Wednesday, May 30, 2007

LADY BUG III

This is our family's fourth beagle. Peanuts was the first, my sister started it all! Peanuts' daughter was given to my Dad, the first LadyBug. That dog did more traveling than most people. Across the country, up to Alaska via the Trans Alaskan highway. North, South, and East!! Not so much west, we have the Pacific Ocean directly on our west a couple of steps! She made it cross country several times. Sadly that LadyBug passed.
My sister Judi found a rescue Beagle from the pound, and she became LadyBug II. She had been abused, but with lots of care and love, she came around. It was like a night and day change. LadyBug II was certainly Dad's dog, they went just about everywhere together. She sure kept an eye on him. She was a real comfort to my Dad when he was in the hospice. She was there with Dad and the family when he passed. The people there allowed family pets in, and also had visiting animals that came through. When LadyBug II came back to the house, the way she acted at times, I would swear Dad was visiting her. Sadly we had to put LadyBug II down, we all gathered around her, and held her while the vet administered the shot. Funny, but afterwards, as we talked, we all felt that Dad was there with us. I think Dad was waiting patiently for his dog, as he is waiting for us.
LadyBug III is a continuation of a family tradition. So much love in one little package.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

IN FLANDERS FIELDS --THE BACKGROUND STORY

Quite a few of the Memorial Weekend blogs used the poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS, myself included. But what is the story behind it. Who was the man who wrote it. What caused him to write such an enduring poem. . . .

Click to return to the frontpage of 'The Heritage'

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields

story by: The Veterans Affairs Dept. of Canada

On August 4, 1914, Britain declared war on Germany. Canada, as a member of the British Empire, was automatically at war, and its citizens from all across the land responded quickly. Within three weeks, 45,000 Canadians had rushed to join up. John McCrae was among them. He was appointed brigade-surgeon to the First Brigade of the Canadian Forces Artillery with the rank of Major and second-in-command.

Just before his departure, he wrote to a friend:

It is a terrible state of affairs, and I am going because I think every bachelor, especially if he has experience of war, ought to go. I am really rather afraid, but more afraid to stay at home with my conscience. (Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 77)

He took with him a horse named Bonfire, a gift from a friend. Later, John McCrae sent his young nieces and nephews letters supposedly written by Bonfire and signed with a hoof print.

In April 1915, John McCrae was in the trenches near Ypres, Belgium, in the area traditionally called Flanders. Some of the heaviest fighting of the First World War took place there during that was known as the Second Battle of Ypres.

On April 22, the Germans used deadly chlorine gas against Allied troops in a desperate attempt to break the stalemate. Despite the debilitating effects of the gas, Canadian soldiers fought relentlessly and held the line for another 16 days.

In the trenches, John McCrae tended hundreds of wounded soldiers every day. He was surrounded by the dead and the dying. In a letter to his mother, he wrote of the Battle of Ypres.

The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare. We have been in the most bitter of fights. For seventeen days and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off, nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds ..... And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead, the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way.(Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 98)

The day before he wrote his famous poem, one of McCrae's closest friends was killed in the fighting and buried in a makeshift grave with a simple wooden cross. Wild poppies were already beginning to bloom between the crosses marking the many graves. Unable to help his friend or any of the others who had died, John McCrae gave them a voice through his poem. It was the second last poem he was to write.

[Wild poppies flower when other plants in their direct neighbourhood are dead. Their seeds can lie on the ground for years and years, but only when there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity (for instance when someone firmly roots up the ground), these seeds will sprout.

There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him bloodred poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before. This section is from THE HERITAGE OF THE GREAT WAR]

Soon after it was written, he was transferred to No. 3 (McGill) Canadian General Hospital in France where he was Chief of Medical Services. The hospital was housed in huge tents at Dannes-Cammiers until cold wet weather forced a move to the site of the ruins of the Jesuit College at Boulogne.

When the hospital opened its doors in February 1916, it was a 1,560-bed facility covering 26 acres. Here the wounded were brought from the Battle of the Somme, the Battle of Vimy Ridge, the third Battle of Ypres and from Arras and Passchendaele.

John McCrae was deeply affected by the fighting and losses in France. He became bitter and disillusioned.

He felt he should have made greater sacrifices, and insisted on living in a tent through the year, like his comrades at the front, rather than in the officers' huts. When this affected his health in mid-winter he had to be ordered into warmer surroundings. To many he gave the impression that he felt he should still be with his old artillery brigade. After the battle of Ypres he was never again the optimistic man with the infectious smile. (Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 110)

John McCrae and Bonneau in France For respite, he took long rides on Bonfire through the French countryside. Another animal companion was a casualty of the war, the dog Bonneau, who adopted John McCrae as his special friend.

