The term “counting coup” or just simply “coup” that has come to mean one
studio signing a major star over another studio actually came about from
the Indians. When different sects of the same tribe would get together,
i.e. the Seminole creeks and the Muskogee creeks, they would ride against
each other in a type of war game. The only difference is they would use
sticks or branches painted different colors to “attack” with. Each hit
would be a coup. At the end of the match they would simply “count coup’
to determine a winner. I find it amazing how much of our language in
America actually comes from the Indian language.

When you thought I wasn’t looking I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn’t looking I learned most of life’s lessons that I need to know to be a good and
productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn’t looking I looked at you and wanted to say,’Thanks for all the things I saw when
you thought I wasn’t looking.’  
This is something I got in an email that spoke to me, it says something I would say up to the sky to my Mom who is with the creator. Thanks Mom, I miss you. 

Nice man treat me good in there, Say I need go see Welfare.

Welfare say,”You come no more, We send cash right to your door.”

Welfare checks,they make you wealthy. Medicaid,it keep you healthy!

Thanks to you,TAXPAYER dummy.

Write to friends in motherland, Tell them “come, fast as you can”

They  come in turbans and Ford trucks, I buy big house with welfare bucks.

They come here, we live together, More welfare checks, it gets better!

Fourteen families, they moving in, But neighbor’s patience wearing thin.

Finally, white guy moves away, I buy his house, and then I say,

“Find more aliens for house to rent.” In my yard I put a tent.

Send for family they just trash, But they, too, draw welfare cash!

Everything is very good, Soon we own whole neighborhood.

We have hobby it called breeding, Welfare pay for baby feeding.

Kids need dentist?  Wife need pills? We get free! We got no bills!

TAXPAYER crazy! He pay all year, To keep welfare running here.

We think America darn good place! Too darn good for white man race.

If they no like us, they can scram, Got lots of room in Pakistan.

This poem is not written by me, I am a TAXPAYER of the United States of America and all I want is people to come to America and pay taxes and WORK!

When I drove up in my taxi cab at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark 
except for a single light in a ground floor window. 
  Under these circumstances, many taxi drivers would just honk once or 
twice, wait a minute, and then drive away.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their
only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I 
always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my 
assistance, I reasoned to myself. 
 So I walked to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, 
elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. 
  After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90′s stood 
before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil 
pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. 
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one 
had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. 
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and 
glassware. 
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to 
the cab, then returned to assist the woman. 
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. 
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just 
try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’.
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave
me an address, and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly. 
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. 
  ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’. 
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have
any family left,’ she continued. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ 
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. 
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the
building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. 
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when 
they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse 
that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. 
  Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner
and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said , 
‘I’m tired. Let’s go now.’ 
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.It was a low building, 
like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a 
portico.
 Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were 
solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been 
expecting her. 
  I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was 
already seated in a wheelchair. 
‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse. 
‘Nothing,’ I said 
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered. 
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded. 
  Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me 
tightly. 
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. 
‘Thank you.’ 
  I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind 
me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. 
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in 
thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman 
had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? 
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven 
away? 
  On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important 
in my life. 
  We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. 
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what 
others may consider a small one. 
  PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~THEY 
WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

  Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as 
well dance. 
  

more soon: off to enjoy some incredible weather!