We Live in the Greatest Country in the World What America does the World Will Follow It's Good vs Evil Choose God Choose Freedom ✌♥️🙏🇺🇸 🙏🧒👧♥️
USA
Joined October 2022
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Imagine this.
The same people that dismissed us, called us names, destroyed families and friendships 5 years ago for telling the truth...
Are now fighting the new Administration because DOGE is saving Americans trillions of dollars.
That is some serious brainwashing.
✌♥️
Kathy Putney retweeted
I am Gen X.
I snuck into R-rated movies.
I bought beer with a fake ID.
I played quarters at parties.
I kissed strangers at midnight.
I lied about where I was going.
I wore yesterday's clothes home.
I made excuses for hickeys.
I swore my friends to secrecy.
We weren't always innocent.
We just grew up before everyone had a camera.
Kathy Putney retweeted
Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has fired Army Lt. Gen. Brett Sylvia, the general in charge of strategy, plans and policy for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and if what a Pentagon official is saying holds up, it was the right call. According to that official, Sylvia failed three polygraph tests tied to leaks of classified information to the media about the war with Iran and the war between Russia and Ukraine, and the case has been sent to the Justice Department. Sylvia has retired after 32 years of service, and I haven't seen any public response from him.
The timing is what gets me. U.S. officials have reportedly told countries in the Middle East to be ready for possible renewed strikes on Iran after Tuesday's election, and a third aircraft carrier is on its way to the region. The man in that job helps write the plans our troops would carry out. If classified details from that office were being handed to reporters, that puts American lives at risk.
Critics are already calling this another purge of generals. I'll take a Secretary who goes after leakers over one who looks the other way.
I stand with Pete Hegseth!🇺🇸
See the link to the article in the comments.
NEW:
Secretary of War Pete Hegseth @PeteHegseth has fired Army Lieutenant General Brett Sylvia.
You’ll recall that after Charlie Kirk was assassinated, I exposed Gavin Sylvia, a he/him data analyst at @fema, for celebrating the death of Charlie Kirk. Following my report, Gavin Sylvia was placed on administrative leave.
Gavin Sylvia is the son of Brett Sylvia.
Senior Pentagon official tells me:
“Army Lieutenant General Brett Sylvia, who was part of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was fired by Secretary Hegseth for severe misconduct…Sylvia is the subject of an investigation for leaking classified information about the Iran War, the war between Russia and Ukraine, and more. Due to the Pentagon’s media policy requiring journalists to have escorts in the building, Sylvia began meeting with journalists outside of the Pentagon in order to leak classified information.”
Senior Pentagon official also told me,
“Sylvia failed three polygraphs which questioned him about leaking classified information. The investigation into him remains ongoing and has been referred to the Department of Justice for further action. The extent of his leaking became so critical that Secretary Hegseth took immediate action and fired Sylvia in order to protect national security.”
I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Kathy Putney retweeted
So far my letter to the editor is still unpublished.
So I will share with you...
If you don't know about these topics
you have a couple days.
Do you know if you vote blue or don't vote at all you are saying you want all President Trump's Executive Orders reversed?
No tax on social security/reversed
No tax on tips/reversed
He made it a FELONY if you abuse an animal/reversed
Orders to protect children from trafficking/reversed
All the climate change hoopla/back
Wide open border
You think 20 million was a lot.
So many haved turned to saving America they will need millions more pouring in.
The push to take our guns and ammo/full blast. They can't wait.
Those are my favorites.
A very small fraction of what is a whole lot better since 2024
If we don't win we get 2020 all over again.
Vote to save the children
Vote to save America
But hey, if you decide to Vote blue you can always vote in 2028.
Oh wait. Their way doesn't allow voting.
Kathy Putney retweeted
I was driving home from my night class when the headlights behind me started flashing.
Then came the honking. Long, angry blasts, over and over.
I ignored it. I'd read plenty of stories about people who pull over for strangers on dark roads, and I wasn't going to be one of them.
A minute later, the car pulled up beside me. The driver rolled down his window and waved one arm, mouthing something I couldn't hear over my radio.
My heart was pounding.
At the next red light, he jumped out of his car and ran toward mine. I locked every door and hit the gas the second the light turned green.
He followed me anyway.
I took the next left and drove straight to the police station, which was four blocks away. I'd never been so glad to see a building with a blue light over the door.
I pulled into the lot, and his car skidded in right behind mine.
Two officers walked out as the man got out of his car with both hands in the air.
