Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Still in SRQ (Atlanta's to blame!)

  • A day late  but not a Dollar short,  (so far).

Because of bad weather in Atlanta this afternoon (June 5th) hundreds of flights in and out of ATL were canceled or delayed.

Bad weather in Atlanta, would you believe it?

One of the delayed flights was the one I was supposed to take from SRQ to ATL  and then to LHR.

It was delayed so much that I would not have made my connection to LHR.

Bummer indeed.  (but I bet that at least 100,000 travelers were seriously inconvenienced , including the young Mom and Dad with two very children who were trying to re-schedule flights from Sarasota to Omaha via ATL.  my heart went out to them),

As best I know, I will now fly out from SRQ on Wednesday afternoon (6th) on a Delta,to ATL flight,
and then  take  a  Virgin American VS 0016/Delta 4357 flight  from ATL to LHR . arrving at LHR at 10:00 a..m. British Summer Time on Thursday 7th,

If all goes well my bro-in-law John T will meet me at LHR on Thursday morning and drive me to Bristol so that  I will be there  in time for my brother Steve's funeral on Friday 8th,

Monday, 4 July 2016

There and back again

Bye-bye for now.

July 5th


July 13th

Sunday, 3 July 2016

Fourth of July

Via Sheryl K-H "Words from Langston Hughes (1902-1967) for this holiday weekend".


Let America Be America Again
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes