair of a twelve year old; the twelve year old who greets you like a favored
child greets her favorite relation with nothing more troubling on her youthful horizon
than who to ask to the Sadie Hawkins dance in just two weeks.

When you are the boy who receives this high energy treatment, you think, no you know
that you are the boy she’ll invite… and that you’ll have a spiffing good time, because Diane
knows to her fingertips how to make sure you — and everyone else — leaves happy and
recalls each event with a smile. It is her special secret, and you are glad she is lavishing
some on…you.

Fashionably late and better so.

People who run 24-hour-a-day Internet enterprises learn to be approximate in the
matter of time; technology, after all, is a capricious mistress, smooth running one
minute, causing mayhem the next, even on holidays when one is expected out of
town at a particular time. “Technology is great when it works.” Thus my party,
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph and I left late… and arrived as my grandmother used to say
“fashionably late.”  This proved to be a good thing, since many guests having
partaken of luncheon under a tent most often used at weddings and anniversaries
went home to laze the blistering afternoon away dozing in the shade. And thus both
Josephs and I were able to spend more time with the hostess, a happy result of
tardiness.

But first I had literally to sing for my supper.

“Songs to Sing When Two or Three or More are Gathered Together.”

Open upon my desk now is a thin volume of the name above, a volume compiled
by Diane and providing numerous clues to the lady and her metier. It is her personal
song book, and it is both curious and touching. Diane, you see, is of the generation
where people entertained each other by each being responsible (particularly young ladies
of good family like Diane) for an enjoyable rendezvous, with and for only the right people,
which for this lady and her friends, meant prep schools like Winsor and Groton,
colleges like Radcliffe and Harvard, social clubs like Chilton and Somerset, and
above all the Mayflower Club always remembering that if you must inquire about it,
you were most decidedly NOKD, “not our kind, dear.”

The Kennedys, not yet with a postal code in Camelot were in this category, and in the
Irish way their revenge was thorough and hurtful, not least because they soon shunted
the old families of the Commonwealth (called Brahmins) aside and to the rest of the world
portrayed themselves as Bay State aristocrats, which caused society matrons on
Commonwealtlh Avenue to fume… and plot revengeful motifs they no longer had the
money, power or unquestionable social position to dictate.

Diane Emmons was caught up in this sea change in Boston. She was born to
adorn a particular universe and that universe was changed beyond recognition.
It was a world into which you were born, where acceptance was automatic and
life long for those with the right surname and genetic code. Never mind It was often dull,
dowdy, smug and insular, none of which mattered to the people who wanted entree they
would probably never get until club revenues fell and provided a compelling reason
for new members mere equity could  never provide.

“In” could only be valuable in relation to who was “Out”, a fact which social novelist
Frances Parkinson Keyes (1885-1970) captured to a nuance, in books like “Joy Street”.
This street on Beacon Hill was cut in half, the top socially acceptable; the bottom mixed
and dubious. I wrote my first book in an apartment well down from the acme, yet adored
for all that.

She must have regretted at least some of the changes, but her Fairy Godmother
made sure she had the one essential feature she needed to live through such
massive change and come through it smiling, albeit saddened by the loss of what was
after all her birthright and cherished reality… now just so much ancient history, gone with
the wind. Her great attribute? She liked people and people liked her. In the truest tradition of real ladyship, Diane took pains to help when she didn’t have to; assisted beyond the call of duty so many charitable endeavors; and always, always had time for
that far-flung and heterogeneous group, her Friends, of which I proudly call myself
one.

With a song in my heart… and nowhere else.

Ever since I was a child at church, I have been rebellious and adamant on the matter
of group singing: quite simply, I hate it, not merely because I am unable to carry a tune
in a bucket, but because when one sings in any venue even remotely public one is
expected to boom out the song in question, your role (happy, amorous, joyous, sad,
whatever) determined by just what you’re singing and always overdone.

