Linda Forsythe (C-VINE)

Love this history of Jimmy Stewart. I still adore the movies he's starred in and watch It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas. I've placed a picture of him, and the love of his life in the comments section... When the doctor told him it was time to change his pacemaker battery, James Stewart, 88, replied with gentle firmness: “I’m going to Gloria now.” He had already decided. He didn’t want to prolong his life—he wanted to return to the love of his life. For decades he had been known as “America’s greatest bachelor.” Handsome, kind, beloved by all, he had dated extraordinary women: Ginger Rogers, Marlene Dietrich, Olivia de Havilland… and yet he had never married. Then, at 39, he met Gloria Hatrick McLean. She was already the mother of two children, recently divorced. An elegant, strong woman, with green eyes and a quiet grace that left Jimmy speechless. He fell in love instantly. He courted her shyly, even won over Gloria’s jealous dog… and at 41, he asked her to marry him. On August 9, 1949, they were married in a simple ceremony with only 18 guests. It was the most anticipated wedding in Hollywood—and the most sincere. Jimmy adopted Gloria’s two sons as if they were his own. Then came the twins, Judy and Kelly. When Gloria nearly lost her life during childbirth, Jimmy never left her side. He slept at the hospital, watching over her day and night. Their life together was a rare miracle in Hollywood: no scandals, no rumors—just real love. Forty-five years of laughter, children, travels, lunches in the garden, and that house in Beverly Hills filled with shared memories. In 1969, they lost their son Ronald, killed in Vietnam at 24. An unbearable pain. But they stayed together. Always. When Gloria died in 1994, Jimmy slowly faded with her. He stopped going out. He refused awards and interviews. He spent his days in Gloria’s garden, talking to her as if she were still there. In 1996, doctors told him they needed to replace his pacemaker battery—a simple procedure. But Jimmy refused. “I don’t want to go on living if my life no longer has a purpose,” he had said years earlier. And his purpose… was Gloria. On July 2, 1997, surrounded by his children in the home where they had lived their whole life, Jimmy Stewart passed away peacefully. He was 89. His last words were: “I’m going to Gloria now.” He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t afraid. He was ready. Because theirs wasn’t a love story meant for magazine covers. It was a deeper truth: that true love doesn’t end with death. It waits. Patiently. Until it can be reunited. In a world that teaches us to “always resist,” to “never depend on anyone,” Jimmy left us a different lesson: love is also choosing to let go when the soul you love is no longer here. He didn’t fight to live a few more years. He chose Gloria. Once again. Forever.

Love this history of Jimmy Stewart. I still adore the movies he's starred in and watch It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas. I've placed a picture of him, and the love of his life in the comments section... When the doctor told him it was time to change his pacemaker battery, James Stewart, 88, replied with gentle firmness: “I’m going to Gloria now.” He had already decided. He didn’t want to prolong his life—he wanted to return to the love of his life. For decades he had been known as “America’s greatest bachelor.” Handsome, kind, beloved by all, he had dated extraordinary women: Ginger Rogers, Marlene Dietrich, Olivia de Havilland… and yet he had never married. Then, at 39, he met Gloria Hatrick McLean. She was already the mother of two children, recently divorced. An elegant, strong woman, with green eyes and a quiet grace that left Jimmy speechless. He fell in love instantly. He courted her shyly, even won over Gloria’s jealous dog… and at 41, he asked her to marry him. On August 9, 1949, they were married in a simple ceremony with only 18 guests. It was the most anticipated wedding in Hollywood—and the most sincere. Jimmy adopted Gloria’s two sons as if they were his own. Then came the twins, Judy and Kelly. When Gloria nearly lost her life during childbirth, Jimmy never left her side. He slept at the hospital, watching over her day and night. Their life together was a rare miracle in Hollywood: no scandals, no rumors—just real love. Forty-five years of laughter, children, travels, lunches in the garden, and that house in Beverly Hills filled with shared memories. In 1969, they lost their son Ronald, killed in Vietnam at 24. An unbearable pain. But they stayed together. Always. When Gloria died in 1994, Jimmy slowly faded with her. He stopped going out. He refused awards and interviews. He spent his days in Gloria’s garden, talking to her as if she were still there. In 1996, doctors told him they needed to replace his pacemaker battery—a simple procedure. But Jimmy refused. “I don’t want to go on living if my life no longer has a purpose,” he had said years earlier. And his purpose… was Gloria. On July 2, 1997, surrounded by his children in the home where they had lived their whole life, Jimmy Stewart passed away peacefully. He was 89. His last words were: “I’m going to Gloria now.” He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t afraid. He was ready. Because theirs wasn’t a love story meant for magazine covers. It was a deeper truth: that true love doesn’t end with death. It waits. Patiently. Until it can be reunited. In a world that teaches us to “always resist,” to “never depend on anyone,” Jimmy left us a different lesson: love is also choosing to let go when the soul you love is no longer here. He didn’t fight to live a few more years. He chose Gloria. Once again. Forever.

