<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671</id><updated>2009-11-09T11:40:28.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Turn the Page</title><subtitle type='html'>I love a good book. 

If you find one you love, you can't wait to turn the next page. 

Turn the page.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>155</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-3332275901041058156</id><published>2009-09-28T20:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T20:46:30.897-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stiff Wind.</title><content type='html'>All afternoon there was a stiff wind passing through that blew the leaves and branches off our trees and made me duck when it became too brisk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it had happend.  I knew in my heart that Uncle George had passed and his massive spirit was seeking home...and saying hello on his way through to Wheeling West Virginia. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the call this afternoon...knowing already... he'd died at 8:15 this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some forces of nature you have to respect and realize.  Great Uncle George is one of them.  He was massive, decided his own fate and realized that what came after him was extremely special. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all are.  Special I mean.  However, I feel...just simply ... that all of the grownups have completely left the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-3332275901041058156?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/3332275901041058156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=3332275901041058156&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3332275901041058156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3332275901041058156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2009/09/stiff-wind.html' title='Stiff Wind.'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-1396114660677919587</id><published>2009-08-01T19:37:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T19:45:58.165-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Be Strong</title><content type='html'>I'm listening to Nils Lofgren and a song he wrote "I'll Be Strong". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hard comfort tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan's Great Grand Uncle at 99 next month is in a rehad center because the hospital can't do anything more for him.  He's hoping we could come down, but husband has a big business deal next week and I can't get to him.  Perhaps the following week, if we're not too late. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rebecca's nephew is still in hospital.  After contracting a virus at 18 months and having numerous brain surgeries, they have replace the front skull plate but he's running a low grade temperature and was supposed to be released from hospital four days ago.  They are keeping him.  MRI's are fine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life for me has been "stop and go"  for the last few months.  I would love to write something fantastical in prose or poetry, but my heart just isn't into it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I would love to marry some little pill that would make everything better, but this is life...MY LIFE...and I will deal with it as I see fit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if anyone will even read this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-1396114660677919587?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/1396114660677919587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=1396114660677919587&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/1396114660677919587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/1396114660677919587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2009/08/ill-be-strong.html' title='I&apos;ll Be Strong'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-2352778224004598805</id><published>2009-03-21T20:13:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T20:38:02.818-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Going Home Again (You Can't)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/ScWHW8sbEaI/AAAAAAAAAT4/6oSqNcq9RVo/s1600-h/800px-Chestnut_tree.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315803763500061090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/ScWHW8sbEaI/AAAAAAAAAT4/6oSqNcq9RVo/s320/800px-Chestnut_tree.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;They say you can't go home again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;it feels so trite until you try it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;reaching down so deep it &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;cuts your very soul&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We came home again last weekend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;back to a fishbowl of places we don't remember&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;faces we barely recognize&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;holed up in a hotel in our own &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;hometown, the entire family of seven with spouses...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;wishing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then a trip to the farm&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;our father's birthplace -&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember from babyhood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;No one else did. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It seems we all have memories&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;seperate in age and growth&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;but feel the need to get back &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;to where we have those &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;first memories. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mine are the oldest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt discounted. Mine didn't matter. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember the smoke house, now gone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember and regailed the youngest grandgirls&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;of the black snake skin hung over the cellar door...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the cows in the barn-the chickens in the coop where colored &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Easter chicks found their home....later their demise for Sunday &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Supper. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Had to catch myself when I became so overwhelmed with&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;memories I wept. Not a good thing on a happy occasion, but I'd not been back since my Grandfather died, and had only visited &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;in my dreams. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Look, there is the barn. I remember rowboating as a girl, not much &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;bigger than you, and catching fish in this river! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember corn as tall as grandpa! I remember tomatoes that filled&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;both hands. I remember running until your feet hit the chestnut hulls and &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;squeeling in pain...in pain!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember chestnut trees. I wonder if anyone else does. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;No. You can't go home again. It's never the same. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even if the Chestnut tree trunk is there, and the house has been re-roofed, and the windows have been changed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The boxwoods are gone. The smoke house has been destroyed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;...Yet, as I looked out over the hill at the barn, I could drop to my knees and visualize it as a five year old and remember. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-2352778224004598805?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/2352778224004598805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=2352778224004598805&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/2352778224004598805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/2352778224004598805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2009/03/going-home-again-you-cant.html' title='Going Home Again (You Can&apos;t)'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/ScWHW8sbEaI/AAAAAAAAAT4/6oSqNcq9RVo/s72-c/800px-Chestnut_tree.