Instead of entering into the spirit of the enterprise, I did everything imaginable to ensure
that any such involvement would only be by force and after a masterful display of temper
and high volume obstinacy.

Diane, of course, loves to sing, never mind that her voice is reminiscent of a species of
frog found only in the swimming pools of the well heeled. She is awful… However, she
believes in the social utility of what she is doing… and, as hostess, she is unrelenting in
“persuading” her guests into her unyielding view that group singing on very hot holidays
is a privilege, not cruel and unusual punishment to be avoided at all cost, which is my
abiding take on the matter.

But I am a guest, I aim to please, even if I transgress against my core beliefs… and
so I sing… about 15 words or so of “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.”
It is one of the most insipid tunes ever composed, therefore popular with people for whom
their inexhaustible jauntiness and perkiness is a gift from on high, to be celebrated
whenever possible around those of a sarcastic and insufficiently civic spirited demeanor.

That would be me, and it is a measure of how highly I esteem my hostess and her chipper
orientation that I sang and clapped at all, never mind with tepid demeanor. I knew my rights and obligations as guest, and calibrated my finger movements and strain on my vocal chords accordingly. And so, obdurate, I listen to — but do not sing, warble or chant  — the eccentric litany in the song book that jumps from “Blue Moon” to “Chattanooga Choo Choo” to “Good Night, Irene.”

Diane was zealous but she had long odds against her, the day sultry, the repast generous,
delicious, ancient guests drowsy, eyes determined to close, collective nap time at hand.
Then there it was… the perfect song for the day, the hostess, every visitor and even
for me, hardened city dweller and professional scoffer determined to stay an anthropologist, watchful but disengaged.

“What would you think if I sang out of tune/Would you stand up and walk out on me?/
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song/And I’ll try not to sing out of key”…

And then the words that define us all:

“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

Better because of DEE ON.

As I looked around the backyard of her rambling colonial-style home just blocks
from the well-known Singing Beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea (officially incorporated
in 1645) I saw it populated by her friends, old, young, some vibrant and running over
with high animal spirits, some for whom moving at all, especially on such a stifling
day, was a labor… I thought of how lucky the human is who can conjure so many
and make them sing this song first written in mid-March 1967 by John Lennon
and Paul McCartney.

Just click on the link below and hear it all over again and ask yourself if you’ve
been a good friend today, the kind of friend you’d like to have, the kind of friend well
deserving of your esteem and high regard, the kind of friend I am so lucky to have in
Diane Neal Emmons… the one person I am prepared to sing for, out of key of course,
but completely sincere… and grateful.

Howard Martell is the Owner of http://HomeProfitCoach.com/silver . Check us out anytime for marketing tips and a free subscription to our cutting edge newsletter.

‘We’re starting up a brand new day… I’m thinking in a brand new way.’ New Year’s Eve. Unbidden thoughts.

