My 1^st Pro Soccer Game – 9 thoughts

Saturday, I went to a Sporting KC Soccer game, my first pro soccer game, and it was fun. I grew up watching Dick Butkus, who killed ducks with an elbow shiver when he was retired. He played football. Soccer, European Football, I thought could be violent. It was different. I had to adjust though because of the following 9 things.

1. It’s always family day. Maybe it’s the venue, the vibe, but KC has a fun and safe space. Tons of families and everyone was polite. I grew up watching the Blackhawks on Maddison, and the Bears at Soldier Field. Fights could break out on the ice, on the field or in the stands. We had to stuff my little brother, Johnny the only child, under the seats during a spectator brawl in a 1976 Blackhawks game. You would weave a blanket of cuss words about the referees' grandchildren progeny. Dad would be disappointed if we didn’t yell for our team like that, just don’t tell mm. Heck, mothers are at these soccer games. I wanted to yell at Gareth Bale, a Welsh soccer player for the loathed LA, not galaxy, opponents like “Even the sheep in Cardiff aren’t scared of you.” Or “A man Bun does not make you a man.” Best I could do without offending anyone was “Your mother wears combat boots.” Which, in 1978, was pretty meaningful, not a smart fashion choice like today.
   
   
2. Flopping Players. Soccer players flop more than a school of drunken porpoises in a kiddie pool. Guys go down at the potential of a touch. They make LeBron look like Barishnikov. Not only is it annoying, but it obfuscates when guys are actually hurt. There was a head on collision that knocked both men out. That was no flop, it was real contact.
   
   
3. Refs don’t wear stripes. They wear dayglow orange. They were allowed work release from the
   KC Hank Stram Correctional Facility and had to keep their work clothes on.
   
   
4. Consistent Calls. This could be 3A, but the refereeing was not consistent. Famous Baseball umpire, Nestor Chylak, may have had a strange inside left strike zone, but it was always consistent. As a newbie, I figured I’d struggle, but when fans would notice, I felt comforted when fans were just as confused.
   
   
5. Perpetual Clock. These kids are athletes. They are constantly moving. The clock never stops, no time outs for anything. Just play until the work release team in Dayglow Orange tells you to stop. My first player I became a fan of was Logan Nbende, I called him “Cool Breeze” he was getting the ball, perpetually running, showing little emotion, just seemed to be in all the right places. Then there was #7 Johnny Russel, definitely a hockey player in soccer player clothes. He essentially beat the crap out the guy trying to take the ball from him in the offensive side corner. I need a pint with that boy, it would be fun. Finally, “Zito Hellas!” to my Greek Brother #27 Tzonis.
   
   
   
6. We lost our goalie because of a cheap shot. A lot of hockey references here, like shouldn’t that area by the goal be like the crease, and shouldn’t we have had a benches clearing brawl with blood in the soil, and it’s soccer. Everyone was way too polite. Then, like hockey, the put the new goalie and isolate him, poor guy never had a chance.
   
   
7. Yellow Card System. Not sure what constitutes a yellow card, but I like it! It’s “You’ve been a bad, bad, boy card, and we are going to call your mother right now!” Then they get a card for being a total dork too often and get thrown out. YES! I think a 5-minute time-out for the player…in a penalty box without a replacement could amp scoring too. Also, Substitutes wear ugly tank tops to remind everyone they are not good enough to start. That seemed kind of mean spirited to me.
   
   
8. Offsides. Finally, thank you Matt, somebody explained offsides. I actually watched the side ump in relation to the ball. I understood offsides, like icing, it helped. Still would have liked a blue line but I get it now.
   
   
   
9. The People! Everyone I came across was super, super nice. The young ladies that sold me my t-shirt, scarf and soccer ball were great. I now am building KC Sporting nook in my basement. I just need autographs on the ball to go with my Bears, Blackhawks and yes, Hank Stram era signed memorabilia.
   

6 Will Smith Oscar Fight Thoughts

 

6 Will Smith Oscar Fight Thoughts

1. Jada Pinkett Smith can stand up for herself.
   I like her. I think she’s an intelligent, beautiful actress and, yes, I have watched her show the Red Table. She is strong. Arguably, she could have landed a better punch. Bottom line, it was her fight, not her husband’s. She was obviously upset, but she doesn’t need Will Smith fighting her fights.
   