"I'm not chasing him," he called. "I'm trying to warn him!"
One officer stepped between us. "Warn him about what?"
The man pointed at the back of my car, breathless. "Underneath. Look underneath."
I got out slowly and crouched down beside the rear bumper.
My exhaust pipe had come loose. Half of it was hanging an inch above the pavement, dragging along the road, and a long orange spark was still flickering where it scraped against the asphalt.
"It's been throwing sparks for two miles," the man said. "You drove past a gas station. I thought the whole thing was going to catch fire."
I stood up, and my knees nearly gave out.
"I thought you were chasing me," I said.
"I know," he said. "I'd have thought the same thing. I just didn't know how else to get you to stop."
One of the officers walked around the car with a flashlight and shook his head. "Sir, you probably saved this man's car. Maybe more than that."
I turned to the stranger, who was still breathing hard, his tie crooked and his shirt half untucked.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I locked my doors on you. I drove away from you."
He laughed and wiped his forehead. "You did exactly what I'd tell my own kid to do. I'm just glad you ended up somewhere safe."
The officers helped me call a tow truck. While we waited, someone brought out a pot of coffee, and the man, whose name was Gerald, sat with me on the station steps for half an hour.
The repair cost $140, and the mechanic told me the pipe could have fallen off completely on the highway.
I mailed Gerald a thank-you card with a $25 gift card to his favorite diner, and he wrote back a week later on the back of a paper napkin.
"Next time, I'll try a different way to get your attention. Maybe a sign."
I still keep the napkin in my glovebox, right next to the flashlight.
Kathy Putney retweeted
He sold his company for $51 million—not to get rich, but because of what happened to his daughter at a hotel pool.”
Gordon Hartman was a successful homebuilder in San Antonio. He had built a thriving company. He had financial security. By most standards, he had already achieved success.
But in 2005, while on vacation with his daughter Morgan, something happened that changed the direction of his life.
Morgan has cognitive and physical disabilities. At a hotel pool, she saw other children playing and tried to join them.
They didn’t know how to interact with her. They weren’t unkind—just unsure. Gradually, awkwardly, they drifted away.
Morgan didn’t cry. She didn’t complain. She simply walked off.
That quiet moment broke her father’s heart.
For years, Gordon had been asking the wrong question: “How do I help my child fit into the world?”
Standing by that pool, he asked a different one: “Why is the world built in a way that leaves her out?”
That question became his mission.
Soon after, he sold his construction company for approximately $51 million. Not to retire. Not to upgrade his lifestyle.
But to build something he believed should have existed all along.
On April 10, 2010, Morgan's Wonderland opened in San Antonio—the first theme park designed specifically for guests with physical, cognitive, and developmental disabilities.
It wasn’t just accessible. It was intentionally inclusive.
Rides were engineered so wheelchairs could roll directly on—no transfers, no barriers. There were quiet areas for guests sensitive to noise and crowds. Sensory-friendly spaces designed to prevent overstimulation. Staff were trained not only in safety, but in patience, communication, and understanding.
The park included a wheelchair-accessible Ferris wheel, a sensory village, an off-road adventure ride, and dozens of attractions built so everyone could participate—not watch from the sidelines.
And one policy reflected Gordon’s heart most clearly:
Guests with special needs receive free admission. Always.
Not as charity, but as acknowledgment that many families already face enough barriers in daily life.
The park was designed for families—siblings, parents, friends. Anyone could attend. But for once, the person with a disability wasn’t the afterthought.
They were the priority.
In 2017, Gordon expanded the vision with Morgan's Inspiration Island—an ultra-accessible splash park featuring waterproof wheelchairs, temperature-controlled water, and thoughtful sensory design.
Since opening, Morgan’s Wonderland has welcomed more than a million guests. It has inspired similar projects worldwide and demonstrated that inclusive design isn’t complicated—it’s simply intentional.
Gordon Hartman didn’t set out to change the world. He set out to build a place where his daughter could play.
In doing so, he revealed something powerful:
The challenge was never the children. It was the way spaces were designed without them in mind.
Many people who sell a company for $51 million choose a larger home, a boat, or early retirement.
Gordon Hartman chose 25 acres of land and spent years building swings accessible to wheelchairs, rides that didn’t require walking, and spaces that didn’t treat differences as limitations.
Because one afternoon at a pool, he watched his daughter try to join in.
And she couldn’t.
So he built a place where she could.