Picture

Author’s program note. All of a sudden there was a bone-chilling gust of frigid air right off the punishing Atlantic filling the night… it was the kind of gust we here in Cambridge call the Montreal Express… not merely cold but gelid, polar, arctic… than which there is nothing colder but the morning after the greatest love of your life said good-bye, this time for good.
Shivering, I had to get up… present reality, even though freezing, being preferable to another minute of the dream being played out sharply in cinemascope in my brain. In it I was marrying Hillary Clinton, and we were redecorating my condo as our love nest after a cosmic flood. Yikes, it was indeed time for this article… and the music for it came swiftly out of no where saying, ” I think you’ve been looking for me.” And indeed I  had…
I was smiling…. this was how Marley (in clanking chains of course) summoned Scrooge to his destiny… and look what happened to them. I’m a literary gent, and I appreciated the reference… and this song by Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner, born October 2 1951, known to the world by his sobriquet “Sting”, a name, a description, a declaration, a clear statement of what you must do when the world is too much with you late and soon. Yes, that Sting.
I don’t think much about Sting. I’m not a rabid fan or anything close, but he’s got the poet’s own way of insinuating himself into my life at significant moments.  His words are often mine fields, often verbal shrapnel, the kinds of words one fastidious word smith appreciates in another who like you demands respect for the language and mastery from himself.
Cold reality.
My hands are cold… my fingers are stiff. It is 3:25 a.m., and Sting and his lyrical insights, melodic, as deep as you want them to go, fill the crucial space between two ears. I am listening, because here is a man who has something important to say to me, about the year now past, about you and me, and how we’re glad to be alive and give thanks to whoever made it possible. The song is called “Brand New Day” and I hadn’t heard it since it debuted in 1999, just in time for the new millennium.
I remember hearing this song in this very room, where I sat at this very desk in this very chair as I watched the clock move inexorably to the first midnight of the new century, the Y2K midnight that was supposed to bring cosmic computer chaos, so admonishing experts had told us. And so I, like so many others, worried myself into the new year, following the advent of midnight around the globe… only to discover that nothing happened anywhere…  the biggest “same old, same old” ever. Yes, I was listening to this song that night. It couldn’t really be so many years ago, could it? Go now and find it in any search engine and listen carefully….
“There’s simply no immunity/There’s no guarantee.”
2016. I lived it. Which is to say I was alone, I was together, I made money. I squandered money. I lied. I deceived. I was cruel. I was affectionate. I made messes and ignored them.  I cleaned up messes made by others who ignored them.
I cursed. I adored. I slept the sleep of the just. I just barely slept at all. I did random good deeds… I insulted those who meant me well. I hugged strangers… and ignored those nearest and dearest. I ate too much cake… and told others they shouldn’t eat cake at all, then ate theirs.
I knew the bite of the flesh… I abjured God… then went in panicked search of Him all over again. I was magnificent. I was squalid. I was the best of friends and the most unrelenting and tenacious of foes.
I demanded mercy and gave none. I wanted to make a difference and the difference I made was miniscule and negative. I ate without savor. I loved without passion and thought well of myself when there was not a single reason for so much conceit. I always took the easy way and had the temerity to tell others they must sacrifice when I would not. I took, always took, more than my share and bellowed that it was not more. I winked at injustice until I became an injustice.
I hated. I condemned. I demeaned. I disdained. I hurt whenever possible and denied whenever feasible. I exulted in the misfortunes of others and laid the burden of mine at the feet of God Almighty whose name in vane passed often through my lips.
I chose to misunderstand when understanding was facile… and blamed everyone but me on what was so readily apparent to others but willfully ignored by me. And yet I never lost the deep belief that I was a hero to others, a paragon to myself.
I was all this and more, I did all this and more in the tiniest morsel of time we call one year … as if it was something that could be neatly boxed and neatly understood. But even now this year, waning, its end in sight, abides… with possibilities still to come before it is played out, kaput, history we are glad to dispose of and forget, as if forgetting was even an option. It isn’t.
“Turn the clock all the way back.”
How many hours of 2016, how many hours of your life have you now wasted wishing you could regain even a single moment of time, to live it, savor it, even the most commonplace of activities? It is natural to think so for our system is profoundly exasperating… you lived that moment. It is yours. You want it back. You must have it back. And so you expostulate against your fate, the inevitability that defines us. You must go forward, only forward, never back no matter how badly you want it. and you know how badly that is.
Right this minute, the sands of time are escaping through your open hands, hands you long to close and stop the inexorable… but you cannot close them. And so, you experience the pain of certain loss that defines each of us in a world that we live in, are destroying, but cannot stop and enjoy without anxiety.
Each word you now read here takes you into a future that challenges us, a future we must engage whether we want to or not. We stand alone before eternity… and it frightens us to our very core. That is why next year, the year after that. and all the next years to come you will fail to stand tall and courageous before the vast immensity we call The Future and why instead we will take what comfort we can from what our species is most expert at doing: dissipation, distraction, diversion, self destruction.
Only by such devices can we face that which most concerns us… and so we are profligate about the time which constitutes our essence. Sic semper gloria mundi.
The only resolution that matters.
At this moment of peril for each of us, all of us, for our planet and our Cosmos, for our very God, what are we offering to change our course and destiny? Some opt for trivial resolutions about increased exercise and ways to diminish pounds. Others still seize upon any one or two of a myriad of possibilities to improve themselves, all petit, inconsequential, trifling, insignificant. Is this the best we can do against the daunting, monumental challenges we face? We must do better. And what better time to begin than now as a new year signals the commencement of a brand new day?
What then must we resolve and do? Just one thing: Love. For in this single thing there is everything and everyone. Where we dismissed and condemned… we must love. Where we demeaned and destroyed…. we must love. Where we insulted and hated… we must love. Where we divided and estranged…. we must love. And where we worked to rend asunder and alienate… we must love.
” ‘Love is pain,’ I hear you say/Love has a cruel and bitter way of Paying you back for all the faith you ever had in your brain.”
But it’s the only and certain way to start up the brand new day that dawns radiant this very day.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
About the Author
2017 is fast approaching and with it Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s 70th birthday. He is, he likes to
say, in the prime of his prime. Thus does the “scribbling” life he commenced at age
5 continue. Over fifty books. Thousands of articles. Untold radio and television programs;
worldwide recognition and enthusiasm, all of which culminated in the publication of
his autobiography, “A Connoisseur’s Journey, being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy”. It was a book that screamed “classic!”, and he has
delighted in the several awards that followed.
Howard Martell is the Owner of http://HomeProfitCoach.com/silver . Check us out anytime for marketing tips and a free subscription to our cutting edge newsletter.
To get your copy go to www.drjeffreylant.com. You will also want to join his Guaranteed Millionaire Club with people striving together for financial freedom for all
www.drjeffreylant.com
Listen in to Dr. Lant’s reading and pass it on to a friend, neighbor, lover.
The sands of time are slipping through our hands
Take this time to make a resolution that really matters
To change our ways and direction.

