<?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' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518</id><updated>2011-04-21T13:58:57.249-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a ribbon at a time</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>32</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-116053598410746692</id><published>2006-10-10T22:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-11T09:29:45.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>new ways of loving</title><content type='html'>two people i love with abandoment sang &lt;a href="http://www.wideawake.com/www/wa_main.html"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; song to me.  they sang it to me in the lobby of m.d. anderson hospital.  i walked in and there they were, one playing guitar and singing, the other singing while grabbing me in her arms and dancing.  right there ... singing and dancing, and crying.  they are teaching me new ways of saying 'i love you'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after too many months/years i finally understand.  my cancer is not just my cancer.  this damned thing has invaded all those who love me.  we are all survivors.  we will all liveSTRONG.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-116053598410746692?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/116053598410746692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=116053598410746692&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/116053598410746692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/116053598410746692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/10/new-ways-of-loving.html' title='new ways of loving'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115873012856390049</id><published>2006-09-20T00:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-20T00:30:17.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>please listen</title><content type='html'>a friend shared this with me today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;when i ask you to listen to me and you start giving me advice, you have not done what i asked. &lt;br /&gt;when i ask you to listen to me and you begin to tell me why i shouldn't feel that way, you are trampling on my feelings.  &lt;br /&gt;when i ask you to listen to me and you feel you have to do something to solve my problem, you have failed me, strange as that may seem.  &lt;br /&gt;listen!  &lt;br /&gt;all i ask is that you listen.  &lt;br /&gt;don't talk or do -- just understand me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115873012856390049?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115873012856390049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115873012856390049&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115873012856390049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115873012856390049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/09/please-listen.html' title='please listen'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115863222430689936</id><published>2006-09-18T20:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T21:17:04.406-05:00</updated><title type='text'>long distant call</title><content type='html'>i picked up the phone to call you today.  it wasn't until i pulled up my contact list that i remembered deleting your number after the memorial service.   i called your number anyway.  i don't know what i expected.  maybe your husband or son and i would pretend to be calling to say hello, to see how they are doing.  at the very least i hoped to reach your family, a connection to you.  but the phone had been disconnected.  i felt so very alone.  i needed to talk.  i needed someone who would understand.  the type of understanding that comes from traveling the same path.  i didn't need tears, worries or jokes to make light of the situation.  i needed to be heard.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i sat in the parking garage and cried.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i hate taking this journey alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;missing you,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115863222430689936?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115863222430689936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115863222430689936&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115863222430689936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115863222430689936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/09/long-distant-call.html' title='long distant call'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115859813895615771</id><published>2006-09-18T11:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T11:48:58.980-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i've come undone.  a cintrfuge.  spinning. spinning.  pieces of me breaking apart - flung wildly to the four winds.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;can i put myself back together? will the pieces find their way to the right spot?  or will time only smush the pieces here and there, a hodgepodge, out-of-order version of who i could be, who i should be, who i am meant to be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've come undone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115859813895615771?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115859813895615771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115859813895615771&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115859813895615771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115859813895615771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/09/ive-come-undone.html' title=''/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115742833638487337</id><published>2006-09-04T22:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-04T22:53:01.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>high on life</title><content type='html'>what a strange weekend.  i've felt surprisingly jovial despite several issues that are weighing heavily on my heart and mind:  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/morning%20sunflower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/200/morning%20sunflower.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*homelife   &lt;br /&gt;*lonesome for two friends, one i lost to cancer the other to apathy/neglect.  despite the cause, i miss them all the same&lt;br /&gt;*side-effect of chemo may prove to be more dangerous than the cancer.  more appts, more procedures&lt;br /&gt;*anxiety over choices&lt;br /&gt;*worry about my parents and their care.  they are so far away and aging rapidly.&lt;br /&gt;*more, too much more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so why jovial?  I DON'T KNOW.  maybe its just life.  life!  as corny as it sounds, i'm high on life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115742833638487337?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115742833638487337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115742833638487337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115742833638487337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115742833638487337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/09/high-on-life.html' title='high on life'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115726257895675278</id><published>2006-09-03T00:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-03T00:49:38.970-05:00</updated><title type='text'>marco</title><content type='html'>marco called friday. marco is one of 'my' research nurses.  