Tausiyah Al Ustadz Muhammad ‘Umar As Sewed tentang “Pendidikan Anak” di Ma’had Al Anshor pada tanggal 31 Oktober 2009 ba’da maghrib.

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· Pendidikan Anak|MP3 Format Sound|6,26MB|Download

· Pendidikan Anak_Tanya Jawab|MP3 Format Sound|2,67MB|Download

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“We have always been here. Since the American Revolution. We will always be here, waiting in the shadows ’til America needs us again. We are your Veterans and we love you more than our own lives, America.” –Anonymous

This venerable and much honored WW II vet is well known in Hawaii for his seventy-plus years of service to patriotic organizations and causes all over the country. A humble man without a political bone in his body, he has never spoken out before about a government official, until now.  He dictated this letter to a friend, signed it and mailed it to the president.

Dear President Obama,

My name is Harold Estes, approaching 95 on December 13 of this year. People meeting me for the first time don’t believe my age because I remain wrinkle free and pretty much mentally alert.

I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1934 and served proudly before, during and after WW II retiring as a Master Chief Bos’n Mate. Now I live in a “rest home” located on the western end of Pearl Harbor, allowing me to keep alive the memories of 23 years of service to my country.

One of the benefits of my age, perhaps the only one, is to speak my mind, blunt and direct even to the head man.

So here goes.

I am amazed, angry and determined not to see my country die before I do, but you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish.

I can’t figure out what country you are the president of. You fly around the world telling our friends and enemies despicable lies like:

” We’re no longer a Christian nation”

” America is arrogant” – (Your wife even announced to the world,”America is mean-spirited. ” Please tell her to try preaching that nonsense to 23 generations of our war dead buried all over the globe who died for no other reason than to free a whole lot of strangers from tyranny and hopelessness.)

I’d say shame on the both of you, but I don’t think you like America, nor do I see an ounce of gratefulness in anything you do, for the obvious gifts this country has given you. To be without shame or gratefulness is a dangerous thing for a man sitting in the White House.

After 9/11 you said,” America hasn’t lived up to her ideals.”

Which ones did you mean? Was it the notion of personal liberty that 11,000 farmers and shopkeepers died for to win independence from the British? Or maybe the ideal that no man should be a slave to another man, that 500,000 men died for in the Civil War? I hope you didn’t mean the ideal 470,000 fathers, brothers, husbands, and a lot of fellas I knew personally died for in WWII, because we felt real strongly about not letting any nation push us around, because we stand for freedom.

I don’t think you mean the ideal that says equality is better than discrimination. You know the one that a whole lot of white people understood when they helped to get you elected.

Take a little advice from a very old geezer, young man.

Shape up and start acting like an American. If you don’t, I’ll do what I can to see you get shipped out of that fancy rental on Pennsylvania Avenue. You were elected to lead not to bow, apologize and kiss the hands of murderers and corrupt leaders who still treat their people like slaves.

And just who do you think you are telling the American people not to jump to conclusions and condemn that Muslim major who killed 13 of his fellow soldiers and wounded dozens more. You mean you don’t want us to do what you did when that white cop used force to subdue that black college professor in Massachusetts, who was putting up a fight? You don’t mind offending the police calling them stupid but you don’t want us to offend Muslim fanatics by calling them what they are, terrorists.

One more thing. I realize you never served in the military and never had to defend your country with your life, but you’re the Commander-in-Chief now, son. Do your job. When your battle-hardened field General asks you for 40,000 more troops to complete the mission, give them to him. But if you’re not in this fight to win, then get out. The life of one American soldier is not worth the best political strategy you’re thinking of.

You could be our greatest president because you face the greatest challenge ever presented to any president.You’re not going to restore American greatness by bringing back our bloated economy. That’s not our greatest threat. Losing the heart and soul of who we are as Americans is our big fight now. And I sure as hell don’t want to think my president is the enemy in this final battle.

