Letters To The Editor

Letters To The Editor 07.16.20


They’ll dig a hole extra deep,

Find the stoutest box,

Pack in four yards of dirt,

Plus some heavy rocks.

They’ll go to all this trouble,

Despite all that is said,

To replace my blood with formaldehyde—

To make sure that I am dead.

The funny thing about it is

When my life is done,

They can feed me to the fishes,

Throw me in the trash,

Burn me in an oven till

I’m nothing but an ash.

For when my heart stops beating,

I couldn’t give a damn.

But if you come to know me now,

Accept the way I am.

Dean Evans, Stephentown

Born To Be Happy

I have this vision of the world

Where everyone is happy each day

They put aside their worries and troubles

And look at life in a new way

The Sound of laughter would fill the air

And all the sadness would disappear

I would wipe away every tear, and take away all fear

Then I could deposit Joy

Into an interest bearing account

And watch it grow into an amazing amount

I should spread bliss like butter on warm toast

Then let you take a bite from the middle

Because it’s the part you love most

I will put happiness into your favorite drink

So that only happy thoughts you will think

I could bake it into your favorite treat

And let you have all you can eat

I’ll put goodness into a beautiful flower bouquet

And let you stare at it all day

I will write Be Happy across the entire sky

And let the spirit of the Lord get everyone high

A wise man says “You’re as happy as you want to be”

You just need to unlock the chains of adversity

I know the best thing I can do

To make this dream come true

I’ll pray every day to God up above

That happiness will flow as they share his great love

Donna Masters, Troy

Flower Stories

Every wildflower has a story;

Tell them to your children.

Tell them of the

Blue-Eyed girl waiting for the mail.

Share the story of Jewel’s explosion

As she cried, “Touch me not!”

Search with them for the bloodspot

Left forever by Princess Anne.

Tell them of two little girls who died young, and

Their spirits returning in Daisies & Black-Eyed Susans.

Have a favorite wildflower without a story…..

Make one up….

Such stories will help your children

Identify/enjoy wildflowers for their whole lives.

Lloyd Barnhart, West Sand Lake

Say No to Party Barn on Barnes

We are writing to express great concern over the proposition to build a party event barn o Barnes Road. We have always enjoyed the peace and tranquility of this neighborhood. Our daughter ha s taken horseback riding lessons for several years and we have always felt comfortable with this wonderful neighborhood. They frequently take rides along Barnes Road and we can’t believe that would be safe with additional traffic and potential alcohol consumption. The road is not designed to handle that much traffic and we can’t imagine this is a good plan for an agricultural district. We appreciate all the farming that occurs on this street and would like to see it preserved.

We are in strong opposition to this permit and would encourage you to deny it for the safety of all.

Jude Seney Melendez, West Sand Lake

The Sorry State of Main Stream Political Discourse These Days

I once knew a guy who could recite every line of every character from every episode of South Park.

I’ve known people who follow sports so closely that they know every player’s stats, the teams’ standings and game schedules.

I know a guy who learned to read Japanese just to be able to inspect a Samurai sword and tell when, where and by whom it was made.

I know people who can tell you the song title, lyrics and artist of any song in a particular genre of music sometimes just by hearing the first note.

I also know people who follow politics so closely that they can tell you the name of every prominent political figure and where they actually stand on any given issue (as opposed to where they claim they stand) just by seeing their face or hearing their voice.

I’ve also known people who THINK they are experts in these fields …like the harmonica player who swore that there isn’t a single song by the Moody Blues in which Ray Thomas plays the harmonica.

I’ve heard the South Park expert try to make the case that socialism is the perfect ideology.

I won’t be arguing with the sports or music experts about anything to do with their knowledge but they won’t be my go-to guys if I want a historical sword appraised.

I certainly won’t be accepting medical advice from actors or politicians or political advice from people who watch CNN.

People who get their “news” from CNN or the vast majority of Main Stream Media sources are very susceptible to becoming propagandized sheep. They’ll often claim they hate politics and that they avoid talking about it. They don’t realize that the avoidance and hate are part of the propagandizing. The hate is the emotional barb on the hook that makes it hard to become unhooked. The avoidance helps to prevent people in the sheep’s sphere of influence from intervening with alternative perspectives, reason or common sense.

Patriotic Americans should embrace political discourse using reason and common sense while keeping emotions at bay.

David Crawmer, Wynantskill


Like Venetians at Mardi Gras

Or robbers of banks, 

We cover our faces with masks

And join in their ranks.

In this time of quarantine,

I take my lonely stroll

To keep my body healthy

And play my current role.

Man’s usual sociability

Is being sorely tested;

If distance helps contain the spread,

Then I am sure invested!

But what will help our spirits

From plummeting so far

We will not recover

From living in a Bell Jar?

Today I walked again,

And saw a lovely sight

That lifted my poor spirits

And set me all a-right.

Someone set out a table,

Two chairs and a vase,

Each one a vibrant red

To brighten up my days.

Just like a Matisse painting,

With colors jarring bright,

My spirits quickly rose

When I beheld that sight.

In all the days of dreariness,

Each one about the same,

That splash of red upon the lawn

Was “Hope” –no other name!

And so, we look forward

To brightness and good cheer,

And look to the day

When we no longer fear.

By Sarah Cifarelli Wellen

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