Writing letters and poetry also allowed John McCrae to escape temporarily from the pressures of his administrative duties at the hospital. His last poem, "The Anxious Dead", echoed the theme of "In Flanders Fields" but was never as popular as the earlier poem.

During the summer of 1917, John McCrae was troubled by severe asthma attacks and occasional bouts of bronchitis. He became very ill in January 1918 and diagnosed his condition as pneumonia. He was moved to Number 14 British General Hospital for Officers where he continued to grow weak.

On January 28, after an illness of five days, he died of pneumonia and meningitis. The day he fell ill, he learned he had been appointed consulting physician to the First British Army, the first Canadian so honoured.

John McCrae was buried with full military honours in Wimereux Cemetery, just north of Boulogne, not far from the fields of Flanders. Bonfire led the procession, McCrae's riding boots reversed in the stirrups. His death was met with great grief among his friends and contemporaries. A friend wrote of the funeral:

The day of the funeral was a beautiful spring day; none of us wore overcoats. You know the haze that comes over the hills at Wimereux. I felt so thankful that the poet of `In Flanders Fields' was lying out there in the bright sunshine in the open space he loved so well.... (Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 129)

Thursday, May 24, 2007

MEMORIAL WEEKEND

Arlington National Cemetery 11 September 2001
Looking towards the Pentagon
*
John 15:13 - "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
Words seem so hollow on this time of reflection of what others have done for us. Thank you to those who have served and sacrificed, and their families.
*
*
In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

ASTEROIDS AND WORLD CHANGE

I found this very interesting. The more we find out, the more we learn we do not know. I wonder if we would be as adept at surviving as our ancient ancestors.
*
Diamonds tell tale of comet that killed off the cavemen
Robin McKie, science editor
Sunday May 20, 2007

Guardian Unlimited Online UK

The theory is to be outlined at the American Geophysical Union meeting in Acapulco, Mexico. A group of US scientists that include Arizona geophysicist Allen West, will report that they have found a layer of microscopic diamonds at 26 different sites in Europe, Canada and America. These are the remains of a giant carbon-rich comet that crashed in pieces on our planet 12,900 years ago, they say. The huge pressures and heat triggered by the fragments crashing to Earth turned the comet's carbon into diamond dust. 'The shock waves and the heat would have been tremendous,' said West. 'It would have set fire to animals' fur and to the clothing worn by men and women. The searing heat would have also set fire to the grasslands of the northern hemisphere. Great grazing animals like the mammoth that had survived the original blast would later have died in their thousands from starvation. Only animals, including humans, that had a wide range of food would have survived the aftermath.'

*
Ice Age blast 'ravaged America'
BBC/NEWS Monday, 21 May 2007, 14:01 GMT 15:01 UK
Artist's impression of a comet strike, BBC
A space rock may have exploded in the air over North America
A controversial new idea suggests that a large space rock exploded over North America 13,000 years ago.

The blast may have wiped out one of America's first Stone Age cultures as well as the continent's big mammals such as the mammoth and the mastodon.

The blast, from a comet or asteroid, caused a major bout of climatic cooling which may also have affected human cultures emerging in Europe and Asia.

Scientists will outline their evidence this week at a meeting in Mexico.

Their impact theory shouldn't be dismissed; it deserves further investigation
Jeff Severinghaus, Scripps Institution of Oceanography
The evidence comes from layers of sediment at more than 20 sites across North America.

These sediments contain exotic materials: tiny spheres of glass and carbon, ultra-small specks of diamond - called nanodiamond - and amounts of the rare element iridium that are too high to have come from Earth.

All, they argue, point to the explosion 12,900 years ago of an extraterrestrial object up to 5km across.

No crater remains, possibly because the Laurentide Ice Sheet, which blanketed thousands of sq km of North America during the last Ice Age, was thick enough to mask the impact.

Another possibility is that it exploded in the air.

Climate cooling

The rocks studied by the researchers have a black layer which, they argue, is the charcoal deposited by wildfires which swept the continent after the explosion.

Clovis hunting points, Center for the Study of the First Americans
The Clovis people developed an advanced stone tool technology
The blast would not only have generated enormous amounts of heat that could have given rise to wildfires, but also brought about a period of climate cooling that lasted 1,000 years - an event known as the Younger Dryas.

Professor James Kennett, from the University of California in Santa Barbara (UCSB), said the explosion could be to blame for the extinction of several large North American mammals at the end of the last Ice Age.

"All the elephants, including the mastodon and the mammoth, all the ground sloths, including the giant ground sloth - which, when standing on its hind legs, would have been as big as a mammoth," he told the BBC.

"All the horses went out, all the North American camels went out. There were large carnivores like the sabre-toothed cat and an enormous bear called the short-faced bear."

Professor Kennett said this could have had an enormous impact on human populations.

Population decline

According to the traditional view, humans crossed from north-east Asia to America at the end of the last Ice Age, across a land bridge which - at the time - connected Siberia to Alaska.

