<?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-9553644</id><updated>2011-09-05T17:24:19.067-07:00</updated><title type='text'>life as I know it</title><subtitle type='html'>"You must create your own world.  I am responsible for my own world."    -  Louise Nevelson


This may be true but she forgot to mention the most important part, embracing the world you create. 

 Welcome to organized chaos!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-5631827393889552561</id><published>2011-02-22T19:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-22T19:34:44.972-08:00</updated><title type='text'>learning curve</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I'm the same but different. &amp;nbsp;I feel the same. &amp;nbsp;Have the same hopes &amp;amp; dreams. &amp;nbsp;Love with the same intensity. &amp;nbsp;I'm still very opinionated. &amp;nbsp;I still enjoy walking the fine line of insanity and inappropriateness. &amp;nbsp;With all that said, I am different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, I am middle aged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When did that happen? &amp;nbsp;Who makes that decision? &amp;nbsp;Whoever they are can go fuck themselves!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My head may have sprouted some grey. &amp;nbsp;My body is noisy and much larger than I recall. &amp;nbsp;I notice people look at me strange when I go to a "hip" hangout. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not offended just irritated. &amp;nbsp;I have earned every bottle of hair dye, every uncomfortable ache and every young hipsters stare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mglOcwTtys/TWSAG3GCuPI/AAAAAAAAAFc/u1aP6Xl8lw8/s1600/%2522that+is+not+a+toy%2522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="256" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mglOcwTtys/TWSAG3GCuPI/AAAAAAAAAFc/u1aP6Xl8lw8/s320/%2522that+is+not+a+toy%2522.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There may be a learning curve but I don't have to study. &amp;nbsp;I will wing it as I have the rest of my life. &amp;nbsp;A creative, outspoken yet responsible rebel. &amp;nbsp;My life is just as it should be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-5631827393889552561?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/5631827393889552561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=5631827393889552561' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5631827393889552561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5631827393889552561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2011/02/learning-curve.html' title='learning curve'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mglOcwTtys/TWSAG3GCuPI/AAAAAAAAAFc/u1aP6Xl8lw8/s72-c/%2522that+is+not+a+toy%2522.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-6671624691825270156</id><published>2010-10-09T10:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-09T11:37:55.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Roadblocks &amp; Metaphors</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TLCnMHSvG0I/AAAAAAAAAE0/aeorLJOMZ2U/s1600/end+of+the+road+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TLCnMHSvG0I/AAAAAAAAAE0/aeorLJOMZ2U/s320/end+of+the+road+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526100569341500226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Metaphor~met·a·phor~[met-uh-fawr, -fer]~noun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~A figure of speech in which a term or phrase is applied to something to which it is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of us use metaphors to describe events in our lives.  For me they are ways to "lighten" the emotion behind those events or slices of time that leave wounds.  I am candid about my life.  I hide very few things.  Yet, find myself using metaphors to lighten the tone or mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently had a "discussion" with a friend that I have never met in person.  It was regarding putting yourself  "out there".  Like several of my friends, she is a writer.  She has a brilliant vocabulary, creative genius and wise beyond her years.  Our "discussion" started with a poem she had written.  It opened a wound in me that was personal.  Touching on something I had experienced many years ago.  The kind of thing you don't really talk about.  It was a moment that I wanted to keep to myself.  Not many would understand this slice of time and there it was.  Written.  It was almost like she was there, watching me as it happened.  The rush of emotion was pure, fresh and palatable.  Beautifully describing a moment that left a mark on my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After taking in the words, I found many other "slices of time" swirling around in my head.  I wrote a brief note to her.  I wanted to tell her how much I enjoyed her work.  I then took a much need mental health day to the tide pools.  As I sat on the shore waiting for the sounds of the waves to take away my stress and general angst, she replied with a personal thank you.  Her thank you reminded me of the "roadblocks" we have in our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Metaphors &amp;amp; Roadblocks.  After 45 years of life I still deal with them on a daily basis.  I have a job that is subjective to others sense of style and taste levels.  I still feel like I'm applying for my first job every time I talk to a new client.  I'm uncomfortable, talk too much and can barely suppress the nausea.  I am aware of where it comes from and do my best not to blame the past for my esteem shortcomings.  With that thought process in mind I keep pushing forward.  All the while not feeling the confidence to excel to the levels I am capable of.  I have to remember, I have fallen short in my eyes, not in the eyes of others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever is holding you back.  Let it go.  Show your true self.  Be comforted in the knowledge that you have the ability to surpass your own expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-6671624691825270156?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/6671624691825270156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=6671624691825270156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6671624691825270156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6671624691825270156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2010/10/roadblocks-metaphors.html' title='Roadblocks &amp; Metaphors'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TLCnMHSvG0I/AAAAAAAAAE0/aeorLJOMZ2U/s72-c/end+of+the+road+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-4370834358111269522</id><published>2010-09-27T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-27T22:06:55.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm finally in!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKF3hr953OI/AAAAAAAAAEE/vpMBOHh5b7E/s1600/LBC+sky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKF3hr953OI/AAAAAAAAAEE/vpMBOHh5b7E/s320/LBC+sky.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521826038754696418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For months I have been trying to get into my blog.  Nothing worked.  Every combination of emails &amp; passwords.  Nothing!  Today, BINGO!  I'm back.  