In the running man they were not above killing airport personnel to frame the schwartzenegger character we know how they introduce ‘evidence’ in intel reports

Being open-minded is pretty far down the list of priorities for most people.

We are all right in the middle of one the greatest stories in human history – a virtual explosion of wealth. Ignore the naysayers. But sometimes one wonders, “What’s it all about?”

My dad, and his four siblings, grew up in real poverty in the worst of the depression. I heard all of those stories, and cherished them. Christmas for them was an orange and a peppermint stick – that’s it.

All five of them lived into their 90’s so I’ve heard all of these stories many times. Here’s my favorite. The neighbors were very used to the Plaiss kids coming around asking for food (yes, that kind of poverty.) The oldest, a rule-the-roost girl, used this to her advantage. One day the parents were out, and she dispatches the other four. The cutest, and the most charismatic, to the best-off house that would be most likely to have chocolate. The others to acquire sugar, flour, eggs.

You see, she had learned to make fudge – and that’s what they did. But they left some evidence, and evidently a neighbor talked, so they were found out. Hell was paid, and in this day and age, my grandmother would likely have gone to jail. But remembering those stories, at my grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve, with all of them laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, I sometimes wonder, are my kids happier? Will they have memories like those? Will they have stories this good?

When someone inevitably asked them if they missed the old days the answer was a unanimous, “Hell no! It was terrible!”

from wikipedia: “… the name “Gitane” means gypsy woman. The brand was synonymous with French bicycle racing from the 1960s through the mid-1980s…”

Gypsy woman. I like that! Wonderful story!

I’ve laced and rebuilt wheels. Replaced all the bearings with sealed units and more. And with maybe 30,000 miles on it, I still ride it. But now, with lots of seashore rides and a lack of recent care, it’s got a lot of corrosion.

Just as I was reluctantly thinking about selling or junking it for something new recently, in spite of its sentimental value, a group of old guys rode up next to me and went ga-ga over it. “Oh, it’s a Gitane. I can tell even though you repainted it. Look at those center-pull brakes! Etc., etc.” Now I can’t make up my mind.

Good times & money well spent.

You truly captured the role of my bike–so big, I too had to stand to ride it, until I grew– in my childhood.
It gave me my independence, at age seven.

I will be sharing it widely with my cousins, 68-79.