Kathy

Geema (best job in the world.) married, PT 42 years now blessedly retired.Married my best friend. Be kind life is too short.

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

Her name was Betty Ong. She was forty-five years old. She had grown up in San Francisco's Chinatown, the daughter of Chinese-American parents, and she had been a flight attendant with American Airlines for fourteen years. She was known to colleagues as "Bee."
On the morning of September 11, 2001, she was working American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston to Los Angeles. It was a trip she had chosen — she wanted to get to the West Coast so she could travel home to San Francisco and then on to Hawaii for a vacation with her sister. She was looking forward to it.
At 7:59 a.m., Flight 11 took off from Boston Logan Airport.
At approximately 8:19 a.m., from a phone at the back of the plane, Betty Ong dialed American Airlines.
The call was answered by Vanessa Minter, a reservations agent at the Raleigh-Durham center. She heard a woman's voice, calm and precise, say the words that no one had ever called in before.
"I think we're getting hijacked."
Minter immediately patched in her supervisor, Nydia Gonzalez. Betty stayed on the line.
For the next twenty-three minutes, in a voice that witnesses would later describe as composed, professional, and methodical, Betty Ong told the ground what was happening.
The cockpit was not answering. Two flight attendants had been stabbed. A passenger in business class had been attacked. Someone had sprayed what she thought was Mace, and people couldn't breathe. She gave the seat numbers of the men she believed were the hijackers. She described exactly what she could see and hear, in the rear of the aircraft, as far as she was from the cockpit door that would not open.
"In a very calm, professional and poised demeanor, Betty Ong relayed to us detailed information of the events unfolding on Flight 11," Gonzalez later told the 9/11 Commission. "Several media accounts claimed that Betty was hysterical with fear, shrieking and gasping for air. Those accounts were wrong."
She had been there. She knew.
On the ground, the information Betty was providing was being relayed to American Airlines operations, then to the FAA, then to air traffic control. The picture she was painting — in real time, from the back of a hijacked aircraft — was giving the people trying to understand what was happening on the East Coast of America that morning their first clear confirmation that this was not an accident, not a malfunction, not a confusion.
This was intentional. This was coordinated. This was something no one had a protocol for.
She stayed on the phone.
At 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
The line went silent.
Gonzalez stayed on the open call for a moment afterward, not yet knowing what had happened.
"Betty, talk to me. Betty, are you there? Betty? Okay... I think we might have lost her."
Betty Ong's family spent months after September 11 fighting to hear her voice. Her brother Harry called Senator Edward Kennedy's office to ask for help. In January 2002, the family was brought to a private room at San Francisco Airport and played the tape. It was the first time they had heard her speak since the morning of the 11th.
"Her first duty is for the passengers and for the plane," Harry said later. "She didn't call us because her first responsibility as a flight attendant that day was to help the plane and the passengers, and that's why she made that call."
When the 9/11 Commission heard portions of her call in 2004, the room was silent.
Vanessa Minter — the reservations agent who answered the phone that morning and stayed with Betty for fifteen minutes until Gonzalez took over — still thinks about her. She has given interviews for years about what it meant to be on the other end of that call.
"You have to understand," Minter said. "Betty Ong, to me, was the hero. She was the hero. Not me."
Betty Ong's name is on the memorial at Ground Zero. There is a street named for her in San Francisco's Chinatown. A park. A middle school.
She was going to Hawaii.
Instead, she picked up the phone. She told us what was happening. She stayed on the line until the line went quiet.
That is what quiet courage looks like when it matters most.

[The Husky @Mr_Husky1]

A mother's world was turned upside down after learning that her son, 23-year-old Dominic Dubas, had been critically injured in a hit-and-run while visiting Austin with friends.

Dominic, an active-duty U.S. Air Force firefighter stationed in Alaska, had simply gone out to get something to eat before the tragedy occurred. Authorities believe he was struck while walking, and the driver fled, leaving him severely injured on the road.

His family says Dominic suffered devastating brain and spinal injuries and underwent emergency surgery. He is currently on life support, and doctors have warned that even the most hopeful outcome could involve a lifetime of intensive care.