during treatment marco or rhodette would call at least twice weekly.  i always enjoyed hearing from them.  it was a joy to hear his voice this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;what has occupied my thoughts since the phone call are my friends.  you see, marco asked about my friends, by name.  he knows my friends!  i am not surprised he remembers them; i confess they are all unique characters.  marco mentioned that he typically does not meet the friends of the patients.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i have been overwhelmed with the thought of gratitude.  how grateful i am to have friends who stood beside me, held my hand, inconvenienced themselves to be with me during some unpleasant and difficult times.  think about it.  they took off work, some also had to arrange child care, some drove extended distances just to spend hours and hours in a hospital.  i was not the best of company or friend during these times.  i was scared, in pain, and sick. and they did all of this for what?  for me!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so today's thought of gratitude is friends.  not only the friends themselves, but the comfort in knowing the depth of commitment of true friendship.  i pray that i, too, will be as dedicated of a friend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115726257895675278?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115726257895675278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115726257895675278&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115726257895675278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115726257895675278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/09/marco.html' title='marco'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115707440238480576</id><published>2006-08-31T20:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-31T20:33:22.396-05:00</updated><title type='text'>roller coasters</title><content type='html'>i am a contradiction in emotions.  i am high and distraught at the same time.  i seem to have no inbetweens.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i want to live inbetween.  it is safer there, cozy and warm.  i am too exhausted to 'feel' the true depths of what lies just beneath the surface, too frightened to face what i know to be waiting.  i am searching for a safe place to rest, to regain my strength.  i need energy on reserve to ride this roller coaster, the highs and the lows.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115707440238480576?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115707440238480576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115707440238480576&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115707440238480576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115707440238480576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/roller-coasters.html' title='roller coasters'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115620505054881667</id><published>2006-08-21T18:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-21T19:04:43.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'>why me?</title><content type='html'>when i was first diagnosed i attend the "40 and under" support group.  the name had nothing to do with our ages. it was the nickname coined to discribe our prognosis, less than 40% chance of making "it".  specifically making it 5 yrs.  it was a depressing group (go figure), so i only attended a few times. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i remember my last session.  one brave soul said something we all would think at some point in our battle, "why me?"  a young woman in her 20's simply replied, "why not me!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHY NOT ME!  this declaration has haunted me for 3 yrs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today i was told that i am cancer free.  did you hear me?  IN THIS MOMENT OF TIME, I AM CANCER FREE!  bitter sweet news.  in the past 3 yrs i have met some amazing people.  i have loved and lost friends.  most recently i had to say goodbye to a close friend whose life dramatically changed me and  whose death has left a hole in my heart, in my spirit.  why didn't she survive?  why? then that old question flooded my thoughts, why am i the one that is cancer free?  WHY ME?  and as hard as it was to accept the first time i heard the question voiced, deep down i heard that young woman whisper, "why not me!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115620505054881667?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115620505054881667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115620505054881667&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115620505054881667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115620505054881667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/why-me.html' title='why me?'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115492307696191563</id><published>2006-08-06T22:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-06T22:57:56.976-05:00</updated><title type='text'>whack</title><content type='html'>whack-a-mole sunday - means monday has to be better!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115492307696191563?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115492307696191563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115492307696191563&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115492307696191563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115492307696191563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/whack.html' title='whack'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115484037363641759</id><published>2006-08-05T23:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-06T00:09:25.386-05:00</updated><title type='text'>chant</title><content type='html'>i chanted tonight.  i haven't seriously chanted in months.   &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/chakra%20poster%20500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/200/chakra%20poster%20500.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;tonight i joined a group of more than 50.  the unison drone and rhythm were simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating.  i could feel the vibrations deep in my chest.  so much has been on my mind and in my heart, building up for months maybe even yrs.  in the middle of chant i began weeping uncontrollably.  for no reason, for every reason.  it was a cleansing and rejuvenating evening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115484037363641759?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115484037363641759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115484037363641759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115484037363641759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115484037363641759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/chant.html' title='chant'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115465722526213813</id><published>2006-08-03T21:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T21:07:05.273-05:00</updated><title type='text'>loss</title><content type='html'>how do you help someone who is grieving?  