Okay y'all check this out Elon Musk just heightened the views on what's happening in Minnesota with the Somalian immigrants, which are most likely here illegally. Do you see the grift? And I will tell you that most likely the local government officials are in on it. It's called money laundering. There are many ways in which they do it. They need people to facilitate it which the illegal immigrants gladly do because they are here illegally. So the next time you see Trump's administration offering them $3000 to leave and you feel slighted, please ponder back at this amongst many, many other grifts that are going on robbing the "We The People". The $3,000 is pennies compared to what they have been robbing us of for many years. To get rid of them back to their countries eliminates the catalysts to perpetrate the theft. And again the theft is in the millions, if not billions at this point that they have found this particular grift alone! And for all those that are constantly saying nothing is happening, you do know that Doge is still operating. This is why Elon shared this post to make millions aware of where their taxpayer dollars have been going. And for all those that don't pay income tax, I'm not talking about just income tax. Every tax you pay sales tax, vehicle tax, this tax and that tax, you name it, they will try to find a way to tax you on it. A huge percentage of it is going to the grifts! And this is just a fraction of it folks, there are so many other ways they have been stealing from you using illegal immigrants. Not to mention stealing elections, so they always have that safety net of a corrupt person willing to participate in the grifts. And then there are the obvious... The murderers, rapists and downright evil, sinister, dangerous people that cannot walk the streets without people being in harm's way or losing their lives to these monsters. So again to pay them $3,000 to leave is minuscule compared to the damage they have caused and will continue to cause until they all go back to their homes. Remember you have to cut off their money supply aka the head of the snake, to stop the steal! It's why you have to think outside the box. Take that 40K foot view and try not get caught up in these little headlines you read. There's so much more to this than anyone could have ever imagined. Take heart in knowing that it is being taken care of and eliminated as we all go into the Golden Age! @CaptKylePatriots

JUST IN - FBI Director Kash Patel announced the FBI’s DC headquarters, the J. Edgar Hoover Building, will be permanently shut down. 🔥 FOLLOW & JOIN 🔥 🇺🇸 Telegram: @WeTheMedia 🐦 X: @WeTheMedia17 🗽 Truth Social: @WeTheMedia

I’ve been a mechanic for 30 years. I’ve seen it all. But last Friday, a woman pulled in driving a beat-up 2005 Honda Odyssey. It sounded like a bag of marbles in a blender. She had three kids in the back, all under the age of six. The car was packed with bags. Not grocery bags—suitcases. "It's making a noise," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just need it to get to my sister's in Denver. That's 400 miles." I popped the hood. It wasn't good. Alternator was shot, serpentine belt was hanging by a thread, and the water pump was leaking. Parts and labor? Minimum $800. I walked back to the waiting room. She was counting change out of a Ziploc bag to buy the kids a soda from the vending machine. She looked terrified. "Ma'am," I said. She jumped. "Is it bad? I have... I have $60." I looked at her. I looked at the kids. I saw the bruise on her arm she was trying to hide with a long sleeve. I knew that look. She wasn't just visiting her sister. She was escaping. If I told her the truth, she’d be stranded here. I took a deep breath. "Well," I said, wiping my greasy hands on a rag. "It's a simple fix. Loose wire. And... uh... there was a recall on these belts. Manufacturer pays for it. You're actually lucky you came in." Her shoulders dropped about five inches. "Really?" "Yep. 'Standard Warranty Policy.' Takes about two hours. Why don't you take the kids to the diner next door? On me. We have a... coupon." I spent the next three hours replacing the alternator, the belt, and the pump. I filled the gas tank. I put new wipers on. I paid for the parts out of my own retirement jar. When she came back, I handed her the keys and a receipt that said $0.00. "You're good to go," I said. She looked at the receipt, then at me. She knew. You don't get a full tank of gas from a loose wire. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. She didn't say thank you. She just whispered, "You just saved my life." I watched that van limp onto the highway, running smoother than it had in years. My boss walked up behind me. "You didn't charge her, did you? That's coming out of your paycheck, Mike." "Take it," I said, lighting a cigarette. "Best money I ever spent." Some repairs aren't about cars. They're about giving someone the mileage they need to start over. Anonymous

