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Posted on 01/24/2007 5:59:47 PM PST by AZamericonnie
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Prayers for Jonathan.
Thank him for his service.
Thank you...I sure will...
You got that right! LOL!
For any of us.
Can be the best 2 seconds of your day!:)
Gizmo sounds like a perfect addition your life. My lil' Daisy dog brings me such joy.
But I still have my "Calgon" Days! LOLOL
Good evening Grammy....actually the thought of you holding Piper makes me smile too! *Hugs*
That isn't going to happen, those days are a few months off! The worst that's going to happen is that you're going to catch Mom and Dad napping after spending all night up with Piper.
Where the warm cuddles are
The light travels slower
As it shifts down to yellow
(put in spiral flourescent bulbs. They take a momment to come on, and the light is yellow. The delay is obvious, and funny.)
the roaring fire and embers glow,
the yellow burns to a golden red.
comfort of being home, together.
(Hey, we had a nice fire.)
Dog on a rooftop
Snake in the glass
Wanting Relief
Rat in a cage
(The damn golden retriver jumped out on the roof, trying to get my daughter's potato chips. I had to climb up there and toss her down. Meanwhile, my kid's boa is about to starve to death, because the stupid rat he bought is too big, and the damn snake won't eat it. I now have a pet rat. sheez.)
this is sounding more like a zoo,
than home. oh yeah, we live at the zoo.
(Wife complaining, that's what they do.)
kids in the choir
statuary hall
doors begin to open
(Wife in the choir, in the statuary hall, when we were kids. All the congressmen opened their doors, to hear her sing. She has her good points.)
the quiet girl on the stairs
watches the menagerie
passing by like a parade
(Same wife, quiet girl, story under seperate cover. Met her on the stairs, in my house. She was watching the world go by.)
dark brown eyes
a soul glowing through
it was always you, babe
(As stated.)
Happy Birthday to you.
ONE MINUTE EACH NIGHT AT 9 P.M.
ONE MINUTE EACH NIGHT. In WWII, there was an advisor to Churchill who organized a group of people who dropped what they were doing every night at a prescribed hour for one minute to collectively pray for the safety of England, its people and peace.
There is now a group of people organizing the same thing here in America. If you would like to participate: Each evening at 9:00 PM Eastern Time (8:00 PM Central) (6:00 PM Pacific), stop whatever you are doing and spend one minute praying for the safety of the United States, our troops, our citizens, and for a Godly nation. If you know anyone who would like to participate, please pass this along. Someone said if Christians really understood the full extent of the power we have available through prayer, we might be speechless. Our prayers are the most powerful asset we have. Together, we "CAN" make a difference!
Thank You, and God Bless America!
Oh, Connie! Thanks.
It's still hard to believe it's really real! :D
LOL! That would be even worse.
I woke her up once this week already...must NOT do it again! Egad!
Welcome to the Canteen, Yorlik803.....cats and dogs sure do like being petted under their chins.
So noted...
Hehehehe!!!!! That's funny when I saw the title of the thread I came to name YOU! ROFL
Awwwww....you was a cutie!
Walking into the house, he slammed the door. At least thirty people milled around in the living room, laughing and drinking beer. "Crap," he thought, "my brother is having another God damned party! I don't have the time to deal with this."
He maneuvered his way through the crowd, leaving a wake of spilled beer and mutters. He knew nobody would notice any new stains on the tangerine-painted walls. That particular color was his parent's idea of compromise - Mom wanted red, Dad wanted yellow. The result – the sunny side of tangerine It was, at best, putrid.
Jockeying his way to the stairs, he blew off the crowd, intent on spending the rest of that night by himself.
Waiting on the stairs, a surprise.
He turned the corner, to go up the stairs and found more beer swilling teens. Amidst the vertical crowd sat a young girl, quiet as a mouse.
She had brown hair, brown eyes, bangs to her eyebrows with long, straight hair running to her shoulders. Wearing jeans and a white oxford shirt, colored with little stars and stripes. The little stars, a pale blue, were just the color of his eyes.
He stopped, looked into her eyes and his world stopped – then tilted.
For a moment, it was if the party vanished, and fell silent. Who was this girl, this brown eyed beauty? What was she doing in his house? Why did he have this feeling that something was...different? For those few moments, they stared at each other, intrigued, but not uttering a sound. The tension between them was palpable, almost electric.
Years later, he would remember that she was wearing a possessive grin, like a girl with a new piece of jewelry.
There was something here –they both knew it, but neither could put it into words. How do you put this in words? They were both too young, too new, even trying was out of the question. He was 17, she, 15. They were speachless in the moment.
Then that instant, a long skinny instant, was over. The boisterous party bulled its way back into his head again, as he slipped past her and silently up the stairs, finding the solitude of his room.
What would she have done, if I had said to her what I know now?
"You are going to marry me, and we will have three children. Twenty years down the road, we will still be married - but only because you love me."
I love you, my wife.
Merry Christmas.
PS - if you ever cut your hair, I get the Mustang back.
mine
mine
?
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