[Video] Excerpts from “Tales of All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween”

Ways To Save For Your Vacation-In Hard Times

 

FREE consultation ($150 value). Expert shows you how to make money online.Call (757-647-2886) 24/7 Or Skype me homeprofitcoach NOW! Profit today!” Your success guaranteed. http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=kr2fDPDb

In these hard times we have to be especially careful with our money. That is why you will hear so many people say they want to go on a vacation but they simply can not afford it. We all need a break to refresh and rejuvenate ourselves, but when all our money is going towards bills we can not spare the expenses, since vacations are not exactly cheap.

Even if you are living paycheck to paycheck, that is no reason why you should not be able to take some time off and enjoy yourself. To that end, here are some Ways to save for your vacation. We spend a lot more money then we realize and if you can start saving these added expenses, by the time the year comes to an end you can probably afford to go on a nice get away.

1. Avoid fast food. It is tempting to swing by the local fast food place to grab a coffee on your way to work, but these add up, fast. Instead of getting coffee from some place on your way to work, brew your own at home and drink that. It is just as quick since you can do it while you get ready and it is much much cheaper.

2. Avoid eating out. Similar to point one, but far more expansive. If you are looking for Ways to save for your vacation then this will likely be your biggest one. Simply grabbing a burger on your way home for work can be quite costly. Not only is it expensive but eating out is also bad for your health. Try to eat only home cooked meals, you can save money as well as take care of your body.

3. Clear out the house. We all have old items that we do not need or use anymore, that are lying around taking up space. Instead of letting these items sit there collecting dust, or throwing them away, sell them. Garage sales can bring in a surprising amount of money. After all, one mans junk is another mans treasure. Not only can you get rid of those unwanted items, but you can make a pretty penny from it at the same time.

