Easy Bake Oven Recipes Children's Chocolate Cake Mix 1 cup sugar 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/3 cup vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine sugar, cocoa powder, flour, baking soda and salt. Stir with a wire whisk until blended. With a pastry blender, cut in shortening until evenly distributed and mixture resembles corn meal. Spoon about 1/3 cup of the mixture into each of 11 small containers with tight fitting lids or ziplock bags. Seal containers. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 11 packages of Children's Chocolate Cake Mix for Easybake style oven. To Use: 1 package cake mix 4 tsp. water. Mix together and stir with a fork or spoon until blended and smooth. Pour mixture into greased and floured 4 inch round miniature baking pan. Follow directions for child's oven, or bake in mom's preheated 375* oven for 12 to 13 minutes. Remove from oven and cool in pan on a rack for 5 minutes. Invert onto a small plate and remove pan. When cool, frost with Children's Chocolate Frosting. Serves 2 children. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Children's Chocolate Frosting 2 cups icing sugar -- sifted 3 tablespoons instant nonfat milk powder 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 6 tablespoons vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine icing sugar, milk powder and cocoa powder. (Sift cocoa if lumpy.) With a pastry blender, cut in he shortening. Spoon about 1/3 cup of mixture into each of 9 small containers or ziplock bags and seal tightly. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 9 packages of Children's Chocolate Frosting. To Use: 1 pkg. Children's Chocolate Frosting mix 3/4 tsp. water In a small bowl, combine frosting mix and water. Stir with a spoon until smooth. Makes about 1/4 cup. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Children's Cookie Mix 1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats 3/4 cup all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon baking soda 3/4 cup brown sugar -- packed 1/2 cup vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine oats, flour, baking soda and brown sugar. Stir to blend. Cut in shortening with a pastry blender until mixture resembles corn meal. Spoon about 1/2 cup mixture into each of 8 small containers or ziplock bags. Seal bags tightly. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 8 packages of Children's Cookie Mix. Each package makes 9 cookies. To Use: Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookies 1 package Children's Cookie Mix 2 teaspoons water 1 tablespoon raisins 1 tablespoon mini semi sweet chocolate chips sugar Preheat mom's oven to 350*, or follow directions for Easybake oven for baking cookies. In a small bowl, combine cookie mix, water, raisins and chocolate chips. Stir with a spoon until mixture holds together in one big ball. Shape one teaspoon of dough at a time into a ball. Arrange on an ungreased cookie sheet. Butter bottom of a small drinking glass. Dip buttered glass bottom in sugar. Flatten each ball by pressing with sugarcoated glass. Bake 10 to 12 minutes in mom's oven or as directed in Easybake oven. Remove from oven. Cool on a rack. Each package of mix makes about 9 cookies. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Children's Lemon or White Cake Mix for Children's Oven 1 cup sugar 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon lemon-flavored unsweetened drink powder -- like Kool-Aid 1/3 cup vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine sugar, flour, baking soda, salt and drink powder. Stir with a wire whisk until blended. With a pastry blender, cut in shortening until evenly distributed and mixture resembles corn meal. Spoon about 1/3 cup mixture into each of 10 small containers or ziplock bags. Seal bags tightly. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 10 packages Children's Lemon Cake Mix. To Use: 1 pkg. Children's Lemon Cake Mix 4 teaspoons water Preheat mom's oven to 375*. If using an Easybake oven, follow directions for baking cakes. Grease and flour a 4 inch miniature cake pan. In a small bowl, combine cake mix and water. Stir with a fork or spoon until blended and smooth. Pour mixture into prepared pan. Bake 12 to 13 minutes in mom's oven or as directed in play oven. Remove from oven. Cool in pan on rack for 5 minutes. Invert cake onto a small plate. Remove pan. When cool, frost with Children's White Frosting if desired. Serves 2 children. NOTES: Any flavor of Kool-Aid powder can be used for a wide variety of flavors. For a white cake mix, omit the powder. If you like, a drop or two of vanilla may be added at the time the cake is prepared. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Children's White Frosting Mix 2 cups icing sugar -- sifted 3 tablespoons instant nonfat milk powder 6 tablespoons vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine icing sugar and milk powder. Stir with a wire whisk to blend. With a pastry blender, cut in shortening. Spoon about 1/3 cup mixture into each of 8 small containers or ziplock bags. Seal bags tightly. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 8 packages of Children's White Frosting Mix. To Use: 1 pkg. Children's White Frosting mix 3/4 teaspoon water In a small bowl, combine mix and water. Stir well with a spoon until smooth and creamy. Makes about 1/4 cup frosting. A drop or two of vanilla may be added if desired. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Children's Lemon Cake Mix: 1 c. sugar, 1 1/2 c. flour, 1t. baking soda, 1/2t. salt, 1t. lemon Kool-Aid, 1/3 c. vegetable shortening. Combine dry ingredients. Cut in shortening. Spoon 1/4 mixture into about 12 sandwich bags. I then put all the little bags into a freezer bag. Zip it up and store it on the shelf in the pantry. It will keep for about 6 months. To have your little one make a cake: Mix 1 package of mix with 1 tablespoon of water. Stir well until smooth. Bake in greased pan in easy bake oven until slightly brown. Child's Chocolate Cake Mix All ingredients are the same except replace the 1t. lemon Kool-Aid with 3 Tablespoons of baking cocoa (the unsweetened kind) Posted by Donna Godfrey on April 08, 1999 Back to The F.U.N. Place Easy Bake Oven Recipes Please note: I have not personally tried all of these recipes yet. But the price of the Easy Bake mixes in the store is so high that I did a search and came up with a few recipes. Enjoy! Easy Bake Oven Biscuits 1/4 cup Bisquick 4 teaspoons milk Combine Bisquick and milk with a fork. Drop by half-teaspoonfuls onto a well greased pan. Bake 10 minutes. Yield: 8 biscuits Easy Bake Brownies - 6 pieces 2 1/2 tb Sugar 1 ts Oil 1/8 ts Vanilla extract 4 ts Chocolate syrup 2 tb Plus 1 ts Flour Sir together sugar, oil, vanilla, chocolate and flour until the batter is smooth and chocolate colored. Pour batter into greased and floured pan. Bake 15 minutes. When cool, cut them into wedges or little squares. Makes 6 wedges or 1/2 inch squares. Easy Bake Cookie Mix 1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats 3/4 cup all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon baking soda 3/4 cup brown sugar -- packed 1/2 cup vegetable shortening In a medium bowl, combine oats, flour, baking soda and brown sugar. Stir to blend. Cut in shortening with a pastry blender until mixture resembles corn meal. Spoon about 1/2 cup mixture into each of 8 small containers or ziplock bags. Seal bags tightly. Label with date and contents. Store in a cool dry place. Use within 12 weeks. Makes 8 packages of Cookie Mix. Each package makes 9 cookies. To Use: Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookies 1 package Children's Cookie Mix 2 teaspoons water 1 tablespoon raisins 1 tablespoon mini semi sweet chocolate chips sugar Preheat mom's oven to 350*, or follow directions for Easybake oven for baking cookies. In a small bowl, combine cookie mix, water, raisins and chocolate chips. Stir with a spoon until mixture holds together in one big ball. Shape one teaspoon of dough at a time into a ball. Arrange on an ungreased cookie sheet. Butter bottom of a small drinking glass. Dip buttered glass bottom in sugar. Flatten each ball by pressing with sugarcoated glass. Bake 10 to 12 minutes in mom's oven or as directed in Easybake oven. Remove from oven. Cool on a rack. Each package of mix makes about 9 cookies. Thumbprint Cookie Mix 1 tablespoon Powdered Sugar 2 tablespoons Margarine 1/4 teaspoon Vanilla 1/2 teaspoon Water 1/4 cup Flour Your favorite jelly Stir together powdered sugar, margarine, vanilla, water and flour until the flour disappears. Roll the dough between your fingers and make 12 small balls, 1/2 inch each. Place a few balls at a time on an ungreased sheet or pan with space between them. Press your thumb into the middle of each ball to make a thumb print. Bake 10 to 12 minutes, then remove. Repeat until all the cookies are baked. When the cookies are cool, fill each thumb print with jelly. Makes 12 cookies. Barbie's Pretty Pink Cake 5 tablespoons Flour 1/4 teaspoon Baking Powder 1/8 teaspoon Salt 5 teaspoons Red Sugar Crystals 1/4 teaspoon Vanilla 4 teaspoons Vegetable Oil 8 teaspoons Milk Stir together cake flour, baking powder, salt, red sugar, vanilla, oil and milk until the batter is smooth and pink. Pour 3 Tbsp. of batter into greased and floured cake pan. Bake 15 mins. Repeat for second layer. Makes 2 layers. Barbie's Sparkling Frosting 4 teaspoons Vegetable Shortening 2/3 cup Powdered Sugar 1/4 teaspoon Vanilla 2 teaspoons Milk Colored sugar crystals for decoration In a small bowl, mix together shortening, powdered sugar, vanilla and milk until smooth and creamy. Spread 2 tsp. of frosting on top of 1st layer. Add 2nd layer and continue frosting. Sprinkle with colored crystal sugars. Frosts a 2 layer cake. Crazy Cake 4 1/2 t flour 3 t sugar 1/4 t cocoa 1 dash salt 1/8 t baking soda 1 1/2 t salad oil 1/8 t vanilla 1/8 t vinegar 1 T water Pour water over all ingredients and mix well with fork, but do not beat. Bake in oven about 10 minutes.