TV representation of a mammoth, BBC
The extinction of large North American beasts is a puzzle
The Clovis culture was one of the earliest known cultures in the continent. These proficient hunter-gatherers developed a distinctive thin, fluted spear head known as the Clovis point, which is regarded as one of the most sophisticated stone tools ever developed.

Archaeologists have found evidence from the Topper site in South Carolina, US, that Clovis populations here went through a population collapse.

But there is no evidence of a similar decline in other parts of the continent. The Clovis culture does vanish from the archaeological record abruptly, but it is replaced by a myriad of different local hunter-gatherer cultures.

Tunguska, AP
The Tunguska event devastated parts of Siberia in 1908
Jeff Severinghaus, a palaeoclimatologist at Scripps Institution of Oceanography in California, told Nature magazine: "Their impact theory shouldn't be dismissed; it deserves further investigation."

According to the new idea, the comet would have caused widespread melting of the North American ice sheet. The waters would have poured into the Atlantic, disrupting its currents.

This, they say, could have caused the 1,000 year-long Younger Dryas cold spell, which also affected Asia and Europe.

The Younger Dryas has been linked by some researchers to changes in the living patterns of people living in the Middle East which led to the beginning of farming.

A massive explosion near the Tunguska river, Siberia, in 1908, is also thought to have been caused by a space rock exploding in the atmosphere. It felled 80 million trees over an area of 2,000 sq km.

The new theory will be presented and debated at the American Geophysical Union's Joint Meeting in Acapulco, Mexico, this week.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

LOVE ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY

This was one of my favorite songs from the late 60s, WHITE BIRD, by ITรข€™s A BEAUTIFUL DAY. I remember most of the 60s, though I am told I had a few days here and there where I looked a bit like the picture above. Good times they tell me.

*

Love cannot be kept. It cannot be locked up. Love cannot be chained any more than you can chain a persons heart, or their spirit. The tighter you hold, the harder it is to hold on to, the same as if you hold on with uncaring hands,. One must hold gently with soft caring open hands.

"Love cannot live in a cage, unless the door is always open, but then it is no longer a cage."
E.J. Edwards

For love to survive, it must be able to fly, to soar. And if it is meant to be, and both hearts nourish and cherish each other, they will return together. Two hearts, two spirits, dancing in air. I think ,more now, as true Love being an "arranged accident", by fate, a higher power, the great circles that have always been. . .

From my experience, it seems the more I tried, the more superficial the love was. And we can fool ourselves with superficial love, in fact some guys, perhaps ladies too, are more than happy with that level, it makes it easier to go on to the next "love" and the next. Sometimes it is not knowing, more times it is probably a practiced รข€˜gameรข€™ that some play so well. And someone gets hurt.

Hurting someone is a heavy burden to carry. I have hurt as well as been hurt, as we all have.

Neither is enjoyable, but hurting someone you did not mean to hurt is a heavy thing to be responsible for.

Enough for now. With apologies to Fox Muldar, Love is out there! For each of us.

Ever the Optimist I guess, but you know what they say about optimists: It is someone who does not really understand the circumstances. Well to you who say that, please let me be blissful in my ignorance.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

MELANCHOLY

I have to agree the last posting was sad, an old ballad, and it is such a beautiful song, Mckennitt has such a power and a beauty in her voice.

I am just feeling a bit of meloncholy today. A troubling of the spirit, a trembling in the soul. An empty space that is restless. We all get them at time, and they will pass. I put Alison Krause on because (I have a crush on her) she has a unique and special voice, The beauty of this old accapella spiritual is beyond words. And I need to be reminded, every so often, to look up. . .God bless you one and all.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Whether it be the words or Lorenna Mckennitt's voice, this song is truly haunting. Of love found, love cherised, love shared, love defeating difficulties, and finally love conquering death.

The Highwayman

By Alfred Noyes

Part One   
                              I 
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, 
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, 
And the highwayman came riding-                 
Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.              
 
                    II 
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
 A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
 They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! 
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,                 
His pistol butts a-twinkle, 
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.                
 
 
 
 
                 
 
 
  III 
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, 
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, 
but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, 
and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
 Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
 
                                 
 
 IV 
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked 
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; 
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, 
But he loved the landlord's daughter,                 
The landlord's red-lipped daughter, 
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-  
  
                              V 
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, 
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; 
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, 
Then look for me by moonlight,                 
Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, 
though hell should bar the way."
                                 VI 
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, 
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! 
His face burnt like a brand 
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; 
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,                 
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) 
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
 and galloped away to the West.  
 
 
Part Two                                 I 
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; 
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, 
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, 
A red-coat troop came marching-                 
Marching-marching- King George's men came marching, 
up to the old inn-door.
 