4. Save your change. People like to ignore change, a few pennies and dimes, who really cares right? They might say “keep the change” or put it in some local charity jar. And while the former might not seem like a big deal, and the latter makes you feel better, ultimately you need to take some time for yourself and that requires money. All those pennies and dimes you discard throughout the year can really add up.

5. Cut out non-essentials. Even those with tight budgets will often buy things they do not need. They might get their hair cut, or rent a movie or something small like that. But why waste your money? If you are looking for Ways to save for your vacation then this is probably the best one.

Try to do as much as you can yourself, cut your own hair or find a friend or family member to do it for you. Just do as much as you can yourself, so that you can save that money for your vacation.

How to turn your child into a GUARANTEED Millionaire

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Do you love your children?
Would you do anything to ensure their life-long
well-being?
Of course, you say!
Then, why aren’t you instructing them in how to
get RICH?
The plain fact is, the overwhelming majority of
parents have a “que sera sera” approach to
the crucial business of training their children
in GUARANTEED wealth building. This is a HUGE
error. Instructing your children in how to get rich
has at least as much or an even greater pay-off than
any immunization, sports mastery, or school
degree. Yet you’re currently not doing anything
about it!
That needs to change at once.
1) Start as early as age 5.
Becoming a GUARANTEED millionaire is as
much a function of time as anything else. Thus,
the earlier you get started instilling good wealth-
building habits, the better. Five is an excellent
place to start! Kids already older than five? Don’t
give up on that account! Just because you can’t
start at the ideal time doesn’t mean you
shouldn’t start at all.
2) Make wealth-building a game.
Growing a fortune means developing good
habits. But just because they’re good doesn’t
mean they have to be dull or onerous. Set
aside time each week for the “Let’s make
Bobby rich” game. Make getting rich light,
fun, and a great opportunity to get to know
your child better.
3) Explain the mission
Even 5 year olds understand that living well
has lots of advantages. More of this, more of
that. Your job is to show them how good
financial habits deliver the goodies — for life.
4) Open the pot with a couple of bucks
To start your child’s financial education and
the good wealth-building habits of a lifetime,
start off by putting just $5 in the pot. Make
it clear that this number will be steadily
augmented as the child helps around the
house: 10 cents for making the bed… an
extra quarter for walking the dog. It’s
essential that the child’s desire for “more”
be whetted as soon as possible and that
you incentivize as much as possible.
Never just give an allowance. Earning is
necessary in the real world… and the sooner
your children understand this, the better!
5) Put the money in the bank
As soon as possible, open a bank account in
your child’s name. Call the bank to ascertain
the minimum for this all-important first account.
Then go to the bank.
Make this trip an event. Dress up. Explain you’re
talking your darling to a VERY important place.
Make sure to say these people are helpful and
want to be your friend and help you achieve a
better life.
Note: call ahead to see who will be available
to see you. Explain what you’re doing. Bankers
are human, too (really!) and can get into the
spirit of this enterprise. After all, you’re bringing
future customers!
More: if you have several children, make sure
to bring the others with you. These visits are good
for refining manners and getting live account
updates.
6) Switch from bank savings accounts to
no-load mutual funds as soon as you have
the minimum in your account.
No load mutual funds (with automatic dividend
and income reinvestment) are a better way to
grow capital than mere savings accounts. Before
switching, talk to your banker about what he may
have available. ALWAYS take your children
with you when these discussions occur. The
more familiar they are with what’s happening with
their money, the better.
7) Don’t stop your meetings and don’t touch
the capital!
We have a useful expression here in frugal New
England: “Start as you mean to go on.” What
that means is, make time for this all-important
financial education. Don’t stop because you miss
a week, or even a month. That’s what they say
in diet classes… and the same is true here.
Remember, what you’re doing is essential for
your child’s well-being.
One More Thing
In so far as humanly possible, DON’T touch your
child’s capital, even for college. A college education
is NOT the objective. Being rich is. That means
regarding your capital as sacred.
Follow these steps, and you’ll have the satisfaction
of seeing your child rich, a bona fide millionaire.
Guaranteed! Uncork the champagne. You’ve earned
it. Your children are lucky to have such excellent
parents!
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of
Worldprofit, Inc., www.worldprofit.com where
small and home-based businesses learn how to
profit online. Attend Dr. Lant’s live webcast
TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed
visitors to the website of your choice! For details
on Dr. Lant’s 18 best-selling business books,
go to www.jeffreylant.com
Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Get a FREE COPY of my new 18th book
The Ten (Woefully Common) Mistakes Killing
Your Internet Business & What You Can Do
About Them! $29.95 retail value.
Go to www.worldprofitassociates.com and log in.
To talk live, go to www.jeffreylant.com or phone
617 547 6372 (Eastern time). While there, click
on Photo Gallery for the tour.