DailyInbox - Good HousekeepingFive Fat Turkeys Are We "Five fat turkeys are we. We sat all night in a tree. When the cook came around, We couldn't be found. That's why we're here, you see." Thanksgiving is coming! The following featured turkey sites will help you locate and prepare your perfect turkey and trimmings; no tree-sitting for our birds! You should certainly be able to get ideas for celebrating our American tradition. Epicurious, As into Food as You Are http://www.epicurious.com/e_eating/e04_thanks/main.html Here you'll find five regional menus from America's best chefs, in addition to the Thanksgiving Primer, Gourmet magazine's traditional menu including a schedule that spreads the work across the three days leading up to the big meal, provided you can coax your turkey out of the tree. Let's Talk Turkey (but quietly, please) http://www.foodtv.com/holidays/thanksgivingindex/ This year, more than ever, we want to gather with our loved ones and give thanks for our many blessings. These menus, recipes, tips, and videos from the Food Network will help you lay a plentiful table of delicious dishes, beautifully served, and will help ease your preparations for the Thanksgiving meal so you can spend a lot less time in the kitchen with the birds and a lot more time with family and friends. FoodGeeks.com http://www.foodgeeks.com/seasonal/ For those of you who might be overwhelmed by the choices on the previous sites, Foodgeeks offers a simpler, but still solid collection of recipes as well as a Thanksgiving to-do list. Don't let the turkeys view the recipe for frying their friends or they will head not just for the trees, but for the hills as well. Thanksgiving Day Parade http://www.nyctourist.com/macys_menu.htm Thanksgiving would not be Thanksgiving without Macy's Parade and this year thankfully is no different. Here you'll find the parade's history, photos, the route and other pertinent information. Come enjoy this year's 75th annual classic. If you can't make it to New York, you can always join the festivities on the Net if you leave the turkeys outside. 4Thanksgiving.com http://www.4thanksgiving.com/ This comprehensive guide contains links to turkey recipe pages, the history of Thanksgiving, pie recipes, crafts and activities, clip art, and fun activities for the family. You can even send a virtual Thanksgiving card from cyberspace, but watch out for turkeys in trees!