I wrote it down, checked it twice and am back in business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-4370834358111269522?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/4370834358111269522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=4370834358111269522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4370834358111269522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4370834358111269522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2010/09/im-finally-in.html' title='I&apos;m finally in!!!'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKF3hr953OI/AAAAAAAAAEE/vpMBOHh5b7E/s72-c/LBC+sky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-3174013368392758869</id><published>2009-08-30T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T15:53:12.545-07:00</updated><title type='text'>that next moment</title><content type='html'>As the summer nears it's end, I have a brief moment to remind myself of what matters.  It's not an epiphany or something that has never been thought of.  It's nothing that hasn't already been thought of millions of times throughout history. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever the thoughts of you heart drift to or your soul believes in.  The things that make you who you are.  Our joys and sorrows are the natural order of life.  The ebb and flow of the tides that our lives mimic.  Those are the things that consume my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, it is particularly important to remind myself of these things.  I have battled myself since my early teenage years.  Some self imposed but, all unstoppable.  Sadness that washes over me like night.  Creeping into every corner, seeking weakness and crushing my spirit.  Difficult for others to understand and impossible to ignore.  I have fought the invisible and lose ground as the years go on.  It takes it's place in my life.  An unwanted visitor that threatens not only my well being but the well being of everyone around me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I see that brief moment.  The one that let's me see clearly.  Remember what matters.  I try to crawl inside that sliver of time but, it is too small.  All too often it spits me out and I tumble towards the darkness.  Inside I can feel myself scratch and claw but, outside I shut down.  I'm hollow.  I'm beat.  I'm waiting for that next moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-3174013368392758869?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/3174013368392758869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=3174013368392758869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/3174013368392758869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/3174013368392758869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2009/08/that-next-moment.html' title='that next moment'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-6761323704960820461</id><published>2009-06-30T17:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T21:49:11.488-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Closure</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Skw8NsnLeYI/AAAAAAAAAD0/GwZ5RxVCi9c/s1600-h/all+we+need.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Skw8NsnLeYI/AAAAAAAAAD0/GwZ5RxVCi9c/s320/all+we+need.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353720263048132994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;When is it time? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;After you know all the answers and refuse to believe the truth.  Where do you go from there?  Do you know in your heart and soul?  Is it a matter of fact?  When is it time to stop your heart from aching?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Unknowingly, today is that day for me.  A simple Doctor appointment.  Simple discussion.  A not so simple outcome.  At least through my eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I have wanted to be a mother since I was in my late teens.  With my responsible nature, I quelled this driving desire.   Knowing full well the trials and tribulations of single motherhood, I made the decision to wait.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Little did I know that making what seemed a no brainer of a decision would turn out to be a epic one.  As I matured, I was plagued with mystery maladies that changed as fast as I did.  For years it would seem I was entering the ring with hypochondriacs.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It was after moving to Southern California and marrying my husband that I discovered the belly of the beast.  Shortly after our return home from our honeymoon I was diagnosed with Lupus.  It was a relief to have an answer to all the strange health problems.  That relief was short lived. We were told it may be difficult and/or dangerous to become pregnant.  How could it be that something I had waited my whole life for was slowly fading like a ghost.  After much research and staying healthy for a year, I was easily able to conceive.  It was not the typical joyful pregnancy.  We had to be prepared to sacrifice our unborn child's life for that of my own if things took a turn for the worse.   Not thoughts you want on your mind during what is supposed to be the most joyful of occasions.  Nonetheless, we made it.  With much difficulty we have a beautiful daughter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It has always been in the back of my head that because I am capable of getting pregnant that by some miracle I would have another babe to hold in my arms.  Holding on to that thought , even though it is not my reality, has been my key to sanity.  The desire to be a mother of a large family never goes away.  It creeps in at my darkest moments.  Then I look into the eyes of my daughter and realize she needs me.  I need her and my husband needs us both.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I am ashamed of my selfishness.  I realize how lucky I am.  How blessed.  I need not be reminded of these things.  My heart bursts with love.  All the while the thoughts in the back of my mind ... nothing has changed, you are still able to bear children, you are exactly the way you have always been.  Holding on to sanity.  Living in you daydream.  A protective bubble around your reality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Until today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I have made a consult appointment to end my daydream.  Stumble unwillingly into reality and cease the nonsense that holds me together.  Giving life could cause my death.  That is my reality.  The burden of accidental failure to stop such a situation from occurring is pulling me away from the man I love.  One would think that this shouldn't require a thought process or a consult.  It does.  Maybe more than one thought.  Maybe more than one consult.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;When is it time for closure?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-6761323704960820461?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/6761323704960820461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=6761323704960820461' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6761323704960820461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6761323704960820461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2009/06/closure.html' title='Closure'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Skw8NsnLeYI/AAAAAAAAAD0/GwZ5RxVCi9c/s72-c/all+we+need.