Carolyn Booth Piano Studio

Former White House press secretary Anthony Scaramucci called for Trump's removal after the president offered a lame excuse for why he posted a meme that depicts him as a Christ-like savior. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/scaramucci-trump-should-be-removed-immediately_n_69dd632be4b048dba44f20e5?ref=bffbhuffpost&ncid_tag=fcbklnkushpmg00000063&utm_medium=Social&utm_source=Facebook&utm_campaign=us_main

Happy 92nd Birthday to the radiant Shirley MacLaine 🎂🌸 🤍♾️

A true original — wise, fearless, witty, and endlessly captivating — Shirley MacLaine has spent more than six decades lighting up the screen and stage. From Terms of Endearment and Steel Magnolias to The Apartment and Postcards from the Edge, her performances shimmer with honesty, humor, and bold emotional depth.

American actor Tom Selleck bought a dog shelter on the verge of closing—but what he did next surprised everyone. Only 72 hours to go.
The water bill hadn't been paid for weeks. The owner had issued a final warning: "Get out." Or the dogs would be removed.
But no one expected to see him enter. A tall man wearing a cowboy hat, pacing. No helpers. No cameras.
He walked straight to the last box and knelt next to the largest dog: Rusty, a 14-year-old golden retriever with a limp and arthritis.
He stayed there for ten minutes. Silently. Petting.

Then he looked at the shelter manager and asked, "How many dogs are here?"
"Forty-seven," she replied.
Tom gained a reputation and, in his earnest voice, declared:
"So 47 deserves to live like heroes."

He didn't just sign a check. He bought all the properties.
But that's not what blew up the internet.
The next day, the trucks arrived.
One. Two. Three.
New beds. Heated floors. Veterinary care.
Fresh food. Toys. Blankets embroidered with each dog's name.
Above each box, a plaque read:
"Forever Home - Courtesy of Tom Selleck."

Most moved?
Tom adopts Rusty.
"He's waited so long," he says with a comforting smile.
"Now it's my turn to wait for him."

Tom Selleck didn't just save a shelter.
He gave 47 souls a second chance.

Happy 82nd Birthday to Michael Douglas 🎂

Happy 87th Birthday to Lily Tomlin 🎂

Former Vice President Dick Cheney, considered by many political observers to be the most politically active and influential vice president in U.S. history, has died. He was 84. https://abc7.la/4nAHwDS

Happy 93rd Birthday to the incomparable Carol Burnett 🎂🎭🌹

A true pioneer of comedy, Carol Burnett has spent decades lighting up screens and hearts with her wit, warmth, and fearless humor. From The Carol Burnett Show — a masterclass in sketch comedy — to her countless film and TV roles, she’s proven that laughter really is timeless.

Today is my birthday, but it feels like no one remembers me. Maybe it's because I see the world differently. I can't see faces or colors, but I can feel the love in people's hearts. What I long for most is a gentle touch, a soft voice whispering “Happy Birthday” to me. I might be a blind dog, but the light inside my heart sees it all. ❤️🐾
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So sadly poppy is back up for rehoming she went to her new home but was sadly returned after 3 days as she didn't have a bond with her. This little dog is completely shell shocked her owner who is all she's ever known was rushed into hospital end of life and sadly never came out. Poppy went to a neighbour but was booked in to be euthanized as she was old . Thankfully we heard about her and offered rescue space. She came in needed a major dental and a mass removed from her mouth. She had just started to trust her foster parents then a home was offered by a older person which was perfect for her no other pets just one to one . But because poppy is shut down altho she will happily play with a ball it takes her time to trust her new human which is understandable. Please remember all rescue dogs need time to decompress this dosent happen in the 1st few days or week it can and does take serval weeks if your not prepared to give the dog the time to settle and trust you please don't apply for a rescue dog because all your doing is fu**ing them up even more. She has come back to her pervious foster parents but she's back to square one 😢 when she 1st came in it's utterly heartbreaking 💔.