Morgan’s Wonderland isn’t just a theme park. It’s a father’s love made visible. It’s a question answered with action. It’s proof that inclusion isn’t impossible—it simply requires someone willing to build it.
Gordon Hartman stood by that pool and made a decision.
He could accept the world as it was. Or he could help reshape it.
He chose to reshape it.
Now, thousands of families each year experience something different from that moment at the pool.
This time, no one walks away.
This time, everyone plays together.
So far my letter to the editor is still unpublished.
So I will share with you...
If you don't know about these topics
you have a couple days.
Do you know if you vote blue or don't vote at all you are saying you want all President Trump's Executive Orders reversed?
No tax on social security/reversed
No tax on tips/reversed
He made it a FELONY if you abuse an animal/reversed
Orders to protect children from trafficking/reversed
All the climate change hoopla/back
Wide open border
You think 20 million was a lot.
So many haved turned to saving America they will need millions more pouring in.
The push to take our guns and ammo/full blast. They can't wait.
Those are my favorites.
A very small fraction of what is a whole lot better since 2024
If we don't win we get 2020 all over again.
Vote to save the children
Vote to save America
But hey, if you decide to Vote blue you can always vote in 2028.
Oh wait. Their way doesn't allow voting.
Kathy Putney retweeted
Don't know how many of you are still standing with me and fighting alongside me.
Kathy Putney retweeted
I walked into my neighborhood deli on a rainy Thursday to pick up a sandwich, and the owner stopped me at the counter.
"Miss Carter," he said, leaning on the register with a very serious face. "Your tab is getting out of hand."
I laughed. "I've never had a tab here."
He didn't laugh back.
He pulled out a worn notebook and flipped it open. There was my name at the top of the page, written in neat block letters, followed by a long column of dates and amounts. Two turkey sandwiches. A soup. Two lemonades. Again and again, for almost four months.
The total at the bottom said $412.
"Somebody has been signing for these in your name," he said. "She says you're good for it. I've been letting it slide, but it's been months."
My face went hot. I thought about every friend, every coworker, and every cousin who had ever borrowed my favorite jacket without asking.
"Who?" I asked.
He glanced at the clock. "She comes in around 3:15, after school lets out. She's been bringing a friend."
I stood by the window, holding my umbrella, until the bell over the door jingled at 3:14.
It was my niece, Jada. She's fifteen.
She walked in with a quiet, skinny boy in a worn-out hoodie, and she didn't see me at first. She was already saying, "Put it on Miss Carter's tab, please," in a voice so casual it made my stomach drop.
"Jada," I said.
She froze. The boy took one step back toward the door.
"Aunt Renee," she whispered. "I can explain."
I waited. The deli owner pretended to wipe a clean counter.
"His mom lost her job in the summer," she said, and her eyes filled. "He wasn't eating lunch. He told everyone he forgot his money, but he never has any. I didn't have enough allowance to cover him every day, and I knew you would help if I asked, but I was scared you'd say no. I wasn't trying to steal. I was going to tell you. I just kept putting it off."
The boy stared at his shoes, mortified.
I looked at the two of them. Then I looked at the notebook, at four months of turkey sandwiches and lemonades.
I took a long breath.
"Jada, using my name without asking was wrong," I said gently. "You know that. If you had come to me, I would have said yes, and I would have been proud."
She nodded, wiping her face.
"And you," I said to the boy. "What's your name?"
"Malik," he said quietly.
"Malik, are you hungry right now?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
I turned to the owner and put my card on the counter.
"I'll pay the $412 today," I said. "And I'd like to open a real account in my name. Two lunches a day, on school days, through the end of the year. Jada will pick them up with a note from me."
The owner folded his notebook and gave me a small, tired smile.
"I wasn't going to ban anybody," he said. "I just wanted someone to say something."
Malik looked up for the first time, and his eyes were bright.
"Thank you, Miss Carter," he said.
"Eat first," I said. "Thank me later."
We sat in the front booth while the rain tapped against the glass. Jada unwrapped her sandwich in silence, then slid half of it across the table to her friend.
Before we left, she tugged at my sleeve.
"I'm sorry I lied," she said.
"I forgive you," I told her. "Next time, just ask. Even if you're scared."
She hugged me so hard my umbrella fell on the floor.
Three weeks later, Malik's mom found a new job. He brought me a thank-you card with a drawing of a sandwich on the front.
I still keep it on my refrigerator, right under the receipt for $412, which I never threw away.