Sincerely,
Harold B. Estes

When a 95 year old hero of the “the Greatest Generation” stands up and speaks out like this, I think we owe it to him to send his words to as many Americans as we can.

Please pass it on.

De cand lumea si pamantul oamenilor le-a placut sa asculte muzica. La inceput au fost nevoiti sa mearga, sa se stranga acolo unde erau muzicienii. Apoi au putut sa asculte muzica din intimitatea caminelor lor. De 100 de ani gusturile rafinate (sau pretentioase dupa caz) asculta Yahama. Nu sunt un audiofil dar am avut ocazia sa simt vibratiile la ultima HIFIarena de acum doua saptamani. Azi am vazut pe birou catalogul Yamaha luat de la eveniment asa ca am purces la documentare pe yamaha-hifi.com si hifi.yamaha-europe.com. Va recomand ultimul site, chiar numai pentru a asculta in casti (preferabil) cele cateva cantece care ruleaza in background. De milioane.

Ce face Yamaha? Pentru consumatorii casnici produc incinte acustice (caci boxe e un termen destul de impropriu), sisteme audio (deck-uri plus boxe), amplificatoare audio, playere pentru compact discuri (nu au nici o legatura cu ceea ce stim majoritatea dintre noi despre CD playere), docking-station-uri pentru iPod care arata science-fiction. Un produs care uimeste este cel numit Digital Sound Projector, de fapt sunt mai multe modele, este un produs destinat celor care vor in casa un sistem home-theatre si sunet stereo surround dar care nu vor multe boxe si cabluri. Pentru ei exista acest produs care emite totul dintr-o singura unitate! Compact, fara cabluri, aratos, sunet curat, ma intreb cat costa. Si pentru ca nu s-au oprit la audio, au produs si home-theatre-uri, playere DVD si playere Blu-Ray.

Pentru ca mi-e greu sa explic feature-urile lor o sa enumar doar cateva dintre ele care au denumiri de marketing bine preparate: Dolby True HD, Digital Top-Art, Silent Cinema, dts-HD Master Audio, Air Surround Xtreme, IntelliBeam, Full-Stage Balanced Signal Transmission, Silent Loader, PlayXchange. Iar Top-Art vine de la Total Purity Audio Reproduction Technology. In spatele acestor denumiri e mult marketing bineinteles dar si mai multa calitate a sunetului.

Iar cand intrebarea nu este ce sistem home-theatre sa-mi iau ci cate canale, cate programe surround, cate alte functionalitati, Yamaha pare a fi raspunsul, oferind solutii si pentru noii veniti si pentru veteranii muzicii bune.

Here is an email letter circulating the Internet.

The validity is still to be determined but the point is still clear.

I have a few thoughts on this: If Mr. Estes didn’t write the letter, then why didn’t someone take credit by using their own name, I mean, obviously someone wrote it; and on the flip side of that, again, obviously someone wrote it, so why would one need to wonder if Mr. Estes is his real name? It seems that people always seem to question “who wrote . . .? ” when ever something courageous, poignant, and patriotic surfaces, take for example Jody McLoud and his football speech. . .

This gentleman makes some great points. I hope this letter really was mailed to the President.

American Soldiers - photo source: shmoop.com

This venerable and much honored WW II vet is well known in Hawaiifor his seventy-plus years of service to patriotic organizations and causes all over the country. A humble man without a political bone in his body, he has never spoken out before about a government official, until now. He dictated this letter to a friend, signed it and mailed it to the president.

Dear President Obama,

My name is Harold Estes, approaching 95 on December 13 of this year. People meeting me for the first time don’t believe my age because I remain wrinkle free and pretty much mentally alert.

I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1934 and served proudly before, during and after WW II retiring as a Master Chief Bos’n Mate. Now I live in a “rest home” located on the western end of Pearl Harbor, allowing me to keep alive the memories of 23 years of service to my country.

One of the benefits of my age, perhaps the only one, is to speak my mind, blunt and direct even to the head man.

