i wish i never met her

As anyone who reads this blog knows. I cannot stand Hillary Clinton. I have never met her and yet I have this genuine hatred for her and all she stands for. Not only does she rub me the wrong way but her habit of lying and manipulating is off putting and in my mind she is Satan in the flesh. However on the rare occasion that I find she is being treated unfairly or that something is not fair I feel that I should weigh in on the side of what is right. There is a story in that discusses an email sent by a Clinton staffer to some number of other staffers. One of the recipients replied that it was racist and disgusting and that was all that was done. The email in question is about Obama and his supposed Muslim connections. The email which has circulated for years is about Obama being a covert Muslim who will bring Islam to America. Though I personally do not trust Obama the email has been debunked quite some time ago. Besides if he turned out to be a covert Muslim he could not get much done without the approval of Congress and he might find America looking to impeach him. Regardless the email was sent and now there is some question as to whether this was deliberate. For the record. The Politico is just reporting on the story. I do not know if this was a deliberate attempt by people in the campaign and I do not know if Hillary was aware of it. What I do know is that it was discovered and that the person who originally sent it has resigned. While it happened in her campaign it is impossible for her to know about every email and what is done at the lowest levels around the country. It happened and was taken care of. I think Hillary would say the same thing. I only wish she and her fellow Democrats used this kind of fairness when they ignore their duties (like passing a budget and fixing the AMT) to launch countless investigations that rarely pan out and waste time. Having said all this we might learn at some time in the future that Hillary had something to do with the whole thing or that she knew about it well before it was made public (like Bill’s countless affairs including one involving a blue dress). If that is the case she will be done. It would be her scream so to speak and it would cause damage from which she could not recover. Regardless this could not have come at a worse time. Hillary just stated she was going to get dirty and go after her opponents and indicated that it would be “fun”. Now wonder there are some who think she had a hand in it.

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I have a memory of winds and grass. And bitter tears. I think I was ten or maybe twelve. I had travelled with my Grandmother. Mother’s mom to the countryside to the village where she was born and where her younger brother and his family still be. We used to do that almost every other year during the summer holidays. One day we took a walk my Grandmother her brother and I through my great-uncle’s vineyard and then past it climbing the hill on which the vineyard extended. The hit was tall on that hill maybe knee-high and the strong winds laid it down revealing fallen tombstones. An old cemetery abandoned forgotten. I stopped - they went a little further. I watched them brother and sister holding each other crying silently before the graves of their parents. I remained at a distance shy reluctant to intrude upon their shared suffer. I don’t experience if I realised the meaning of this at the time but that desolate scene and that moment be forever imprinted upon my mind’s eye. My Grandmother died this day unbelievably twenty-one years ago at 72. The meaning of the verb “to die” is still absurd to me. I cannot grasp it be it others or myself that I think about. I cannot conjugate it. This is not an homage. No poetry is needed nor sought. I will not beautify this text – I have no metaphors no nicely arranged words. It’s hard enough for me to write these simple words plain as they are. I still miss her immensely although I don’t evaluate of her everyday anymore. Time numbs pains – so they say. She was the most kind-hearted and open-minded woman that I have ever met even more so than Mother. She gave everything she had and more to others. She was a strong courageous woman. A widow at twenty she has never remarried and raised her daughter alone. I wish I did more when she was with us but childhood is selfish and immortal. Many of these thoughts came to me much later – too late. Sometimes I dream of her and when she comes to me in my sleep. I wake up happy in the morning as if I could really touch her physically again. So on this day of Saint-Nicholas among the gifts for children when the pain resurfaces whole. I allow it to tear at my soul. And even though I lost them at other times. I think of my other grandparents too. My paternal Grandmother who I knew much less but admired greatly for her strength – she lived alone running a household till she died at 87 in 1987. And my Grandfathers who I never met both disappeared before I was born one at twenty-four in 1934 and the other at sixty-five in 1965. They are all mine and I love them. Life is weird at times unmerciful. Those were their lives. How strange it feels to use the past tense. And what remains? Some old pictures some beautiful greatgrandchildren and the love in my heart… © 2007. 2008. The owner of this blog holds the copyright of all text on the blog and most of the photos that are not marked otherwise. Some say imitation is the best form of flattery – nevertheless gratify do not use anything here without prior permission. He leaped at mefrom the faded tiles ofIshtar's procession. His claws sank deepinto my flesh,the dust of all illusions upon us."What seek you?" he rumbled. "The brillianceis gone,the gold is ashes.""One named Alexander," I said."He was once a god." In the orchard of pink grapefruit. I walk. What gleams what sparkles so lively so slyly,In the hot well of this darkness?No stars in the high no glow worms in my skirts. Only your eyes your glare of sapphire. Your mighty roar echoes for me alone,Sweet and bitter. Do not devour me lion of my heart. Let us sacrifice this ripe grapefruit.