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-8386512387410617333</id><published>2009-01-22T19:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T20:10:50.647-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SXkZC12LqMI/AAAAAAAAATo/clsPBgDDsV4/s1600-h/Crocus+in+Snow"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294290373555497154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 91px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 127px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SXkZC12LqMI/AAAAAAAAATo/clsPBgDDsV4/s320/Crocus+in+Snow" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look around this place I love and think how I have neglected it for so long. Touching the table next to me, my finger draws a line in the dust. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sad, really that dust must cloud my mind. I guess I could excuse myself with preoccupation. That is not an excuse. I have neglected my blog. I have neglected my thoughts. I’m looking at the cobwebs on the ceiling and thinking I must do something. … ANYTHING !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forgive me if you are a regular reader. It’s been a tough couple of months. Allow me to appeal to you with this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steal gray skies and another threat of snow&lt;br /&gt;Worries gather in my soul&lt;br /&gt;And allow no entry of sunshine&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must fight it&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that it could defeat me&lt;br /&gt;I search for the sun&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only to look up&lt;br /&gt;And see nothing but gray&lt;br /&gt;I have no fight left&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Praying the crocus do….&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-8386512387410617333?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/8386512387410617333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=8386512387410617333&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8386512387410617333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8386512387410617333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year.html' title='The New Year'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SXkZC12LqMI/AAAAAAAAATo/clsPBgDDsV4/s72-c/Crocus+in+Snow' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-7457570721093817340</id><published>2008-12-27T21:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T21:45:03.473-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hands of Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SVboIzLYPoI/AAAAAAAAATU/2zHTVFO-wJA/s1600-h/Hands+kneeding+doe"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284666450640387714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SVboIzLYPoI/AAAAAAAAATU/2zHTVFO-wJA/s320/Hands+kneeding+doe" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I look at my hands these days and they remind me of my mother. Where in the world did these wrinkles come from? What have I done?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I tend them properly, lotions and creams. I polish my nails with a block made of silicone and diamonds. Yet...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;when I open my hands why do the remind me of my mothers? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wonder......&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-7457570721093817340?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/7457570721093817340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=7457570721093817340&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7457570721093817340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7457570721093817340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/12/hands-of-time.html' title='Hands of Time'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SVboIzLYPoI/AAAAAAAAATU/2zHTVFO-wJA/s72-c/Hands+kneeding+doe' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-866133527269336061</id><published>2008-10-30T08:34:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T08:37:54.255-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Trick and Treat!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SQmqcGXauWI/AAAAAAAAATM/nO3Ntvs-_34/s1600-h/French+Maid.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262925039281027426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 307px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SQmqcGXauWI/AAAAAAAAATM/nO3Ntvs-_34/s320/French+Maid.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Happy Halloween!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-866133527269336061?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/866133527269336061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=866133527269336061&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/866133527269336061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/866133527269336061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/10/trick-and-treat.html' title='Trick and Treat!'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SQmqcGXauWI/AAAAAAAAATM/nO3Ntvs-_34/s72-c/French+Maid.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-3927820924247694414</id><published>2008-10-07T19:41:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T19:51:06.529-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Brick Wall</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SO1HVDqvM6I/AAAAAAAAAOE/630HlzOXnrY/s1600-h/GeneWilder+1"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SO1HVDqvM6I/AAAAAAAAAOE/630HlzOXnrY/s320/GeneWilder+1" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254934767298622370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm beating my head against a brick wall tonight.  Please don't mind me while I vent a bit.  I sometimes have to actually remind myself to breath. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dan had a doctors appointment today to discuss his latest blood work-up for his cholesterol, high blood pressure etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The readings were not good.  He's off the Cholesterol medication because it hurt him, however his readings said that his Cholesterol has doubled in six months. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are eating fatty fish three times a week.  I cook and serve only olive oil.  We eat high fiber grain bread.  I've reduced salt. (His sodium levels are down) I've taken great pains to do portions and try to moderate what he eats.  He exercises.  He walks (runs) the damn dog.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell am I doing wrong?  I know he is genetically pre-dispositioned to high cholesterol, but I've read everything I could get my hands on and was doing it all right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow we start Pomagranate Juice, Grapefruit Juice and Cinnamon.  The alternative is making him take pharmacuticals that will make him feel worse than better.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blllllllllllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I could just look like Gene Wilder when he was thrown off the Silverstreak one time too many. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"sonofabitch!!!!!!!""  Stomp.  Stomp. Stomp.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-3927820924247694414?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/3927820924247694414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=3927820924247694414&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3927820924247694414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3927820924247694414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/10/brick-wall.html' title='Brick Wall'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SO1HVDqvM6I/AAAAAAAAAOE/630HlzOXnrY/s72-c/GeneWilder+1' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-1598265695254908986</id><published>2008-10-01T20:21:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T20:32:50.458-04:00</updated><title type='text'>First Fire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SOQUQtKa3bI/AAAAAAAAAN8/TB4Wk7tTkg8/s1600-h/MVC-034F.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SOQUQtKa3bI/AAAAAAAAAN8/TB4Wk7tTkg8/s320/MVC-034F.