Linda Forsythe (C-VINE)

The truth!

The truth!

Merry Christmas Family 🎄 Remember those who are all alone today. Whether elderly, disabled, or homeless, a few simple words or text can make a world of difference! Sharing a story... "My husband thinks I'm wasting my time. Every Wednesday morning, I drive to Riverside Nursing Home. Not to visit anyone. I don't know a soul there. I go to sit in the lobby and knit. Been doing it for three years now. I'm 67, retired teacher, got nothing but time. The staff thought I was confused at first. "Ma'am, who are you here to see?" "Nobody," I said. "Just sitting." They let me stay. I think they felt sorry for me. But I noticed something. Residents would shuffle past, some in wheelchairs, most alone. They'd see me knitting and slow down. Stop. Watch. One woman, Agnes, finally asked. "What are you making?" "Scarf. For nobody in particular." "That's a waste," she said. "Probably," I agreed. "Want to help?" She looked startled. Like I'd offered her the moon. "I haven't knitted in 40 years." "Good. Then you won't criticize my terrible stitches." She sat. I handed her needles. Her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten. Next week, Agnes brought two friends. Then five. Then eight. The nursing home staff moved us to the sunroom. Called us "the knitting circle," though we mostly just sat together, hands moving, talking about nothing important. Grandchildren. Weather. The awful meatloaf they served on Tuesdays. But here's what I noticed, these women started showing up to meals. Getting dressed instead of staying in robes. One woman, Clara, hadn't spoken in months according to staff. Started telling stories about knitting blankets during the Depression. The scarves piled up. Terrible, uneven scarves in every color. "What do we do with these?" Agnes asked. "Give them away," I said. We donated them to the homeless shelter. Every month, a pile of scarves made by women everyone had forgotten about. Then last winter, something happened. A homeless man came to the nursing home. Asked to meet the knitters. Staff was confused but brought him to our circle. He held up a green scarf, terribly made, one end wider than the other. "I got this at the shelter in November. Wore it every night. There was a note in the pocket. 'Made by Agnes, age 81. Stay warm, friend.'" Agnes's hands flew to her mouth. "I'm in an apartment now," he continued. "Got a job. Saved that scarf. Wanted to say thank you. Nobody ever made me something before. Made me feel like I mattered enough to keep living." Agnes cried. We all did. My husband still thinks I'm wasting my time. Driving across town to knit with strangers. But Agnes died last month. Peaceful, in her sleep. At her memorial, her daughter found me. "Mom talked about Wednesdays constantly. Said it gave her a reason to wake up. You gave her three good years." The circle still meets. Eight women, ages 74 to 93, making terrible scarves for people who need to know someone cares. I'm not saving the world. Just sitting in a sunroom, knitting with lonely women. But sometimes that's exactly what saving the world looks like." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . By Mary Nelson

Merry Christmas Family 🎄 Remember those who are all alone today. Whether elderly, disabled, or homeless, a few simple words or text can make a world of difference! Sharing a story... "My husband thinks I'm wasting my time. Every Wednesday morning, I drive to Riverside Nursing Home. Not to visit anyone. I don't know a soul there. I go to sit in the lobby and knit. Been doing it for three years now. I'm 67, retired teacher, got nothing but time. The staff thought I was confused at first. "Ma'am, who are you here to see?" "Nobody," I said. "Just sitting." They let me stay. I think they felt sorry for me. But I noticed something. Residents would shuffle past, some in wheelchairs, most alone. They'd see me knitting and slow down. Stop. Watch. One woman, Agnes, finally asked. "What are you making?" "Scarf. For nobody in particular." "That's a waste," she said. "Probably," I agreed. "Want to help?" She looked startled. Like I'd offered her the moon. "I haven't knitted in 40 years." "Good. Then you won't criticize my terrible stitches." She sat. I handed her needles. Her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten. Next week, Agnes brought two friends. Then five. Then eight. The nursing home staff moved us to the sunroom. Called us "the knitting circle," though we mostly just sat together, hands moving, talking about nothing important. Grandchildren. Weather. The awful meatloaf they served on Tuesdays. But here's what I noticed, these women started showing up to meals. Getting dressed instead of staying in robes. One woman, Clara, hadn't spoken in months according to staff. Started telling stories about knitting blankets during the Depression. The scarves piled up. Terrible, uneven scarves in every color. "What do we do with these?" Agnes asked. "Give them away," I said. We donated them to the homeless shelter. Every month, a pile of scarves made by women everyone had forgotten about. Then last winter, something happened. A homeless man came to the nursing home. Asked to meet the knitters. Staff was confused but brought him to our circle. He held up a green scarf, terribly made, one end wider than the other. "I got this at the shelter in November. Wore it every night. There was a note in the pocket. 'Made by Agnes, age 81. Stay warm, friend.'" Agnes's hands flew to her mouth. "I'm in an apartment now," he continued. "Got a job. Saved that scarf. Wanted to say thank you. Nobody ever made me something before. Made me feel like I mattered enough to keep living." Agnes cried. We all did. My husband still thinks I'm wasting my time. Driving across town to knit with strangers. But Agnes died last month. Peaceful, in her sleep. At her memorial, her daughter found me. "Mom talked about Wednesdays constantly. Said it gave her a reason to wake up. You gave her three good years." The circle still meets. Eight women, ages 74 to 93, making terrible scarves for people who need to know someone cares. I'm not saving the world. Just sitting in a sunroom, knitting with lonely women. But sometimes that's exactly what saving the world looks like." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . By Mary Nelson