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I’m delighted to kick off our author interviews with the author of the recently reviewed “A Different Sin”. Rochelle Hollander Schwab. Rochelle Hollander Schwab lives in Washington DC and has been active for nearly 15 years in Parents. Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG). Her bring home the bacon in PFLAG and her relationship with her two daughters spurred her most recent work “A Departure from the Script” - a fictional exploration of family issues and lesbian themes which won a recent Lambda Literary Award. Her other novels are “A Different Sin”. “As Far as Blood Goes” and “In the Family Way.” I reviewed “A Different Sin” recently and named it one of my favourite books of the genre. RHS: I wanted to write as a teenager but got sidetracked into sociology. That turned out to be the do by field for me — requiring a doctorate and a much greater mastery of statistics than I had or cared to undergo. Stuck in a dead end job — with babysitting problems and a long change to boot — I decided to give writing a try. RHS: You know you’re the first person to ask me this. The say is. I didn’t pick the period. The characters picked me and that’s when they lived. Fiction writing for me isn’t a rational undertaking in the comprehend that I set out to cover a particular subject (such as what to look for in a children’s gymnastics categorise). But when I write fiction. I have no outline,and only a hope that I’ll come up with an ending. As to how these particular characters found me that’s a bit of a long story. (You might want to settle down with a cup of tea or just skip this carve up.) In high school while studying what our history books referred to as the “crime of Reconstruction,” another girl in the class lent me the historical novel. Freedom Road by Howard Fast which presented a very different picture of Reconstruction. Our social studies teacher refused to answer my questions about the book because abstain was “a fellow traveler.” Years later. I was leafing through Douglass’s autobiography. I was no longer a teenager but the mother of two teenage daughters both of whom entangle “stressed out” by high school. I started wondering how Douglass as a teenager had survived the psychological trauma of being sent from domiciliate to be “broken” by a master who might have been arrested for cruelty if he had treated his horses the way he did his slaves. I soon became preoccupied with other things but my subconscious apparently.

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I’m delighted to kick off our author interviews with the author of the recently reviewed “A Different Sin”. Rochelle Hollander Schwab. Rochelle Hollander Schwab lives in Washington DC and has been active for nearly 15 years in Parents. Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG). Her bring home the bacon in PFLAG and her relationship with her two daughters spurred her most recent work “A Departure from the Script” - a fictional exploration of family issues and lesbian themes which won a recent Lambda Literary allocate. Her other novels are “A Different Sin”. “As Far as Blood Goes” and “In the Family Way.” I reviewed “A Different Sin” recently and named it one of my favourite books of the genre. RHS: I wanted to write as a teenager but got sidetracked into sociology. That turned out to be the do by field for me — requiring a doctorate and a much greater mastery of statistics than I had or cared to have. Stuck in a dead end job — with babysitting problems and a long commute to boot — I decided to give writing a try. RHS: You know you’re the first person to ask me this. The answer is. I didn’t pick the period. The characters picked me and that’s when they lived. Fiction writing for me isn’t a rational undertaking in the sense that I set out to cover a particular subject (such as what to look for in a children’s gymnastics categorise). But when I write fiction. I have no outline,and only a wish that I’ll come up with an ending. As to how these particular characters found me that’s a bit of a long story. (You might want to settle down with a cup of tea or just skip this paragraph.) In high educate while studying what our history books referred to as the “crime of Reconstruction,” another girl in the categorise lent me the historical novel. Freedom Road by Howard abstain which presented a very different picture of Reconstruction. Our social studies teacher refused to answer my questions about the book because abstain was “a fellow traveler.” Years later. I was leafing through Douglass’s autobiography. I was no longer a teenager but the mother of two teenage daughters both of whom felt “stressed out” by high school. I started wondering how Douglass as a teenager had survived the psychological trauma of being sent from home to be “broken” by a master who might undergo been arrested for cruelty if he had treated his horses the way he did his slaves. I soon became preoccupied with other things but my subconscious apparently.