I’ve been a mechanic for 30 years. I’ve seen it all. But last Friday, a woman pulled in driving a beat-up 2005 Honda Odyssey. It sounded like a bag of marbles in a blender. She had three kids in the back, all under the age of six. The car was packed with bags. Not grocery bags—suitcases. "It's making a noise," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just need it to get to my sister's in Denver. That's 400 miles." I popped the hood. It wasn't good. Alternator was shot, serpentine belt was hanging by a thread, and the water pump was leaking. Parts and labor? Minimum $800. I walked back to the waiting room. She was counting change out of a Ziploc bag to buy the kids a soda from the vending machine. She looked terrified. "Ma'am," I said. She jumped. "Is it bad? I have... I have $60." I looked at her. I looked at the kids. I saw the bruise on her arm she was trying to hide with a long sleeve. I knew that look. She wasn't just visiting her sister. She was escaping. If I told her the truth, she’d be stranded here. I took a deep breath. "Well," I said, wiping my greasy hands on a rag. "It's a simple fix. Loose wire. And... uh... there was a recall on these belts. Manufacturer pays for it. You're actually lucky you came in." Her shoulders dropped about five inches. "Really?" "Yep. 'Standard Warranty Policy.' Takes about two hours. Why don't you take the kids to the diner next door? On me. We have a... coupon." I spent the next three hours replacing the alternator, the belt, and the pump. I filled the gas tank. I put new wipers on. I paid for the parts out of my own retirement jar. When she came back, I handed her the keys and a receipt that said $0.00. "You're good to go," I said. She looked at the receipt, then at me. She knew. You don't get a full tank of gas from a loose wire. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. She didn't say thank you. She just whispered, "You just saved my life." I watched that van limp onto the highway, running smoother than it had in years. My boss walked up behind me. "You didn't charge her, did you? That's coming out of your paycheck, Mike." "Take it," I said, lighting a cigarette. "Best money I ever spent." Some repairs aren't about cars. They're about giving someone the mileage they need to start over. Anonymous

"They found the coats on Thursday morning. Fifteen winter coats. Good ones, not garbage. Hanging on the chain-link fence outside Lincoln Elementary. No note. No explanation. Just coats, zipped up like ghosts waiting for bodies. Principal Morris freaked out. Called the police. "Could be stolen," she said. "Could be some kind of prank." But then Kayla Martinez, eight years old, said her mom worked nights cleaning offices and couldn't afford a winter coat this year. She'd been wearing three hoodies layered up. She touched a purple one on the fence, the right size, and whispered, "Can I?" Mrs. Alvarez, the PE teacher, said yes before anyone could stop her. By lunch, all fifteen coats were gone. Fifteen kids who'd been shivering through recess were warm. The next Thursday? Twenty coats. Different fence, same neighborhood, outside the community center. Then thirty coats appeared at the downtown shelter. Then blankets. Then winter boots. No cameras ever caught who did it. No social media claims. Just... coats. Every Thursday. All winter long. The news picked it up. Called them "The Fence Angel." Interviewed grateful families. But nobody knew. Until March. Old man died, Earl Hutchins, seventy-one, lived alone in a basement apartment on Fourth Street. When they cleaned out his place, they found receipts. Thrift store receipts. Hundreds of them. He'd been buying every decent winter coat he could find, spending his entire disability check, and hanging them up at night. His nephew found a journal entry, "Lost my son to exposure in 2004. He was homeless, prideful, wouldn't take handouts. Froze to death behind a dumpster wearing a T-shirt. If I put coats on a fence, nobody has to ask. Nobody has to admit they need help. They just take it. Dignity intact." I'm Kayla Martinez. I'm sixteen now. That purple coat got me through fourth grade. I never knew Earl. Never got to say thank you. But last November, I took my babysitting money to Goodwill. Bought six coats. Hung them on that same fence. My friends saw. They bought coats. Then their parents did. Then the high school started a coat drive, not for a bin, for the fence. Last Thursday, there were 200 coats. Scarves too. Gloves. We call it "Earl's Fence" now. There's one in Detroit. One in Manchester. One in Vancouver. I never met the man who saved me from freezing. But I'm becoming him, one coat at a time. Because the best kind of help doesn't ask for credit. It just hangs there, quiet, waiting for cold hands to find warmth." . Let this story reach more hearts.... By Mary Nelson

