history

Six Flags Over Texas… or Seven? Wait, Was France Just Passing Through?

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Hold on for 8 cowboy! If you think Texas history is just cowboys and barbecue, think again—this land has had more passports than a globe-trotting rodeo clown.


So next time someone says Texas is “just” a state, hit ’em with some sass and a side of historical swagger. History’s wild, y’all—and Texas has been making it in boots since 1519.

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Around the World in 1,082 Days: Which Explorer Didn’t Just Get Lost — He Came Back Famous?

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Most of us get lost trying to find parking at Costco. But one guy (and we mean just one guy) looked at a round planet, shrugged, and said, “Yeah, I’ll take the long way home.”

He didn’t just explore… he circumnavigated the globe — and lived to confuse geography students forever. Think you know who it was? Let’s find out.

QUIZ START

The Past: A Poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson

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The Past

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The debt is paid,

The verdict said,

The Furies laid,

The plague is stayed,

All fortunes made;

Turn the key and bolt the door,

Sweet is death forevermore.

Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,

Nor murdering hate, can enter in.

All is now secure and fast;

Not the gods can shake the Past;

Flies-to the adamantine door

Bolted down forevermore.

None can re-enter there,—

No thief so politic,

No Satan with a royal trick

Steal in by window, chink, or hole,

To bind or unbind, add what lacked,

Insert a leaf, or forge a name,

New-face or finish what is packed,

Alter or mend eternal Fact.

Source

Today’s Poem ~ I Am The People, The Mob

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I Am The People, The Mob
Carl Sandburg
I AM the people–the mob–the crowd–the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is
done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the
world’s food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons
come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And
then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand
for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me.
I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted.
I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and
makes me work and give up what I have. And I
forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red
drops for history to remember. Then–I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the
People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer
forget who robbed me last year, who played me for
a fool–then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: “The People,” with any fleck of a
sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob–the crowd–the mass–will arrive then.

Something to Think About

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Older, retired folks have a tendency to tell stories of their youth, successes from work, and adventures they took. They tell the same story as often as one listens to it. I’ve found their stories enlightening and entertaining. They are the stuff of life. They are one person’s narrative that their life was meaningful. If you have an opportunity to listen to an elder’s stories, take advantage of it. Listening connects us to the story teller, and the story teller’s story connects us to the story teller’s journey. 

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