So here goes.

I am amazed, angry and determined not to see my country die before I do, but you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish.

I can’t figure out what country you are the president of.

You fly around the world telling our friends and enemies despicable lies like:

” We’re no longer a Christian nation”

” America is arrogant” – (Your wife even announced to the world,”America is mean-spirited. ” Please tell her to try preaching that nonsense to 23 generations of our war dead buried all over the globe who died for no other reason than to free a whole lot of strangers from tyranny and hopelessness.)

I’d say shame on the both of you, but I don’t think you like America, nor do I see an ounce of gratefulness in anything you do, for the obvious gifts this country has given you. To be without shame or gratefulness is a dangerous thing for a man sitting in the White House.

After 9/11 you said,” America hasn’t lived up to her ideals.”

Which ones did you mean? Was it the notion of personal liberty that 11,000 farmers and shopkeepers died for to win independence from the British? Or maybe the ideal that no man should be a slave to another man, that 500,000 men died for in the Civil War? I hope you didn’t mean the ideal 470,000 fathers, brothers, husbands, and a lot of fellas I knew personally died for in WWII, because we felt real strongly about not letting any nation push us around, because we stand for freedom.

I don’t think you mean the ideal that says equality is better than discrimination. You know the one that a whole lot of white people understood when they helped to get you elected.

Take a little advice from a very old geezer, young man.

Shape up and start acting like an American. If you don’t, I’ll do what I can to see you get shipped out of that fancy rental on Pennsylvania Avenue. You were elected to lead not to bow, apologize and kiss the hands of murderers and corrupt leaders who still treat their people like slaves.

And just who do you think you are telling the American people not to jump to conclusions and condemn that Muslim major who killed 13 of his fellow soldiers and wounded dozens more. You mean you don’t want us to do what you did when that white cop used force to subdue that black college professor in Massachusetts, who was putting up a fight? You don’t mind offending the police calling them stupid but you don’t want us to offend Muslim fanatics by calling them what they are, terrorists.

One more thing. I realize you never served in the military and never had to defend your country with your life, but you’re the Commander-in-Chief now, son. Do your job. When your battle-hardened field General asks you for 40,000 more troops to complete the mission, give them to him. But if you’re not in this fight to win, then get out. The life of one American soldier is not worth the best political strategy you’re thinking of.

You could be our greatest president because you face the greatest challenge ever presented to any president.

You’re not going to restore American greatness by bringing back our bloated economy. That’s not our greatest threat. Losing the heart and soul of who we are as Americans is our big fight now.

And I sure as hell don’t want to think my president is the enemy in this final battle.

Sincerely,

Harold B. Estes

Source: TCU Nation

Respectful comments welcome! Thanks for reading!

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The Phish tank was in a hazy thick fog before the show, the enthusiasm was stimulating, and the buzz was a feverish feeling combined with elation and thrill calling out for the school of Phish to gather.  I have witnessed many shows from many genres but what I have witnessed this day was a feeding frenzy that I haven’t seen in all my years of attending concerts or that I recorded in the five hundred plus SCUBA dives.  The Phishing lines tangled up traffic lanes leaving the city to believe that the end of the world was only moments away.  It was Woodstock in Syracuse brilliantly colored in a spectrum array of vivacious colors fluttering from flags, the Birkenstock sandals that were apparently fashionable in thirty degree weather as they are on a ninety degree foot sweating mud-puddle-skipping day of yore.  Reflections of years gone by, of the deadhead clans, and of the seasons of love are long but over.  It’s still cool, man and the day was heavy, man.  What I witnessed was the gathering of one mind for one cause with Phish at the epicenter of this twenty first century hippie universe.  All this hit me when I stepped out from my conformist vehicle after my Michael Jackson’s history funkadocious in car concert.  After four hours, a raspy voice from singing, and some three thousand cows grazing on the pasture on my pilgrimage ride up North, I planted my Harley boots down on Syracuse pavement and took in a deep breath of Phish bated air.  It was the Phish Phan’s way of greeting me welcome while bidding adieu to any conscious way of thinking.