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Like Christmas morning every day here in my own Home Business at Worldprofit

My buddy likes to get his “pokes” in.  I guess I DO talk a lot about WorldProfit.  He has offered to help me lift the bags of money I’m making with WorldProfit.
 
I am more a techie type, in fact I don’t think I have made much income at all from WorldProfit.  It would be nice if all my “projects” were “self sustaining” so that is my goal, just having stuff that pays for itself.  Not looking for a windfall.
 
Anything above self-sustaining, it would be nice to sprinkle some towards undergrad tuition loans that are now due since my son graduated from medical school.  I had to pay the full ride for his undergrad at Gettysburg — they don’t give scholarships – you are only selected to go there if you are the top of the academic scale.  But student loans are deferred until 3 months past graduation.  Then my daughter got her masters in Bio-Med from Rutgers, again, student loans are due, which is NOW.
 
I’m here at WorldProfit for the training and the tools, articles, PLR, eBooks, etc. that I use absolutely every day in all of the projects I am involved with, including my own 25+ websites in my my network of eCommerce sites, Safelists (I own 11), and the work I do for OTHER people WITHOUT the amazing array of “toys”.   Oh, I use these “toys” so my REAL BUSINESSES continue to make money!
 
Absolutely the very best, highest quality, and most flexible in all categories, and I am absolutely in awe of the work and efforts Sandi and George have put into WorldProfit.
 
Non-techies may not have the appreciation I do: you see I have been developing my own tools, teaching, writing tutorials for 20+ years and with all that George has done, I don’t have to do that anymore, or at least not as much.
 
I’m retired (for the 3rd time), and, according to my wife, I just “play” on the internet all day.  Well, I do things I WANT and LIKE to do, things that  are FUN, things to keep me busy and keep me from being underfoot with “the boss”.    I have good days and bad, healthwise.  Nice to know that if I am having a bad day, I don’t HAVE to do anything.
 
Even though I have been with WorldProfit quite awhile, I STILL find stuff I didn’t explore before.  It’s like Christmas morning every day.  A new toy, something new to build or tinker with, something new to learn…
 
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“YOU WERE NEVER LOVELIER, YOU WERE NEVER SO FAIR.” JUNE 2016.: FLOWER POWER VOL. 3

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“YOU WERE NEVER LOVELIER, YOU WERE NEVER SO FAIR.” JUNE 2016.: FLOWER POWER VOL. 3

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When I first moved to Cambridge I encountered a disgusting display of what happens when civic “leaders” forget what they are in office to do, thereby leaving a disgusting eyesore in the middle of the city for all to see. I took action and I called the mayor’s office, I called the office of the city councilors, I called the parks division to do something, and do it now. I continued to call until finally one Cambridge mayor was produced. I literally took his honor by the hand and showed him where to look and where to sniff. He made a note of both. And so, the
great wheels of government began to turn, ever so slowly. I
said to his honor, the mayor, “Any official in any European city
our size would regard the absence of green grass properly
cut, trees properly tended, and pots of flowers in riotous
numbers as a disgrace.” But Americans seem to regard flowers
as superfluous, unessential, and a waste of money.