Great tips on Vitamin D here from Dr. Robert Malone! The "recommended dietary allowance" (RDA) is pitifully low, only 400iu. Many people do well with taking 5000iu during the winter months. Vitamin D is necessary for mental health, strong bones, the immune system, and hormonal regulation. + our bodies require Vitamin D3 ("cholecalciferol"), Vitamin D2 ("ergocalciferol") can't be used by the body as well. When purchasing Vitamin D supplements, look for the "chole-" version. Ideally in a base of olive oil, not soy oil.

THIS is precisely why the high dose Vitamin D3 65K IU (one pill a week) from the India Pharmacy works so well! It is the cholecalciferol D3 version in an olive oil base. I couldn't figure out why it worked so much better than what I formerly purchased in the U.S. Interesting. 🤔 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas. You are all my family and I have known many of you for years. We have spent untold hours together through this period in history and encouraged each other through these unprecedented times. Even though some of us have never physically met, there is a bond that has been forged that can only happen when you have walked through battle together, fighting for the same cause. The best is yet to come. Merry Christmas to all.

I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas. You are all my family and I have known many of you for years. We have spent untold hours together through this period in history and encouraged each other through these unprecedented times. Even though some of us have never physically met, there is a bond that has been forged that can only happen when you have walked through battle together, fighting for the same cause. The best is yet to come. Merry Christmas to all.

Merry Christmas Eve Frens Love you guys.

Italian PM Georgia Meloni thanks her staff for their hard work, and encourages them to rest over the holiday, assuring them 2026 will be much worse.

Good Morning Family & Merry Christmas Eve! 🤶🎅 🇺🇸 TEXAS GROCERY STORE GAVE CUSTOMERS FREE GROCERIES AFTER COMPUTER CRASH Checkout lines at a standstill. Customers waiting for hours during the holiday rush. Most stores would've told everyone to come back later. H-E-B's manager got on the intercom and said bag it all up, it's free. Merry Christmas. One customer waited two hours with a cart full of food to feed her kids and grandkids: "Brought tears to my eyes" This is what separates good companies from great ones. A glitch became a gift. Source: WFAA https://twitter.com/MarioNawfal/status/2003654360983838978?t=513JMteLlf9TR0VF3NGY6g&s=19

Good Morning Family & Merry Christmas Eve! 🤶🎅 🇺🇸 TEXAS GROCERY STORE GAVE CUSTOMERS FREE GROCERIES AFTER COMPUTER CRASH Checkout lines at a standstill. Customers waiting for hours during the holiday rush. Most stores would've told everyone to come back later. H-E-B's manager got on the intercom and said bag it all up, it's free. Merry Christmas. One customer waited two hours with a cart full of food to feed her kids and grandkids: "Brought tears to my eyes" This is what separates good companies from great ones. A glitch became a gift. Source: WFAA https://twitter.com/MarioNawfal/status/2003654360983838978?t=513JMteLlf9TR0VF3NGY6g&s=19

Wow... Silver just keeps going UP! 🥳

Holy shit I think it’s actually happening. I am reading through the Supreme Court ruling in Trump vs. Illinois, and they ruled that Trump needs to invoke the Insurrection Act in order to send the troops into Chicago. Kavanaugh in his dissent even says that this ruling “could cause the President to use the US military more than the National Guard”. The Supreme Court just admitted that Trump has the authority to invoke the Insurrection Act to bypass Posse Comitatus and send the troops to Chicago, and any other city he wants. Trump tried to exhaust every legal avenue possible before resorting to the Insurrection Act, but the Dems resisted and refused to cooperate. Sounds to me like Trump just got the green light. INVOKE THE INSURRECTION ACT!