Wonderful midi library. She has other categories of music. Linda Bee <A HREF="http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/">Arlene's Heavenly Midi Library</A> http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/ <A HREF="http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/christmas/index.htm">Arlene's Heavenly Christmas Midi's</A> http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/christmas/index.htm <A HREF="http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/oldies/index.htm">Arlene's Heavenly Midi's - Oldies</A> http://heavenlywebs.net/midis/oldies/index.htm

If you enjoy Fred's newsletter, you might want to subscribe. So many newsletters are quitting these days, maybe he would like some encouragement. :-) HUGS, kath ============================================================ Get a FREE ($9.99 value) self-inking Handy Stamp from iPrint! You won't need to write your return address on mail anymore. Pay a minimal shipping charge. Design your Handy Stamp now! http://click.topica.com/caaaelLa84t9fa9dLNYa/iPrint ============================================================ ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? Welcome to ... The S T R A N G E T R A V E L E R The Best Vacation Ideas This Side of The Other Side! http://www.strangetraveler.com ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? Monday, Nov. 19, 2001 Fellow Travelers, Welcome, to the only travel newsletter on the Internet that dares you to toilet paper and egg your motel next Halloween. Today's visitations include: * STRANGE TRAVEL AND THE NEW NORMAL * HALLOWEEN: AFTER THE CANDY * GO TO HELL IN STULL, KANSAS * SUSPICIOUS SPIRITS * LAWRENCE AND LOGISTICS ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? STRANGE TRAVEL AND THE NEW NORMAL I was ready to press the “send” button for this newsletter early last Tuesday morning, but accidentally deleted a portion of it instead. I bit my tongue, counted to 50 and went to bed. I woke up a few hours later to CNN reports that an airplane had fallen from the sky and hit New York City again. Deja vu. Evil-looking black smoke. People running, screaming, crying. Rudy Giuliani wearing his somber face. Once again, I felt like a pawn in a chess game I never agreed to play. Suddenly, delivering an Internet newsletter about visiting the gateway to Hell seemed redundant. Mailing out stories about restless spirits felt wrong. It felt cruel. It felt ... pointless. Who wants to read about scary places to travel to when the basic act of traveling itself is terrifying? That’s one of many philosophical questions I’ve begun asking myself since Sept. 11. The world has changed over the last two months. People everywhere view travel differently than they did on Sept. 10. Goals, values and lifestyles are being privately evaluated and altered as folks cancel vacation plans in light of the War on Terror. Boredom is no longer a concern. People’s desire for the different, the offbeat and the disturbing are suddenly being filled by the unbelievable events warping our reality daily. During good times, people yearn for the excitement of the dark corners of their lives. In times like these, folks yearn for the light. What does that mean for The Strange Traveler? I am seriously thinking about temporarily suspending the newsletter. With all that’s going on in the world, I sometimes feel guilty tossing this newsletter into cyberspace. It feels like I’m throwing confetti at a funeral. What do you think? Has the time for The Strange Traveler come and gone? Or are there ways I can make it more relevant to the “new normal” our leaders have described? Should I offer guides to Strange destinations that offer hope and spiritual enlightenment? Or do these times call for dark, yet campy, escapism? You know, Alice Cooper, Elvira, the Addams Family; making fun of Miss Cleo. Or does this new normal mean I stay the course? Are haunted houses, monster-infested lakes and alien landing sites immune to the threat of global terrorism? I don’t know. I’m at a crossroads. You can help. Let me know your thoughts about this newsletter in light of recent events. Let me know what kind of stuff you want to read. Let me know how I’m relevant. My email address, as always, is <a href=" mailto:[email protected] "</a> I look forward to hearing from you, and I promise anyone who writes will get an answer. Hey, it’s cheaper than therapy. In the meantime, here’s the newsletter I was going to send you before American Airlines Flight 587 nose-dived into Rockaway. With Thanksgiving on the horizon, the Halloween references are a bit out of date, but, then again, in this newsletter, Halloween is always relevant. ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? HALLOWEEN: AFTER THE CANDY Last year, I spent Halloween with my oldest son, checking out the local legend of the Ghost of 13 Curves near Syracuse, NY. We found a handful of people who’d seen the apparition, a scouting crew from Fox Family’s “Scariest Places on Earth” and lots of teenagers jumping out of bushes and giggling. I wrote about it last year in my “Strange Destinations” newsletter. If you missed it, drop me an e-mail and I’ll send you a copy - revised just enough to avoid copyright problems. My address, as always, is <a href=" mailto: [email protected] "</a> Bobby is away at college now, so I decided this year’s Halloween adventure would involve my youngest son, Joey. Problem is, he’s 5. My wife and I dressed him like the kid in that “Little Vampire” movie and I took him out begging for candy. Then, after tucking him in, it was a couple of glasses of cabernet, about 40 leftover Twix bars, and an hour or so scrolling the internet newswires for indications that the Great Pumpkin had indeed found that sincere plot of farmland. That, you might recall, had been my idea for a terrorism-free Halloween: A tailgate party in a supposedly haunted pumpkin patch. A stakeout for the legendary apparition that ruined so many Halloweens for Linus Van Pelt. An excuse for staying up all night washing down all those perfectly good candies my kids thought were “yucky” with some kind of holiday-themed spirits. (I suggest Black Magic Stout, Hobgoblin ale or Old Nick barley wine. See the Beer Hunter website for more suggestions: http://www.beerhunter.com/documents/19133-001404.html) The concept was good. All I needed was a location. After hours of Internet searching, e-mails to my normally helpful paranormal sources and deafening silence from my Strange Traveler readers, I can reach only one conclusion: There are no more sincere pumpkin patches left in North America. Apparently, every pumpkin patch now includes an array of gourds painted and propped to resemble the cast of “The Wizard of Oz”. Every patch now offers “haunted” hayrides and pawns off bundles of dead corn stalks to suburbanites as Halloween decorations. It doesn’t matter. I’ve changed my mind about the whole thing. Why waste an evening waiting for a spirit whose roots go no deeper than the panels of a comic strip? Why wait for a supernatural vegetable, when you can use the same magic night to stalk something much, much bigger and darker? Why not stake out the Prince of Darkness? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? GO TO HELL IN STULL, KANSAS There are more players starting for the Kansas City Royals than there are houses in Stull, Kansas, a forgotten town off Route 70 between Lawrence and Topeka. Nevertheless, next Halloween, Stull could be a great vacation destination. Think about it: No one is going to plant a bomb there. No suicidal hijacker is going to smash a 747 into a barely inhabited Midwestern hamlet. And no one within miles of the place is going to worry about opening an envelope full of mysterious powder: Stull’s post office closed about a century ago. But I won’t guarantee your safety next Halloween if you spend it in the old cemetery that anchors this nearly extinct Kansas town. Satan is expected to drop by. A combination of local lore, urban legend, gothic imagination and cool web sites maintains that Stull Cemetery is one of the legendary seven gates of hell. It’s one of two places the devil is said to appear simultaneously on earth after midnight on Halloween night, according to a 1980 article in the Kansas City Times. The other place is somewhere in rural India. Why Stull? Rumor has it Satan’s son is buried in the cemetery. According to local legend, the Devil consorted with a Stull woman who practiced witchcraft