"They found the coats on Thursday morning. Fifteen winter coats. Good ones, not garbage. Hanging on the chain-link fence outside Lincoln Elementary. No note. No explanation. Just coats, zipped up like ghosts waiting for bodies. Principal Morris freaked out. Called the police. "Could be stolen," she said. "Could be some kind of prank." But then Kayla Martinez, eight years old, said her mom worked nights cleaning offices and couldn't afford a winter coat this year. She'd been wearing three hoodies layered up. She touched a purple one on the fence, the right size, and whispered, "Can I?" Mrs. Alvarez, the PE teacher, said yes before anyone could stop her. By lunch, all fifteen coats were gone. Fifteen kids who'd been shivering through recess were warm. The next Thursday? Twenty coats. Different fence, same neighborhood, outside the community center. Then thirty coats appeared at the downtown shelter. Then blankets. Then winter boots. No cameras ever caught who did it. No social media claims. Just... coats. Every Thursday. All winter long. The news picked it up. Called them "The Fence Angel." Interviewed grateful families. But nobody knew. Until March. Old man died, Earl Hutchins, seventy-one, lived alone in a basement apartment on Fourth Street. When they cleaned out his place, they found receipts. Thrift store receipts. Hundreds of them. He'd been buying every decent winter coat he could find, spending his entire disability check, and hanging them up at night. His nephew found a journal entry, "Lost my son to exposure in 2004. He was homeless, prideful, wouldn't take handouts. Froze to death behind a dumpster wearing a T-shirt. If I put coats on a fence, nobody has to ask. Nobody has to admit they need help. They just take it. Dignity intact." I'm Kayla Martinez. I'm sixteen now. That purple coat got me through fourth grade. I never knew Earl. Never got to say thank you. But last November, I took my babysitting money to Goodwill. Bought six coats. Hung them on that same fence. My friends saw. They bought coats. Then their parents did. Then the high school started a coat drive, not for a bin, for the fence. Last Thursday, there were 200 coats. Scarves too. Gloves. We call it "Earl's Fence" now. There's one in Detroit. One in Manchester. One in Vancouver. I never met the man who saved me from freezing. But I'm becoming him, one coat at a time. Because the best kind of help doesn't ask for credit. It just hangs there, quiet, waiting for cold hands to find warmth." . Let this story reach more hearts.... By Mary Nelson

Holy Crap!

Holy Crap!

From Bull Theory 🚨BREAKING: Silver prices are exploding due to a severe global supply shortage. The physical market can no longer meet soaring demand. Here is what is actually going on 👇 1. China is changing the rules. Starting January 1, 2026, China will restrict silver exports. To export silver, companies will now need government licenses. Only large, state approved firms qualify: - At least 80 tonnes of annual production - Around $30 million in credit lines This effectively blocks small and mid size exporters. China controls roughly 60–70% of global silver supply. When China tightens exports, global supply drops immediately. This is the same tactics China used with rare earth metals. 2. The silver market was already short supply. Silver has been in a structural deficit for 5 straight years. That means demand is higher than supply every single year. For 2025: - Global demand: 1.24 billion ounces - Global supply: 1.01 billion ounces That is a gap of 100–250 million ounces. And this gap is expected to get worse after China’s export limits. Mining supply is not growing: Silver mining is mostly a by product of copper and zinc mining. New mines take 10+ years to build, Ore quality is falling, Recycling is not enough to fill the gap. There is no quick fix here. 3. Physical silver inventories are collapsing. This is where it gets serious. - COMEX inventories are down 70% since 2020 - London vaults are down 40% - Shanghai inventories are at 10-year lows At current demand, some regions hold only 30-45 days of usable silver. This is why physical premiums are exploding. In Shanghai: - Physical silver trades at $80+/oz - COMEX prices are much lower This price gap means buyers are paying extra just to get real silver. 4. Paper silver is completely disconnected from reality. There is an extreme imbalance between paper silver and real silver. The paper to physical ratio is around 356:1. That means: - For every 1 ounce of real silver - There are hundreds of paper claims If even a small percentage of buyers ask for real delivery, the system breaks. Markets understand this. That is why price moves are becoming vertical. 5. Industrial demand keeps rising. Silver is not just a safe haven metal. It is critical for: - Solar panels - Electric vehicles - Electronics - Medical devices Industrial use now makes up 50-60% of total silver demand. There is no substitute for silver in many of these uses. Banks and institutions are reacting to: - Supply limits - Physical shortages - Paper market risk Silver is not rallying because of fear. It is rallying because a real supply squeeze is playing out in real time. https://x.com/BullTheoryio/status/2004567040389198060?s=20