Slowly, improvements came to the great Common, where I might, by law, allow my cattle and horses to graze, should I ever get any.

The statues take a prominent place but you will look in vain for snatches of color, riotous color, color that thrills you. Flowers have that power, but we have no flowers.

Perhaps the City Fathers and City Mothers think the careless folk, little aware of how difficult it was to get the flowers here in the first place, might allow their urinating dogs to pollute them. I concur, that could well be an issue.Or perhaps they will think that hoodlums might do wheelies through all the color, for the shear joy of being destructive and “cool”. This, too, is a potential worry.

Or young lovers, of whom we have a plethora, an overabundance, might pluck the fairest blooms to give to a lover, who might be superseded in an moment or two for someone better in every way. This, too, could happen.

But we cannot deny the great majority of our fellow citizens the beauty of flowers… even if the first crop, and the second crop, and, yes, the third crop be destroyed by one menace or another. We must be tenacious and insist upon beauty as the goal, no matter how long it takes to achieve it.

Here, in this book, in this three volume series, you will find all the reasons you will ever need to put flowers in our Common, and complete the long pending task. For without flowers there cannot be, will never be a conclusion that is suitable for the people of this great, internationally renowned and much visited city, settled by Puritans for the work of God.

And if you do not think that planting flowers is the work of God, then you need to stop and look about you, for each flower is an emissary of God to cheer us in our miseries, as the stories in my three volumes show so well.

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Author: HO

[VIDEO] EXCERPTS FROM “TALES OF ALL HALLOWS’ EVE, HALLOWEEN”

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Tales of All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Excerpt from the Introduction:
One Fall day, when I was a student at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, a small party of my closest friends and I undertook to go out in the twilight fast falling, and see what we might see of the opening in the Earth’s crust where every sort of noxious, evil, malevolent creature was waiting to come forward and populate the night scene with doom and despair.We found ourselves in a small village, not a soul on the street, not a soul to be seen… but in one place: the cemetery. The cemetery was heavily overgrown with vegetation, heavy moss, and strangulating plants. The very aura of the place made us want to cross ourselves and implore “I beg of Thee, O Sweet Jesus, that at the hour of my death, Thou wilt show me mercy.”

There was something lurid about this place of the dead. And then we saw it. On an overturned tombstone, bright with creepers, this message: “Not Dead But Sleepeth”. At once, we felt sure that that was a message for us to retire as quickly as possible back to the haunts of man, who craves the congregation of our still quick neighbors.

I have never forgotten that day, the haunted aspect, the omnivorous plants, the overturned tombstones, and the frightful possibilities which we saw clearly might emanate from such a place where death stands forth each Halloween and the aspect for all is frightening.

This is Halloween, and this, my book, is composed of stories that make it all explicable. Halloween is an acknowledgment that evil exists, and that evil is daily in confrontation with God and the Cosmos. Thus, each All Hallows’ Eve, October 31st, the door to Hell swings open on rusty hinges releasing a terrible smell of burning flesh and brimstone, Prince Lucifer’s luxurious perfume.

The doors to Hell swing open, bit by bit releasing the unlimited number of sad and woebegone creatures packed within 364 days a year, and released to carry on their noxious work. It must be done before midnight of the next day. And so smart people stay locked behind closed shutters, holding hands, singing psalms, and praying to God Almighty for relief, mercy, and absolution. For if the Devil is around this night, God is surely around as well.

All Hallows’ Eve, most fervently celebrated by the Celtic peoples of Europe, is an indication that the great war between good and evil, between God and the Devil, is not finished yet. God ascends in triumph for all but 24 hours of the year. In these 24 hours, every transgression, every sin, every malevolence, is not only imaginable, but visiting your neighborhood to see who could be wooed to attend the macabre dances of Prince Lucifer, where burning flesh is the prevalent scent, because fire is the prevalent instrument.

We of course wish to think nothing on this terrible event which comes to call so many, and returns no one at all. Their motto: “Not Dead, But Sleepeth”. And they wake up with a vengeance and a purpose on All Hallows’ Eve.