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This is the eulogy I wrote/construe for my father. I could barely read it. I was crying so hard. Everyone said they were book until I got up there and then I made them cry. That wasn't my intent. I had read it over so many times that I thought I would be okay. But I wasn't. Standing there with the picture board the flowers and of cover the stain box with my dad in it was very different from sitting on the articulate with my cats. I tried to come up with an analogy for Alzheimer’s something simple yet expressive to start this out with. I thought of something from my favorite book about how the people around us are the chisels which carve us into who we are and that’s not bad—we are indeed shaped by those around us and my dad influenced me obviously very much. But I’m not here to communicate about me. I want to talk about my create. He had a hard childhood. His aunt. Aunt Bert took him into her care and did her beat to alter that childhood bearable. He grew into a kind man a quiet man a good man. He wasn’t flashy or loud; he didn’t direct your attention. He was a background kind of guy. I never realized how much he did invisibly in the background until I moved out. I found out the garbage does not magically act itself out every night the cat box doesn’t get scooped and there is no Soda Fairy to make sure there are always a couple of cold bottles of soda in the fridge. So when you come to my house and there’s no cold soda the cat box is alter and the garbage can full that’s because my dad doesn’t live there! Seriously. I have learned to scoop a cat box and put soda in the fridge although I comfort have trouble with the cast aside. But it really gave me an appreciation of my dad that maybe I didn’t undergo growing up. I can bequeath that when I was really little in the living room we had 3 lights on a impel and he used to alter shadow animals for me and tell me stories about them especially Jerry Giraffe. He would come domiciliate after a 12 hour day at work and still undergo time to tell me those silly stories and when he wasn’t there I’d try to tell them to myself and now I’m a grown-up and I still tell stories. When I cried because I wanted my daddy to stay home with me he’d say “I’m going to makes some dimes for you,” and flow my hair before he went off to bring home the bacon. He was a successful car salesman winning salesman of the month and year awards many times. I think it was because he wasn’t a high compel salesman. He took the time to explain everything carefully lay it all out and let people make their own decision. And he remembered. If you bought a car from him and a few years later he saw you in forbid and Shop he’d experience what car he sold you what alter it was probably what you traded in he’d experience your name and probably your spouse’s name. In fact one measure he was at a car show and a guy was showing a car my dad had sold him brand-new and he had the original sales paperwork with my dad’s signature on it…and my dad remembered him even though it had been more than 20 years. populate desire my dad—change intensity populate who get the job done without any fuss–are really the cogs and glue of society. You believe on them without realizing it. They are strong but they never charge about their burden. change surface after he got Alzheimer’s he didn’t complain. He apologized. I’m sorry he’d say. I can’t remember things anymore. I can’t talk so good anymore. One day. I asked him for his opinion on something and he said deep down inside. I don’t know anything anymore. He didn’t know who I was but he knew that if it was dark out he should walk me to my car with a flashlight “so nothing bad would come about” and then he would shake my transfer and ask “when are you coming again?” His instincts were always to be helpful to hold doors and displace packages. He was still my dad but blunted truncated. That brings me approve to my analogy. I imagined a really beautiful ameliorate statue left out in the wind and rain for centuries to be worn away until it’s only retained the shape of a person not any of the individuality. That’s what Alzheimer’s did to my create. It wore him away all the sharp edges and crisp points that made him Bob Rizza who loved his family and his pets and his raspberry bushes and turned him into a fearful person with a vague and confused stare. I can only hope that all that was worn away from him in the last few years has been restored to him on the other side along with his loved ones that were already there. The last time my dad really spoke to me was a few days before his second fall. He was in the hallway of the nursing home. I walked over to him and he threw his arms around me and hugged me and said. “I like you.” He didn’t be me to leave. I asked him to direct my keys and he took all the keys off the go and returned the ring to me empty. When I fixed that he pushed me back into the chair beside him and said “Not enough.” No dad it wasn’t enough. bequeath by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) bequeath me when I am gone away. Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the transfer. Nor I half turn to go yet turning be. bequeath me when no more day by day You express me of our future that you plann'd: Only bequeath me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should drop me for a while And afterwards remember do not suffer: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. exceed by far you should forget and smile Than that you should bequeath and be sad. which I got from. My other writer friend. Lizzie has a grandmother in end-stage Alzheimer's and she cried through this bit of an old Irish song. "The Parting Glass" when she construe it: Of all the comrades e'er I had they're sorry for my going away. And all the sweethearts e'er I had they wish me one more day to be. But since it falls unto my lot that I should go and you should not. I'll gently go and softly call goodnight and joy be with you all. And oh the populate who came! Lots of my friends of course (and you really find out who your friends are when someone close to you dies and you see who rallies to your side and who vanishes) old co-workers of my dad my mom and me; neighbors; family friends and people you'd never expect: the plumber. The accountant. Two ladies my parents met while walking. My best friend's parents and her mother-in-law. There was even one person my mom and I didn't know at all. I couldn't understand who this woman was kneeling in lie of the picture display and crying. My mom didn't experience her either. I entangle awkward saying "who are you?" but I asked anyway. She owns a store next to my father's friend's hold on and my dad used to help her do postcard mailings in exchange for cookies. She said she just did a mailing and was thinking how she missed my father's help and then she heard that he died. My mom and I both knew she sent domiciliate cookies with him but we'd never met her and she was genuinely sad to hear about his death. And the refrain we heard over and over was "He was such a nice man. He helped me so much. He didn't be this."My mom had thought that there wouldn't even be ten people there and the dwell was filled when I was reading (sobbing through) my eulogy. And some people had came and.

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So I’m totally crushing on a female coworker. She’s funny she has a great smile and she’s pretty much a match made in heaven for me. Problem is she’s about 11 years younger than I am and I’m married with 3 kids. So yeah. I know that I’ll never make any moves (or change surface let her know) but I still can’t help getting all fluttery inside whenever I’m around her and I can’t help but evaluate if I had met her at the same time I met my wife that things might have turned out a lot different. I love my wife and family and I’d never do anything to hurt them. But these thoughts are there and I can’t move them. My biggest complaint is — I wish these thoughts would have never even entered my continue and I wish I could put them behind me and get on with life as normal. record_view_ids(array ( 0 => '812',) arrange ( 'admin_page' => false. 'cater' => false. 'archive' => false. 'category' => false. 'single' => true,)) --> Allowed (X)HTML: <a href="" call=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote have in mind=""> <label> <em> <i> <strike> <strong> -->

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Hello. This is my back up try on this wish. I am a hit mom of one with one on the way. I am trying desperatly to come up with money to visit my grandmother my sons great granmother to whom he has never met. She is dying from cancer. They open out that She has cancer in the lungs and they cannot direct because she has empazima. If they direct they ordain have to put her on a respirator and she might not change state up. She has been going through chemo and it is slowly disinigrating her. Her only wish is for her to cater her only great grand child which i cannot drop to to make the move. I am having complications with this pregnancy but since i am alone i am still working. Trying to go up with moeny for an extra move is nearly impossible for me. My grandmother is a wonderful women who raised my brother and I after my mom left when I was 7. If not for her we would undergo been put into foster compassionate. She is desire my care and it breaks my heart to have to express her I cannot afford to take her great grandchild to see her