Usually – you might not be able to tell this – a posting cycle for me will be filled with nail biting dread, does it sound right, did I say too much, how boring is this? But in the end, it always leaves me feeling so blessed you know. So blessed that I am now so ready to let you back into the recesses of my mind.
Hopefully you don’t get too used to it.
But I will be keeping the momentum going with a next post all about the Obamas, well not all; kinda about that first African American family in the White House. No, the irony of the story isn’t lost on us either and in Michelle Obama’s perfectly put words:
“The story of those generations of people who felt the lash of bondage, the shame of servitude, the sting of segregation, but who kept on striving and hoping and doing what needed to be done so that today, I wake up every morning in a house that was built by slaves …”
I know? Massively off topic so it’s probably good I am both warning you in advance whilst also creating the illusion of being pressed to deliver.