This book offers five Halloween tales, each of which is intended to take you into this curious holiday, where the real meaning has been filtered out, leaving nothing besides sugar and delusion.

We start with the way Halloween was when I was growing up as a boy in Illinois, 60 years ago and more. In my role as a cultural historian, writer of many articles and books about human behavior and its various manifestations, I felt it my bounden duty to publish this story and show you what Halloween was like in bygone America.

The next tale deals with Ichabod Crane, a famous American character from Washington Irving and the Hudson Valley School of Literature. It makes Halloween come alive, although most of it is actually dead.

The next article deals with the quintessential Halloween fruit (yes, fruit), pumpkins. This tale takes you deep into the whys and wherefores of pumpkins, which come into this world with a clear objective: to frighten us to death when they are turned by deft carving into jack-o-lanterns, the fruit of our bizarre imaginations, and the pumpkins’ ability to portray them. Kicking a pumpkin to death is technically akin to “Get thee behind me, Satan”. Thus, those vandals who disrupt our coy holiday motifs may actually be doing God’s work. It’s a thought.

We carry on into the matter of witches. The Bible is very clear on the matter of witches and all types of sorcery:

“When you enter the land the Lord your God is giving you, do not learn to imitate the detestable ways of the nations there. Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord.” (Deuteronomy 18:9-12)

One aspect of Halloween which we wish not to consider is the matter of witches and their related colleagues in the black arts. We do not wish to believe what our ancestors so fervently believed… that witches are certainly here, that they communicate with the Devil, and are the handmaidens of his dark hours and purposes.

Finally, we end on a lighter note. It was not my intention to include this article, but Kris McNamara, my helper, said “Of course you must address the issue of candy. What do you think Halloween means to most people in the neighborhood and the nation. It means your God-given right to stuff yourself.”

Think for a moment, of who benefits from the candy avalanche in your neighborhood. Dentists cheer. Candy companies hold riotous parties on Halloween night, when profits zoom. People making flimsy costumes that mock evil, and make it seem it is a matter of children, when in fact it is a life or death matter for everyone.

So candy sweetens the brimstone, and perfumes the fire of flesh. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you… the Devil owns 100% of the stock in every chocolate and candy company around the world. He sells the costumes. He even charters the dentists, whose enamels are so easily chipped by the excessive intake of fructose.

So who is the Number One beneficiary of All Hallows’ Eve? Prince Lucifer. Remember, Lucifer was God’s right hand man before he was banished from Heaven, and he left with every skill he ever had, including making sure that no one is really frightened by his works, when in point of fact, they should be on their knees begging for mercy.

You see, Lucifer is a clever public relations executive. He wants maximum dollars for minimum work… a true entrepreneur. If he came out and ordered his gruesome minions to frighten the entire population, he would not be able to maintain his comfortable, lucrative occupation.

Who sweetens the candy? Lucifer. Who designs the fetching wrappers, which catch your eye? Lucifer. Who puts the children on the streets to collar as much deleterious sweetness as quickly as possible? Lucifer, of course. So now today, I tell you this: this is Lucifer’s day, and whatever you do, look carefully at every label. His expansive inventiveness will be apparent in everything pertaining to this long-standing tradition called All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween.

And when the crevice in the Earth, which opened to release the ghouls, begins to close on rusty hinges, you may be sure that all the loot that Satan has cleverly amassed in such a short time is on its way to its final destination… the bottomless coffers of Prince Lucifer.

“Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come” (from the hymn “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past ” by Isaac Watts. 1719).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsHIwXTjAOU

This version is performed by Westminster Abbey.

Get your copy of “Tales of All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween”
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LYVI08C

FREE consultation ($150 value). Expert shows you how to make money online.Call (757-647-2886) 24/7 Or Skype me homeprofitcoach NOW! Profit today!” Your success guaranteed.http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=kr2fDPDb