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252345342654602674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had not noticed the change &lt;br /&gt;of color or the waning mix&lt;br /&gt;of smells like used pencils&lt;br /&gt;or colors the scent of library books&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been preoccupied with the&lt;br /&gt;state of the nation&lt;br /&gt;interest rates&lt;br /&gt;the stock market&lt;br /&gt;Government has stolen &lt;br /&gt;the pure delight of autumn &lt;br /&gt;from me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had not noticed until &lt;br /&gt;it came upon me today&lt;br /&gt;full fledged fury of &lt;br /&gt;wind, rain and dropping &lt;br /&gt;temperatures…until&lt;br /&gt;I was forced to &lt;br /&gt;Cheat and light a wax log&lt;br /&gt;For heat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It served it’s purpose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything seemed mellower&lt;br /&gt;..but still it felt hurried.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-1598265695254908986?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/1598265695254908986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=1598265695254908986&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/1598265695254908986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/1598265695254908986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/10/first-fire.html' title='First Fire'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SOQUQtKa3bI/AAAAAAAAAN8/TB4Wk7tTkg8/s72-c/MVC-034F.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-8071822316223344023</id><published>2008-09-24T20:02:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T20:05:24.041-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Crisis</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNrVRwe1pCI/AAAAAAAAANs/aCQOQzcvHzE/s1600-h/Asshole"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249742816702473250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNrVRwe1pCI/AAAAAAAAANs/aCQOQzcvHzE/s320/Asshole" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was one of the lucky ones.  I knew my grandparents into my teens and had lots of time to talk to them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The economic picture in America is really rough right now.  I’m not sure we will be able to continue as we are.  Will we be able to follow the American dream and pay off our house and retire?  Will we be able to live long enough to see our grandchildren born?  Who knows.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am one of the lucky ones.  I got to speak to my grandparents about living without.  Something the kids of this day only hear about second hand.  I have the straight scoop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If it’s broken get it fixed.  If you don’t mind doing it yourself, borrow a book from the library and just simply fix it.  Don’t even think about buying a new one.  Fix it and be grateful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Store enough food to last you at least six months.  If you don’t have a freezer, learn to can.  Visit your local super store and stock up on canned meat, vegetables and fruits.  Get emergency supplies like bottled water, bread, staples like flour – sugar – etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Don’t let your gas tank go below 1/8th of a tank.  Even for short runs, make sure that gas tank is topped off.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. If the sun is shining and it’s chilly, close the windows and open the drapes.  Use the sun to heat your home.  If it’s cold, make sure you have an alternative heat supply.  Cut down trees if you have a fireplace.  Get blankets.  Wear more clothes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Stock up on your vices.  If you smoke, buy cartons.  If you drink, buy gallons.  Store things in a cool dark place.  Learn to make your own.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. If you are on prescription drugs make sure you have enough to get you through a crisis.  Fill prescriptions on a regular basis.  Keep a certain place in your home for a first aid kit.  Stock it with pain killers, aspirin, antibiotics and Band-Aids.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Don’t waste anything.  If you fix a meal and have leftovers, freeze them for a hasty lunch.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Make sure you have backup batteries for everything you own - Radios, flashlights, alarm clocks.  You will need emergency candles and fire starters for the fireplace if you have one.  I make my own firestarters from cardboard egg cartons, lint from the dryer and old candles.  Handy.  A wind up emergency radio will keep you posted in A.M. to anything unusual. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Make sure you have at least 20 gallons of water per person for drinking and cooking.  Buy containers that are food grade and keep them in a cool dry place.  Make sure the back of your toilet is always full. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Keep reading material always at hand.  Board games as well will help to keep the mind active during long black outs.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Don’t forget your pets.  Stock up on Dog, Cat or whatever food you might need in an emergency.  They have to eat too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God I had Grandparents who talked to me.  Thank God for the parents that taught me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to settle in now and listen to “W” talk about how the foxes are in the hen house.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please let us all pray for a better tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-8071822316223344023?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/8071822316223344023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=8071822316223344023&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8071822316223344023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8071822316223344023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/09/crisis.html' title='Crisis'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNrVRwe1pCI/AAAAAAAAANs/aCQOQzcvHzE/s72-c/Asshole' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-5546431971039718924</id><published>2008-09-23T19:43:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T19:45:55.690-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Book Review - The Story of Edgar Sawtelle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNl_Z1IEAmI/AAAAAAAAANk/zVqkage1dOg/s1600-h/edgar-sawtelle-190.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249366922411377250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNl_Z1IEAmI/AAAAAAAAANk/zVqkage1dOg/s320/edgar-sawtelle-190.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never do this. I don’t recommend a book to anyone. My tastes might offend someone, so I don’t recommend books, movies or recipes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will make exception in this case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you do not read another book in your lifetime, please pick up a copy of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is where I have been for the last little while. Reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was forbidden from reading at the dinner table, as my tears put a damper on polite conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was forbidden to read in the same room as my husband because my inadvertent exclamations made him uneasy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to put the book down, several times, to walk away (as it were) …but it continued to call me. “Read the next page. Read the next chapter!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I finally exhaled at the last sentence of the final chapter, I felt as if I’d lost a friend. I wanted terribly to open it again and start rereading. (The library called and there is a long list of people that want to read it so reluctantly, I have to give it up.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who reads this book will remember the dog they had as a child. They will look at their own dog and realize that the secret life and thoughts there are precious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not just a book about dogs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s about love and trust. Not simply the love and trust of an animal, although the dogs thoughts are so compelling one finds themselves in tears at the pure love. It’s about trust of family, trust of love and trust of one’s own instincts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This book doesn’t need to strain to stand alongside Steinbeck. There are references to Rudyard Kipling, but also a general feeling of Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Toss in some Steven King or Dean Koontz and you have a book worthy of becoming the next Modern Classic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go to the library and get on the list. (I’m sure there is one.) Then read it. Then if you know a boy buy it for him for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To think this is David Wroblewski’s only published piece and it took him ten years to write! This author MUST be praised. I only hope he doesn’t go into a “puppy mill” phase, forced to produce. (Pun intended)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you go to the library, down your dog – look into his or her eyes – praise him or her and give them a hug.