please tell me because i am at a loss.  i see in my friend's eyes the deep pain and i have no words to comfort.  my heart aches for her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115465722526213813?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115465722526213813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115465722526213813&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115465722526213813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115465722526213813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/loss.html' title='loss'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115458604924288490</id><published>2006-08-03T01:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T01:24:53.106-05:00</updated><title type='text'>reason, moment, season, lifetime</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;old friends,&lt;br /&gt;old friends&lt;br /&gt;sat on their park bench&lt;br /&gt;like bookends.&lt;br /&gt;a newspaper blown though the grass&lt;br /&gt;falls on the round toes&lt;br /&gt;of the high shoes&lt;br /&gt;of the old friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;old friends,&lt;br /&gt;winter companions,&lt;br /&gt;the old men&lt;br /&gt;lost in their overcoats,&lt;br /&gt;waiting for the sunset.&lt;br /&gt;the sounds of the city,&lt;br /&gt;sifting through trees,&lt;br /&gt;settle like dust&lt;br /&gt;on the shoulders&lt;br /&gt;of the old friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;can you imagine us&lt;br /&gt;years from today,&lt;br /&gt;sharing a park bench quietly? &lt;br /&gt;how terribly strange&lt;br /&gt;to be seventy.&lt;br /&gt;old friends,&lt;br /&gt;memory brushes the same years&lt;br /&gt;silently sharing the same fears&lt;br /&gt;            ......  paul simon&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friends fit into different categories.  we all know this is true.  each plays an important role in our life but each role is distinct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friends 'for a reason'.  those that we meet because our children are on the same little league team, attend the same place of worship, etc.  we enjoy each others' company, but it rarely extends past the environment or reason that brought us together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friends 'for a moment'.  these friendships serve great purpose but only for a brief time.  like a match that burns hot and soon dies. these friendships have have a short shelf life.  for me, these friendships help during specific times and almost seem predestined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friends 'for a season'.  a season in life:  youth, high school, college, early parenting, etc.  we remember these friendships with great fondness.  these are the people who have shared our history.  this is why we enjoy reunions - we relive that place in time - but after the reunion we rarely see one another again, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;at least for 10 yrs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friends 'for a lifetime'.  we are lucky to find a lifetime friend.  most do not find this in marriage, not with over 50% of marriages ending in divorce.  so who are these friends?  these are the friends that you know "will be there" without you having to ask.  these are the friends that are not impeded by distance or circumstances.  these are the friends that can always count on you and you on them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my friend "d" and i have always said we would stick together not only through "thick and thin" but also "sick and sin", and there have been equal amounts of each from both of us. but it is not just "d".  i have come to realize how sincerely blessed i am.  last week i had surgery.  my cancer had metastasized.  i tried to make light of it, but the seriousness was obvious.  as i walked into admit, early in the morning, i was met by "d", a.l. and father s.  they were there for me and for my son who was struggling with what was happening.  it was a relief, a comfort, to know that they would be there for him.  before the surgery i saw my minister (friend for a reason).  when i came-to, i was greet by 2 more life chums.  later in the afternoon r.c. showed up and stayed until the next morning.  he had good company, because "d" did not leave either.   how did this happen?  how did i wind-up with so many friends for a lifetime?  i know that i could ask anything of these friends and they of me.  even better, we don't have to ask - we are just "there" without asking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i cherish all of my friendships:  reason, moment, season and lifetime.  each fills a need and place in my growth and life and hopefully i in theirs'.  i only now categorize them to prevent pain or awkward situations.  it would not be fair to expect a friend for a reason or moment to fill the role of a friend for a lifetime.  it would be disrespectful.  it also helps ease the pain when those friendships, out of necessity,  fade away.  the friendship served it's time and purpose and must move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friendships for a reason, moment, season or lifetime - i am blessed by all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115458604924288490?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115458604924288490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115458604924288490&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115458604924288490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115458604924288490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/08/reason-moment-season-lifetime.html' title='reason, moment, season, lifetime'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115345505894296689</id><published>2006-07-20T23:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T23:10:58.956-05:00</updated><title type='text'>vampire visit</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/werewolfvampirewoman2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/werewolfvampirewoman2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;what a hoot. &lt;/span&gt; i was facing a long and slightly stressful day. -not horrible- just unpleasant.  i looked up and in swept a crazy woman with vampire fangs and a black cape.  she flew in offering to "suck my blood."  i busted out laughing.  how corny.  how embarrassing.  how wonderful!  few others appreciated our humor, but few others are a "sick" as we are!  we sat and visited while i was being refueled.  time flew.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;it was as if we were at a favorite cafe sipping on a cappuccino&lt;/span&gt; (*notice i no longer say wine, jack, beer, etc.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;the best medicine i received today was my friend!&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115345505894296689?