Remembered as a dedicated serviceman with a generous heart, Dominic had been preparing for a transfer to Maryland and was excited about the future ahead. Now, his family is asking the public for help, hoping someone knows what happened and can help bring accountability and answers.

[Leisha @LoneStarChica]

💔 Taz is scared, and you can see it in his eyes.

Found roaming the streets alone, this sweet 2-year-old now spends his days trembling in a shelter kennel, unsure of what comes next. He doesn't bark for attention or beg to be noticed. He simply sits quietly, hoping someone will give him a chance.

🥺 When his kennel door opened, Taz didn't try to run. He just sat there shaking, trying to understand why he was there.

Taz needs a foster or adopter before shelter stress takes a bigger toll on him. Fostering is FREE, and all supplies are provided.

🐾 TAZ #A185188
• 2 years old
• Male
• Vaccinated
• 36 lbs

📍 Pasadena Animal Shelter
5150 Burke Rd, Pasadena, TX

📩 Adoptions: [email protected]
📩 Foster/Rescue: [email protected]

Please share and help Taz find the safe, loving home he deserves. ❤️
#AdoptDontShop

[Rodney Smith Jr @iamrodneysmith]

Dear @WhiteHouse, my name is Rodney Smith Jr., founder of Raising Men & Women Lawn Care Service in Huntsville, Alabama. Through our 50 Yard Challenge, over 6,000 kids across the country have signed up to mow free lawns for the elderly, disabled, veterans, active-duty military, first responders, and single parents. With America celebrating its 250th birthday this year and me also being born on July 4th, I wanted to humbly ask if a few kids from our program and myself could travel to Washington, D.C. to help mow the White House lawn for this historic celebration.

More than anything, I want these kids to see how a simple act of service something as ordinary as mowing a lawn for someone in need can lead to extraordinary places. What better lesson in community service than showing them that helping others can take them all the way to our nation’s capital? I’d also love to bring my American flag-themed mower in hopes that the President might sign it, so I can later auction it off and donate 100% of the proceeds to a nonprofit supporting veterans. It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to highlight the importance of service, patriotism, and the impact young people can have when they choose to make a difference. 🇺🇸

[Gunther Eagleman™ @GuntherEagleman]

Heartbreaking and infuriating.

A great grandmother was stabbed up to 20 times while riding a train in Atlanta. Brutally murdered in broad daylight on public transit.

Her family is demanding answers while another innocent life is gone, taken by a savage who shouldn’t have been on the streets in the first place.

[Kimberly K. Maher @Peacemakerproje]

Rest in Peace, Margaret Swan.
A 66-year-old mother, grandmother & great-grandmother was randomly stabbed to death (18-20 times) on a MARTA train in Atlanta by 25-year-old John Elijah Matthews in a brutal, unprovoked attack.
This isn't isolated. Too many cities see the same pattern: untreated severe mental illness + homelessness + repeat offenders + weak enforcement on transit = innocent people slaughtered in front of bystanders.
We need:
More cops & fare enforcement on trains
Involuntary commitment for the dangerously psychotic
End catch-and-release for violent repeaters
Prioritize treatment over "housing first" for the severely ill
Public transit shouldn't be a killing field. Fix the system. #TransitSafety #MentalHealthReform

[Leisha @LoneStarChica]

Look at the relief on Sweet Momma's face when she sees Martin Miller after hours on a Saturday night.

Sweet Momma came to The City of Mobile Animal Services as part of a neglect case along with her two puppies. While her babies grew up and found loving homes, Sweet Momma was left behind.

Not a single application. Not one meet and greet.

Now this forgotten girl waits alone in her kennel day after day.

Every evening, Martin stops by to spend time with her. The moment she sees him, Sweet Momma rushes out, lays her head in his lap, and clings to him with pure relief. It's as if she's saying, "Please don't leave me here."

Sweet Momma is just 2 years old, weighs 56 pounds, and is wonderful with dogs, cats, and people. She has so much love to give and deserves a family of her own.

Please help us get Sweet Momma out of the shelter and into a home where she will never be forgotten again.

📍 Mobile, Alabama
Adoption Application:
https://t.co/wqTUoXVP5S

[The Husky @Mr_Husky1]

Dom Marcellino is one of only a handful surviving triple amputees from the Vietnam War. While serving as a grunt with Echo Company 2/5, he volunteered to carry the radio.