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-5546431971039718924?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/5546431971039718924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=5546431971039718924&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5546431971039718924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5546431971039718924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/09/book-review-story-of-edgar-sawtelle.html' title='Book Review - The Story of Edgar Sawtelle'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SNl_Z1IEAmI/AAAAAAAAANk/zVqkage1dOg/s72-c/edgar-sawtelle-190.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-6354554680635511327</id><published>2008-09-08T19:38:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T19:41:35.462-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Go Feed the Birds</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SMW31XzCtlI/AAAAAAAAANQ/Bfh4tRyLq7I/s1600-h/DSCN0362.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243799468691863122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SMW31XzCtlI/AAAAAAAAANQ/Bfh4tRyLq7I/s320/DSCN0362.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want is a little peace,&lt;br /&gt;not the struggle of good and bad,&lt;br /&gt;work and rest&lt;br /&gt;good and evil&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But peace to allow myself&lt;br /&gt;to stand quietly&lt;br /&gt;for a while and remark&lt;br /&gt;on how kind things can be…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A sense of complete&lt;br /&gt;and utter balance&lt;br /&gt;in a world that&lt;br /&gt;has none&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take her for instance&lt;br /&gt;the look on her face&lt;br /&gt;of complete compliance&lt;br /&gt;as she offers a sense of &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Utter zen&lt;br /&gt;Things do not have to&lt;br /&gt;be this hard …nor this&lt;br /&gt;complicated &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll go feed the birds. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-6354554680635511327?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/6354554680635511327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=6354554680635511327&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6354554680635511327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6354554680635511327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/09/ill-go-feed-birds.html' title='I&apos;ll Go Feed the Birds'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SMW31XzCtlI/AAAAAAAAANQ/Bfh4tRyLq7I/s72-c/DSCN0362.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-5336692084512105155</id><published>2008-07-31T19:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T19:43:54.707-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ghost Story</title><content type='html'>Nothing much has changed&lt;br /&gt;since her fall from grace&lt;br /&gt;a few glasses of drink&lt;br /&gt;and he says "I’m going to bed."&lt;br /&gt;She echoes, "I’ll race you!"&lt;br /&gt;Next thing she knows&lt;br /&gt;she’s hit her head and&lt;br /&gt;fallen&lt;br /&gt;fallen&lt;br /&gt;fallen&lt;br /&gt;through the banister&lt;br /&gt;to the sofa below&lt;br /&gt;cracking her back&lt;br /&gt;and injuring her shoulder&lt;br /&gt;and arm&lt;br /&gt;and ribs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as she bites his finger&lt;br /&gt;while he tries to clear&lt;br /&gt;airways and start C.P.R.&lt;br /&gt;He - screaming her name all&lt;br /&gt;the while&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She knows she has bought tomatoes –&lt;br /&gt;they sit on the railings on the deck&lt;br /&gt;turning blood red –She picked corn&lt;br /&gt;all on her own and found it odd the&lt;br /&gt;farmer wouldn’t take her cash -&lt;br /&gt;and cleaned bathrooms and&lt;br /&gt;vacuumed –even considered&lt;br /&gt;painting the hall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if she could find the energy again&lt;br /&gt;but her arm hurts and her ribs and&lt;br /&gt;that nasty shoulder that doesn’t want&lt;br /&gt;to heal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She watched him tonight, sharpening her&lt;br /&gt;knives, the ones she used the most&lt;br /&gt;Walking the dog that doesn’t seem to want&lt;br /&gt;anything more from her – but wants to&lt;br /&gt;whine more than usual&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as she turns on the water to rinse a pan- and he sharply&lt;br /&gt;turns it off&lt;br /&gt;then up to bed he goes as she sets the timer on the&lt;br /&gt;dishwasher and adds to the load&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curling into him, speaking over the noise of the television she asks&lt;br /&gt;"Did I die in the fall?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He doesn’t hear her. Just –&lt;br /&gt;Curls into his pillow and cries.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-5336692084512105155?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/5336692084512105155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=5336692084512105155&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5336692084512105155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5336692084512105155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/07/ghost-story.html' title='Ghost Story'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-7976291628671954433</id><published>2008-07-15T14:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T15:01:05.768-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Invisible Woman</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SHzzvefz-yI/AAAAAAAAANI/9x3y83IvGu4/s1600-h/Invisible+Woman"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223317664808827682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SHzzvefz-yI/AAAAAAAAANI/9x3y83IvGu4/s320/Invisible+Woman" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me the invisible woman&lt;br /&gt;raised by a mother in&lt;br /&gt;the late 50’s or early 60’s&lt;br /&gt;helping out around the house&lt;br /&gt;while she worked – often late&lt;br /&gt;to help put food on the&lt;br /&gt;table&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;clothes (the right ones)&lt;br /&gt;on our backs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Attending high school&lt;br /&gt;in the 70’s&lt;br /&gt;where young women were&lt;br /&gt;encouraged to “HAVE IT ALL!”&lt;br /&gt;career and family&lt;br /&gt;it could be ours&lt;br /&gt;and I bought it&lt;br /&gt;hook&lt;br /&gt;line&lt;br /&gt;and anchor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I attended college -&lt;br /&gt;was going to be&lt;br /&gt;the next Barbara Walters&lt;br /&gt;or better yet&lt;br /&gt;some hot new reporter&lt;br /&gt;cracking the big story&lt;br /&gt;getting kudos from&lt;br /&gt;my peers&lt;br /&gt;maybe a big city&lt;br /&gt;or a big fish&lt;br /&gt;in&lt;br /&gt;a&lt;br /&gt;small pond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I regret it -&lt;br /&gt;not one sweet&lt;br /&gt;moment of&lt;br /&gt;my decision&lt;br /&gt;to marry and&lt;br /&gt;have a family&lt;br /&gt;Never has there&lt;br /&gt;been one regret -&lt;br /&gt;my children are my&lt;br /&gt;life and it has&lt;br /&gt;been a good one-&lt;br /&gt;a very&lt;br /&gt;good&lt;br /&gt;one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But late at&lt;br /&gt;night when the&lt;br /&gt;dog is snoring&lt;br /&gt;louder than the&lt;br /&gt;husband&lt;br /&gt;and my eyes open&lt;br /&gt;involuntarily -&lt;br /&gt;I watch the invisible woman&lt;br /&gt;listen to the wolves named&lt;br /&gt;Incompetence and&lt;br /&gt;Fear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-7976291628671954433?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/7976291628671954433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=7976291628671954433&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7976291628671954433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7976291628671954433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/07/invisible-woman.html' title='The Invisible Woman'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SHzzvefz-yI/AAAAAAAAANI/9x3y83IvGu4/s72-c/Invisible+Woman' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-7101959491284982312</id><published>2008-06-12T21:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T21:30:13.938-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Marco! Polo!