I've seen this before, but it still holds true. Posting again. 🥰

I've seen this before, but it still holds true. Posting again. 🥰

"The first time someone left groceries on my porch, I thought it was a mistake. Bags from Costco. Milk, bread, peanut butter, cereal. No note. I'm Sandra, 68, live alone since Raymond died. Fixed income, careful with every dollar. I called the store. "Someone delivered to the wrong address." "No record of any delivery to your street, ma'am." I brought the bags to my neighbor thinking they were hers. She looked confused. "Not mine. But keep them, Sandra. Early Christmas gift from somewhere." It felt wrong. Like charity. I don't take charity. Two weeks later, more bags. This time with cleaning supplies, toilet paper, canned goods. I was angry now. Who was doing this? Why me? Did I look that pathetic? I stayed up one Saturday, watched through the window. At 6 a.m., a pickup truck slowed down. Young Hispanic man, maybe 30, work boots and a construction vest. He carried bags to my porch, quiet and quick, then drove off. Next Saturday, I was waiting on the porch when he arrived. Startled him good. "Why are you doing this?" I demanded. He froze, bags in hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend—" "I don't need pity." "It's not pity." He set the bags down slowly. "You don't remember me, do you?" I squinted at him. Nothing. "Ten years ago, you worked at Monroe Elementary. Cafeteria." I did. Lunch lady for 25 years before my knees gave out. "I was in fifth grade. My dad got deported that year. Mom worked three jobs, barely kept us fed. Every day for eight months, you gave me extra. More mashed potatoes, extra chicken, second milk carton. You'd say the kitchen made too much, it'd just get thrown out. I knew you were lying. Other kids got normal portions." My throat tightened. I remembered so many hungry kids. Couldn't remember faces anymore. "You never made me feel ashamed," he continued. "Never made me ask. Just filled my tray and smiled. I graduated, got through high school, learned construction. I'm doing okay now. When I drive through the old neighborhood, I saw you outside one day. Recognized you immediately." "So you decided to repay me?" "No," he said firmly. "You can't repay what you did. You kept a kid from starving. I'm not repaying. I'm continuing." I didn't know what to say. "My crew and I, we do this for five families. All people who helped us when we were kids. Teachers who bought us supplies. A coach who gave us rides. People who saw us. We pool money every month, rotate deliveries." He handed me a card. "If you ever know a kid who's hungry, who needs help, call this number. We've got a fund now. Small, but it's there." I took the card. Hands shaking. "What's your name?" I asked. "Carlos." "Carlos, I gave you extra mashed potatoes." "You gave me dignity, Mrs. Sandra. There's a difference." He left. I stood there on my porch, crying over Costco bags, finally understanding something. Kindness doesn't end when the moment ends. It grows roots. Becomes someone else's hands. Feeds forward. I've started volunteering at the food pantry now. My knees hurt, but I can still sort cans, pack boxes. And I keep Carlos's card in my wallet. Because I learned that morning what I'd been too proud to see, receiving grace is just as important as giving it. Let people help you. Then help someone else. That's how it works." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Credit: Mary Nelson

"The first time someone left groceries on my porch, I thought it was a mistake. Bags from Costco. Milk, bread, peanut butter, cereal. No note. I'm Sandra, 68, live alone since Raymond died. Fixed income, careful with every dollar. I called the store. "Someone delivered to the wrong address." "No record of any delivery to your street, ma'am." I brought the bags to my neighbor thinking they were hers. She looked confused. "Not mine. But keep them, Sandra. Early Christmas gift from somewhere." It felt wrong. Like charity. I don't take charity. Two weeks later, more bags. This time with cleaning supplies, toilet paper, canned goods. I was angry now. Who was doing this? Why me? Did I look that pathetic? I stayed up one Saturday, watched through the window. At 6 a.m., a pickup truck slowed down. Young Hispanic man, maybe 30, work boots and a construction vest. He carried bags to my porch, quiet and quick, then drove off. Next Saturday, I was waiting on the porch when he arrived. Startled him good. "Why are you doing this?" I demanded. He froze, bags in hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend—" "I don't need pity." "It's not pity." He set the bags down slowly. "You don't remember me, do you?" I squinted at him. Nothing. "Ten years ago, you worked at Monroe Elementary. Cafeteria." I did. Lunch lady for 25 years before my knees gave out. "I was in fifth grade. My dad got deported that year. Mom worked three jobs, barely kept us fed. Every day for eight months, you gave me extra. More mashed potatoes, extra chicken, second milk carton. You'd say the kitchen made too much, it'd just get thrown out. I knew you were lying. Other kids got normal portions." My throat tightened. I remembered so many hungry kids. Couldn't remember faces anymore. "You never made me feel ashamed," he continued. "Never made me ask. Just filled my tray and smiled. I graduated, got through high school, learned construction. I'm doing okay now. When I drive through the old neighborhood, I saw you outside one day. Recognized you immediately." "So you decided to repay me?" "No," he said firmly. "You can't repay what you did. You kept a kid from starving. I'm not repaying. I'm continuing." I didn't know what to say. "My crew and I, we do this for five families. All people who helped us when we were kids. Teachers who bought us supplies. A coach who gave us rides. People who saw us. We pool money every month, rotate deliveries." He handed me a card. "If you ever know a kid who's hungry, who needs help, call this number. We've got a fund now. Small, but it's there." I took the card. Hands shaking. "What's your name?" I asked. "Carlos." "Carlos, I gave you extra mashed potatoes." "You gave me dignity, Mrs. Sandra. There's a difference." He left. I stood there on my porch, crying over Costco bags, finally understanding something. Kindness doesn't end when the moment ends. It grows roots. Becomes someone else's hands. Feeds forward. I've started volunteering at the food pantry now. My knees hurt, but I can still sort cans, pack boxes. And I keep Carlos's card in my wallet. Because I learned that morning what I'd been too proud to see, receiving grace is just as important as giving it. Let people help you. Then help someone else. That's how it works." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Credit: Mary Nelson