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115345505894296689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115345505894296689&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115345505894296689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115345505894296689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/vampire-visit.html' title='vampire visit'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115343797025651701</id><published>2006-07-20T18:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T18:26:10.266-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"i just want to live while i'm alive"</title><content type='html'>get ready to rock!  sing along; you know the words ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's my life &lt;br /&gt;and it's now or never &lt;br /&gt;'cause i ain't gonna live forever &lt;br /&gt;i just want to live while i'm alive &lt;br /&gt;(it's my life) &lt;br /&gt;my heart is like an open highway &lt;br /&gt;like Frankie said &lt;br /&gt;i did it my way &lt;br /&gt;i just want to live while I'm alive &lt;br /&gt;it's my life&lt;br /&gt;---- bon jovi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;how do i make the most of every moment?  how do i live a life of meaning?  living wild is not the answer.  it wasn't in college, it isn't now.  adventures and travel are exhilarating, but  once you are there - well, there you are, with yourself, the same self you tried to leave behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my goal is to live deeper, live richer.  it is a pursuit to live in the moment.  how many times have i scarfed down a meal and never truly appreciated the flavors, the textures, the aromas?  or driven down the road without noticing the blooms, the trees, the couples walking ...?  i remember a quote - i don't remember from whom, that says, "i think it pisses god off if you walk by the color purple in a field without noticing."  i do not want to miss the purple anymore.  a few nights ago i was visiting with 3 friends.  we literally talked for HOURS.  my favorite moment was when i finally SHUT UP and listened.  i, not only,listened to what was being said, i listened to the softness of 3 women's voices.  it was  low and melodious.  i could hear their breathing.  their voices changed pitch and tambour with the intensity of conversation.  and the laughter was contagious.  i sat back and took a mental photo.  i want an album full of such moments. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;is it possible to live with intent everyday?  is it possible to consciously be in the moment - every moment?  maybe not every moment, but the moments lived in 'the groove' are enough reward to continue this pursuit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i just want to live while i'm alive,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115343797025651701?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115343797025651701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115343797025651701&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115343797025651701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115343797025651701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-just-want-to-live-while-im-alive.html' title='&quot;i just want to live while i&apos;m alive&quot;'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115258430374314767</id><published>2006-07-10T21:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-10T21:18:23.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother to Son</title><content type='html'>Mother to Son &lt;br /&gt; by Langston Hughes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Well, son, I'll tell you:&lt;br /&gt; Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.&lt;br /&gt; It's had tacks in it,&lt;br /&gt; And splinters,&lt;br /&gt; And boards torn up,&lt;br /&gt; And places with no carpet on the floor—&lt;br /&gt; Bare.&lt;br /&gt; But all the time &lt;br /&gt; I'se been a-climbin' on,&lt;br /&gt; And reachin' landin's,&lt;br /&gt; And turnin' corners,&lt;br /&gt; And sometimes goin' in the dark&lt;br /&gt; Where there ain't been no light.&lt;br /&gt; So, boy, don't you turn back.&lt;br /&gt; Don't you set down on the steps.&lt;br /&gt; 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.&lt;br /&gt; Don't you fall now—&lt;br /&gt; For I'se still goin', honey,&lt;br /&gt; I'se still climbin',&lt;br /&gt; And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115258430374314767?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115258430374314767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115258430374314767&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115258430374314767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115258430374314767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/mother-to-son.html' title='Mother to Son'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115256988222816640</id><published>2006-07-10T17:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-10T17:30:37.773-05:00</updated><title type='text'>trestle screaming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/screaming%20eyes-thumb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/200/screaming%20eyes-thumb.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;how to trestle scream:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stand under the trestle, wait for the train to cross, fill your chest with air and &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;scream&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;scream&lt;/span&gt; from the depths of your soul.  &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;scream&lt;/span&gt; for all the tears you have cried and for those you can not.  &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;scream&lt;/span&gt; for the fear that dwells within.  scream to remind yourself you are alive! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;' an exhilerating purge of negative energy that's a hell-of-a-lot (not a metric unit) of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;scream with a friend or alone.  repeat as necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all screamed out,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115256988222816640?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115256988222816640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115256988222816640&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115256988222816640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115256988222816640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/trestle-screaming.html' title='trestle screaming'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115248062330965668</id><published>2006-07-09T16:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-09T16:52:45.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a simple day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;aaaahhhhh ... a simple yet lovely day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;flying kites in &lt;a href="http://austin.about.com/cs/tours/l/blvt_i_zilker.htm"&gt;zilker park&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;snacking on falafels from a favorite &lt;a href="http://austin.citysearch.com/profile/10210542/"&gt;deli and bakery&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;walking 'round &lt;a href="http://austin.about.com/cs/tours/l/blvt_tl_hbtrail.htm"&gt;town lake&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stretching back on the banks of the lake and waiting for the &lt;a href="http://www.austincityguide.com/content/congress-bridge-bats-austin.asp"&gt;bats&lt;/a&gt; to fly out from under the congress avenue bridge   (not a lot right now, but thats ok.