Good Morning Family 🌄 The following true historical account is an eye-opener of how life was lived not too long ago. Pictures provided in the comments... Orleana Hawks Puckett (1844-1939), a legendary midwife in the Appalachian Mountains of southern Virginia, delivering over 1,000 babies in the region... She buried twenty-four babies of her own, one small grave at a time, in the rocky soil of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Born around 1844 in North Carolina, Orlean Hawks Puckett married at 16 and built a hard, isolated life near Groundhog Mountain, Virginia. In 1862 she gave birth to her first child, Julia Ann, and for 7 months she knew joy—until diphtheria took her baby. Then it happened again. And again. Some babies lived hours. Some days. Some never breathed at all. None survived long enough to call her Mama. In an era with no answers, no medicine, and no mercy, Orlean carried a grief most people would not survive. Today we believe Rh disease caused the losses, but she could only bury her children and keep going. And then, around age fifty, when a neighbor went into labor and no one else could help, Orlean stepped forward. In that moment, she turned unimaginable loss into purpose. For the next 50 years, she walked miles through mountains and storms, never charging a penny, delivering babies in dirt-floor cabins with only her hands, her knowledge, and fierce determination. She delivered more than one thousand babies. She never lost a single mother. She never lost a single child. The woman who lost everything made sure no other mother had to. That is not just survival. That is transformation. That is choosing love after devastation, again and again, for a lifetime. Today, her story is often used to exemplify the strength and resilience of Appalachian women during 1800s and early 1900s. A cabin along Blue Ridge Parkway where she lived her final years honors her legacy.  © Women In World History #archaeohistories

Good Morning Family 🌄 The following true historical account is an eye-opener of how life was lived not too long ago. Pictures provided in the comments... Orleana Hawks Puckett (1844-1939), a legendary midwife in the Appalachian Mountains of southern Virginia, delivering over 1,000 babies in the region... She buried twenty-four babies of her own, one small grave at a time, in the rocky soil of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Born around 1844 in North Carolina, Orlean Hawks Puckett married at 16 and built a hard, isolated life near Groundhog Mountain, Virginia. In 1862 she gave birth to her first child, Julia Ann, and for 7 months she knew joy—until diphtheria took her baby. Then it happened again. And again. Some babies lived hours. Some days. Some never breathed at all. None survived long enough to call her Mama. In an era with no answers, no medicine, and no mercy, Orlean carried a grief most people would not survive. Today we believe Rh disease caused the losses, but she could only bury her children and keep going. And then, around age fifty, when a neighbor went into labor and no one else could help, Orlean stepped forward. In that moment, she turned unimaginable loss into purpose. For the next 50 years, she walked miles through mountains and storms, never charging a penny, delivering babies in dirt-floor cabins with only her hands, her knowledge, and fierce determination. She delivered more than one thousand babies. She never lost a single mother. She never lost a single child. The woman who lost everything made sure no other mother had to. That is not just survival. That is transformation. That is choosing love after devastation, again and again, for a lifetime. Today, her story is often used to exemplify the strength and resilience of Appalachian women during 1800s and early 1900s. A cabin along Blue Ridge Parkway where she lived her final years honors her legacy.  © Women In World History #archaeohistories

I saw this video clip that is playing in the TIMES SQUARE (of all places), and the following verse came to my mind... 2 Chronicles 7:14. It states, "and if My people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, forgive their sin, and heal their land" I personally believe we are soon going to experience God's promise. Do you believe this is happening? 🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️

I saw this video clip that is playing in the TIMES SQUARE (of all places), and the following verse came to my mind... 2 Chronicles 7:14. It states, "and if My people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, forgive their sin, and heal their land" I personally believe we are soon going to experience God's promise. Do you believe this is happening? 🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️🙏♥️

New from President Trump. It is becoming evident to me that he is shaking the DS foundations to collapse in on itself...

Justice is coming and picking up pace! https://twitter.com/liz_churchill10/status/2003975208173293750?t=fn2drBATaCq1a-khXsFAkg&s=19

New from President Trump. It is becoming evident to me that he is shaking the DS foundations to collapse in on itself...

Justice is coming and picking up pace! https://twitter.com/liz_churchill10/status/2003975208173293750?t=fn2drBATaCq1a-khXsFAkg&s=19

Adorable Christmas doggo compilation 🎄🥰🐶 🔗 WeTheMedia