In August of 1970, Dom’s platoon went on a patrol to protect a bridge along Highway 1 ; not far from An Hoa combat base. During the patrol, a bomb sniffing dog was dispatched along the path. Unfortunately the K-9 missed a buried explosive. Dom was the 11th man in the column when the booby trap exploded, severing his limbs.

For 45 mins he lay in the jungle waiting for a medevac. A Navy corpsman placed three tourniquets on his limbs while him preventing him from falling into shock.

Ultimately, Dom survived and spent two years in rehabilitation. Today at age 75, he walks on prosthetic legs and keeps himself busy helping other veterans.

[Lila @LilaFlw]

PLS SHARE Daisy🌼 She’s Rescue Only (can only be saved by rescue). This usually means the dog is highly stressed in shelter&will do much better w structure+love, once she knows she’s safe.

Urgent SOS:

ADOPTER (🇺🇸/🇨🇦) or FOSTER (100% reimbursed)

[ejigah Solomon @ejigah599]

Boss Goes Undercover and Discovers a Truly Selfless Worker.

[Buitengebieden @buitengebieden]

Baby seal first time swimming.. 😊

🎥 IG: zeehondencentrum (NL)

[Harman @itsharmanjot]

A 31-year-old Black mother of five walked into Johns Hopkins Hospital in February 1951 for cervical cancer treatment. The doctors cut a small piece of tissue from her cervix without telling her. She died eight months later and was buried in an unmarked grave. The cells they took from her body went on to become the foundation of every major medical breakthrough of the next 75 years. Her family lived in poverty for the next 22 years and did not even know.

I read the actual court filings last night and could not stop thinking about it.

Her name was Henrietta Lacks.

The textbook story of 20th century medicine names Jonas Salk for the polio vaccine. Names the IVF pioneers. Names the human genome project. Names the architects of cancer research. Names every Nobel laureate whose work would not have been possible without an immortal line of human cells that had to come from somewhere.

That story leaves out the woman whose cells made all of it possible, and the system that took her body, profited off it for seven decades, and never asked her permission to do any of it.

Here is the story almost nobody tells you.

Henrietta Lacks was born Loretta Pleasant in Roanoke, Virginia, in 1920. She was a poor Black tobacco farmer. She married her first cousin David Lacks at 21 and moved to Maryland during the Great Migration. By 1951 she was 31 years old and the mother of five children, the youngest still a toddler. She had been feeling what she described to her sister as a "knot inside" her body for months. She went to Johns Hopkins Hospital because it was the only major hospital in the area that treated Black patients.

Hopkins was the best research hospital in the country. It was also operating under the segregated medical norms of the American South. Black patients were treated in segregated wards. They were charged the same fees but received less attention. They were often used in research without being told.

On February 1, 1951, Henrietta was diagnosed with cervical cancer. During her treatment, her doctor took two small tissue samples from her cervix without her knowledge. One sample was healthy tissue. One was cancerous. The samples were sent to a cancer researcher at Hopkins named George Gey, who had been trying for decades to grow human cells in a laboratory and had failed every previous time.

Every other cell sample he had ever received had died within days.

Henrietta's cells did not die.

They reproduced. Then they reproduced again. They doubled every 24 hours. They kept doubling. They kept doubling indefinitely. They were the first human cells in history that could be grown in a laboratory forever. George Gey named them HeLa, taking the first two letters of her first and last names. He gave them away for free to scientists around the world. He never asked Henrietta if he could.

Henrietta did not survive her cancer. She was given radium treatments that would later be recognized as inadequate, and she died at Johns Hopkins on October 4, 1951, at the age of 31. She left behind five children. She was buried in an unmarked grave in a field in Clover, Virginia.

While she was dying, her cells were already being shipped to laboratories in dozens of countries.

The detail that should disturb every reader is what those cells did over the next seven decades.

HeLa cells were the foundation of the polio vaccine. Jonas Salk used them to test whether his vaccine actually worked. Without HeLa, the vaccine that ended polio in most of the world would have taken years longer to develop. They were used to develop the first chemotherapy drugs. They were the basis of in vitro fertilization research. They were used to map the human genome. They were used in the development of every modern cancer treatment. They were the test bed for the COVID-19 vaccines. They have been sent into space to study how human cells behave in zero gravity. They have been used in more than 110,000 scientific papers.