   
2. Will Smith sucker slapped/punched Chris Rock.
   Please don’t justify a cheap shot. It still failed. The fact it happened on an international stage, on what should be the happiest night of Will Smith’s life, makes it even worse. Additionally, Chris Rock is the smaller man, didn’t take up boxing to support an acting role and wasn’t protected. The fact that Chris Rock has an iron jaw came in handy as he didn’t go down.
   
   
3. Chris Rock is a comedian.
   He is paid to take those shots. Regina Hall felt up men on stage, alluded to Jada Pinkett Smith’s entanglements, and people kind of laughed and no action. Imagine if Chris Rock had done that joke. He is an edgy comedian.  Whether he knew about her alopecia, understood the brewing anger after taking shots at Smiths’ in the past, or he simply misread the audience, he gets paid to say that type of stuff. He can certainly be more caustic and funnier. The Oscars was a swing and a whiff.
   
   
4. Will Smith just reinforced a horrible stereotype.
   I turned to my bride Alexis and good friend Trudi and said as much right when the incident happened. My friend Cullen is right about the reinforcement of the angry black men stereotype. Broadcaster Stephen A Smith said it best “..he just stained the greatest moment of his career. You cannot do that S$&@!!Especially as a BLACK MAN, in that position, to ANOTHER BLACK MAN(@chrisrock) on THAT STAGE.”
   Toxic Masculinity, standing up for your wife, or immaturity, regardless there is no justification. It is a stain on Will Smith. Chris Rock will be membered for telling a bad joke then getting sucker punched. It will be part of his monologue by the end of the week.
   
   
5. Spin Machine:
   The commentators all talked about how Denzel Washington and Tyler Perry comforted, or settled down, Will Smith. What we didn’t see was Will Smith’s publicist talking to him at the commercial break. Damage control, spin the image, recovery, and comfort, were the topics of that short conversation. My point is that the Smiths’ have a very crafted image. From open marriage, to entanglements, to TMI from the Red Table they have put themselves in full public view. They are insulated and privileged people. Equating a debatable bad joke as an excuse to protect your family is entitlement. I’m sorry, kick the ass of the guy in the entanglement with your wife, not the comedian. Smith apologized to the Academy, but not Rock. The apology is as hollow as the pipeline in North Dakota.
   
   
6. WWJD – What would Jimmy do?
   My friend Sally made me think, “What would I have done in the same situation?” Great question. Someone makes a joke at my wife’s expense. The joke is public, not funny, and insulting. If I were in my 20s, maybe I launch at Defcon 1. Otherwise, I wait. My first thought was; I would pull the person aside and say “WTF, let’s go outside or go right now. Either way we settle this now.” Then I started to think, if the joke was at Alexis, she is a strong woman who doesn’t take shit. I would have let her say something from the chair and stopped her from rushing the stage. In the end, it is her fight, I am support

6 Reasons Putin Doesn't Care

 Jimmy Dee Greek Is Upset!!

Zero, wrong, godless, ignorant and we shouldn’t be surprised. The naked aggression of Vladimir Putin into the Ukraine is horrific and expected. Here are 6 reasons why:

1) Putin is soulless:  He said he found God a while back. Well, it’s safe to say, Vlad lost him. What God fearing person, or person of any faith, acts like Vlad, a ruthless killer. The head of the Russian Church, Patriarch Kyril, is just his lacky. (A tough pill for me to swallow as I am an Orthodox Christian.) The church is a tool for Vlad to control the faithful, and Kyril is simply an enabler. Vlad’s soul is darker than my coffee, and that’s saying something.

2) Putin was head of the KGB. Putin was a member of the KGB (now the FSB which I think stands for Friendlier Soviet Beatings), the soulless secret police for 80 years in Russia. We think he cares about feelings, trigger warnings, or humanity? He craves absolute power over whatever he thinks belongs to him. That means Ukraine!

3) The war is too slow: Speed is not an issue. It’s westerners projecting how they think Putin should feel. Back to rule 1, he’s soulless, doesn’t care how many people will die, whether they are Russian or Ukraine. 

4) Vlad is scared of no country: The West has ceded everything to him since the year 2000. Chechnya, Georgia, Crimea and now Ukraine. NATO did nothing. The world said, “You’re mean, stop that!” and Putin moved forward. He was the head of the freaking KGB. No one has stood up to him. He's routinely tried to poison heads of state who don’t agree with him. The west’s response?  Crickets. Official memos of censure and condemnation do not count. At least not to Vlad. The world is outraged, and we will impose economic sanctions. The US sanctions won’t start till June of 2022. Ouch, but he won’t care. People are expendable in Putin’s war. Russia will, at whatever cost, destroy. Sanctions will hurt the Oligarchs, but they have no leverage over Vlad. His biggest disappointment is that he can no longer get a McDonald’s McBorscht Half Kilo-Burger with Tvorog. He will improvise.

5) The BOMB is in play. If Vlad drops the bomb tomorrow, what will be the Western response. Will we invade Russia? No. Will the West nuke Russia back? No. Will we impose sanctions? Yes, and Vlad will still not be able to get a contraband McBorscht Half Kilo-Burger with Tvorog. He knows there are no repercussions to his actions.

6) Who will stand against Vlad? Rhetoric, sanctions and clever memes are good for morale, but they do not beat boots on the ground. Poland is justifiably freaking out because they border Ukraine. What’s to stop Vlad from going south. Until NATO and the European Union put troops on the border, enforce a no-fly zone and put up a buffer, then Vlad marches on. I don’t like using Hitler comparisons, but here, it is apropos. The West appeased Hitler until half of Europe was gone. We are doing that now. Ask Poland what they think.

Mom, in her words

PREFACE:
This will be the first Mother's Day without mom. Very strange, but her memory, and impact, will always be with me and my brother Johnny. As we cleaned out my parents house, I came across the memoirs she had written on her computer. She thought they would be lost. Mom was all in on motherhood, and in the process, became Super Mom, always putting family first. I came across this anecdote. Johnny and I both remember the day pretty well. Please enjoy and think of a different time and the sacrifices our Moms made for us.

My Political Run

Maria J Bratsakis

It was a rather dark, gloomy and rainy day as I was cleaning up my kitchen washing the breakfast dishes looking forward to finishing up quickly, so I could sit have a cup of coffee and read the paper. The house was quiet when the telephone rang and interrupted my thoughts on how I was going to approach my full day of activities after my morning coffee.

Hello, the voice at the other end said, is this Maria Bratsakis?  I answered yes, he continued with a question that surprised me.  The caller first identified himself as being our precinct committee man Danny (Name changed) and that he had just finished with a meeting where my name was proposed to run as councilman representing our district.

Total silence ensued from my end. I was flabbergasted to say the least and quite honored but puzzled why my name would come up out of the blue as I had never had any political aspirations. To make a long story short, Danny offered his explanation as to why; he then continued reviewing their reasons such as my leadership in the various community endeavors my work at the University, and the fact that I had name

recognition and waited for a response.

I told him I would have to talk to my husband and children and think seriously on this offer and let him know in the morning.

I quickly called my husband John at work “You will never guess who I just heard from” I said in a rather excited voice. John asked who and I told him about the Precinct Committee man who asked if I was interested in running for public office. Total silence at the other end.

Hello, Hello, is anyone there? I thought the phone had died.  After several seconds a very somber low and loud voice (Johns) asked what did you tell him? I repeated my answer and John said I’ll see you when I get home. He didn’t offer any kind of congratulations, no “atta girl” comment, nothing. I knew clearly, he was not a happy camper about the prospect.

When our sons arrived from school, I was preparing dinner. I asked them about their day and then told them, with much trepidation, about my surprise phone call, anticipating a less than happy reply. Was I surprised! Both boys thought this was awesome. They would canvas the neighborhoods, and ask all of their friends to help. They would also marshal the forces, meaning my friends, to get the word out.

Next, I called my dear friend Bernie. “Super!” she replied, "I will be your campaign manager, when do we start?" Then I called my Dad in Chicago. “Hi Dad. You will never guess what kind of a phone call I got today,” I said, thinking I would get a quiet response. Instead I got a rousing, “That’s great! I’m proud of you”. I think the next thing he did after we hung up was run to the Hallmark store to buy the card I received the next day that said “Congratulations”. Dad loved politics and had long thought more women should be involved. Never thinking I would be asked to join the arena, I’m sure.

Now it was time after dinner to discuss the phone call, or so I thought. John seemed ready, as did our boys, but the they had different answers as I vividly recall. I repeated what I had said to the caller and John’s succinct reply was – “of course you will tell him NO!” The boys looked at me, their eyes pleading, say it isn’t so, you won’t say NO!