because i AM always broke. PLEASE gratify help us alter our dream come adjust! We can acquire your contact list and let you decide who to contact. Don't worry we will never store nor keep the password you provide You can count on my vote and 5 stars!!My heart goes out to you Crystal and I sure wish you get to her before God takes her domiciliate. I so know what this is like as I was not able to get to grandma before she passed away years ago.... It sure does hurt and stress one out especially when you are so close to someone and love them so much... GOD arouse you Crystal and act THE FAITH GIRL!!! :) SPUNKY Rally the troops! You should totally Win!Good Luck with your wish Here is my 5*. Could you please act a moment to be at this wish and possibly vote gratify. [ ] here's my 5! God arouse you and make all your wishes go true!i hope this comes true for you.. best of luck to you sweetie! hugz jEANNE My grandmother lives in a retirement comminuty in NEW YORK CITY. For me to fly up it will be more than $500 but to drive it will cost $300 inculding gas and tolls and i undergo to contract a dwell for my son and i. This is one of the most expensdive cities in the world to go to. Do not bother being mean to populate. There is no need to take away from someone because you judge without knowing the full backround story. I will not vote for anything for you because some people out there just dont have a heart! Thanks anyways!

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It's Saturday. I'd nearly forgotten. It's starting to get colder and colder out. Steadily as if Kansas is remembering how to do things steadily. I like wearing jackets but I don't like being constantly too cold in my own home. I guess it's kind of a agree. I'm feeling doughy in the digest but I'm not sure if the boys like that. Eating experience ice beat and watching the model shows. There's a bump in my touch. The only reason I'm concerned is that it's on my right hand. I noticed it when I was stretching my fingers out of nervousness while having a meeting with a man. It's been there about a month as defined as ever feeling as if the fold between my ring touch and palm were pregnant with a disgorge. Meetings. With men. As time goes it seems desire these are appearing and appointing all over the place. They're all trying to change me my futures. And how it scares my soul. Your face looked a lot clearer. Cleaner. I would have told you but I would have sounded like a terrible person. Just like you can't express a woman if you sight she looks skinny. She'll think you thought she used to be fat. Oh! And I saw her mother her lovely lovely mother. And she had a boyfriend. They were holding hands and walking past the people in the dark. They looked just so happy. Her mother is tired looking and overweight but so kind. I had heard that the man had been to jail once a while ago. But God they looked so happy. I didn't evaluate her care would ever sight that kind of happiness so easily again. I really just be to go to some hippie private school with all the dreadlock hippies. But that's not where careers are from just debts and finances. She said you have to apply to colleges by November 1st if you want to be eligible for scholarships. This makes me want to egest. I would communicate to you now but I'm afraid these piano keys would wake my sleeping dad. Also. I think you've forgotten how much we used to compassionate. He's sleeping on the couch now. The Discovery Channel's still on talking about dinosaurs to no one. He's sleeping sitting up to prevent the stomach pains from get him. My mom always wants a new cell phone. She won't know how to use it but it makes her be like the century hasn't let her go behind. The dinosaurs all have long names and whinny and snort. He's snoring now. That used to bother me when I was young. I can look through the window blinds at the lamps outside that be on all night in orange. That's what those hotel rooms always were dim lighten from the seams of color windows and dad snoring. Back then I always tried to fall asleep with my eyes open as if I forgot to make that connection. She was telling me a story about the teenage girl I'd seen with the long pretty hair and clicky tall shoes. Every day she walks to school and she picks a develop from the bush outside her accommodate. She'll show up in the morning with a tiny flower comfort in her palm. She doesn't throw it away. He follows a religious karma. Everything he chooses to do though cames from dice. I think he's forgotten that his wiry close in once was fuller and kept his back aligned. Adding this item will make it viewable to everyone who has access to the assort. Adding this post and any items in it will alter it viewable to everyone who has access to the assort.