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SFHNKlBRECI/AAAAAAAAANA/hRcriQPHyKg/s1600-h/Baby+Playing"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211171825464184866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SFHNKlBRECI/AAAAAAAAANA/hRcriQPHyKg/s320/Baby+Playing" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hear the children in their pool next door singing "Marco! Pollo!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never learned that game. I was thrust into the world of laps and times and competitive swimming early in my years. I never figured out the rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, my front door neighbor proudly showed off her one year old son. She is so endeared of his accomplishments. He sees my dog in the front yard and says "Daw! Daw! Daw!" He is crawling all over the sidewalk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made me chew the inside of my mouth. He should be saying Mamma. Dadaaa. Daog, Cat. House. Water. Eat. Pee. Poop. Hot……etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are young and happy with his progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chew the inside of my mouth because at his age, my children were running; not walking and forming complete sentences. I am not delusional in thinking and remembering this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the fourth grade, my oldest read "The Lord of the Flies" and understood it and wrote a complete narrative explaining it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a fine line - One that intercedes and one that leaves things alone and allows them to become comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think tomorrow he learns to say Mama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But not in an interfering way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all starts with play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marco! Pollo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-7101959491284982312?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/7101959491284982312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=7101959491284982312&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7101959491284982312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7101959491284982312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/06/marco-polo.html' title='Marco! Polo!'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SFHNKlBRECI/AAAAAAAAANA/hRcriQPHyKg/s72-c/Baby+Playing' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-7181624921240013682</id><published>2008-06-01T19:44:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T17:23:42.721-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Interlude</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SEM2x2WQ2gI/AAAAAAAAAM4/O5H481OdNTE/s1600-h/Black+Dog"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207065824200808962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SEM2x2WQ2gI/AAAAAAAAAM4/O5H481OdNTE/s320/Black+Dog" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life has a way of knocking one back a few pegs &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and setting up the blocks again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;to tease you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;taunt you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;aggrivate you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like a black dog living &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;in the alley way&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;none of this has to be true&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snarling black dog in the &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;alley way&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You have to believe... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;it's not you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or your kid&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~Your one true love~&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hitting the bricks alone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your only heart aches&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Trying to make things better for him&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;knowing that your efforts are dead&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;clearly hoping for his best interests&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Knowing he has to face this alone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alone: alone is a hard word&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's a difficult word&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;is a hard word for a parent to hear&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Black dog sitting in the alley way&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;someone wants to come home&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;snarling comes from independence&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think someone needs a good bone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-7181624921240013682?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/7181624921240013682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=7181624921240013682&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7181624921240013682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/7181624921240013682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/06/interlude.html' title='Interlude'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SEM2x2WQ2gI/AAAAAAAAAM4/O5H481OdNTE/s72-c/Black+Dog' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-6525841180889623285</id><published>2008-05-29T14:12:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T14:21:48.091-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Seventeen Year Locust</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SD7yZwaMmCI/AAAAAAAAAMw/A5UWzw0v1IA/s1600-h/cicada-may08.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205864743592302626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SD7yZwaMmCI/AAAAAAAAAMw/A5UWzw0v1IA/s320/cicada-may08.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;Picture Courtesy of Rick Lee: Charleston WV&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The seventeen year locusts have attacked. Hundreds of thousands of them are whirring through my woods. The sound is deafening - like a million tiny buzz saws moving through the trees. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;These nasty bugs erupt from the ground every seventeen years, shed their exoskeleton and fly into the tree tops. Here they nibble on the leaves, breed, drop their larvae to the ground where they burrow into the ground. The larvae feed on the tender roots of the trees and seventeen years later, we have it all again. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's both facinating and gross at the same time!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;P.S.  Today is my birthday.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-6525841180889623285?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/6525841180889623285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=6525841180889623285&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6525841180889623285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6525841180889623285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/05/seventeen-year-locust.html' title='Seventeen Year Locust'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SD7yZwaMmCI/AAAAAAAAAMw/A5UWzw0v1IA/s72-c/cicada-may08.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-5435890399558322379</id><published>2008-05-17T19:37:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T09:50:31.851-04:00</updated><title type='text'>God Help Me One Day.</title><content type='html'>I was on the hunt for flowers. Just not any flowers, but something special for my window box outside my kitchen window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking in front of the local Kroger store, I noticed a woman in her 80’s pushing a grocery cart.&lt;br /&gt;I smiled at her. She smiled at me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I moved on to check out the flowers on the "front porch" finding that I didn’t want to buy a complete flat of flowers. "Do they not understand that one doesn’t want a flat? Can’t I just buy a few ?