Everywhere you veered your eyes shined a bedazzled spectrum of rainbow stripes printed on long dresses and on so many tie dye suits you couldn’t help to feel groovy.  The smiling domino effect drenched Syracuse with free thinking Phishermen and Phisherwomen who spread their beauty in peace, shared their beers unconditionally, and who basked in their baking huddles with new found revelations under common displays of unleashed enjoyment.  The lady’s twirled their orbiting talents through acrobatic hula-hooping.  I am sure Ms. Sticks would have lead this event proudly on the parking lot stage.  i was shocked to know that it was only 1:00 PM and Phish wasn’t going to be taking stage until 8:00 PM.  Pre show parties filled out the schedule with regional music artists who displayed their talents on the street and at the official pre-show party at the Oncenter War Memorial Arena Complex.  The transformation downtown simulated a floral parade of twenty-first century hippies shocking and awing the locals who congregated for their annual free Turkey drive.  I was waiting for the bout to begin.  In one corner the fifteen pound Turkey and in the other corner the hemp granola bar, but the arbitrator by mother nature kept order and peace allowing the free spirits to dance, hula-hoop, and to remain toasty in the late autumn chill (Toasty being the emphasis).

I met an amazing woman whose energy and passion for her work exudes her.  The passionate Sandra Baker, VP of Sales & Marketing for the Oncenter received me with a great smile and a warm hug.  “The Oncenter is dedicated to all the men and women who gave their lives and limbs to keeping our families and our country safe from harms way.  It’s a remarkable venue with a wonderful museum displaying some of our hometown heros who served in the unfortunate wars and conflicts we have witnessed as a nation.  Our ability to memorialize our local Vets is something we are proud of and honor with great respect.”  Sandra shared insight with me to the history of the Oncenter Complex and welcomed me to take walk the glass enclosed memorial that also captured the attention of many Phish fans.  Everyone seemed to be touched by the artifacts, the uniforms, the names listed on the glass windows, and respectfully walked with a serene calmness before entering the Phishing hole.  It was here where I felt a sense of pride and a knot in the throat to see both doves and hawks uniting under one roof in the name of music.

The house lights blacked out and the venue fell into darkness swallowed up by the uproar of Phish fanatics making their presence clear.  It’s was time to put away the stress of yesterday and time to devour the jam band of our generation.  Phish walked out into the blue and white lit stage like ghostly apparitions of men walking into Vermont mountain scene.  The hysteria penetrated the through the skin piercing the heart.  I gathered flash frames in my mind of the faces in the crowd expressing awe, of emotional meltdown, of acceptance, and mostly of true appreciation.  The reception, just short of gaggle of screaming bobby girls in the Ed Sullivan theater welcoming the Beatles back to New York, thrust the crowd forward.  They waves of fans jumped high in the air reaching out to the boys from the Green Mountain State, and like that, the amps quaked the cameras in my hands and we were off on a very long strange trip that even Jerry Garcia would be proud to say he grandfathered.

The lighting captured the feel of a star burst beaming through thick forests cascading the mass in emerald greens, rich blues, luscious reds and vibrant yellows.  I was compelled to stop shooting and to absorb what was taking place right in front of me.  I turned around to face the crowd and took the entire moment in.  The lighting coursed through the arena much like a river refracting the sun.  Trey Anastasio, Mike Gordon, Jon Fishman, and Page McConnell make up current day Phish.  Four simply dressed men took their individual talents and blended their instruments into a bending musical sound welded together in flowing harmonies and breezy riffs.  Phish took their place on stage, overtook and captured the minds of seven thousand plus adoring fans with a playlist set that had one beginning and no end in sight.  “Rift”, “Weekapaug Groove”, “Stash”, “Llama”, and “Tweezer” were just a few selections that were mixed into the massive overload of music performed by what will be the longest running show off-Broadway.  There are very few bands who can do what Phish has done by beating the odds as an American culture whose success was built mainly on their live performances rather then a concentration on creating new album material.  Phish is now and will always be an institution to their liberal viewing audience and fans.  These four free thinkers are going strong and face a long music journey ahead to play their innovative, improvisation, jam band music and have rightfully earned their place as heirs to the Grateful Dead throne.  Phish has been swimming upstream for over twenty years now and I hope they will keep swimming because what they leave behind in their path is a stream of the finest music and a live performance unlike anything you have ever been a part of.  All I can say at this point is, Phish on!

