Malkin

I don't need to search the world for things to be concerned about. My concerns are the ones right in front of me: my family, my friends, my town. I get that neocons will neocon. But even a handful of people on the actual right are cheering about Iran. How are house prices doing in America? How about the lost souls wandering the streets of our cities at night, or the conservative families who did everything right but their kids got caught in the trans hideousness anyway? It is the left that, bored with bourgeois life, historically inverted this natural order. Rousseau was all tears and pity about the earthquake in Lisbon, but put his own children in a foundling asylum. John Lennon wanted world peace, but had no contact with his son from his first marriage. The best line in the Tucker Carlson interview of the heretical Mike Huckabee was when Huckabee said that without Iran we wouldn't have the problem on the border with Lebanon, and Tucker responded, the way a conservative would, by saying: what problem on the border with Lebanon? I'm not having a problem on the border with Lebanon. I live in Maine. And we weren't born yesterday: no right winger, observing the American regime, thinks to himself: these people care deeply about the Iranian public. But as our own country crumbles, the temptation to get excited about foreign adventures increases. It's a perverse paradox. I promise you, Sean Hannity and Mark Levin do not steer you right, and they are not steering you right now. If you're on the right, you have an appreciation for the precariousness of the human condition. You certainly do not think: if the regime deposes a man it dislikes, this will lead to a better outcome. You do not know that. History is not kind to that kind of naïveté, and if there's one thing right-wingers are not, it is naive. The true heart of America is not Ben Shapiro but John Quincy Adams (and Henry Clay, and so many others who echoed the same sentiments): "[America] has, in the lapse of nearly half a century, without a single exception, respected the independence of other nations while asserting and maintaining her own. "She has abstained from interference in the concerns of others, even when conflict has been for principles to which she clings, as to the last vital drop that visits the heart.... "Wherever the standard of freedom and Independence has been or shall be unfurled, there will her heart, her benedictions and her prayers be. "But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy. "She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. "She is the champion and vindicator only of her own."

Imagine if someone told you there's a supplement with 70 calories, 7 grams of highly bioavailable protein, and every vitamin and mineral you need. You might think it's the latest fancy new green powder. But it's just an egg.

@AgathaChocolats How was I supposed to know?

In six words or fewer, write a story about this photo. #sixwordstory #WritingCommunity #Christmas

@AgathaChocolats The cat knew he was in trouble.

In six words or fewer, write a story about this photo. #sixwordstory #WritingCommunity #Christmas

@thegarybrecka Easy choice, alcohol. 4 yrs in.

Would you rather… Give up caffeine forever or give up alcohol forever?

"Oh you wanna talk about motherssss"

@Rainmaker1973 The Expanse

Name one

@CrazyVibes_1 Loneliness is a real epidemic. I never really understood what it could do to even the strongest person. Crushing. Give even just 30 mins of your time every so often or a every other day phone call to say hi. I have learned it can make all the difference. Humans need humans.

My name’s Daniel, I’m 45, and two weeks ago I learned something about my mother that I’m still ashamed I didn’t see sooner. She’s 80, lives alone in the little tan house she’s been in for half a century. The one with the peeling shutters and the mailbox she still refuses to replace because “it works just fine.” Last Wednesday, she called and said: “Danny… I need help with my grocery list. Can you come? I think I’m forgetting things.” My first instinct? Annoyance. I had deadlines. Kids’ activities. Bills on my desk. A hundred things pulling me in every direction. So I said, “Just tell me what you want. I’ll order it all online.” But she was quiet for a long moment before whispering: “I’d rather you come.” So I did. When I walked into her kitchen, three grocery bags were already sitting neatly on the counter. “Mom… you already shopped,” I said, confused. She waved her hand. “Those are just basics. I still need a few things.” She opened her notebook — the same spiral-bound one she’s used for years — and handed it to me. The list said: • grapes • paper towels • coffee creamer • company And suddenly everything inside me went still. She looked embarrassed, like a kid caught doing something wrong. “I just… didn’t know how else to ask you to come,” she whispered. “You’re always so busy, and I didn’t want to bother you.” That sentence — those ten quiet words — hit harder than anything I’ve felt in years. My mom, the woman who worked two jobs and still made every school concert… the woman who saved every drawing I ever made… the woman who put herself last for decades… felt she had to pretend she needed groceries just to feel worthy of a visit from her own son. I hugged her so tightly she laughed and said, “Oh goodness, you’ll break me.” We never went to the store. Instead, we sat at the tiny kitchen table covered in little sunflower placemats she’s had since the ’90s. We talked about the neighbor’s new dog. About her tomato plant that refuses to grow. About my dad, and how she still forgets he’s not coming through the door sometimes. I stayed longer than I planned. Drank terrible instant coffee. Listened — really listened — the way she used to listen to me. Before I left, she walked me to the door and held my hand for a moment longer than usual. “You made my week, sweetheart,” she said softly. Driving home, I couldn’t shake one thought: How many times did she wait by the window, hoping my car would turn into the driveway? How many afternoons did she tell herself, “He’ll come when he has time,” while the house echoed with loneliness I didn’t notice? I realized that somewhere along the road of adulthood — work, kids, obligations, noise — I started treating her like an errand. Someone to “fit in” when life allowed it. But to her? I was never an errand. I was her world. And all she wanted was an hour with her son in the home where she raised him. 💛 THE LESSON Your parents won’t always tell you they’re lonely. They won’t always say they miss you. They won’t always ask directly. Sometimes they’ll hide it behind a grocery list. Behind a broken lamp. Behind a request that doesn’t really need doing. Go anyway. Sit at their table. Drink the bad coffee. Let them tell you stories you’ve heard a thousand times. Because one day the chair will be empty. The notebook will be closed. The porch light will be off. And you’ll wish you had treated an ordinary Wednesday like the priceless moment it truly was.

@Rainmaker1973 Going for a run in the snow.

You wake tomorrow to this ❄️ What is the first thing you do?

@thegarybrecka Kale

What’s something you used to think was healthy but later realized was destroying your health?

@theamelia__ Let it go.

@SBakerMD Stopped drinking alcohol

What is the best health decision you ever made?

@OneManCircus87 Every meal the question should be "how will this make my body feel?".

The foods you eat are a sign of how much you respect your body.

@MrPitbull07 It's real

My daughter laughs at me and says it never happened! Am I the only one who remembers how gas station attendants would not only pump your gas but wash your windshield?

@stopvaccinating @nojdlonra Add in Ozone with UVBI

@nojdlonra Amazing - most people don't know that EDTA chelation will remove plaque - way to go!!!

Getting a 25 gram vitamin C with B vitamins and minerals, glutathione, and 100 mg NAD+ as well. Not because I’m sick, but to boost function everywhere for better overall health. I highly recommend doing this because not only will you feel better, but you’ll know what to do if you get sick!

@therealmissjo Loved loved loved this as a child. The image just brought back a whole lot of memories. Thank you!

I loved this as a child. (No, I was not a boy, although I suspect if I showed an interest in it today, I would be on blockers in a hot minute!) I mentioned this to a friend and they had no idea what I was talking about. I cannot be the only child in the UK who had one….

@matt_vanswol Just snapped this one in the area the other day.

In case you were wondering what Western North Carolina looks like these days… …it is healing and it’s so so beautiful ❤️

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

Five years ago today, we authored the Great Barrington Declaration, arguing for focused protection instead of lockdowns. A wholehearted thank you to the almost one million co-signers. We were proven right. gbdeclaration.org

@earthcurated @Matt_Pinner

Post a picture you took, just a pic NO description?