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;strolling &lt;a href="http://austin.about.com/cs/sixthstreet/p/sixthstreet.htm"&gt;6th street&lt;/a&gt;.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/dance.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/200/dance.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;sampling a little jazz, a little country (very little),  a bit of old rock, and something i can't begin to describe.  dancing here and there - when the songs were right and the crowd forgiving.  and promising myself that i was not going to obsess over how much younger everyone else looked.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;aaaahhhhh ... a simple yet lovely day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115248062330965668?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115248062330965668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115248062330965668&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115248062330965668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115248062330965668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/simple-day.html' title='a simple day'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115223095417287110</id><published>2006-07-06T19:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-06T19:09:14.173-05:00</updated><title type='text'>face lift</title><content type='html'>feng-shui or face-lift?  &lt;br /&gt;i don't know, but it feels good.&lt;br /&gt;a new attitude&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115223095417287110?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115223095417287110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115223095417287110&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115223095417287110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115223095417287110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/face-lift.html' title='face lift'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115222537274913342</id><published>2006-07-06T17:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-06T17:36:12.760-05:00</updated><title type='text'>whack</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;whack-a-mole&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;thursday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;holding on,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115222537274913342?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115222537274913342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115222537274913342&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115222537274913342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115222537274913342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/whack.html' title='whack'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115215068078655100</id><published>2006-07-05T20:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-05T21:11:41.200-05:00</updated><title type='text'>super rock</title><content type='html'>6 boys&lt;br /&gt;20 hamburgers&lt;br /&gt;5 gallons kool-aid&lt;br /&gt;3 large bags of chips&lt;br /&gt;surround sound booming&lt;br /&gt;sub-woofer vibrating&lt;br /&gt;1 "rock star, &lt;a href="http://rockstar.msn.com/"&gt;supernova&lt;/a&gt;" show&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/ina.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/ina.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;a supernova party! our house rocked like a low-rider cruising sonic.  the best show, by far, was in my living room; superstars undiscovered, singing and dancing for a most appreciative audience!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115215068078655100?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115215068078655100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115215068078655100&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115215068078655100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115215068078655100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/super-rock.html' title='super rock'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115214495359039518</id><published>2006-07-05T19:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-05T21:22:25.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'>not so sleepless</title><content type='html'>seems as if i frequently think about and blog about sleep.  hmmm ... i wonder what this says about me?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've spent many sleepless nights wishing i could sleep; now that i can sleep i spend many sleepless nights wishing i had the answers to all of my questions.  but the past couple of nights have been a pleasant surprise.  my dad gave me one of his handkerchiefs doused with &lt;a href="http://www.herbalgram.org/products/herbalbodycare/default.asp?h=Jasmine"&gt;oil of jasmine&lt;/a&gt;.  it is suppose to help you attain a deeper sleep.  i slip the hankie in-between my pillow and pillow case.  and then there is the pillow case.  a friend MADE me two satin pillow cases.  they are incredibly soft and cool when i lay my head down.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i look forward to bedtime.  i think of my father, his handkerchiefs, the smell of jasmine (my grandmother's scent).  at that moment he is so close;  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i am a child in his arms and he is strong and young again&lt;/span&gt;.  the softness of the pillow cases reminds me of my blessings.  to have a friend take the time to make such a gift.  i have often forgotten the preciousness of a gift made;  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;it is a gift of oneself, of herself&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;not far out of the bed,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115214495359039518?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115214495359039518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115214495359039518&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115214495359039518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115214495359039518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/not-so-sleepless.html' title='not so sleepless'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115204706085226058</id><published>2006-07-04T16:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-04T16:05:16.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'>happy birthday to us!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;declaration of independence (1776)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"we hold these truths to be self-evident, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;that all men are created equal&lt;/span&gt;, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;life, liberty&lt;/span&gt; and the &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;pursuit of happiness&lt;/span&gt;. that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness."&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115204706085226058?