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-3077268999208382494</id><published>2009-04-27T16:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T18:02:30.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>holding on &amp; letting go</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SfZPoHQiSlI/AAAAAAAAADs/jxc2xkUVzuQ/s320/holding+on+%26+letting+go.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329534759601326674" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;holding on &amp;amp; letting go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;a mothers dilemma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;a mothers duty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;unknowns &amp;amp; fears&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;joys &amp;amp; sorrows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;torn between what your heart wants&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;and what your head knows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;a mothers dilemma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;a mothers duty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;I want her to stay with me forever.  I know that is the mind of a deranged parent.  I can&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;still think it without saying it aloud.  She is a piece of me that I cannot be without.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;I know that it has gone on for millions of years.  The letting go.  The change from child to woman.  The loss of the bird in the nest.  I am painfully aware of all these things.  Yet with my mind full of knowledge and ready for action, i fall down.  Like a child myself.  My heart overpowers my mind and I lose the ability to see the difference between holding on and letting go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;It's a loss.  In my heart she should still be swaddled and protected.  In my mind, I have the monumental task of preparing her for the person she wants to become.  I don't want it.  Who said I can't keep her with me?  Who said she will move on?  Who?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;Like a spoiled child, I close my mouth and hold my breath until the colors of defeat change my face.  Then, with all the strength of my soul I will again rise to the challenge of preparation.  The task at hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);  font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"&gt;The letting go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Arial;font-size:12px;"&gt;&lt;h4 id="title_div3481614252" title="Click to edit" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; width: 240px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h4&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-3077268999208382494?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/3077268999208382494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=3077268999208382494' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/3077268999208382494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/3077268999208382494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2009/04/holding-on-letting-go.html' title='holding on &amp; letting go'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SfZPoHQiSlI/AAAAAAAAADs/jxc2xkUVzuQ/s72-c/holding+on+%26+letting+go.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-6740849564946657171</id><published>2009-04-24T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T09:09:38.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mercy Now</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SfHj62c_rlI/AAAAAAAAADc/1oz29irf_yE/s1600-h/stair+flair.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SfHj62c_rlI/AAAAAAAAADc/1oz29irf_yE/s320/stair+flair.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328290434345053778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; "&gt;&lt;h4 id="title_div3470479083" title="Click to edit" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; font-size: 14px; width: 240px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "&gt;mercy now-Mary Gauthier&lt;/h4&gt;&lt;div class="Desc" style="font-size: 12px; width: 225px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;div id="description_div3470479083" title="Click to edit" style="width: 500px; "&gt;My father could use a little mercy now&lt;br /&gt;The fruits of his labor&lt;br /&gt;Fall and rot slowly on the ground&lt;br /&gt;His work is almost over&lt;br /&gt;It won't be long and he won't be around&lt;br /&gt;I love my father, and he could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother could use a little mercy now&lt;br /&gt;He's a stranger to freedom&lt;br /&gt;He's shackled to his fears and doubts&lt;br /&gt;The pain that he lives in is&lt;br /&gt;Almost more than living will allow&lt;br /&gt;I love my brother, and he could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My church and my country could use a little mercy now&lt;br /&gt;As they sink into a poisoned pit&lt;br /&gt;That's going to take forever to climb out&lt;br /&gt;They carry the weight of the faithful&lt;br /&gt;Who follow them down&lt;br /&gt;I love my church and country, and they could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every living thing could use a little mercy now&lt;br /&gt;Only the hand of grace can end the race&lt;br /&gt;Towards another mushroom cloud&lt;br /&gt;People in power, well&lt;br /&gt;They'll do anything to keep their crown&lt;br /&gt;I love life, and life itself could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now&lt;br /&gt;I know we don't deserve it&lt;br /&gt;But we need it anyhow&lt;br /&gt;We hang in the balance&lt;br /&gt;Dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground&lt;br /&gt;Every single one of us could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;Every single one of us could use some mercy now&lt;br /&gt;Every single one of us could use some mercy now&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-6740849564946657171?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/6740849564946657171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=6740849564946657171' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6740849564946657171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6740849564946657171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2009/04/mercy-now.html' title='Mercy Now'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SfHj62c_rlI/AAAAAAAAADc/1oz29irf_yE/s72-c/stair+flair.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-2164518358819834076</id><published>2009-04-21T21:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T21:25:37.717-07:00</updated><title type='text'>nowhere</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6Xd_N5IlI/AAAAAAAAADU/BtJnICBIomA/s1600-h/nowhere.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6Xd_N5IlI/AAAAAAAAADU/BtJnICBIomA/s320/nowhere.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327361950667579986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Nowhere.  Some days just feel like this.  The feeling that your wheels are spinning or you have ceased to be productive.  