There you have it, need I say more? The next morning, I called the committee man and told him that I was not interested in running, thanking him for bringing this option to me. I made my decision on the fact that, yes, John would be unhappy, but just as importantly, I did not have the thick skin required to be in the political arena.

My sons thought I had “wimped out”, but I knew if I wanted to keep my happy marriage, my home life serene, and not embark on a venture I had never considered, I had made the right decision. I have never regretted my decision. 

I applaud the women who have the courage to leap into politics. As I look around me today and see women on both sides of the political spectrum, they pay a price for wanting to serve their constituents. All manner of privacy is gone, family comes second or even last right before them at the bottom of the ladder. The double standard still exists not at sharply defined as before but, it’s still there none the less. 

Who knows, maybe my granddaughter Anna or even my great granddaughter, will run for office. I will be cheering them on no matter what the decision because: They made the choice! when offered.

9 Thanks for Mom

Over the last 2 years, or 104 weekends, I have spent at least 85 weekends in an ER, Hospital Room, or Skilled Nursing Facility with my parents. That’s about 81% for you stat geeks. (Johnny has spent a boatload of time here, too) Dad’s journey ended a year ago March and Mom’s journey is slowly making a turn. Today, November 20^th, I checked her into VNA Hospice in Valpo. I know that many of you have been on similar journeys, and for more time. It’s arduous, taxing, draining and a host of other adjectives. It would be easy to dwell in the cellar of despair, but Mom will have no despair. While I have no idea when Mom begins her next journey, her journey here is on the horizon, going away. I know that I am thankful for a lifetime of her generosity. The blog is focused on what I am thankful for, from my Mom. I will read this to Mom sans any gallows humor I have inserted.

1. Giving Me A Little Brother: Mom has given me a lot of things, but my life would be less without Johnny. Mom made sure that we looked out for each other and for 53 years we have been side-by-side. Evidently at the age of two, I took the Sears wishbook and dialed the number, and tried to order a brother from the kid’s section. While I’m sure Dad contributed, I got the coolest brother. This doesn’t mean we don’t fight (we are boys, duh) but never step between us, just ask poor Andy who we ran over with my Purple Ranger and Johnny’s Orange Crate bikes after he tried to broker peace. That’s all Mom. I am so thankful for a priceless gift of a younger brother.
2. Love of Music : She exposed me to so much music and it is part of the tapestry that is Maria Bratsakis. Every colorful thread of that tapestry reflected into me. She put up with me playing tuba while I learned “Misty” for her and dad. She got Dizzy Gillespie, the Joffrey and a host of other great acts to our little hamlet of Valparaiso. She showed up to every concert and supported me through auditions, regardless of result. She also went to wrestling matches and football games, although I don’t think she looked while we were wrestling. I am so thankful for a song in my heart…or earworm…that I have everyday.
3. Love of Art: Mom had mad art skillz!. When were in Cooks Corners Elementary, mom would draw silhouettes of all the neighborhood kids and cut them out on black construction paper, then she would glue the silhouette to white paper. Very Victorian but way cool. She wasn’t just limited to silhouettes, she would do colored pencil drawings too. While she was part of a zillion art initiatives, she got focused on the new art museum at Valparaiso University. Eventually, she would develop the same sort of cynicism I had: VU leadership. Her team got the Dick Brauer Museum built and it still stands today. Mom would show me art books (the Andrew Wyeth one being the most impactful), introduce me to various types of art, along with Aunt Janet Sullivan (Jan’s Art Barn Janet) and all that just fell over me. My art tastes are more eclectic and Pop than mom’s, yet I am forever thankful for being submerged in such a colorful palate growing up.
4. Big Heart: No one has a bigger heart than my Mom. Regardless of the obstacle thrown in Mom’s way, she somehow finds a way to grow flowers in otherwise infertile ground. Only when her parents died did I see Mom break. In fact, though her propensity to love never faltered, she hasn’t been the same since.
5. Goofy Body: I was born with two feet, two ankles and an ass. When Mom and Dad assembled me, they forgot the legs. Not sure why I’m thankful for that because buying pants for a 26” inseam is really hard…let’s skip that 😊
6. Love of Cooking: Mom is an awesome cook. She would cook traditional Greek, Julia Childs or Irma Rombauer (Joy of Cooking) from the time we were little. Plus, a good old American steak with potatoes and salad was a big hit. It wasn’t just the cooking though, it was the tables. Mom would have the dining room table seasonably decorated and always welcoming. Everyone was invited to the table – especially around the holidays, and our friends who had nowhere to go, or liked Mom’s cooking better, were always invited. I am thankful that her empathy was magnified and communicated through food.
7. Hazel Eyes: Mom gave me hazel eyes, big deal, except that one doesn’t work. I’m thankful that I was brought up where it was never a disability and could never be used for an excuse. It was hard going through school with coke bottle bottom glasses but mom made sure I tried to see only good. Sure, I suck at basketball, I’m 5’10” and Greek, those aren’t genetics for basketball. Today, I am thankful because I only see the colors of life.
8. God and Family: Mom made sure we got to church, except on Pop Warner Football Sundays, and that the faith was a central part of our day. Every morning before school we would face an icon of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus say a prayer. I still use parts of the prayer in my daily life: “Let those who don’t care for me see in the light of those who love me.” And “Keep a still mind and a burning heart…” are still part of my lexicon. I am thankful for the God being at the center of our lives.
9. When I was 5, Mom slipped at the top of the stairs heading to the basement, basically hitting each of the 13 stairs with laundry in her hand as her head smacked the cold, grey cement basement floor which stopped her fall. I stood at the top of stairs, Mom motionless at the base. I grabbed our yellow wall hanging rotary phone, dialed the “O” for operator and told the operator what happened. I then protected the entrance, so Johnny wouldn’t see mom helpless. I waited till help arrived. I am thankful that it took 50 years before I have to stand at another staircase in life over Mom.