Dick Cheney and George W. Bush and all of their cronies of that administration, will eat their Thanksgiving Turkeys in opulence. While those who were the victims of their policies, will eat in sleeping rooms.

Bob Law walks from the mission in shoes tattered and torn, toward the liquor store to buy something that will help him cope. This, in an America that he fought and bled for. He opens his hand to reveal the dead presidents that will get him his bottle. He remembers a time, it seems so far away, when those that led us believed that this was a sacrifice worth fighting for. His youth has faded, his strength gone, he sighs. He walks on into the night, wondering where the dream has gone: BOBBY, MARTIN, JOHN…..all since long gone. His body wracked with pain for a cause most people living today do not believe in. His hand is shaking as he holds the gleaming bottle. So this is what I fought for!!!!!!!!!!!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING !

C H WYATT/L E COLEMAN

In the early days of May I had a dream, a reckoning of a sort.

In it, I sailed upon a calm sea with a steady breeze at my back and a briny beef in my jaw. My skiff ran aground on a sandbar, one of those mystical ones that surprise sailors in the middle of the Atlantic.

To my right an unnoticed fog parted, and I saw standing there a sturdy building constructed by masons with rough hands and sinewy backs. As I approached it on foot, defying gravity’s underwater tug, I noticed a loose bit of mortar. Picking at it only made it worse and I eventually pulled one red brick free and watched it fall slowly toward the waves.

Before I could truly contemplate the meaning of the shattered bits floating away from me on the never-ending current, the entire façade shuddered and collapsed in on itself in a cartoon fashion leaving only a pile of rubble and a settling dust cloud soon to reveal the hidden treasure of corpses still holding brass goblets in mid-celebration.

From the wreckage I pulled a gilded banner in an ancient tongue that I could easily read but whose meaning escaped me. It was as if I saw the word ‘brown’ but couldn’t comprehend the concept of color.

I turned to kiss my blonde companion as if she had been with me since the beginning and then I awoke.

That morning I sought out the nearest rabbi and propounded my experience, begging for an explanation. He immediately reminded me that I was not Jewish, but still he smiled and sat me down in his red suede wingback chair with the dozens of hammered pushpins lining the front of the arms. And then he explained:

“In a desert not so far from your birthplace, two dogs fought over a scrap of meat. After many battles, the meat had been torn asunder and disappeared, but the dogs fought on having forgotten the original matter at hand, so accustomed were they to hating one another. Soon enough, an eagle happened upon them and chastised the two for such nonsense. The majestic fowl pointed out that they had fought over nothing whilst a great treasure lay beneath their feet. The eagle left, feeling quite proud of its ability to solve the dispute of these poor dirty animals. As it left, the dogs began to fight over their new found treasure, this bone buried in the sand.”

“Before long, the eagle returned to check on the mongrels’ progress only to find them even more rapt with mutual hatred. The bird’s keen eyes recognized the bone they had dug up for what it really was and immediately attacked the stronger of the two dogs, cutting off its head and kissing the bloody neck with promises that the body would survive. While the beheaded dog bled and the remaining mutt stared in stunned riot, the eagle grasped the bone and flew away.”

The rabbi smiled as he finished, as if to say See? It is all so simple.

I apologized for letting my gentile mind prevent me from seeing the wisdom of his tale. I promised to study his answer until I understood.