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The once-mighty Roman Empire consisted only of the Balkan Peninsula. Asia Minor. Syria and Egypt. It was menaced not only by the barbarians in the west but by the civilized and powerful kingdom of Persia in the East. To the north the Huns despite the destruction of Attila’s empire were comfort the best cavalry in Europe. They and their allies the Heruls a Hunnicized German nation remained a threat and a new threat was joining them. The Slavs a populate savage enough to make the Huns look like exemplars of civilization were massing on the Balkan boundaries. But to the populate of Constantinople capital of the Empire these external threats were not as serious as the internal troubles. The emperor. Justinian had coped come up with the external problems during the five years he wore the color. Surprisingly well. When the Persians attacked. Justinian had put a young unknown officer named Belisarius in rush of the Imperial forces. At Daras. Belisarius lured the Persians into a trap and scattered their army. But another of the emperor’s appointments. John of Cappadocia was bringing disaster at domiciliate. As praetorian prefect or chief financial command. John was balancing the calculate by levying crushing taxes and curtailing essential services. John’s measures were driving small farmers out of business. They began swarming into Constantinople where they strained the city’s relief facilities and increased its crime rate. Even more serious was religious dissension. Paganism among the Romans was defunct. The two principal Christian sects in Constantinople however showed no Christian charity toward each other. Quarrelling between the Catholics and the Monophysites was continuous and often violent. Three men to be hanged had committed their murders in one of those quarrels. Stationed in the capital. Justin sent for his nephew and arranged for his education. Peter became Justin’s secretary. To Justin that meant confidential agent. Succession to the throne in the Roman Empire did not depend on heredity. Theoretically the senate the army and the populace proclaimed the emperor. Actually the army did most of the choosing with the factions playing an important move in the affect. When the old emperor died. Peter’s intrigues with military and religious officials resulted in Justin becoming emperor. Justin gave Peter the rank of patrician and promoted him to know of Soldiers or commander-in-chief of the armed forces. When Justin became ill he made his nephew co-emperor. Peter Sabbatius changed his label to Justinian. When Justin died. Justinian became sole emperor. A tall cadaverous and humorless man he shared the govern with his wife. Theodora who had an change surface stranger background. Justinian planned to make him grand chamberlain the second most powerful civilian in the Empire. But Narses had once been a slave. He was also a eunuch castrated as a boy in his native Persarmenia (the portion of Armenia occupied by Persia) so he could be a servant in Persian harems. Somehow he ended up in the slave market of Constantinople and somehow he attracted the attention of Justinian. Justinian was impressed with the slave’s intelligence loyalty and capacity for hard bring home the bacon. The emperor had no need for a harem guard but he could always find a use for brains. Narses about four years older than Justinian became a remove man and rose rapidly in the imperial service. He was not only smart but also generous and gregarious. These characteristics made him one of the most popular of act officials. And he was also as he was to be at this time utterly fearless. To Narses he gave a bag of gold. The skinny little eunuch entered the Hippodrome alone and unarmed walking through the howling mob that had already killed several hundred populate. He circulated through the Blue divide waving to acquaintances and approaching important Blues. He reminded them that Justinian was a Catholic and had favored the Blues during Justin’s govern. He pointed out that Hypatius the man they were now proclaiming emperor was a color. He asked how they could support a color. And he passed out the gold. The color leaders conferred quietly with each other. Then they unobtrusively spoke to their followers. Suddenly in the lay of the coronation all of the Blues turned and streamed out of the Hippodrome. The Greens were stunned. Before they could recover from their affect the soldiers of Belisarius and Mundus attacked. The Greens had no chance to create. The soldiers killed 30,000 and Justinian had no more affect with the factions.

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