King John Story 4: Roasting The Easter Dog

Nothing is as big and fat as Easter in a Greek home. It is the biggest holiday of the year and King John would never disappoint. We would have a small gathering of at least 50 every Easter. Preparation began Holy Week in two phases. Religious and Easter Day. The weekday religious preparations were organized and attended to by Mom. She made sure we got to Wednesday night, Friday afternoon and sometimes night services. Then Dad took over and took us to the 5am Saturday Liturgy and of course the midnight service.

Dad's real focus was Sunday. First, he built a lamb spit that could withstand World War III. He had the guys at the shop cut a 55 gallon barrel in half. Welded 1/4" angle iron supports to the front and back as feet. On the back side, he used the same 1/4" plate to build a platform for the small 2.5 horsepower Emerson motor that  could drive the screws on a Wolf Class nuclear submarine under the arctic circle. That would connect to a 1" solid, stainless rod with a point so sharp, this rod could pierce through one side of an Abrams tank and emerge through the other. Yep, dad was an engineer. It needed at least three, sober, adult men to position into place.

Next, dad would take his Italian side kick, Uncle Rich, and go to see Petros at Diana's Grocery, until it was shut down by the health department. Then it was Nick at the Parthenon Restaurant in Greek Town. The Lamb was all dressed with the requisite oregano, lemon, olive oil and other Greek spices that have been passed down to Greek men since the beginning of thyme. The biggest decision was to leave the head on or off. Yia Yia liked the head and would make soup, so dad would have the head cut off. If Yia Yia wasn't going to be there for some reason, dad kept the head. This was a head on year..... Yia Yia and Papou were in Tulsa.

Sunday morning rolls around and dad gets his posse; Uncle Ferg, a college chemistry prof, and Mr Aungst, a local attorney, neighbors and extended family, to strap the lamb, named Gus this particular year, into the spit that can withstand World War III. This was no easy task. The Posse was up to any task and this was no different. Whether it was gardening and they rototilled over one's thigh and someone had to be the ersatz ambulance driver, or finding a lost child in the woods and carrying him home, or when two kids got busted in a red neck town, you get the picture, this merry band of neighbors could tackle anything. Dad would make them 7% Greek for life and give them immunity to participate in all Greek affairs. Hence, it was a Greek affair. Gus may be a challenge, but the Posse was undeterred. The lamb, though dead, still was greasy from spices and the like. The 1" stainless steel rod was heavier than Gus and had to be rammed through him. I wanted to help, but I was chased off and, in retrospect, glad I was. Once in place, Mr. Aungst made sure the coals were lit, dad flipped the 'on' switch, and Gus was rotating. After that, The Posse would periodically check on the lamb.