I believe it is our brains or inner self putting on the brakes.  My inside is screaming HALT while the world continues to flow at it's break neck pace.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nowhere.  The place that isn't on the map.  The place that you run out of gas.  The place you are when you are waiting for a call from your doctor.  Not that it is a terrible place to be, for a visit. Maybe for a layover.  Certainly not to stay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nowhere.  Is the place that others refuse to let you be.  It makes them uncomfortable.  They don't know what to do or how to help.  It is a impossible state to explain to those who have never been and overwhelming to those who have.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My Nowhere is cloudy with a chance of sun.  It is my retreat.  Not a place that I take myself but, a place that I am taken to when the need arises.  My mind, body and soul can feel the pull to Nowhere like a junkie to a drug.  I often fight the impulse to go then pay a price.  That price is that I stay Nowhere longer.  Longer than I want, longer than my family deserves and longer than my friends can tolerate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nowhere can turn a extrovert into a hermit.  That is it's job.  It hears the cries to halt before you do.  It responds to the need.  It takes me and I am grateful.  For the moments in Nowhere(no matter how frustrating) are a time of renewal.  I don't always give in or go along with the plan and I still end up Nowhere.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nowhere is not a derogatory term.  It is all in how you arrive.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/9553644-2164518358819834076?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/2164518358819834076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=2164518358819834076' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/2164518358819834076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/2164518358819834076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2009/04/nowhere.html' title='nowhere'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6Xd_N5IlI/AAAAAAAAADU/BtJnICBIomA/s72-c/nowhere.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-1890247584674794127</id><published>2008-11-27T12:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T12:43:55.928-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SS79nBnXiqI/AAAAAAAAACE/c2QHq1c-q3E/s1600-h/hope~seaweed+style+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SS79nBnXiqI/AAAAAAAAACE/c2QHq1c-q3E/s320/hope~seaweed+style+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273431060587711138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;This Thanksgiving I felt it necessary to take a moment or 15 and remember why I am thankful. As most people, I am thankful for my family, friends and those on the fringe.  I have had many Thanksgivings that have been very emotional and meaningful.  There has been remembering people that have departed in one way or another, there has been happiness, tragedy, gratefulness, forgiveness and a plethora of other reasons to be forever thankful.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;However, this year is different.  Like many people in this world we have been hit by a bad economy.  This on top of still reeling from Rays' significant injury and loss of work have put us in a situation that we had never dreamed of.  Not a unique situation, but unique to us.  As we try to regroup, stay strong and "find a way", I feel different about this holiday than I have about others.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;I find myself detaching from the present.  I'm sure it is form of self preservation.  Detached nonetheless.  I drift to the future.  I am thankful that I am seeing some changes in the world.  I'm not talking about politics.  I'm talking about the small changes that are occuring even as we speak.  For all the "wrong", "bad", "inhumane", unthinkable things that are going on in this world there are people trying their best to undo all that is being done.  Not just a few "crazy" people on the edge of society, but masses of people that believe that they can make a difference. They will.  I have seen the changes slowly making a difference.  I am sure that they will continue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;With that being said.  I am thankful.  For my life and the lives of those who are willing to step forward and speak their minds, stand up for what they believe in and are willing to take risks to make this world a better place.  For my family that is small and mighty.  For my friends that are like gold.  For children that with our guidance will make a difference in the future of this world.  For feeling like giving when I have nothing to give.  For all that has been trusted to me.  For my health, as vicarious as it may be.  For my mind and the ability to speak it without fear.  For all the good and bad that I have been through, for those are the things that have made me who I am today and I like myself.  For the people that have stepped into my life recently and have embraced me, taught me, loved me, saved me and continue to do so.  For those who have become part of my life even though you are all so far away.  For my ability to rise during a crisis.  For a life that allows me to be creative.  For the slow melt of what covers me and is setting me free in ways I have yet to experience.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;I could go on forever.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;For that I am thankful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-1890247584674794127?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/1890247584674794127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=1890247584674794127' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/1890247584674794127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/1890247584674794127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-thanksgiving.html' title='My Thanksgiving'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SS79nBnXiqI/AAAAAAAAACE/c2QHq1c-q3E/s72-c/hope~seaweed+style+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-5920545565108945306</id><published>2008-11-11T21:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T21:29:01.164-08:00</updated><title type='text'>clear corners</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SRpk29dqJVI/AAAAAAAAAB8/jke90HTvMas/s1600-h/clear+corners.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SRpk29dqJVI/AAAAAAAAAB8/jke90HTvMas/s320/clear+corners.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267633609537889618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;That is what I'm looking for.  Clear Corners.  Of my house, career, mind, home, life.  It seems like a task that has a beginning and an end when you think about it.  That's a dirty rotten lie.  It is all middle.  Where do I start?  Is the beginning the teary breakdown I had today because I have no money to take care of my family, or do my job properly, or even not feel guilty about buying lunch after fourteen 10-12 hour days at work?  I can't even see anything but the middle and here I am, in it, unable to climb out.  I am overwhelmed, saddened, defeated and all the while I still have to be a good wife, mother, friend, daughter...  