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking back to the car, the little old woman was suddenly in front of me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I lost my car."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You what?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I lost my car. I can’t find my car."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who drove you here?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No one, I drove myself," she said in broken English.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What kind of car do you have?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It’s a Cadillac CTS." She replied."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, Do you have a keybob with an alarm? "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She fished in her pocket and brought out the keybob with about seven functions on it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I tell you what. Why don’t you walk out there and push the horn buttons and aim it in the direction of your car. The alarm will sound and then you can find your car. "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked away for a few minutes to find my husband. I was sure he would be exiting the store with our purchases at this time. I met him at the door. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I was trying to explain to him my strange experience, I heard a car alarm go off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I’ll be back in a minute."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three isles over, she stood in bewilderment, trying to follow the sound of the alarm, across a very busy parking lot, her groceries still sitting on the curb. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you hear it?" I asked her as I approached her. "It’s right over there." By now I was pointing to the noise. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I thank you so much, my dear."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just have to smile. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God help me. One day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-5435890399558322379?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/5435890399558322379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=5435890399558322379&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5435890399558322379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/5435890399558322379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-was-on-hunt-for-flowers.html' title='God Help Me One Day.'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-9067917680382296539</id><published>2008-05-13T18:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T18:27:09.374-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Primary</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCoVRxQXMeI/AAAAAAAAAMg/aijZp0a6i_U/s1600-h/800px-Suffrage_parade-New_York_City-May_6_1912.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199992114776584674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCoVRxQXMeI/AAAAAAAAAMg/aijZp0a6i_U/s320/800px-Suffrage_parade-New_York_City-May_6_1912.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I voted today. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just before I walked into the high school to cast my ballet, I said a prayer of thanks for my mother, my grandmothers and my great-grandmothers. I thanked them for the honor and the privilege – no, the inalienable right to vote in a national election. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This evening, watching the news, I saw a young black mother leading her daughter by the hand to the election polls. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was happy for her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope she remembered to say a prayer as well. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-9067917680382296539?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/9067917680382296539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=9067917680382296539&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/9067917680382296539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/9067917680382296539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/05/primary.html' title='Primary'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCoVRxQXMeI/AAAAAAAAAMg/aijZp0a6i_U/s72-c/800px-Suffrage_parade-New_York_City-May_6_1912.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-3267719261611107648</id><published>2008-05-07T19:38:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T19:50:55.836-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What Do You Get?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCJAJWT38jI/AAAAAAAAAMY/RrDOXBM1pRE/s1600-h/Analog+Clock"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197787449290912306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCJAJWT38jI/AAAAAAAAAMY/RrDOXBM1pRE/s400/Analog+Clock" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;What do you get the woman that has had everything? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've looked at cards. I've searched the web. I've opted for anything worthy of my seventy-four year old Mother and I for the life of me am stuck!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got her rose bushes last year, but she had nowhere to plant them. In years past I have purchased for her things she might enjoy, but she never mentioned them after. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;What do I do? What do I do? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I adore my Mom. If I could give her the world, I would. I would lasso the moon. I would capture the sun's light. I would turn back time!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mother's Day is such a cruel trick on children who have lived long enough to be their mother's age. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-3267719261611107648?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/3267719261611107648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=3267719261611107648&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3267719261611107648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3267719261611107648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-do-you-get.html' title='What Do You Get?'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SCJAJWT38jI/AAAAAAAAAMY/RrDOXBM1pRE/s72-c/Analog+Clock' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-3652148474007479571</id><published>2008-05-01T19:46:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T20:03:48.300-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Darwinism</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBpZtBb22jI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/AiMIsCw_xf0/s1600-h/Bible.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195563750139550258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBpZtBb22jI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/AiMIsCw_xf0/s320/Bible.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My father will kill me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband and I were talking on the deck tonight, between martinis, about religion and faith. I was raised a Methodist, as was he. The only problem is, we've lost our Methodist faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I explained to him that as long as my trees come back every year and fill my soul with green, I believe that God has smiled on me through nature. He agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We discussed "The Money Changers" in the Bible. How religion has become so tainted with people that expect to be paid for doing the work of the Holy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet the trees, the land, the Earth doesn't expect payment, only respect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not to say that the Ten Commandments can not be honored. They are probably the first instructions for a civilized life. Then add to that the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does that not bring us back to the land and our brethren?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all comes back to respect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have raised two males to respect us and the land and each other. Should I have given them a sense of the cosmic? Should I have lied to them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world and the word is awsome, and should be studied. However, in this life to be sensible and calm and appreciate what is given is most appropriate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I said, my father is going to kill me for this. I'm sorry Daddy. These are my beliefs. Blame it on the Darwin Youth Minister you had fired when I was fifteen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-3652148474007479571?