II 
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, 
But they gagged his daughter
 and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; 
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! 
There was death at every window;                 
And hell at one dark window;
 For Bess could see, through the casement, 
the road that he would ride.                                  
 
III 
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; 
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
 "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.                 
She heard the dead man say- Look for me by moonlight;                
 Watch for me by moonlight; 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!   
                               
 IV 
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! 
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood
! They stretched and strained in the darkness, 
and the hours crawled by like years, 
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,                 
Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! 
The trigger at least was hers!                                 
 
 V 
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! 
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, 
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
 For the road lay bare in the moonlight;                 
Blank and bare in the moonlight; 
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
 
                        
 
VI      
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? 
The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? 
Were they deaf that they did not hear? 
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, 
The highwayman came riding,                 
Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! 
She stood up strait and still!                                 
 
 VII Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! 
Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night ! Nearer he came and nearer! 
Her face was like a light! 
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, 
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,                 
Her musket shattered the moonlight, 
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
 
 
                                 VIII 
He turned; he spurred to the West; 
he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, 
drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, 
his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter,                 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
 Had watched for her love in the moonlight, 
and died in the darkness there.                                 
 
 IX 
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, 
With the white road smoking behind him 
and his rapier brandished high!
 Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; 
wine-red was his velvet coat, 
When they shot him down on the highway,                 
Down like a dog on the highway, 
And he lay in his blood on the highway, 
with a bunch of lace at his throat. 

* * * * * *

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Notes:

This is the original version of The Highwayman, copyrighted 1906, 1913.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

A BAD DAY. . .

Signs You're Going to Have a Bad Day

You know it's going to be a bad day when . . .

. . .Mother Nature has it in for you.


. . . your twin sister forgets your birthday.


. . . you wake up face down on the pavement.


. . . you put your bra on your pet as a joke, and it fits better.


. . . you call suicide prevention and they put you on hold.


. . . you see a "60 Minutes news team" waiting in your outer office.


. . . your birthday cake collapses from the weight of the candles.


. . . you want to put on the clothes you wore home from the party, and they aren't yours.


. . . you turn on the TV news and they're displaying emergency routes out of your city.



. . . you wake up to discover that your water bed broke and then you realize that you don't have a water bed.


. . . your horn goes off accidently and remains stuck as you follow a group of bikers on the freeway.


. . . you get a rejection notice from the HUMOR Listserver saying that you're no longer funny.


. . . your doctor tells you, "Well, I have bad news and good news..."


. . . you open the paper and find your picture under a caption that reads:
"WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE!"


. . . your ex-lover calls and tells you he/she has 6 days to live, and that you'd better get the Test.


. . . you wake up at work naked in front of your co-workers.



. . . you have a job interview in 10 minutes and you just woke up

AND THE WORST OF ALL:


. . . you need your chocoholic fix and the government just banned chocolate!

Now then, your day really wasn't all that bad was it?

Saturday, May 12, 2007

HIGH FLIGHT

HIGH FLIGHT
by John Gillespie Magee, Jr
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Mountain Flight Art Print by Ron Parker

Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
--The story behind the poem --

During the desperate days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight the Nazis.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922 to an English mother and a Scotch-Irish-American father, Magee was 18 years old when he entered flight training. Within the year, he was sent to England and posted to the newly formed No 412 Fighter Squadron, RCAF, which was activated at Digby, England, on 30 June 1941. He was qualified on and flew the Supermarine Spitfire.

Flying fighter sweeps over France and air defense over England against the German Luftwaffe, he rose to the rank of Pilot Officer.

On 3 September 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem รข€” "To touch the face of God."

Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed." On the back of the letter, he jotted down his poem, 'High Flight'.

Just three months later, on 11 December 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer from Cranwell Airfield flown by one Ernest Aubrey. The mid-air happened over the village of Roxholm which lies between RAF Cranwell and RAF Digby, in the county of Lincolnshire at about 400 feet AGL at 11:30. John was descending in the clouds. At the enquiry a farmer testified that he saw the Spitfire pilot struggle to push back the canopy. The pilot, he said, finally stood up to jump from the plane. John, however, was too close to the ground for his parachute to open. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.

Part of the official letter to his parents read, "Your son's funeral took place at Scopwick Cemetery, near Digby Aerodrome, at 2:30 P.M. on Saturday, 13th December, 1941, the service being conducted by Flight Lieutenant S. K. Belton, the Canadian padre of this Station. He was accorded full Service Honors, the coffin being carried by pilots of his own Squadron."

NOTE: The background photo, and the second one shown in the body of the blog is a painting by Keith Ferris titled HIGH FLIGHT. It commemorates the flight of Pilot Magee in VZ-H. What other poems and works of greatness did the world lose. . .

Music Courtesy of Linda, please check her blog out for humor, enlightenment, laughs, sometimes tears (good ones!!) and a high AHHHHHHHH factor. She is listed in my friends section.