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;I realize that there are people that have it worse.  I get it.  I know that it will "all work out".  I get it.  I know that everyone falls down.  I fucking get it.  But what about the MIDDLE?  What direction is the way out?  No one can tell you that!  All the advise that people want to give me and no one can fucking tell me the way out!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;I am grateful for the people that I have in my life.  I love them all intensely, am loyal to a fault.  In return I need to be able to fall apart in a blubbering heap without all the cliches that come with being down, depressed or financially challenged.  Just let me cry, be miserable and work through it.  I know that it makes you sad to see me like this but I need to work it out, to find something other than the middle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;I am angry at myself, I am disappointed and I need to find the way out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&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/9553644-5920545565108945306?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/5920545565108945306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=5920545565108945306' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5920545565108945306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5920545565108945306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/11/clear-corners.html' title='clear corners'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SRpk29dqJVI/AAAAAAAAAB8/jke90HTvMas/s72-c/clear+corners.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-6823297736346010660</id><published>2008-10-30T08:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T09:07:19.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sometimes my job hurts my eyes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SQnW3OGrmpI/AAAAAAAAAB0/QuqlE_JItyo/s1600-h/sometimes+my+job+hurts+my+eyes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SQnW3OGrmpI/AAAAAAAAAB0/QuqlE_JItyo/s320/sometimes+my+job+hurts+my+eyes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262973883726404242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;This is the time of year when the little (or not so little in my case) elves come out and build the sets for Santa to come sit and greet children for that all important "PHOTO WITH SANTA".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;I have been makings Santa's house beautiful for the last 5 years. Sometimes the things I see are painful to look at.  I am being constantly visually assaulted by the glory that is holiday.  Some days I have to sit down and close my eyes for a few minutes just to regroup.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;I really enjoy my work. It is demanding, tight deadlined, overwhelming, exhausting (15 hour days for 20 days), and sometimes just plain horrific.  There is climbing, crawling, hanging, heavy equipment, blood, injury, attitude, scrooge, illness, hunger, pain... All it takes is for one of the children to come up and be in awe that you are getting Santa's house ready and it all is perfect!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;For that reason, (and the $) I come back year after year and make things better than they were the year before.  Children are the future.  The small hopes and dreams of childhood are few and for many are not even &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nonexistent&lt;/span&gt;.  The dream of Santa lives in the heart of many and is a beautiful part of childhood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;For many the holiday is commercial, but there is a rise in a more simple holiday.  One filled with family, friends and for some faith.  The idea that crosses over many people, even those who don't have religion in there lives, is that baby in a manger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Again, it is the children that make us believe.  For them,  we believe, we love, we have to rise above.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-6823297736346010660?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/6823297736346010660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=6823297736346010660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6823297736346010660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/6823297736346010660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/10/sometimes-my-job-hurts-my-eyes.html' title='sometimes my job hurts my eyes'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SQnW3OGrmpI/AAAAAAAAAB0/QuqlE_JItyo/s72-c/sometimes+my+job+hurts+my+eyes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-9169989502594013883</id><published>2008-10-17T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T18:20:48.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fairness~Hope~Peace</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SPksis__IEI/AAAAAAAAABs/NBAIJWSFlUY/s1600-h/erotic,+nourishing+%26+potentially+devastating+.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SPksis__IEI/AAAAAAAAABs/NBAIJWSFlUY/s320/erotic,+nourishing+%26+potentially+devastating+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258283014638477378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;                &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;for Natalie, Nina &amp;amp; Helen. But, mostly for you Leslie, I miss you everyday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;her son:    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/244180623/"&gt;www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/244180623/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;her daughter:    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/244180625/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/244180625/"&gt;www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/244180625/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a little of her story:    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/2534747041/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/2534747041/"&gt;www.flickr.com/photos/zimza/2534747041/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are times in our lives when we will question the "fairness" of life.  The what, how &amp;amp; why that follow something that leaves us frightened and empty.  For me, I see those times as few.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plain &amp;amp; simple, life is not fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is starvation, disease, murder, death, poverty, (physical, sexual &amp;amp; verbal) abuse, accidents, birth defects, mental defects and a whole laundry list of things that I've left out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our world is defective, as a people we are defective and or future looks defective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There have been events in my life that have made me see things as more of a realist.  I know those things are out there and that I am not immune.  When tragic situations unfold, I am one that reacts.  I see what needs to be done and do it.  I now see that behavior as a form of self preservation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will never change who I am or how I handle crisis.  