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/3652148474007479571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=3652148474007479571&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3652148474007479571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/3652148474007479571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/05/darwinism.html' title='Darwinism'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBpZtBb22jI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/AiMIsCw_xf0/s72-c/Bible.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-4707058344281031912</id><published>2008-04-29T19:36:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T19:52:10.744-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rescuing Lilac</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBexORb22iI/AAAAAAAAAMI/J-UZ6w3_8ek/s1600-h/MVC-029F.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194815553951685154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBexORb22iI/AAAAAAAAAMI/J-UZ6w3_8ek/s400/MVC-029F.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;There I am&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;in my slippers &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;sweater covering my ears&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;rescuing my lilacs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to cut them to death - bring them &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The fragrance is &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;is beyond heady&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;some of the blossoms lost&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but rescuing my lilacs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;before the last frost &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;helped me remember&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;a good lot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The crabbapple will suffer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;lost one this last year&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;the peepers have stopped &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;calling &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I fear&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But rescuing my lilacs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I know, it's not right&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to allow one's self to &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;consider the plight&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Of one luscious blossom&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and bring it inside&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But rescuing the Lilac&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Gives me such pride.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My mother did the same&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;twenty-nine years ago&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;while I sat on a stoop&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;in my bath robe and moped.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My wedding day&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;she did the same&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;she rescued the lilacs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I do to this day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-4707058344281031912?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/4707058344281031912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=4707058344281031912&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/4707058344281031912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/4707058344281031912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/04/rescuing-lilac.html' title='Rescuing Lilac'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SBexORb22iI/AAAAAAAAAMI/J-UZ6w3_8ek/s72-c/MVC-029F.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-2271672808695018399</id><published>2008-04-24T19:48:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T20:08:47.561-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meme.  ME! ME!</title><content type='html'>I've been tagged again by my dear friend Minx. (Has she nothing better to do that interrupt my slumbers?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was snoring and drooling and then got hit with this. First on her list no less, just to see if I'm awake. Thanks for the wake up call, Kate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the rules:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Pick up the nearest book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Open to page 123.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Find the fifth sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Post the next three sentences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been reading a lot, trying to stoke the fire that has been long since become a smolder. Here is the book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bloodroot: An Appalachian Woman's Anthology:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember not being amazed that the only thing they would buy in town was coffee and sugar, that everything else needed was either made or grown or bartered for. I rememeber that marveling at how cruel the cycles of mother earth could be, but that it just wasI remember how we always planted a seedling for anything important in the family: births, deaths and weddings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you to Minx: &lt;a href="http://innerminx.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://innerminx.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I "TAG"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack: &lt;a href="http://cappuccinoheights.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://cappuccinoheights.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna: &lt;a href="http://anna-pendragon.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://anna-pendragon.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sammy: &lt;a href="http://hudson-chronicles.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://hudson-chronicles.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soulless: &lt;a href="http://unguarded--utterance.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://unguarded--utterance.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seamus:  &lt;a href="http://shamelesswords.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://shamelesswords.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-2271672808695018399?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/2271672808695018399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=2271672808695018399&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/2271672808695018399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/2271672808695018399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/04/meme-me-me.html' title='Meme.  ME! ME!'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-6241196276363109365</id><published>2008-04-13T19:37:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-13T19:50:22.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Holding Spencer</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SAKZeiPQikI/AAAAAAAAAL4/x2tjlS5VYnk/s1600-h/Female+Arm"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188878470550161986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SAKZeiPQikI/AAAAAAAAAL4/x2tjlS5VYnk/s320/Female+Arm" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Woke up this morning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;deeply in pain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;figuring I'd fallen &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;last night some time in &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;my perambulisms&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I said nothing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;fixed breakfast for the family&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;lifting frying pans&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;cleaning pots&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;concerned I was dying&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;until&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I mentioned this evening &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to my husband &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;that my ribs hurt so badly&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;like I'd been punched&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"What have I done?