Hello Everyone, Sorry it has been a while since my last email. Everyone is doing well. I am preparing for a "new addition" to the family. No, it's not a child, even if the preparation for it's coming seems like it. Give up---it's a brand new pentium 4 computer. I'm coming up in the world. I have not gone any where I still read some of the messages when I can. Thought I would pass on this poem. Love, Robin Stinson IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR Wild geese are flying overhead; The air is crisp and clear. The last bright leaves are tumbling down, For it's that time of year. The pungent smell of woodsmoke drifts From bonfires everywhere, And squirrels darting to and fro Hide nuts in ample share. Wagons filled with happy children Are seen on country lanes; Older folks, in sweet nostalgia, Live childhood days again. The flower beds now look forlorn; Jack Frost has passed our way. With icy breath he seared the blooms That once were bright and gay. A cozy fire is on the hearth; Dear friends have come to call. Come let us share a cup of tea And say good-bye to fall. By: Kay Hoffman Ideals Magazine MCMXCV Sign up for Internet Service under $10 dollars a month, at http://isp.BlueLight.com