But, I will begin to explain my feelings to others to allow them to understand my protective "bubble".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along, with my health issues, I have lost my share of family &amp;amp; friends.  One friend that made a incredible impact on me was Leslie.   She was a creative intellect.  Scattered, cerebral, wacky &amp;amp; lovely.  She lost her 2 year battle with breast cancer 4 years ago.  She left behind an amazing husband, and two beautiful children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With this post I can feel her here and believe that I can finally understand why she held out hope until she was gone.  Hope is the only thing we have when everything else has been stripped away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;I hope for the planet, for the human race, for peace, for my child, for life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-9169989502594013883?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/9169989502594013883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=9169989502594013883' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/9169989502594013883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/9169989502594013883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/10/there-are-times-in-our-lives-when-we.html' title='Fairness~Hope~Peace'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SPksis__IEI/AAAAAAAAABs/NBAIJWSFlUY/s72-c/erotic,+nourishing+%26+potentially+devastating+.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-745775712514740021</id><published>2008-09-29T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T21:25:26.987-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My parents~My path~My legacy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SOGoRo9gACI/AAAAAAAAABk/EzZW1wCZKzg/s1600-h/parents+on+a+date.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SOGoRo9gACI/AAAAAAAAABk/EzZW1wCZKzg/s320/parents+on+a+date.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251663661497319458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                      she loved him...so did i, there lies the problem&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My first honest answer to a very real situation:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear XXXXXXX,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;first, i need to tell you that i wanted to respond earlier but it took me time to get the courage to put myself out there and to calm myself down. The scars of abuse never go away. Now that I have had a good cry and can collect my thoughts I bring you this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;second, let me say you can tell me to piss off at any time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;third, let me say this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come from a family dynamic that was comprised of exactly what you are talking about. My mother stayed married to my father because "you didn't just leave in the 60's" and she was scared. After 12 years of marriage my mother was verbally and physically abused, had two children that were psychologically damaged (unbeknownst to her) and couldn't take it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each year of marriage brought less tolerance from my dad and a higher level of abuse. Which by the way included but was not limited to, how she should dress, who she was allowed to see, what was to be prepared at home and elsewhere, who she could talk to...this did not all happen at once. It was a long, painful 12 years that escalated as it aged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents thought that because we were young that we had no idea what was going on. I remember it all like it was yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jump forward to my early teens when I met a handsome guy that was every teenage girls dream. He came from a good family, was a knockout, surfed, raced cars, loved road-trips, and i was over the moon for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little did I know (because I was a teenager) that he was a spitting image of my father in his high school years and was to be a exact replica of him all the way down to me needing stitches, held at gunpoint, locked out naked, taken to the "dumps" and left for dead, locked in a room for days, the list gets more degrading, violent and well I suppose you can see where I'm going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a life I was familiar with, miserable but comfortable, violent but well made up for. It is a classic cycle of violence. It is well documented, counseled and fought to be broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it began with me as it did with my mother. He made himself perfect for me, made himself useful and somewhat needed, slowly isolated me from family and loved ones, verbal abuse...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 10 years old when the police came for my father. By that age I was already on my path. Nobody knew in the 60's that the children would suffer the mistakes of the mother. I say mother because they are the ones with the power to be free. They usually have a family that wants them back and has been watching helplessly from the sidelines waiting for us to ask for help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now in my 40's have an amazing husband that I married when I was 30, and brilliant daughter that I am proud to say will not be a part of "the cycle of violence" the chain has been broken and even as much despair as these memories bring me, my solace is in the gift I have given her...freedom to be who she wants to be in all matters of her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was very painful for me to write. In retrospect I should have done it by e-mail. But, here it is and maybe you can find some wisdom and strength behind it. Yes, it is scary and difficult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You owe it to yourself and to your daughter to lead a life without tyranny. Mothers are the teachers, leaders and keepers of their daughters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep you close to my heart and pray for safety for you and Claire. I believe you may already know what you need to do. Courage will follow and you will do what you have to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;XO Michele&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I am feeling devastated yet liberated. This is my path.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-745775712514740021?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/745775712514740021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=745775712514740021' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/745775712514740021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/745775712514740021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-first-honest-answer-to-very-real.html' title='My parents~My path~My legacy'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SOGoRo9gACI/AAAAAAAAABk/EzZW1wCZKzg/s72-c/parents+on+a+date.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-5475922322130688229</id><published>2008-09-26T09:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T08:18:08.