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115204706085226058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115204706085226058&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115204706085226058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115204706085226058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/happy-birthday-to-us.html' title='happy birthday to us!'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115196634241930717</id><published>2006-07-03T17:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-03T17:39:02.430-05:00</updated><title type='text'>hunger</title><content type='html'>i hunger.  i long.  i know what it is i desire.  deeper, richer, more fulfilling relationships. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;spiritual relationships&lt;br /&gt;my spiritual life has wandered, questioned, explored, grown and evolved.  i have found a spiritual understanding and relationship.  i want more.  i want to be closer to my god.  i have a need to inhale the spirit with each breath, to feel god within and all around.  i want to be consumed by what i have only glimpsed.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i am looking for the path ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;personal relationships&lt;br /&gt;i have held to many friends at arms distance, physically and emotionally.   self preservation.  but this self preservation has caused a starvation for human contact.  i have guarded myself into a desperate hunger.  i too easily avoid the closeness and intimacies available to me. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i am looking for the path ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;self relationship&lt;br /&gt;loving myself.  accepting who i am, and who i am not.  finding peace within.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i am looking for the path ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115196634241930717?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115196634241930717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115196634241930717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115196634241930717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115196634241930717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/07/hunger.html' title='hunger'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115116217324399779</id><published>2006-06-24T10:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-24T10:16:13.243-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the perfect day</title><content type='html'>just before he fell asleep from exhaustion, he said it had been a perfect day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a perfect day to man-child was playing his guitar on &lt;a href="http://campjamusa.com"&gt;stage&lt;/a&gt;, in a band.  his best friends and his family in the audience.  and then a celebratory dinner, with friends and family, at his all-time favorite resturant, &lt;a href="http://freebirds.com"&gt;freebirds burrito&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a perfect day for me was seeing man-child's face lit-up with a smile that melts my heart.  exuberance oozing from every inch of his body that did not stop until he closed his eyes, last night, to dream about the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115116217324399779?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115116217324399779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115116217324399779&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115116217324399779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115116217324399779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/perfect-day.html' title='the perfect day'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115116193238539225</id><published>2006-06-24T10:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-24T10:17:59.493-05:00</updated><title type='text'>there's no crying in rock 'n roll</title><content type='html'>in league of their own, tom hanks' character said, "there's no crying in baseball."  some might say the same rule applies to rock, but they would be wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my son's band &lt;a href="http://http://www.campjamusa.com"&gt;camp&lt;/a&gt; had their concert last night.  i was amazed and amused.  he was on stage playing 'guns and roses' and having a great time; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;my little boy ... guns and roses&lt;/span&gt;!  at the end of the song i turned to see my husband with a tear rolling down his cheek.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;was the tear a father's pride?  was it the wish his own parents' were alive to see his child's accomplishments?  or was it the thought, "o.m.g. we've created a monster?"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;what ever the source of the tear, i now know the man does have emotions!   and, he's a good dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115116193238539225?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115116193238539225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115116193238539225&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115116193238539225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115116193238539225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/theres-no-crying-in-rock-n-roll.html' title='there&apos;s no crying in rock &apos;n roll'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115099179311902759</id><published>2006-06-22T10:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-22T11:03:24.846-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a week of friends</title><content type='html'>i had to say goodbye to a friend monday.  she was more than a friend, it was deeper and personal - i do not have the words to catagorize my love for her.  so monday was life changing - no, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;she was life changing&lt;/span&gt;.  i am typically private and guarded with my emotions, but i openly wept throughout the service.  i wept during the songs she asked me to sing.  and i cried a continual prayer in my heart, "Father, thank you, thank you for blessing me with this great love and light."  for as much as it hurt i realize that &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i am so blessed to love someone, that saying goodbye to hurts so damn much&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i have filled my week with friends.  wow - that is something to celebrate.  i enjoyed an afternoon hanging out at a friend's house tuesday.  we moved furniture &amp; laughed; i eavesdropped on her childrens' conversations and giggles.  i loved being a part of that energy.  i needed it.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;yesterday was spent with an old friend.  we have 'been through it' together.  there were times i did not believe our friendship could endure the storms, &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/image21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/image21.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;but i knew we'd always love each other.  yesterday was not a day for philosophical thought or spiritual pursuits, yesterday was a day for sophmoric humor and belly laughing.  i laughed so hard and for so long i wore myself out! i did! i came home early because i was exhausted!  what a day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i have had a week of friends.  