I was stocking shelves at the convenience store when I heard a motorcycle pull up to pump seven. It was 3 AM on a Sunday morning, and I'd been working the graveyard shift for six months. You see all kinds of things at 3 AM, but what I saw next stopped me cold.
A biker—huge guy, maybe sixty years old, full beard, leather vest covered in patches—was carefully lifting an infant carrier off the back of his motorcycle. Not a sidecar. The actual back of the bike, strapped down with bungee cords like cargo. The baby inside couldn't have been more than a few months old.
He pumped his gas with one hand while rocking the carrier with the other. The baby was screaming. Not fussy crying—full-blown, desperate screaming. The kind that makes your chest hurt.
The biker looked like he'd been crying too. His eyes were red and swollen, his face exhausted. He finished pumping, picked up the carrier, and walked into the store. That's when I smelled it.
The baby needed changing. Badly.
"Bathroom?" he asked me, his voice hoarse. I pointed to the back. He nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
I went back to stocking, but five minutes later I heard something that made me stop. Through the bathroom door, I heard this massive biker sobbing. Not quiet tears. Full body sobs mixed with the baby's screaming.
I knocked gently. "Sir? Are you okay? Do you need help?"
Silence. Then, "I don't know how to do this." His voice was broken. "I don't know how to do any of this."
"Do you need me to call someone?" I asked.
"There's nobody to call." More crying. "Please. Can you help me? I can't figure out how to make the diaper stay on and she won't stop crying and I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
I'm a fifty-two-year-old woman. I've raised three kids. I've changed a thousand diapers. But more than that, I heard something in this man's voice that went beyond not knowing how to fasten a diaper. I heard complete desperation.
"I'm coming in," I said. "Is that okay?"
"Yes. Please."
I opened the door and found him sitting on the bathroom floor with his back against the wall. But what terrified me was the baby wasn't even crying anymore. After all that screaming, the silence was a siren.
She was lying on a pile of paper towels on the floor, naked from the waist down, her tiny chest barely moving. Her skin had a pale, bluish tinge to it, and her lips were faintly purple. She was cold. Dangerously cold.
The man looked up at me, his face a roadmap of despair. A fresh diaper lay crumpled beside him, torn at the tab. "She stopped," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why did she stop?"
My own heart hammered against my ribs, but years of calming down scraped knees and fevers took over. "She's cold, honey. She's just so, so cold."

I knelt, ignoring the grime of the gas station floor. "Grab that blanket out of her carrier," I said, my voice steady and calm. "Now."
He scrambled to obey. I scooped the tiny, listless baby into my arms, tucking her against my chest and wrapping my work vest around her. I rubbed her back, her little arms, her feet. I could feel the life-draining chill on her skin.
"Talk to me," I said, not looking at the man, focusing all my energy on the child. "What's her name?"
"Lily," he choked out. "Her name is Lily."
"That's a beautiful name," I murmured, rubbing her tiny back. "Come on, Lily. Stay with us."
He handed me the thin receiving blanket, and I wrapped her tightly in it before settling her back against my warmth. "Do you have any formula? A bottle?"
He shook his head, fresh tears carving paths through the dust on his cheeks. "Her mama… Sarah… she always fed her. I didn't even think…"
His voice trailed off, and the story clicked into place in my heart, sharp and painful. The red-rimmed eyes. The desperation. The baby strapped to the back of a bike. There was no 'mama'. Not anymore.
"It's alright," I said softly. "We'll figure it out."
I grabbed some clean paper towels, a new diaper from the package he'd dropped, and worked quickly, my hands remembering a rhythm they hadn't practiced in years. As I fastened the tabs, Lily stirred. A small, weak whimper escaped her lips. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.
The biker let out a ragged sob of relief that seemed to empty him completely.
I carried the swaddled baby back out to the counter. "Watch the store," I told him, not as a request, but as a gentle command. I went into the back room, warmed up some milk from the cooler in the microwave—not ideal, but it was warm and it was food—and tested it on my wrist.
When I came back out, he was standing exactly where I'd left him, looking like a lost giant. I sat on the stool behind the counter and guided the bottle to Lily's lips. She latched on instantly, her eyes fluttering open. She looked right at me.
We sat there in the hum of the fluorescent lights at 3:30 in the morning, this broken man and me, watching this tiny miracle drink a bottle of milk.
"My daughter, Sarah," he finally said to the quiet store. "Two days ago. An aneurysm. Went to sleep and… never woke up." He stared at the sleeping baby, his face crumpling. "Lily is all I have left of her. I'm taking her to my sister's in Nevada. But I've never… I've never even held a baby before."
I looked at his leather vest, really looked at it. A patch for the 1st Cavalry Division. A Vietnam pin. This man had faced things I couldn't imagine, but a six-pound infant had brought him to his knees.
He stayed until my shift ended at 7 AM. Lily slept peacefully in her carrier on the counter, warm and full. I made him coffee and he drank it, his hands still trembling. When my replacement arrived, I didn't clock out.
"Come on," I said, picking up the carrier. "You're not going to Nevada like this."
He looked at me, confused. "I… I have to."
"First," I said, "you're coming to my house. You're going to have a hot shower and a real meal, and you're going to sleep in a guest bed that isn't rattling down the highway. And little Lily is going to sleep in a proper bassinet."
Tears filled his eyes again. "I can't ask you to do that, ma'am."
"You didn't ask," I said, pushing open the door into the morning light. "I offered. My name is Mary. And I think we all could use a little help today."
He followed me out to my car, a hulking, leather-clad angel with a broken heart, trailing a 52-year-old gas station clerk. And as I buckled that precious baby into the backseat of my sedan, I knew that sometimes, the most desperate cries for help don't come in words, but in the silence that follows a storm. And sometimes, at three in the morning, you don't find monsters, you find grandfathers. You find family.
Credit goes to Megija Plumber
Let this story reach more heart's 💕 💕 💕