By the most conservative estimates, Henrietta Lacks's cells have contributed to the saving of tens of millions of lives.

Her family did not learn this until 1973.

That year, more than two decades after Henrietta died, a researcher at Hopkins called the Lacks family and asked for blood samples. He needed them, he said, to study the genetic factors that had made Henrietta's cells immortal. The family did not understand what he was talking about. Nobody at Hopkins had ever told them that their mother's cells had been taken. Nobody had told them that those cells were now in laboratories on every continent. Nobody had told them that companies were selling vials of HeLa cells for hundreds of dollars each while the Lacks family lived in poverty in Baltimore.

When the family finally found out, in fragments over the next several years, the betrayal was generational.

Henrietta's daughter Deborah was 18 months old when her mother died. She grew up not knowing what her mother looked like. She found out as an adult that pieces of her mother were in laboratories around the world, that scientists called her mother by a name no one in her family had ever used, and that her mother had become, in the medical literature, a cell line rather than a person. She spent the rest of her life trying to learn who her mother actually was. She died in 2009 without ever receiving an apology from Johns Hopkins.

The most uncomfortable line in the entire historical record is the one that came out during the lawsuits that followed.

The cells that built modern medicine were taken at a time when American medical research routinely used Black bodies without consent. The Tuskegee syphilis experiment was running in the same decade Henrietta walked into Hopkins. Black women in the South were being sterilized without their knowledge under state eugenics laws. The fact that Henrietta's cells were taken without her permission was not a one-time ethical lapse. It was the standard operating procedure of an entire medical system.

Johns Hopkins has stated, repeatedly, that taking cells without consent was legal in 1951. That is true. They have also stated that they never profited directly from the sale of HeLa cells. That is also technically true. The cells were given away for free by George Gey. But biotechnology companies built on top of the HeLa line have generated billions of dollars in revenue over seven decades, and none of that money went to the Lacks family for the first 70 years.

The cells were free. The drugs built from them were not.

In 2010, the journalist Rebecca Skloot published "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks," after a decade of working with the Lacks family. The book became a bestseller. Oprah Winfrey produced an HBO film about it in 2017. The Lacks family finally had a national platform.

In August 2021, on what would have been Henrietta's 101st birthday, the Lacks family filed a federal lawsuit against the biotechnology company Thermo Fisher Scientific, accusing it of unjust enrichment for selling HeLa cell products without ever compensating the family. Thermo Fisher tried to have the case dismissed, arguing the statute of limitations had expired. The court refused.

On August 1, 2023, on what would have been Henrietta's 103rd birthday, the case settled. The terms were confidential. Her attorney Ben Crump announced the settlement late that night outside the federal courthouse in Baltimore. Her grandson Alfred Lacks Carter Jr. stood beside him and said one sentence.

"It was a long fight. Over 70 years. And Henrietta Lacks gets her day."

The settlement was the first time, in 72 years, that anyone connected to Henrietta Lacks received compensation for her cells. The family's legal team has since indicated they intend to file similar suits against other companies that have profited from HeLa cells without permission.

The detail almost no journalist prints is the one her grandchildren keep emphasizing in interviews. They are not trying to claim ownership of medicine. They are not trying to undo seven decades of research. They are not trying to extract money from every laboratory on Earth. They are asking for two things. Acknowledgment, in writing, that the cells were taken without consent. And a share of the profits going forward from the companies that have built their businesses on her body.

That is the entire ask.

Walk into any biology classroom today. Ask the students what HeLa cells are.

Almost all of them will know.

Then ask them whose body the cells came from.

Almost none of them will say her name.

The 31-year-old Black mother of five whose tissue built modern medicine was buried in an unmarked grave outside a small town in Virginia in 1951. Her unmarked grave was finally given a proper headstone in 2010, 59 years after her death. The inscription her family chose for it reads: "In loving memory of a phenomenal woman, wife and mother who touched the lives of many. Here lies Henrietta Lacks. Her immortal cells will continue to help mankind forever."