For one thousand, three hundred and seventy one days I pondered. Finally, one night, I returned to my oceanic sandbar and my pretty blonde companion. The two of us settled down upon the pile of rubble and watched the dust cloud fall slowly around us, on us, in us. We breathed in the foul stench of the Corpse Gala and spouted Socinianistic philosophies as the sound of growling canines bore closer and closer still.

As the sun set on this, my second and final reckoning, in the middle of a calm sea, an eagle dropped a shard of bone in my companion’s lap before falling headlong, feathers ablaze, into the salty water and vanishing. The dogs stopped their whelping and settled at our feet and the sea slowly rose to swallow us. Oy vey!

I caught myself watching Holocaust – a mini-series from 1978 on Fox Classics (it’s continuing tomorrow night if anyone’s interested). Meryl Streep and that lovely actress that plays Aunt May in the recent Spider Man movies. They’re both so very believable. And Nigel Hawthorne (of Yes Minister fame) makes a surprise appearance as one of the upper-echelon type Nazis tasked with murdering Jews at every town and village they enter. It shows how they scoff at this ridiculous order from Hitler y’s’v – but they still carry it out. It’s interesting that like in Star Wars, the ruthless, efficient bad guys are also here played by English actors by and large, whereas the good guys are American-accented.

It was of course difficult to watch.

It’s hard to believe that I’m what they were after, only 60 years ago.

I thought a number of things. I’ve dreamt about being hunted by Nazis.

In real life, there were actually helicopters outside my parent’s place tonight for a few hours- search and rescue. I said a prayer to G-d that whoever was being looked for would be found safe and sound. I thought of what it would be like with choppers chasing me with spotlights (yes, I guess I’ve seen too many movies – the Nazis wouldn’t have used them much, if at all). But I did recall the words to one song that ‘gets’ me every time I hear it, I Was Only Nineteen:

“And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can’t get to sleep?
And why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me, I was only nineteen.”

As one can tell, it deals with a war veteran’s ongoing trauma, decades after. It was on one of my Dad’s famous (to us kids) compilation tapes from when we were young; it had a major impact on me growing up.

That’s certainly what it is like to be a Holocaust survivor too. The dreams haunt you every night. My own grandmother has suffered this especially in recent years.

Part of the curse in the Torah, should we stray from its dictates, is that when the night time comes, we will say ‘please give back the day’, and when the day comes, we will beg for the night. How can a survivor close their eyes comfortably for sleep, and how can they open them in the morning? Hope? Forgetfulness? – I’m sure such things play a part.

A friend from work told me about an Andrew Denton interview she watched with her Mum on ABC’s Elders. A Holocaust survivor, Helen Bamber, was the interviewee. One thing Bamber laments is that humanity is so terrible at learning. She says the stories have to be told over and over again, and less and less people want to endure the pain of listening. She is a ‘witness to the vulnerability of humanity’, and what else is protection against such vulnerability than the inoculation of moral education? My colleague said she and her mother were so greatly unsettled by Bamber’s harrowing story. And it is – they all are, unsettling stories.

I just keep wondering, after all we’ve been through as a people, how come every Jew doesn’t cry for a few minutes each and every morning when they wake up? I’m just amazed that we all don’t ‘have it out’ every morning a little, before we put on a face for the world and everyone in it, pretending everything’s alright, and that we aren’t changed, and that we can still smile brightly, and certainly the world has progressed and isn’t after us anymore? (Because we know it’s not so).

And now I remember, there is a law, that every Jew is to awaken at midnight almost every night, and sit on the floor, put ashes on their head, and weep and mourn like we do on the 9th of the Jewish month of Av (over the loss of our Temples, and all the tragedies that have happened to us over our long history). It is codified, but few people I know actually do it. It’s called Tikkun Hatzot – the Rectification at Midnight. Rectification of our actions, of the world around us and so on.