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Living with Lupus</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SN0H3IDB3wI/AAAAAAAAAA8/OOxEOZwV5e4/s1600-h/lands+end.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SN0H3IDB3wI/AAAAAAAAAA8/OOxEOZwV5e4/s320/lands+end.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250361384218255106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When fall sweeps summer out I come alive again.  I realize that this sounds strange but living with Lupus means summer is my enemy.  I have always been a lover of summer.  My life revolved around camping, water skiing, hiking, exploring...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I began to mature these simple pleasures became difficult.  By the age of 30 the summer things I enjoyed had become a thing of the past.  It actually really came to the surface and demanded to be dealt with on my Luna de Miel or honeymoon. I had been ill off and on since I was 17 and had no reason to feel any different about this time.  I dealt with the symptoms and enjoyed a month long retreat all around Mexico.  When we arrived back in the states I got sick again and decided that I should see a Dr.  (I had been to several since I was 17, because they couldn't find anything that should be causing my symptoms, they were deemed "psychosomatic")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not about to take "crazy" for an answer.  As it so happened, neither was my new Dr.  After many tests, questions and history he was proud to announce a diagnosis.  As the words left his lips...Lupus,  my life would never be the same again.  I now could confront the enemy, was grouped with the "chronic illness" people, am uninsurable and my health has a mind of it's own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was now aware that my depression was a side effect of being chronically ill and not some kind of genetic mutation that would have me drugged up and possibly committed if not kept under control.  Being a newlywed, I offered my new husband a free pass out.  He had bought a lemon, there were not enough goats in my dowry (so to speak) to make up for the fact that he may never have a child to carry on his name, his wife could become ill and need to be cared for or she could disappear all together.&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that I had married a amazing man was some comfort but, he still should be able to part company if he so desired.  His beautiful new future with his new bride was now tainted with uncertainty and potential sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was almost 13 years ago and many things have happened since.  We have a beautiful daughter and have had many amazing moments.  It is those moments that I cling to every time I'm not feeling well.  My memory and the memory of my husband have been scarred with the reminders of my illness.  With every wonderful moment of our lives, these scars are healing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, we both suffer from one that plays itself out over and over when you let it creep in.  It was the night that my heart was attacked by Lupus and the rhythm of life was silent.  Our baby was just 2 years of age and my life just slipped quietly into darkness.  Luckily for us, I was already in the E.R. because I knew something was wrong.  They were able to revive me quickly and the only permanent damage was the Sinus node (electrical box) of my heart and my security of life.  I was implanted with a pacemaker to keep my heart beating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a strange thing the pacemaker.  It's the thing you see a warning for on microwaves and at the airport.  It is a common tool of the over 70 crowd.  Then there was me.  A 35 year old wife, mother, daughter and friend that didn't quite fit the profile.  I was greeted by Dr.'s and nurses for the first couple of years with a "oh, your so young", I would say yeah.  What the hell did they want me to say.  Gee, thanks for reminding me that I really shouldn't be hear for another 50 years.  Eventually, I got to know the whole staff and I became a fixture in the office.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also became a fixture in the E.R. and with the paramedics up until last year.  You see, I developed a secondary condition that required lots of pacemaker tweeking.  Finally, I am at a place that is stable and my heart has its old song back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through all of this I was blessed with a husband that is strong and compassionate.  Sometimes he and my daughter get "ripped off" because I don't feel well.  For the most part I can rise to the occasion and join in as long as I take all the necessary precautions.  I usually am not out in nature between the hours of 11:00am - 4:00pm in the summer.  I do make exceptions only after a bucket of sunscreen, long pants, long sleeves and a hat have been properly secured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you can see, I long for the fall and winter months.  When I can be comfortable in all my clothing, the sun is not as strong and I can go outside without as much preparation or worry.  I am not in denial but Lupus is part of me and I don't give in to it unless it is absolutely necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is beautifully different from everyone I know and thats fine with me.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/9553644-5475922322130688229?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/5475922322130688229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=5475922322130688229' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5475922322130688229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/5475922322130688229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/living-with-lupus.html' title='Living with Lupus'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SN0H3IDB3wI/AAAAAAAAAA8/OOxEOZwV5e4/s72-c/lands+end.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-8774930091706799210</id><published>2008-09-24T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T13:13:30.490-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKjj1vJ6IxI/AAAAAAAAAEs/hJiacps7C4c/s1600/follow+the+leader.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKjj1vJ6IxI/AAAAAAAAAEs/hJiacps7C4c/s320/follow+the+leader.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523915455300510482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"i would rather spend my life with the birds than wish i had wings"  I heard this on television last night and can't stop thinking about it.  These few words that make a sentence carry weight that has crushed many.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some it is just words that sound interesting, for others it is a mantra for me it is a reminder.  We are not all created equal, life is not fair, without the top there is no middle or bottom.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all the unjust feelings these issues may bring, it is life.  Not just as we know it but as centuries of humans have known it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel that we have been changing this thought process to the detriment of our children.  You can't always have what you want.  You are not always going to be the best.   