She has been dead for 75 years.

She is still working.

The polio vaccine. The HPV vaccine. The COVID vaccine. The drug protocols saving cancer patients tonight. The IVF babies being born this week. The genome maps being written this year. All of it traces back to a Black mother who walked into a hospital with abdominal pain and never walked out, and whose body was used to save the world without ever being asked.

The system that took her cells took most of a century to even apologize.

Most of modern medicine is paid for by her.

Her descendants are only now starting to be paid back.

She was right. The system was late.

And every breakthrough still ahead, every cure that will arrive in the next 50 years, will likely be built on a cell line that came from a woman who never gave permission for any of it, and whose family had to fight for 72 years just to be told her name out loud.

[Crazy Moments @Crazymoments01]

An old man wanted him to restore this abandoned cabin and paid him $5,000 to do it. So he gave it his all... What do you think of the result? Let me know in the comments!

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

Bob Hope performed within mortar range every Christmas for twenty-three years. The man America dismissed as a harmless joke-teller voluntarily saw more front-line combat than most generals.

Christmas Day, 1967. Long Binh base, South Vietnam. Hope was mid-punchline when the first rocket hit the perimeter. The explosion shook the stage. Soldiers in the front rows dropped flat. Military police moved toward Hope's position. Protocol was clear. Evacuate the performer. Get him to a bunker.

Hope did not move. He waited for the noise to stop, looked at the audience, and said, "If they're going to shoot, at least they'll get the best audience in the world." The soldiers laughed. He continued the show.

He had been doing this since 1941. That first audience was a few hundred servicemen at March Field in California, months before Pearl Harbor. Hope told jokes. The men laughed. He looked at their faces and understood something no agent or studio executive had ever told him: these men needed to laugh more than any civilian audience ever would.

By 1943, he was performing in North Africa. By 1944, he was in the South Pacific. By 1950, Korea. By 1964, Vietnam. He went where the war went. He flew on military transports. He slept on cots. He ate what the soldiers ate. He performed on aircraft carriers, jungle clearings, hospital wards, and forward operating bases close enough to the fighting that his crew could hear small arms fire during the shows.

He brought women. That was deliberate. Ann-Margret, Raquel Welch, Joey Heatherton, Jayne Mansfield. Hope understood that a woman in a sequined dress standing on a plywood stage in the middle of a war zone was the closest thing to home most of those soldiers would see for months. The laughter when the women appeared was different from the laughter at his jokes. It was relief.

The military never ordered him to go. No contract required it. He funded portions of the trips himself. He turned down holiday specials, family Christmases, and network money every December for twenty-three consecutive years because he had decided that Christmas belonged to the soldiers.

At his final USO show in 1990, after the Persian Gulf deployment began, he was eighty-seven years old. A reporter asked why he kept going. Hope said he didn't have a complicated answer.

"I looked at them, they laughed at me, and it was love at first sight."

He performed for over eleven million servicemen and women across four wars. Nobody asked him to. He went anyway. Every Christmas. For twenty-three years.

[Kathy @ketmpt]

@Avabelly__ Lincoln logs. They predated LEGOs.

[Matt Van Swol @mattvanswol]

🚨#BREAKING: A WOMAN HAS JUST BEEN STABBED TO DEATH BY A HOMELESS MAN ON A PUBLIC TRAIN IN ATLANTA GEORGIA.

INVESTIGATORS SAY IT IS A, "SENSELESS ACT OF VIOLENCE..."

WE DO NOT HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[PROTECT ALL WILDLIFE @Protect_Wldlife]

“Twenty-five years ago, a story broke in Chiang Mai, Thailand about a Buffalo who ran for her life from a slaughterhouse. Covered in blood and with a deep wound around her neck, she bolted down the motorway, terrified and desperate. Local radio stations warned the public to stay alert ~ calling her “a mad Buffalo,” with some reporters even labeling her a “crazy ghost Buffalo,” claiming she was crashing into cars as she fled.

We rushed to the scene and found her drenched in blood, a bullet having grazed her forehead ~ thankfully, it hadn’t pierced her skull. We fought to save her life, refusing to send her back to the slaughterhouse, even as angry voices demanded compensation for their damaged cars and called for her to be killed.