saying goodbye to one and embrassing the time i have been given with others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115099179311902759?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115099179311902759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115099179311902759&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115099179311902759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115099179311902759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/week-of-friends.html' title='a week of friends'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115075619578165826</id><published>2006-06-19T17:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-19T17:54:23.880-05:00</updated><title type='text'>man-child rocks</title><content type='html'>my son is attending a band camp, a rock 'n roll band camp. (&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;is this a sign of bad parenting&lt;/span&gt; that we actually support his rock guitar passion?)  the camp logo reads, "no canoes, lots of rock."  he has anticipated it for 3+ months.  he earned 1/2 the money to pay for camp.  and he has practiced, &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;WITH THE AMP AT FULL VOLUME&lt;/span&gt;, every guitar riff ever played - over and over again.  he is an obsessed man-child.  camp started today; i was out of town last night.  he was nervous and excited and could not sleep.  my cell phone rang at 12:14 a.m.  in the 5 secs it took me to answer the phone every horrible nightmare leaped into my brain.  with great relief i entertained his conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;mom, its me&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;mom:  (i only have one child; if someone calls me "mom" i have a good idea who it must be, esp calling from my home caller id number)  A&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;RE YOU OKAY?  ARE YOU?  WHAT'S WRONG?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;mom? did i wake you?&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;mom:  (12:14 a.m. YES!)  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;its okay, what's going on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;you know i have camp tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  (everyone knows he has camp tomorrow)  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;yes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i'm  worried&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;mom, what if they ask me who i study with?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;tell them the truth, that you've taught yourself, that your mother tried to help but you never listen to her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;thanks mom ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;what if&lt;/span&gt; (during the audition) &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;they ask me to do something that i don't know how to do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;such as ...?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;that's just it, i don't even know what i don't know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  (logic like his mother's)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  m&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;om, i'm so excited.  i'm scared, but i'm excited&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;mom:  i&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;dad's packed my lunch for me&lt;/span&gt; (hurray ... the earth did not quake), &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;do you think it will hurt his feelings if i remake the sandwich the way you do with lettuce and tomatoes and cut it into 2 triangles?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;he will never know!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;mom, i wish you were here.  i can't fall to sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i wish i was there, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;can i call you in the morning before we leave?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;you'd better&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man-child:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i love you mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mom:  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i love you more&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my man-child rocks,&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115075619578165826?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115075619578165826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115075619578165826&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115075619578165826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115075619578165826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/man-child-rocks.html' title='man-child rocks'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115049679274821928</id><published>2006-06-16T17:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-16T17:33:12.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Carol</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;What though the radiance which was once so bright&lt;br /&gt;Be now for ever taken from my sight,&lt;br /&gt;Though nothing can bring back the hour&lt;br /&gt;Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;&lt;br /&gt;We will grieve not, rather find &lt;br /&gt;Strength in what remains behind&lt;br /&gt;-Wordsworth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/Vixen.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/Vixen.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/Texas%20Exes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/Texas%20Exes.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115049679274821928?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115049679274821928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115049679274821928&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115049679274821928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115049679274821928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/carol_16.html' title='Carol'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115039637501773659</id><published>2006-06-15T13:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-15T17:31:13.570-05:00</updated><title type='text'>time well spent</title><content type='html'>i have become very aware of time.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;time well spent&lt;/span&gt;.  time wasted.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it is subjective. to me, time snuggling with a loved one is &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;time well spent&lt;/span&gt; where time mindlessly laying around is time wasted and yet  purposeful daydreaming can be &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;time well spent&lt;/span&gt;.  it is a personal interpretation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today i was frustrated with what i perceived as a waste.  sitting in a waiting room 2 1/2 hrs for an appointment.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/The-Vines-Giclee-Print-C1027473.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/The-Vines-Giclee-Print-C1027473.