This Easter was different. Our backyard had 3.3 neighbors that bordered it. One side was Gary's family. He was a state champion golfer. The Jamesons who left their heart in Sparrow's Point, Baltimore and Theo Ferg's house which took up about 60% of the one side of the backyard. The other 40% was the lot that belonged to my band director, the famous Robert G. Miller.  He and dad were always cordial but I had never seen them hang and talk. This day, Mr. Miller was on my back porch, having a glass of wine with dad. Was my music career over? Had it ever started? Mr. Miller went back home and I went out to check on damage control. Dad said Mr. Miller just came to say "Hi". Then dad and I just gazed at Gus. Johnny joined us.

Gus was spinning slowly, and when the body was perpendicular to the ground, the head, with vacant eyes seeming staring right at you, due to gravity, was parallel to the ground. The head would remain this way until the body would make a quarter turn more, parallel to the patio, and the head would just plop over, resisting gravity to the last moment. Plop.....here it comes.....plop.....repeat. It was slow, mesmerizing and just strange. It went on and on like this for hours. I also noticed something else........Mr. Miller's kids.

Mr. Miller had three kids. They were younger than me, around Jr. High age and younger. They would run up to the border between the Bratsakis/Miller properties and freeze. Just like they had an invisible dog collar on. They stared at Gus with eyes as big as saucers, a look of terror, as if they were facing down Jason and Freddie on Elm Street. They would retreat into the house, reappear, run to the property line, freeze, terror, retreat. This went on all afternoon.

Mr. Miller came back over for another drink and went back home. I asked dad what was going on. Evidently, the Miller's schnauzer had been missing since Friday. Mr Miller told his kids we caught it and were having it for Easter dinner. He had asked my dad not to say anything. Dad happily complied. They thought we were roasting the Easter Dog. It's amazing anyone born in the '60s is alive today.

Gus, the Easter Dog, with  head, lopping back and forth...was awesome. We feasted! We are Greek.

Choosing To Be Happy

 Me, at the helm of good ship "Happy", choosing to be happy and not hit a Cape Fear lighthouse.

Recently I posted a video of a woman dancing in the Charlotte Airport after her flight got messed up. She chose to be happy when it really sucked that she was stuck overnight in the airport. I think this is wise, if not really simple, advice: choose to be happy. In the hurlyburly of life, we forget to stop and smile. Bombarded by e-stimuli, focused on the next waypoint on our life journey, we look forward, squirrel, repeat. Where and why, don't we stop to cherish the moment? Why not take the energy to make the moment positive, and not take a selfie of that moment.

Choosing to be happy does have obstacles. There is a sad maxim right from the get go: "While most don't want to be the squeaky wheel, unfortunately, it seems that squeaky is the only audible level." Get stuck in a line at the airport, where the human condition is at its worst, see who gets attention. I was next to a person who was demanding luggage. She dropped the 4 letter word, "bomb", twice and they serviced her immediately . The polite people in line were overlooked and the woman got her luggage. Flip through the channels, see anyone happy? We see rich/famous, famous for being rich, or a newscaster comparing politicians to Hitler or Stalin with zero context, perpetual righteous indignation over a politicians infidelity when the other side does the exact same thing. Stop....choose to be happy. It's not easy, Shannon, you are right about that. Watch "Remember the Titans" or "Rocky" or "Star Wars" or "Used Cars". Skip Eckhard Tolle, choose George Carlin. Make happier choices. 

It's not easy, especially if you are a kindred, existential, quirky, beatnik spirit like me. Happy doesn't enter the lexicon (sex, debauchery, freedom of the human spirit, and jazz does). However, this year has been the fastest of my life. Although I've had some seismic changes take place, my bride, the Love Goddess, said she hadn't seen me laugh or smile like I have recently in several years. The only thing I can think of is that I have, maybe it's out of necessity, had to stop and make myself laugh. Laughter heals the soul. We choose to let our hearts get buried in the underbrush of the daily crap. We need to tend to the heart, part of that is choosing to be happy. Not a blissfully ignorant, Candide happy, but one where make room for a smile and maybe prayer, meditation or whatever your deity tells you to do. 

For my part, I'm only posting non-political Facebook stuff. I may write a few blogs, but the focus is humor and music. Two things that make me smile. Yeah, the outside world can suck, but I choose to be that bright red Anemone flower in the sidewalk...at least until someone thinks I'm a weed...wait, laugh.