With help from kind-hearted people, we rescued her.

The very next morning, in her new home, she gave birth to a baby boy. We named her Mae Sroy, after the scar around her neck, and her son Chokdee, meaning “Lucky.”

Since then, Mae Sroy and her son have lived peacefully among the Buffalo herd at Save Elephant Foundation.

Now very old—Buffaloes typically live around 26–27 years ~ Mae Sroy can no longer walk with the herd. Her son has grown up to become the leader, while Mae Sroy has moved closer to our shelter for more attentive care. She now eats only finely ground, soft food, as her teeth have worn down with age.

Then came the recent flood. Though her shelter was on higher ground, a sudden flash flood swept over the barriers, destroying everything ~ including Mae Sroy’s home. She was gone.

We searched everywhere, fearing the worst.

Our hearts were heavy, believing our beloved old buffalo could not have survived the raging waters. But on the third morning, a miracle happened:

We found her ~ lying in the mud where her shelter once stood. She had come home. When she saw us, she called out, and we cried with joy. I ran to her, and she answered with soft, happy grunts, full of life and relief. Mae Sroy had survived once again.

She truly is a Buffalo with nine lives.

This is the story of one life we saved. At our sanctuary, every animal has a name, a story, and a soul. They are not just Buffaloes or Elephants ~ they are living beings with meaning and worth.

Mae Sroy once ran from death to protect the life growing inside her. And now, once again, she has run from death to protect her own. She is a true survivor, and we will care for Grandma Mae Sroy with all our hearts for the rest of her days” ~ Lek Chailert. 🙏

🎦 Credit: Lek Chailert.

[Life lessons !!!!🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲 @PatriotMike15]

If you could all do me a big favor. Lift my son up in prayer he is currently in the hospital battling Pancreatitis. He is a strong young man.
But it hurts me knowing he is ill. 💔

He will get better I know but knowing folks will pray for him will help me and him.

Thank you all God Bless 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

[j wall ✡ @jwhaifa]

In 1943, the Gestapo finally caught Raymond Aubrac — one of France's most wanted Resistance leaders. He was sentenced to death. His execution was days away.
His wife Lucie was six months pregnant.
Most people would have hidden. Would have grieved quietly and prayed for a miracle. Lucie Aubrac did something else entirely. She obtained forged identity papers, constructed a cover story, and walked straight into the office of Klaus Barbie — the man history would remember as the Butcher of Lyon — and convinced him to grant her a visit with the condemned man.
She wasn't there to say goodbye.
She was memorizing guard positions. Counting minutes. Mapping the route the prison truck would take.
On October 21, 1943, that truck rolled through the streets of Lyon carrying Raymond and other prisoners toward what should have been the end. Lucie had spent weeks quietly assembling a team of Resistance fighters, planning an ambush with the precision of a military operation. When the truck reached the ambush point, the team struck — fast, coordinated, and without hesitation.
In the chaos of gunfire and confusion, Raymond Aubrac was pulled free.
Lucie — visibly, unmistakably pregnant — had organized every detail of his liberation.
They went into hiding. Weeks later, Lucie gave birth to their daughter in a safe house while German forces searched for them across France. When liberation finally came, the Aubracs didn't merely survive — they rebuilt.
Raymond became a celebrated engineer and entered public life. Lucie became a historian, pouring decades into ensuring that the women of the French Resistance — so often unnamed, so easily forgotten — were written permanently into the record. They raised three children. They traveled the world. They argued and laughed and grew old together.
When journalists asked Lucie, years later, what had compelled her to risk everything that October day, she didn't hesitate.
"He was my husband. What else would I do?"
Lucie Aubrac passed away in 2007 at the age of 94. Raymond — who had once needed a commando team to be freed from a German prison — lived on until 2012, reaching 97 years old. In his final years, he continued speaking publicly about the Resistance, about memory, about the obligation to tell the truth.
They had been married for 64 years.
Not a love story built on grand gestures or perfect circumstances. A love story built in occupied France, in safe houses and forged documents and a prison truck ambush on a Lyon street — forged in fire, and never broken.
True love doesn't wait for rescue. Sometimes, it does the rescuing