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; i was angry, anxious, frustrated and definitley wasting time.  2nd time this week and i had "had it."  the room was full.  no one was speaking, hell, no one was even making eye contact.  we all thumbed through magazines half reading/half seething.  and then i met marla.  a woman in her 50's, alone, trembling.  she was trying to open a prescription bottle of pain meds.  she dropped the bottle and little pills went flying.  everyone looked up and then immediately buried their heads back in their magazines.  marla was on the floor gathering pills, weeping.  i joined her on the floor and we started talking and then we started laughing so much the others listened in.  the joke was "if they knew you spilled &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;pain&lt;/span&gt; pills, they would all be on the floor too."  marla and i sat on the floor for the next hour waiting for our appts.  we talked, we exchanged personal info, we laughed, we were human. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that last hour was &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;time well spent&lt;/span&gt;.  and it had been my choice all along.  i could pout and bitch about wasting time or i could embrace the time and do something with it.  i'm just now learning it has always been my choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here's to you marla,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115039637501773659?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115039637501773659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115039637501773659&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115039637501773659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115039637501773659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/time-well-spent.html' title='time well spent'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-115034748159158167</id><published>2006-06-14T23:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-15T15:22:04.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'>spending time</title><content type='html'>spending time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it really is spending, isn't it?  we have x amount of time and we choose how to invest it or blow it.  like money we all have different amounts but unlike money we do not know just how much time is in our accounts.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today i &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;spent an afternoon&lt;/span&gt; with friends.  a wise investment.  we went to a jeweler's supply store where i restocked on some basics (medium solder, a doz #1 blades, flux and pickle) and a small amount of silver.  i love that store.  it makes me smile and &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;i don't know why&lt;/span&gt;.  we ate at one of my favorite restaurants that serves spanish tapas and wonderful wine; my favorite - sangre de torro.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my friend harasses me saying that everything is all about me.  today it was.  i don't believe they had a bang-up time, but they indulged me and i appreciate it.   i never want to be borish, but today i accepted their indulgence and selfishly enjoyed.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i consider today a &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;great purchase&lt;/span&gt;.  it was not the jeweler's supply store or the tapas and wine, but the &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;time spent with friends.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today is closing, only enough time remains for a good sleep.  in the morning my account will be replenished and i will get another opportunity to purchase more memories, more experiences ... more life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-115034748159158167?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/115034748159158167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=115034748159158167&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115034748159158167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/115034748159158167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/spending-time.html' title='spending time'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-114983651666965326</id><published>2006-06-09T01:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-09T02:06:33.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'>under new management</title><content type='html'>this blog is under new management.  same person, new management.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can not breath. the feeling of being overexposed makes me anxious.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i need to retreat and rebuild some walls.  with my exoskeleton removed only the soft vunerable and defenseless parts of me remain.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can't handle it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-114983651666965326?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/114983651666965326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=114983651666965326&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/114983651666965326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/114983651666965326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/06/under-new-management.html' title='under new management'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26808518.post-114583547469752809</id><published>2006-04-23T21:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-09T01:54:14.776-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a ribbon at a time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/1600/monet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7934/2809/320/monet.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'll tell you how the sun rose,-- &lt;br /&gt;a ribbon at a time. &lt;br /&gt;the steeples swam in amethyst, &lt;br /&gt;the news like squirrels ran. &lt;br /&gt;the hills untied their bonnets, &lt;br /&gt;the bobolinks begun. &lt;br /&gt;then I said softly to myself, &lt;br /&gt;"that must have been the sun!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but how he set, I know not. &lt;br /&gt;there seemed a purple stile &lt;br /&gt;which little yellow boys and girls &lt;br /&gt;were climbing all the while &lt;br /&gt;till when they reached the other side, &lt;br /&gt;a dominie in gray &lt;br /&gt;put gently up the evening bars, &lt;br /&gt;and led the flock away. &lt;br /&gt;- - emily dickinson&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26808518-114583547469752809?l=aribbonatatime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/feeds/114583547469752809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26808518&amp;postID=114583547469752809&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/114583547469752809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26808518/posts/default/114583547469752809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aribbonatatime.blogspot.com/2006/04/ribbon-at-time.html' title='a ribbon at a time'/><author><name>e</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04148028524518701809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