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"You held Spencer yesterday&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;for over an hour."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;he replied simply&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He must have been paying attention.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It's been years since I've&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;had a 'Babe in Arms'. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I would carry my own babies&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;for hours, relentlessly&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but my body has grown so old, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;it turns on me at times&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;...but holding Spencer, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;for an hour while his mother&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Simply ate her meal, feeling&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;him strain against me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;caring for that tiny body&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;already, at four and a half months, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;recovering from two &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Open heart surgeries&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hold Spencer, while he wanted &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;his mother&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and watching as he learned to &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;follow my voice with his &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;eyes, grasping at toys&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;passing gas;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and holding Spencer,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Just holding him&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I fell in love. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I wonder if my body &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;was out of practice or&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;simply absorbing &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;some of his pain? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-6241196276363109365?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/6241196276363109365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=6241196276363109365&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6241196276363109365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6241196276363109365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/04/holding-spencer.html' title='Holding Spencer'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/SAKZeiPQikI/AAAAAAAAAL4/x2tjlS5VYnk/s72-c/Female+Arm' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-6599916572101812513</id><published>2008-03-26T22:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T22:15:31.552-04:00</updated><title type='text'>An Interesting Experience</title><content type='html'>The strangest thing happened this afternoon.  I was on the deck sitting in the sun reading a book, when the dog went completely bolistic.  I got up to pull her from the front windows when the door bell rang and then the front door opened.  I thought it was an intruder and I yelled, "NO!".  The door slammed shut. I got the dog under control and stepped out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One lone little boy about the age of 4 1/2 or 5 standing there with my doggy door bell in his hand.  I asked if I could have it back and he handed it to me, then opened his arms and wrapped them around my legs and said "Hiiiiiiii!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where do you live?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he repeated, "Where do you live?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is your name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is your name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took him to the end of the sidewalk, knowing there were new neighbors at the end of the street.  "You want to show me where you live?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You want to show me where you live?"  he repeated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started walking.  I didn't know what to do.  We came to the first house with a playground in the front yard.  "Is this where you live?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"PBS Kids rule!" he started singing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked, hand in hand up to the front door where I rang the bell.  I could see people there but they didn't answer the door.  "Is this where you live?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There is a playground!  Is this where you live?" &lt;br /&gt;"What is your name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He repeated.  "What is your name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We continued up the culdisac hand in hand.  I would ask a question and he would repeat it.  I could hear something in the woods and as I got closer I could hear a frantic screams of a woman calling "Antonio!  Come home Antonio!  I love you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we got closer to the house I started calling, "I found your little boy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closer to her house she heard me.  She came out of the woods weeping hysterically.  Calling "Antonio!  Antonio!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think she hugged me three times.  I told her to calm down, her boy was home and if I could ever help again, please call my cell. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart wrenched for her.  I can't imagine having a child missing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me, "He is Autistic and has moderate RA."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just know I found a new friend....and I don't mind running a sweep the next time he decides to go on the lamb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was an Angel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called Ian's Jennifer later to explain his symptoms.  She said it was Echo Autism.  But can I tell you the pure joy of holding his hand and talking to him?  Like a visit from God himself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-6599916572101812513?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/6599916572101812513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=6599916572101812513&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6599916572101812513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/6599916572101812513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/03/interesting-experience.html' title='An Interesting Experience'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33026671.post-8071693372821168849</id><published>2008-03-20T19:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T19:19:31.383-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Expect Any Easter Eggs.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/R-Lw67TSv2I/AAAAAAAAALw/l2U9sv8HDf0/s1600-h/Easter+Dog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179967416571182946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/R-Lw67TSv2I/AAAAAAAAALw/l2U9sv8HDf0/s320/Easter+Dog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33026671-8071693372821168849?l=turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/feeds/8071693372821168849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33026671&amp;postID=8071693372821168849&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8071693372821168849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33026671/posts/default/8071693372821168849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://turnthepage-roberta.blogspot.com/2008/03/dont-expect-any-easter-eggs.html' title='Don&apos;t Expect Any Easter Eggs.'/><author><name>Roberta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13055713935608766794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='06678052903603412354'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_sGQVgmhiZyM/R-Lw67TSv2I/AAAAAAAAALw/l2U9sv8HDf0/s72-c/Easter+Dog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry></feed>