and gave birth to a son who was so deformed he couldn’t survive. Both he and the witch are allegedly buried in the cemetery. Some say the ghost of the demon boy still haunts the cemetery. A few years ago, some photos surfaced of a werewolf-like boy peering out from behind a tree, according to Troy Taylor, one of the most reliable ghost experts in the business. A gravestone marked “Wiitch” is said to be the resting-place of the wolf boy’s mother; Beelzebub's consort. The cemetery acquired a cult following in the early 1990s when the alternative rock band Urge Overkill released a CD titled “Stull”. The cover featured a photo of the cemetery and the church and one of the songs included references to the town, hell and evil. (http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/9092/) There’s a lot of information about Stull’s supernatural connections, and some photographs that really give you a feel for what it’s like to visit available at http://www.geocities.com/Baja/Outback/2960/. Ghost Source also has some decent information and photos at http://www.ghostsource.com/location_spotlight.html. In 1998, the caretakers of the cemetery cut down a pine tree that was said to have been used to hang a suspected witch. In modern times, Wiccans are said to have congregated around the tree during the spring equinox. When the tree came down, folks interested in the supernatural began to smell a cover-up. You can read about that legend at the Haunted Kansas website: http://www.hauntedkansas.com/stullks.htm. Among the legends swirling about Stull: - Neither rain nor sleet nor nuclear fallout will enter the ruins of the church, even though it no longer has a roof. The ghostly parish, in other words, is precipitation proof. - In 1993, when the Pope was flying to Colorado, he asked that the pilot fly around Kansas, into Nebraska, because the area around eastern Kansas, where Stull is located, was unholy. The source of this legend is supposed to have been Time magazine, but nobody has yet been able to come up with an issue that carries that reference. - A secret set of stairs in or near the church leads to the bowels of Hell itself. The doorway is hidden, and once you find it, a mysterious force is said to beckon you downward. People have supposedly ventured down those stairs for just a few minutes and returned to find a couple of weeks have passed. If that’s true, no one ever filed a missing person’s report. ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? SUSPICIOUS SPIRITS Troy Taylor, editor of Prairieghosts.com (http://www.prairieghosts.com), is skeptical of the alleged supernatural activity in Stull. He notes that, although strange occurrences are said to have happened here for more than a century, the first published account of weirdness appeared in the University of Kansas student newspaper in 1974. The article featured interviews with students who said they’d learned of the legend from their grandparents. One student claimed to have been grabbed by the arm by an invisible assailant. Others talked about unexplained memory loss while visiting the place. I don’t know about you, but when I was in college, memory loss was part of every weekend. And the residents of Stull, the supposed grandparents of the students who started the story, say they’ve never heard of anything like that. Well then. Dismiss it. Unless of course, you think they’re lying. Remember “The Stepford Wives?” How about “The Wicker Man”? In both movies, the whole town was in on the dirty secret. Stull is a tiny place, easily organized, easily intimidated. How do you know they’re not covering something up? I covered a lot of small towns and villages when I worked for a newspaper in northern New York. They routinely hid instances of substance abuse, domestic violence, nepotism and politically creative snow plowing. Once, during a meeting of the village of Evans Mills, the mayor cut a fart and tried to blame it on the village clerk. So yeah, Stull seems suspicious. Every year, on Halloween night, they post sheriff’s deputies around the cemetery. (OK, there’s been quite a bit of in year’s past) And every year, on Halloween, right before midnight, just when the unholy one is scheduled to arrive, they kick all the media out. (The official line is, they didn’t want to encourage trespassers; and they do get a lot of trespassers.) One story tells of two young men who visited Stull and got scared when wind began blowing out of nowhere. They ran back to their car, only to find it on the other side of the road from where they’d parked it, facing the opposite direction. (OK, this is familiar too. Hey, it was the 70s.) ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? LAWRENCE AND LOGISTICS Daytime visits to Stull aren’t a problem. Nighttime visits could cost you as much as $100. That’s the fine for trespassing. Build it into your vacation budget. But don’t plan to stay overnight in Stull. You’ll end up sleeping in your car. Your best bet is probably Lawrence, Ka. Stull is about 15 miles west on Route 44. Directions and a map are posted at a Stull web site created by a former Kansas State University student who made a few uneventful visits there in his cranky yellow car, “the Flying Dog Turd.” The site’s also got some photos. Check it out at http://jove.prohosting.com/~chads/stull/index.html. Lawrence has a thriving arts community and a well-established blues scene. You can check it out at http://www.visitlawrence.com/index.shtml. It also has the Eldridge Hotel. (http://www.eldridgehotel.com) This historic building, once known as the Free State Hotel in the slave state of Kansas, has had its share of legendary hauntings. In the latter part of the 19th century, this building burned several times. In 1863, it was the focus of Quantrill’s raiders, a rampaging unit of 300 to 400 pro-slavery thugs whose orders were to “kill every man and burn every house” in Lawrence. (http://www.ci.lawrence.ks.us/local_history/quantril/quanraid.html) The Elbridge Hotel that stands today contains an original cornerstone used in its rebuilding after Quantrill’s raid. During Quantrill’s sacking of Lawrence, many hotel guests died in the smoke and flames. Their tortured spirits are said to remain. There are numerous cold-spots throughout the home, doors open and close inexplicably, and lights flash on and off without explanation, according to The Shadowlands web page: http://theshadowlands.net/places/kansas.htm. If you stay there, ask for Room 506 and you may not have to trek all the way out to Stull. The room, while not a rumored gateway to Hell, has a reputation as a “portal to the spirit world,” according to The Shadowlands. Lights flicker there for no apparent reason and breath marks have appeared on recently cleaned mirrors. ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? So, what do you think? Is there a place for The Strange Traveler in this not-so-brave new world? As always, you can contact me at <a href=" mailto:[email protected]"</a> Well, the sun is rising ... Fred P.S. - Chances are, you are NOT the strangest person you know. Do you have any friends, co-workers, relatives, cellmates or members of your coven who might enjoy this weekly walk on the weird side? If so, just forward this e-mail to them. They can sign up by using the links below. ************************************************************ TO SUBSCRIBE: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Send an email to: <a href=" mailto:[email protected] "</a> OR: Go through the Topica website at <a href=" http://www.topica.com/lists/Strangetraveler "</a> The travel destinations and events that appear in this newsletter have been selected by me, largely on whims determined by the phase of the moon and what I ate for lunch. Apart from those offers clearly set apart from the text, none of the links presented here are paid promotions for any company or organization. Feel free to forward this, in its entirety, to others. If you just use pieces of it, please give me writer's credits and list The Strange Traveler URL. Or pay me. That would be good too. (c)2001 The Strange Traveler. All rights reserved. ============================================================ For a limited time, get special low prices on select HP Netservers, HP Omnibooks, and HP desktop computers. HP products are powerful, reliable and built to last. http://click.topica.com/caaaecea84t9fa9dLNYf/Hewlett-Packard ============================================================