With just a few tomes and movies and such produced, I think I’ll leave the bulk of this particular task to Elie Wiesel and others. They are eminently more capable. But these were some of my thoughts tonight. Perhaps they are indicative of what many of us – Jew and Gentile alike – think about and feel from time to time.

 ”Aid and attendance” is a commonly used term for a little-known veterans’ disability income. The official title of this benefit is “Pension.” The reason for using “aid and attendance” to refer to Pension is that many veterans or their single surviving spouses can become eligible if they have a regular need for the aid and attendance of a caregiver or if they are housebound. Evidence of this need for care must be certified by VA as a “rating.” With a rating, certain veterans or their surviving spouses can now qualify for Pension.

The purpose of this benefit is to provide supplemental income to disabled or older veterans who have a low income or high medical costs. Pension is for war veterans who have disabilities that are not connected to their active-duty service. Pension is primarily intended for very low income veterans, but a special provision in how Pension is calculated can allow veterans or single surviving spouses with high income to also receive the benefit which may be as much as $1, 949 a month.  This special provision kicks in for veterans who have ongoing and expensive long term care costs.

Aid and Attendance Pension benefit can pay up to $1,949 a month for qualifying long term care needs such as:

• Family members who provide home care
• Professional home care providers to come into your home
• Assisted Living or Adult Day services
• Nursing Home long term care
• Home renovations for disability
• Prescription drug costs
• Insurance premiums
• Diabetic or incontinence supplies
• Other un-reimbursed medical expenses

 If the veteran’s income exceeds the Pension amount, there is usually no award given, however, income can be adjusted for unreimbursed medical expenses, and this allows veterans with household incomes larger than the Pension amount to qualify for a monthly benefit. There is also an asset test to qualify for Pension.

If you have assets and a sizable income, you will most likely need and benefit from the services of a Veterans Benefits Consultant concerning what you need to do before you submit to the VA for an award.  It is extremely important that assets that might be gifted or converted to income also meet Medicaid gifting rules in case the veteran or the surviving spouse may have to apply for Medicaid. The consultant can help avoid Medicaid penalties associated with reallocating assets.

Angela N. Manz is a veteran’s benefits consultant who understands the aid and attendance benefit as well as Medicaid rules.  Angela N. Manz can be reached at 757-271-6275 or by going to www.manzlawfirm.com

Here are working concept sketches for our next two releases.

Adantine

Adantine is a display face in late Victorian decorative style, gently oblique and with a sense of refined movement, all capitals of a single height but with subtle distinctions between the ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ case glyphs.  It offers an air of delicate distinction combined with legibility.

Corvone

Corvone takes us to the heady days of the 30s and the heights of Art deco.   It’s heavy, forceful and clear and yet has a subtle sense of fun.  It lets you shout loudly in a refined sort of way!

November 12, 2009, 7 p.m.

Guest speaker Nutley WWII Veteran Vincent Fugarazzo

Nutley Museum Meeting Room

World War II veteran Vincent Fugarazzo, a B-17 Bomber radio operator in the Army Air Corps, will speak about his wartime experiences including as a prisoner of War after his bomber was shot down. He will also share his story about his recent return to the WWII battlefields in France, commemorating the 65th anniversary of D-Day, the invasion of Normandy.

Free admission, light refreshments

Guest Speaker William Falduti

The invasions of Normandy, France and Holland

“… William Falduti had his 20th birthday in France. Two months later, in December 1944, the Army corporal was a Jeep driver with the 82nd Airborne 505 Parachute Infantry Regiment delivering mortar shells to frozen Allied outposts defending the crossroads at Bastogne, Belgium.

The German troops desperately needed to take the crossroad. Bastogne was critical to the success of the Battle of the Bulge, Hitler’s last gasp effort to end the war on his own terms. Bill ‘the battling bastard of Bastogne’ wasn’t going to give up without a fight…”

Stop by to hear the rest of the story

told by this veteran who parachuted into Normandy on D-Day, June 6, 1944

earning two purple hearts and fighting the third reich to the end of the war.

May 29, 2009