Life is hard, a challenge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, you can work hard for the things you desire.  You can be the best that you are able to be.  You can rise to the challenge of life and encourage those around you to do the same.  Lift others up the best you can.  Be proud, stand by your word, it the only thing you come into this world with, it defines you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is what you make it.  Grab ahold and enjoy.  Be good to others.  Be good to the planet.  Be good to yourself.  Life is an amazing journey.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-8774930091706799210?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/8774930091706799210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=8774930091706799210' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/8774930091706799210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/8774930091706799210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/flying.html' title='Flying'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/TKjj1vJ6IxI/AAAAAAAAAEs/hJiacps7C4c/s72-c/follow+the+leader.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-7575000170859947857</id><published>2008-09-23T16:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T16:44:45.365-07:00</updated><title type='text'>she wants to be a star</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SNl8t5Dk83I/AAAAAAAAAAw/5PQ-mF9B_vQ/s1600-h/she+wants+to+be+in+the+movies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SNl8t5Dk83I/AAAAAAAAAAw/5PQ-mF9B_vQ/s320/she+wants+to+be+in+the+movies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249363968528806770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are things that we wish for our children.  Stardom is not usually one of them.  Zephyr wants to be an actress.  I do believe that because she is an only, her free time is in her imagination.  What a lucky way to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i trust her instinct to be true to herself.  Even at such a young age she needs to follow the path that is current for her.  We can only guide her gently into her ever changing world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As all parents, I love her beyond distraction.  Her life is a precious flower that will hopefully continue to bloom until her days have past.  I wish to be here for her forever.  I realize that this is a ridiculous thought, but without brothers or sisters I worry.  Who will she fall back on?  Who will she celebrate her birthday with? Who will pick her up when she falls?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had the good fortune of having a young mother that is still here to guide me when my path may be questionable.  Yes, even when you hit 40, your path still may have some serious speed bumps.  I have good friends and a loving husband.  My life is rich with people that love me for me.  Wow!  how lucky am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she will be as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you, my heart, my soul, my Zephyr. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-7575000170859947857?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/7575000170859947857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=7575000170859947857' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/7575000170859947857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/7575000170859947857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/she-wants-to-be-star.html' title='she wants to be a star'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SNl8t5Dk83I/AAAAAAAAAAw/5PQ-mF9B_vQ/s72-c/she+wants+to+be+in+the+movies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-2675183157611667199</id><published>2008-09-11T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T15:12:57.609-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lloyd, i wish it was that simple.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;I don't want sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold, bought or processed, or repair anything sold, bought or processed.  You know...as a career, I don't want to do that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Lloyd Dobler &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-2675183157611667199?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/2675183157611667199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=2675183157611667199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/2675183157611667199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/2675183157611667199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/lloyd-i-wish-it-was-that-simple.html' title='Lloyd, i wish it was that simple.'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-4725669413495038740</id><published>2008-09-10T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T21:24:54.285-07:00</updated><title type='text'>create ~ yummyness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SMidb-t69pI/AAAAAAAAAAo/mwXFbnbYbEs/s1600-h/create.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SMidb-t69pI/AAAAAAAAAAo/mwXFbnbYbEs/s400/create.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244614870090577554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-4725669413495038740?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/4725669413495038740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=4725669413495038740' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4725669413495038740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4725669413495038740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/create-yummyness.html' title='create ~ yummyness'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/SMidb-t69pI/AAAAAAAAAAo/mwXFbnbYbEs/s72-c/create.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9553644.post-4253933662410667929</id><published>2008-09-10T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T20:21:51.136-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a strange time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;This stage of my life seems strange to me. It's quite a transition.  I don't think that it even crossed my mind that I am in the second half of my existence. Most of my life has gone by in a blur with the typical and atypical events that stand out.  No different with the exception of getting a second chance at life.  I suppose thats not something that everyone can say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;With all that in mind, I begin this story of life as I know it...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9553644-4253933662410667929?l=fourteelicious.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/feeds/4253933662410667929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9553644&amp;postID=4253933662410667929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4253933662410667929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9553644/posts/default/4253933662410667929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fourteelicious.blogspot.com/2008/09/strange-time.html' title='a strange time'/><author><name>zimza</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01654944116056107931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5yiaw1LlAJE/Se6WTATLxiI/AAAAAAAAAC0/-GpPLfSlyzU/S220/me+with+camera+glow.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