Sunday Afternoon Rocking When You Can Almost Touch the Day (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) Sometimes I can reach hardly at all, and almost touch the day. I find myself thinking, "Oh! I must call Aunt Kay and tell her this!" and for just a moment I can hear her infectious laugh on the other end of the phone line, hear her slow southern drawl telling me to "get myself down there". It is so real I can almost touch the moment. And then I remember. I think of Gin, and I can hear her soft whispery voice, can see her spreading icing on a cake, can hear her bid me to get her a "Coke-Cola" from the fridge. And though I suppose in a way I said goodbye to her long ago, since for a number of years before her death, her mind had not been in the present, it is so real I can almost touch the day she was herself. They were my aunts. There were four of them, and three of them never with children, and so I was their surrogate, and a surrogate for the other too, when she lost her only daughter. I was the only daughter of their baby brother, and he they lost first. Because there were so few of us, we were entwined and close. My aunts, the two that are left, are as interested in their great great nieces and nephews as if there were no "greats" in the description. Indeed if they are reminded of it, they look startled, as if they wonder when so many generations had a chance to "hatch". Our blood family members we can count on the fingers of two hands, literally. The sheer knowledge that there were so few of us was a part of the closeness, and so was the tragedy of our lost legacy. For this family was one of the many who lost the legacy of their ancestors, the home place of generations to LBL. It was a scar that never quite healed, and I grew up in the shadow of the knowledge of what it was. For those who were not intimately involved, let it be known that the story will never be written in books of scholarly and academic intent as it was, will never appear in the public records of the sales and auctions as it affected a people. And in my mind, I can go back, and swing on a front porch, walk down a dusty road, and almost touch a place now a wilderness as it was when a people lived and loved there. They will be 90 and 91 this fall, these two who are all that are left of a family. I hear from them most every day, and several times a month will make the journey to see about them. In some ways they are not so different as they must always have been. The sibling rivalry that began in 1911 is clearly still in evidence, as one aunt clasps her "baby" protectively and the other snorts and tells her that is the "ugliest doll she ever saw!" I imagine that to be somewhat the same conversation they might have had in 1918. The spirit of fierce independence is still in evidence as one warns the other that if she does not eat better "they will put that tube in your belly!" The other reminds her quickly that permission must be granted for tubes in a belly, and "they won't be getting it!" I imagine they must have bickered in much the same way about getting one another in trouble with Mama or Papa. The good humor is evident as they laugh and clap their hands in time to the singing Santa Claus I decorate their rooms with at Christmas. I remember a letter their own Mama wrote telling of them diving like "greedy little pigs" over a package of sweets their Papa had sent at Christmas time when he was away visiting his own mother in 1917. When I read that letter, and others, I could almost touch the day, though it was long before I was even thought of. My aunts have lived long and they can tell stories of times and places and people that no one living remembers. They can remember an uncle going away to fight in the Great War, and never returning. They can remember Prohibition and they can remember the Depression. Though they may falter over what was their morning meal, they remember with startling clarity all of the great events of the 20th century. And they remember all of the smaller parts of history that had little to do with what was written in a history book, but much to do with history of the common people. They can tell you of their mama sitting to make a shroud for an aunt using her old treadle sewing machine, and they can tell you of family gatherings in the yard when the circuit rider came. One can tell you how it was to teach in a one room school, to board with a family while doing so. She can tell how she canoed her way to a school where she was not just the teacher but also the fundraiser, the cook, the janitor, the stoker of fires, the nurse and the counselor. One can tell you how it was to own and operate a corner grocery store in the days of the Depression. She can tell you how it was to extend credit to folks knowing they had no way to pay it back, but also knowing one could not turn his or her back on neighbors. Hearing them talk, I know that for them it does not seem so long ago really, and they can almost touch the day. Because I know the time is drawing nearer now when all I will have is "almost touching the day", I store up their stories, listen carefully to their words, study their faces and try to memorize their expressions. They have been my family now for night on half a century, and they are the roots that have held up my world for so long I cannot imagine standing without those roots. But as long as I can "almost touch the day", I can make it live for the "greats" my aunts are startled to realize are "greats", I can make it live for me, and I can foster the roots that held up my world, that they will hold up the world for those yet to come in our family. As long as there are stories, as long as there is a link, as long as there are ears to hear and a heart to speak, we can "almost touch the day". Just a thought, jan Copyright ©2001janPhilpot ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be shared...simply share as written without alterations...and in entirety. Thanks, jan) Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per week will come across it, that being the column. To subscribe send email to [email protected] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ============================================================ LAWYERS, ACADEMICS, LIBRARIANS, PROFESSIONALS ... YOU! Powerful bookmark management - access, store, share, publish. Never lose your favorites again! Get FREE trial of BLINKPRO. http://click.topica.com/caaaekqb1dissb2hvmof/BLINKPRO ============================================================

