AuntieTree

omg this is one of the cutest things I have ever seen.. The little beaver temper tantrum noises … 🥹

This cracked me up!! 😹😹😹

@MacFarlaneNews One can't expect anything else of this vindictive jerk.

If the child on the left was old enough to pick cotton and the child on the right was old enough to attend Klan rallies, then today's children are old enough to learn about both of these and how they've led us to where we are today.

I take pride in my yard. I edge the driveway, fertilize on a schedule, and keep the grass exactly two inches high. So, when the new guy moved into the house next door and let his lawn go to ruin, I was furious. For a month, the grass grew higher and higher. Dandelions took over. The bushes were wild. I complained to my wife every evening. "It's bringing down the property value," I grumbled. "What kind of lazy guy just lets a house fall apart?" Finally, I had enough. I marched over there on a Saturday morning, ready to give him a piece of my mind. I pounded on the door. It took a minute, but it slowly creaked open. The man standing there was pale, gaunt, and looked like he hadn't slept in a year. He was wearing a hospital bracelet. Before I could start my lecture about neighborhood standards, he spoke. "I'm sorry about the yard," he rasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "My wife was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer the week we moved in. I've been sleeping in a chair next to her hospital bed for thirty days. I just came home to grab some clean clothes." All the righteous anger drained out of my body. I felt sick to my stomach. I looked at my perfect, manicured lawn, and then at his overgrown one. I realized how incredibly small and petty I was. "I'm so sorry," I stammered. He just nodded and gently closed the door. I walked back to my garage. I didn't tell my wife what happened. I just pulled out my mower, pushed it over to his yard, and started the engine. I mowed his front yard. I edged the driveway. I pulled every single weed from his flower beds. When I was done, I went to the hardware store, bought a flat of petunias, and planted them by his front steps. I've mowed his lawn every Saturday since. We never spoke about it. I just want him to know that when he drives home from the worst place on earth, his house is waiting for him, and he doesn't have to worry about a thing. You never know what kind of battle the person next door is fighting. Give grace first. You can always be angry later. Anonymous

Somebody should invent a microblogging platform that makes it quick and easy to find the best on-the-ground reporting and relevant expertise, while weeding out misinformation, propaganda, blather, and outright crazy people.

“Man is the most insane species! He worships an invisible God and destroys a Visible Nature—Unaware that this Nature he’s destroying is this God he’s Worshiping!” ~ H. Reeves,

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces. But I see everything. Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments. One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?" "6:15," he said, confused. "Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it." He blinked. "You... you can do that?" "I can now," I said. Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?" "Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing." He cried. Right there in the parking lot. Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic. But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!" "Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel." He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us." The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over." Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it. But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note, "Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends" People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket. I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece." So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones. Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees. It's not glamorous. But it's everything." Let this story reach more hearts.... Ai image is for demonstration purpose only Credit: Mary Nelson

Chicago and throughout the state flags at half staff to honor Rev Jesse Jackson ⁦@nbcchicago⁩

Rev. Jesse Jackson’s ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ sermon. Best delivery ever! Oddly, Dr. Seuss is the actual name of my doctor.

Skiers that look like musical notes… A magnificent photograph by Haukur Sigurdsson.

@TrueFactsStated 🤣

For those who get it.

Trump's going to try and steal the US elections, and this is how he’s going to do it...

"General Custer won a tremendous victory at Little Bighorn, the fake news won't admit that. The Sioux were tremendously crooked, they had Arapaho fighting, Cheyenne, all illegally. Custer won if you don't count the Indians who never should have been there, frankly."

This is Blue. He’s a rescued boy who's been waiting all day for his favorite human, the moment he spotted his car pulls into the garage and he sprints alongside, leaping onto the driver's window with pure, uncontainable joy. best welcome home ever

Today’s Daily Cartoon, by Matt Reuter. #NewYorkerCartoons

Republicans want to decide what books you can read, what history your kids can learn, which medicines you’re allowed to take, what surgeries you can have, what gender you’re permitted to be, what sports you can play, which bathroom you can use, who you can love, and who you can marry. They want to tell you how many dolls and pencils your kids can have and how much food they can eat. They want to own your library, your classroom, your hospital bed, your bedroom, your remote control, your kitchen table and your front door. They want the right to break into your home, disappear your neighbor, take your children, beat you, execute you in the street, and then tell you—despite the evidence of your own eyes and ears—that what you saw is not what you have seen. They want you afraid: afraid to record, to document, to criticize, to stand up, to speak out, to organize, to protest, to protect, to utter words they don’t like. They want to own the page, the pill, the joke, the chant, the kiss, the very pronoun in your mouth and the weapon on your waist. They want to decide where you can go, what you can say, and which of your rights they can take away. They want the power to take your life and then lie about it. They want to play judge, jury, and executioner and they want you to shut up about it or you’ll be next. This is tyranny failing miserably to masquerade as order. But sure—tell me how it’s the liberals who are “coming for your freedoms”, won’t you.

for Alex Pretti