Dear cedric.o.garrett >>when it comes to me, you are rather perceptive like my brother is. Working with me for so many years, you can often “read” below the surface of things that I say 🙂. My brother often “calls me out” on things that other people do not see. The photo that I wanted to post below is in my files on my office phone. I was too lazy to transfer it here; so, I just “posted” something (anything related) from my files on this. Very good, Cedric. You impress me like my brother often does 😎. I could not put it past you. The picture does not match with the words unless you translate deeper.
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>>I can now open the tip of my finger up like a book cover. Someone came over today with medicines and cleaned my sliced finger very well. She said that I will most likely lose the tip anyway b/c the juicer blade sliced it almost all the way off. I could actually cut it the rest of the way with a scissors, but she said I will then even more so need a tetanus shot.
She (below) is the “someone” who came over with medicine for me.
Who is She?
MEANWHILE, A MEMORY:
I remember what it took to wrap up the manuscript of my book I HAVE A DREAM!
I would have had a shortened career at my job years ago if someone did not speak up “bigly” for me. Security chased me down once when I ran past the gate to punch in on time. Rushing in, I forgot to show my badge. Security thought that I was 007 crashing the gates like I did. My manager desperately came running up to us at the clock to verify that I worked for him. I told him that at least I punched in on time. The guards were a hair breath away from dragging me out by my ankles 🙂. I was one lucky son of a gun that my manager “rescued” me and spoke up quickly for me. I went straight to my desk and put the finishing touches on my book I HAVE A DREAM! We went to the presses with it, and got it published. For a whille it was even on display and sold at the bookstore at the MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK in Atlanta, Georgia.
I WANT TO MENTION to my readers that I am presently reading the autobiography of Geronimo. Geronimo died in 1909 imprisoned on an Indian reservation in Oklahoma. A Mexican army attack killed his first wife and 3 toddler children when he was very young sparking the beginnings of his military raids.