That was a good one Missi ----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Saturday, November 17, 2001 1:59 PM Subject: [FOLKLORE FAMILY] Courage of the Heart > > Courage of the Heart > By Patty Hansen > > I sit on the rickety auditorium chair with the > camcorder on my shoulder and I can feel the tears well up > in my eyes. My six-year-old daughter is on stage, calm, > self-possessed, centered and singing her heart out. I am > nervous, jittery and emotional. I try not to cry. > "Listen, can you hear the sound, hearts beating all > the world around?" she sings. > Her little round face turns up to the light, a little > face so dear and familiar and yet so unlike my own thin > features. Her eyes - eyes so different from mine - look > out into the audience with total trust. She knows she is > loved. > "Up in the valley, out on the plains, everywhere > around the world, heartbeats sound the same." > The face of her birth mother looks out at me from the > stage. The eyes of a young woman that once looked into > mine with trust now gaze into the audience. These features > my daughter inherited from her birth mother - eyes that > tilt up at the corners, and rosy, plump little cheeks that > I can't stop kissing. > "Black or white, red or tan, it's the heart of the > family of man...oh, oh beating away, oh, oh beating away," > she finishes. > The audience goes wild. I do, too. Thunderous > applause fills the room. We rise as one to let Melanie > know we loved it. She smiles; she already knew. Now I am > crying. I feel so blessed to be her mom. She fills me > with so much joy that my heart actually hurts. > The heart of the family of man...the heart of courage > that shows us the path to take when we are lost...the heart > that makes strangers one with each other for a common > purpose: this is the heart Melanie's birth mother showed to > me. From deep inside the safest part of herself, Melanie > heard her birth mother. This heart of courage belonged to > a 16-year-old girl, a girl who became a woman because of > her commitment to unconditional love. She was a women who > embraced the concept that she could give her child > something no one else ever could: a better life than she > had. > Melanie's heart beats close to mine as I hold her and > tell her how great she performed. She wiggles in my arms > and looks up at me. "Why are you crying, Mommy?" > I answer her, "Because I am so happy for you and you > did so well, all by yourself!" I can feel myself reach out > and hold her with more than just my arms. I hold her with > love for not only myself, but for the beautiful and > courageous woman who chose to give birth to my daughter, > and then chose again to give her to me. I carry the love > from both of us...the birth mother with the courage to > share, and the woman whose empty arms were filled with > love...'for the heartbeat that we share is one.' > > > > > > «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« > Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) > I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. > > »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > ==== FOLKLORE Mailing List ==== > "Folklore Family" Listresses > Missi [email protected] & Kath [email protected] > »§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« >

But it's a mousey wand!! > > > lmao...nope nope > wand won't work > missi > > > "May the music of the heavens, Dance around you in the air; May the peace of God the father, Keep your heart and soul from care.

LOL all the BIG presents go to me this year!!! > > <G> (Twinkles only smiled.... ) :-) > hmmm.....forget the bigger bow Laural, I think ya need a bigger present. < > heehee> > no name > > "May the music of the heavens, Dance around you in the air; May the peace of God the father, Keep your heart and soul from care.

nope nope nope > > i dont think sso cinder its all your fault she started it!!!! > > "May the music of the heavens, Dance around you in the air; May the peace of God the father, Keep your heart and soul from care.

An Angel Flew Into My Heart by D.J. Tremmel (This poem is dedicated to all the angels in this world) An angel flew into the dark empty space, That was deep inside my broken heart. She made my lonely world such a better place, And caused my needed healing to start. She hugged my soul with her soft and gentle wings, And told me to always let my love for people show. She helped me make it through a number of things, And taught me that my mistakes only help me grow. She said "Your light is a beacon, so always let it shine." "For what good is a hidden thing even if it's devine?" "No good is a tarnished and unused halo." "Loving others will always keep it aglow." I thank you my angel for gracing my heart, And showing me the wonder in all things. Thank you too for teaching me to do my part, To insure that someone elses heart sings. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ O * O *O * O O * * O <º)(((((~((((((>>>< * <º)((((~((((>< missi

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE, IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE. I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE, AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE. I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE, NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE. NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND, ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS. WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS, A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND. FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT WAS DARK AND DREARY, I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER, ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY. THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE, CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME. THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER, NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER. WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ? CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED? I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT, OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT. SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY, AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY. THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR, BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE. I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE, ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME. THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE, I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY. THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE, "SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE; I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE, MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS." THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP, I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP. I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL. I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT, THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT. THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE, WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE." ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT. "MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT." This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan. The following is his request. I think it is reasonable..... PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S. service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed. «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

The Crisis of Today By Karyn Buxman, RN, MSN, CSP As a new R.N., I'd been assigned to work evenings in an intensive care unit in a small rural hospital. Back then, as now, staffing was short, and I was the only R.N. working that shift. It was a quiet evening with only five patients, all of whom were sleeping or resting. I told the two L.P.N.s to go grab some supper in the cafeteria and bring me back something to eat. Leaving me to cover the unit, they hightailed it out of there before I had time to rethink my lousy decision. I poured over my paperwork, the rhythm of the beeping monitors playing their familiar tune in the background, when my nursing radar picked up an unusual noise that flagged my attention. 'What the heck was that?' I looked up from my charts into the room across the hallway to see a cardiac patient standing beside his bed. 'Hmmmm, not a good idea.' Then suddenly, before I could even complete that thought, whoom! His feet shot out from under him, his gown flew into the air, and he disappeared from sight! 'Yikes!' I leaped from my chair, shot across the hallway, bolted through the door and into the room. As I made my dramatic entry, I spied a giant puddle of greenish brown fluid spreading across his floor. 'Nursing diagnosis: greenish brown liquid...body fluids...oh no! Poop!' Too late! I was already hydroplaning across the spillage, arms and legs flailing to keep me upright. Always the optimist, my mind raced ahead with positive thoughts: 'I'm going to glide across this mess, land on both feet and save the day!' This, unfortunately, did not happen... Instead, my feet skidded across the fluid and then, whoom! I landed so hard on my backside, my head bounced off the linoleum. 'Ouch...' I shook the stars off and rolled over to look for my patient. Spry thing that he was, he was trying to get up. Boom! He fell again. I tried to jump up to help him. Wham! I slipped again. He tried to pull himself up. Whoom. I scrambled for balance. Wham. With arms and legs splayed in every direction, we looked like Bambi and Thumper skidding on ice. After what seemed an eternity, our eyes met, and I realized he was laughing. "It's probably not what you think," he said with a wink, and motioned to our putrid puddle. A styrofoam cup lay tipped beside it. Totally discombobulated, I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me. "Huh?" He shook his head as if to apologize. "I was hoping to hide my tobacco juice before you made rounds." It took a minute to sink in. Is this the good news or the bad news? Tobacco juice or poop: 'Which would I rather be wrestling around in?' To this day I'm still not sure. But once I knew that my patient was okay, I was able to see the humor in the situation, and we both enjoyed a good laugh together. Lesson #1: Life's curve balls, plus time, equals humor. If there's a chance that you'll be laughing about something later, try to shorten the time frame. Laugh about it sooner. Lesson #2: It's to your advantage if you can laugh at yourself before others do. By the time I walked out of that room with greenish brown slime painted all over my crisp white uniform, everyone else immediately saw the humor in the situation. Since I was already laughing, my colleagues laughed with me instead of at me! Lesson #3: The closer you are to tragedy, the odder your humor becomes. Nurses have to be able to laugh at some of the tough stuff or we burn out and leave this wonderful profession. Nurses can find the silver lining and the humor in the most bizarre places - thank God! ______________________________ «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

