The heading photograph was planned to be a Norman Rockwell painting of Thanksgiving, but that seemed too nostalgically soft for the times, maybe even too American, what with the Ukrainian war blazing away some 300 miles from where I live and where I can still buy a turkey and have friends in for dinner.
So I opted for this wounded mother, holding her daughter and knowing that Rockwell would understand, because he celebrated the common man.
The world moves too quickly these days for a thought to settle
This article itself was meant to plead for another American Berlin Airlift to hold Ukraine safe from the cold and darkness of the coming winter. We once pulled off that miracle when the Soviets blockaded the agreed-upon access to a partitioned Berlin after WWII. For 15 months we flew everything from coal to groceries, 250,000 flights delivering 7,000 tons of supplies each and every day.
Surely we can do the same or better into a nation fighting for its life—and winning.
Then I realized most o…