THE BURDEN "Why was my burden so heavy?" I slammed the bedroom door and leaned against it. Is there no rest from this life? I wondered. I stumbled to my bed and dropped onto it, pressing my pillow around my ears to shut out the noise of my existence. "Oh God," I cried, "let me sleep. Let me sleep forever and never wake up!" With a deep sob I tried to will myself into oblivion, then welcomed the blackness that came over me. Light surrounded me as I regained consciousness. I focused on its source: the figure of a man standing before a cross. "My child," the person asked, "why did you want to come to Me before I am ready to call you?" "Lord, I'm sorry. It's just that... I can't go on. You see how hard it is for me. Look at this awful burden on my back. I simply can't carry it anymore." "But haven't I told you to cast all of your burdens upon Me, because I care for you? My yoke is easy, and My burden is light." "I knew You would say that. But why does mine have to be so heavy?" "My child, everyone in the world has a burden. Perhaps you would like to try a different one?" "I can do that?" He pointed to several burdens lying at His feet. "You may try any of these." All of them seemed to be of equal size. But each was labeled with a name. "Why there's Joan's!" I said. Joan was married to a wealthy businessman. She lived in a sprawling estate and dressed her three daughters in the prettiest designer clothes. Sometimes she drove me to church in her Cadillac when my car was broken. "Let me try that one." How difficult could her burden be? I thought. The Lord removed my burden and placed Joan's on my shoulders. I sank to my knees beneath its weight. "Take it off!" I said. "What makes it so heavy?" "Look inside." I untied the straps and opened the top. Inside was a figure of her Mother-in-law, and when I lifted it out, it began to speak. "Joan, you'll never be good enough for my son," it began. "He never should have married you. You're a terrible mother to my grandchildren..." I quickly placed the figure back in the pack and withdrew another. It was Donna, Joan's youngest daughter. Her head was bandaged from the surgery that had failed to resolve her epilepsy. A third figure was Joan's brother. Addicted to drugs, he had been convicted of killing a police officer. "I see why her burden is so heavy, Lord. But she's always smiling and helping others. I didn't realize..." "Would you like to try another?" He asked quietly. I tested several. Paula's felt heavy: She was raising four small boys without a father. Debra's did too: a childhood of sexual abuse and a marriage of emotional abuse. When I came to Ruth's burden, I didn't even try. I knew that inside I would find arthritis, old age, a demanding full-time job, and a beloved husband in a nursing home. "They're all too heavy, Lord." I said. "Give back my own." As I lifted the familiar load once again, It seemed much lighter than the others. "Lets look inside." He said. I turned away, holding it close. "That's not a good idea," I said. "Why?" "There's a lot of junk in there." "Let Me see." The gentle thunder of His voice compelled me. I opened my burden. He pulled out a brick. "Tell me about this one." "Lord, You know. It's money. I know we don't suffer like people in some countries or even the homeless here in America. But we have no insurance, and when the kids get sick, we can't always take them to the doctor. They've never been to a dentist. And I'm tired of dressing them in hand-me-downs." "My child, I will supply all of your needs... and your children's. I've given them healthy bodies. I will teach them that expensive clothing doesn't make a person valuable in My sight." Then He lifted out the figure of a small boy. "And this?" He asked. "Andrew..." I hung my head, ashamed to call my son a burden. "But, Lord, he's hyperactive. He's not quiet like the other two. He makes me so tired. He's always getting hurt, and someone is bound to think I abuse him. I yell at him all the time. Someday I may really hurt him...." "My child," He said, "if you trust Me, I will renew your strength. If you allow Me to fill you with My Spirit, I will give you patience." Then He took some pebbles from my burden. "Yes, Lord," I said with a sigh. "Those are small. But they're important. I hate my hair. It's thin, and I can't make it look nice. I can't afford to go to the beauty shop. I'm overweight and can't stay on a diet. I hate all my clothes. I hate the way I look!" "My child, people look at your outward appearance, but I look at your heart. By My Spirit you can gain self-control to lose weight. But your beauty should not come from outward appearance. Instead, it should come from your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in My sight." My burden now seemed lighter than before. "I guess I can handle it now." I said. "There is more." He said. "Hand Me that last brick." "Oh, You don't have to take that. I can handle it." "My child, give it to Me." Again His voice compelled me. He reached out His hand, and for the first time I saw the ugly wound. "But, Lord, this brick is so awful, so nasty, so.....Lord! What happened to Your hands? They're so scarred!" No longer focused on my burden, I looked for the first time into His face. In His brow were ragged scars --as though someone had pressed thorns into His flesh. "Lord," I whispered. "What happened to You?" His loving eyes reached into my soul. "My child, you know. Hand Me the brick. It belongs to Me. I bought it." "How?" "With My blood." "But why, Lord?" "Because I have loved you with an Everlasting Love. Give it to Me." I placed the filthy brick into His wounded palm. It contained all the dirt and evil of my life: my pride, my selfishness, the depression that constantly tormented me. He turned to the cross and hurled my brick into the pool of blood at it's base. It hardly made a ripple. "Now, My child, you need to go back. I will be with you always. When you are troubled, call to Me and I will help you and show you things you cannot imagine now." "Yes, Lord, I will call on You." I reached to pick up my burden. "You may leave that here if you wish. You see all these burdens? They are the ones that others have left at My feet. Joan's, Paula's, Debra's, Ruth's..... When you leave your burden here, I carry it with you. Remember, My yoke is easy and My burden is light." As I placed my burden with Him, the light began to fade. Yet I heard Him whisper, "I will never leave you, nor forsake you." A peace flooded my soul. -- Author Unknown .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Missi * :* *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³ »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« "Digging in the garden, digging like a mole. Awful for the manicure, lovely for the soul." Richiele 'Marie (Missi) <*}}>< MSN [email protected] »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

Courage of the Heart By Patty Hansen I sit on the rickety auditorium chair with the camcorder on my shoulder and I can feel the tears well up in my eyes. My six-year-old daughter is on stage, calm, self-possessed, centered and singing her heart out. I am nervous, jittery and emotional. I try not to cry. "Listen, can you hear the sound, hearts beating all the world around?" she sings. Her little round face turns up to the light, a little face so dear and familiar and yet so unlike my own thin features. Her eyes - eyes so different from mine - look out into the audience with total trust. She knows she is loved. "Up in the valley, out on the plains, everywhere around the world, heartbeats sound the same." The face of her birth mother looks out at me from the stage. The eyes of a young woman that once looked into mine with trust now gaze into the audience. These features my daughter inherited from her birth mother - eyes that tilt up at the corners, and rosy, plump little cheeks that I can't stop kissing. "Black or white, red or tan, it's the heart of the family of man...oh, oh beating away, oh, oh beating away," she finishes. The audience goes wild. I do, too. Thunderous applause fills the room. We rise as one to let Melanie know we loved it. She smiles; she already knew. Now I am crying. I feel so blessed to be her mom. She fills me with so much joy that my heart actually hurts. The heart of the family of man...the heart of courage that shows us the path to take when we are lost...the heart that makes strangers one with each other for a common purpose: this is the heart Melanie's birth mother showed to me. From deep inside the safest part of herself, Melanie heard her birth mother. This heart of courage belonged to a 16-year-old girl, a girl who became a woman because of her commitment to unconditional love. She was a women who embraced the concept that she could give her child something no one else ever could: a better life than she had. Melanie's heart beats close to mine as I hold her and tell her how great she performed. She wiggles in my arms and looks up at me. "Why are you crying, Mommy?" I answer her, "Because I am so happy for you and you did so well, all by yourself!" I can feel myself reach out and hold her with more than just my arms. I hold her with love for not only myself, but for the beautiful and courageous woman who chose to give birth to my daughter, and then chose again to give her to me. I carry the love from both of us...the birth mother with the courage to share, and the woman whose empty arms were filled with love...'for the heartbeat that we share is one.' «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

lol they were gunna try to drag you into this they thought you could delete the message lol!! > > <G> (Twinkles only smiled.... ) :-) > hmmm.....forget the bigger bow Laural, I think ya need a bigger present. < > heehee> > no name > > > > > But all I saw was grief from sisters........... > > wrapping missi present with a big bright bow > >

tapping foot,,cocking eyebrow hmmmm.. > >

lol you are the only sisters that matter to me..looking for bigger present > > But all I saw was grief from sisters........... >

lmao...nope nope wand won't work missi > > LOL you should hear all the things we were thinking of doing to erase that > little booo booo > LOL > PJ > > > > > > > > LMAO i know.. > > psst btw kath can not go into folklore and delete mail to save you ROTF!! > > what were you thinking lol i love you sissy > > its ok i sent the little men in white coats away. > > you can come out now. > > kisses > > missi > > >

The Girl And The Upturn A girl walked up to the information desk in a hospital and asked to see the "upturn." "I think, you mean the 'intern,' don't you?" asked the nurse on duty. "Yes," said the girl. "I want to have a 'contamination.'" "You mean 'examination,'" the nurse corrected her. "Well I want to go to the 'fraternity ward,' anyway." "I'm sure you mean the maternity ward." To which the girl replied: "Upturn, intern; contamination, examination; fraternity, maternity.... What's the difference? All I know is I haven't demonstrated in two months, and I think I'm stagnant."

No Man is an Island, but a Reef? Maybe. November 16, 2001 7:48 am EST KEY WEST, Fla. (Reuters) - For a $2 million minimum bid on the Internet auction house eBay, one lucky philanthropist can win the right to name an artificial reef planned for the Florida Keys. The nonprofit Artificial Reefs of the Keys is auctioning off the right to name a new artificial reef, to be created by the sinking next year of a decommissioned military ship about 6.5 miles southeast of Key West. The project aims to protect the world's third-largest living coral reef -- located off the island of Key West on Florida's southern tip -- by providing an alternative site for diving enthusiasts, the nonprofit group said. "Obviously, these are tough economic times, and this is certainly not for everybody," acknowledged Joe Weatherby, the group's president. "The person who bids on our project is interested in having a name associated with the environment and protecting the only living coral reef in the country. ... It's the same type of person who builds a library or wing on a hospital." The 10-day auction began Nov. 13, but as of Thursday, no one had entered a bid, Weatherby said. At more than 13,000 tons, 520 feet) long and 10 stories tall, the decommissioned Gen. Hoyt S. Vandenberg will be the largest ship "ever intentionally sunk" for the purpose of creating a dive destination. The vessel was commissioned in 1944 as the Gen. Harry Taylor, a troop transport ship, the first ship sailing back into New York's harbor, carrying U.S. soldiers who thought they were bound for Japan, just as World War II ended. In 1963, it was renamed the Vandenberg and used as an Air Force missile-tracking ship.