Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The Coffee Party!

Love it!

And it's so wonderful to hear this old piece of Jon Stewart calling the so-called media on their ineptitude. It was posted in an article about whether he should be running CNN. Wouldn't that be wonderful... him or someone like him. People who actually care about truth and discourse and really covering issues in depth. What a concept!

Daily Reminder # 93

Just gratitude today, I think.

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • My friend E
  • All my friends
  • my nieces and nephew
  • Angel and Tara Grace
  • Blog visitors
  • the beauty of autumn leaves
  • water
  • TV
  • movies
  • finishing a good book
  • music
  • my house
  • cream cheese wontons
  • my microwave
  • Raven's Nest
  • Possibilities
  • Huffington Post
  • Indoor Plumbing
  • fans
  • computer games
  • coffee with International Delight
  • cashew nuts
  • my cane
  • the ability to walk (however wobbly I may be)
  • sight
  • hearing
  • sense of smell
  • words and sound
  • beauty in all its manifestations
  • Life
  • hope

Have a Great Day!

Monday, August 30, 2010

Daily Reminder # 92

The back yard was busy but uncooperative today.  Lots of birds flitting beyond camera range and hiding in bushes. I got a few so-so shots, though. Thought I'd do another fable today.  Don't have anything new on my mind today so I'm taking the lazy way yet again. The last line of this one is one of those things I wrote that I really like. I don't know if it's good or kitchy, but I just really like it.

by Katherine E. Rabenau

Frank Osborne could not remember how long he had been living on Anglewood Mountain, but he knew it had been a long time. In his youth, Frank had not been very good with people. Shy and blunt, he had seemed remote and snide and people had not liked him. He hadn't liked himself either. Suffocating behind the glass wall of his loneliness, his efforts to reach out had landed like hammers on the toes of prospective acquaintances. Their hostility had cut through him like a sword.

Until, that is, he met and loved and lived with Amanda. Frank never knew why or how she had felt his pain and his gentleness. She had simply walked up to him one day as he sat alone in the park, taken his hand, looked directly into his eyes and said, "It's OK. I see you." He had cried -- not long or loud -- but his heart had fluttered and three large tears had escaped before he could stop them. Catching one of them on her finger, Amanda had put it to her lips and said, "Such tears quench the thirst of God," and had leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Take me home, sweet prince, for I have drunk your heart and I am yours." And despite thinking that she must be crazy, he thought also that she was beautiful like an angel and that he had waited his whole life for someone to touch his tears. Her beauty was mythical. At first, certain that she was an illusion, he had been afraid to touch her, afraid she would dissolve if he dared to reach for her. But she had been no illusion. She had been so real. Although she had been dead now for many years, Frank could taste her mouth, feel the solid softness of her, the silky warmth of her skin as though he had held her that morning. He could still smell the spicy sweetness of her.

She had moved into his life and heart with the direct, natural flow of a river heading to sea. They had made sweet, tender, wild love and he savored the memory of it, but he savored more the memory of her presence and what it had done for him. She had moved so easily into his world that in some ways he hardly noticed it, yet to say only that she had changed his life was like saying that the sun was merely important to life on earth. Amanda was a mirror in which he had seen a new reflection of himself. She was unconditional in her love. There was nothing simpy or vapid in this; she did not overlook his flaws, his moods. She simply loved him anyway, without sacrificing her own integrity.

Frank still believed that God had sent him an angel to soothe his isolation and after a time had taken her away. At first his grief had been so deep he had thought he would die of it. He had been unable to believe that she was really gone, had felt like a lost child waiting for rescue. He had tried to hate God, had waited for bitterness, for the return of his former emptiness. But when time passed and it did not come, he realized that he had been changed forever. Amanda was part of him. It was not just that he had beautiful memories, it was that he was alive inside. She had shown him his soul by sharing her own.

And then he had known that he had to move to the mountain. It was not, as some thought, to escape or be alone. He had gone to the mountain to touch the stars and feel the heartbeat of the earth. He had gone to the mountain to make himself available to the people he knew would come. And they did. Somehow they found him. Some stayed for an hour, some for weeks. Sometimes he would converse with them, tell them about Amanda and his former life, about living on the mountain. Sometimes Wolf, his four-legged companion, would minister to them. But mostly, he would simply hold their hands and look into their eyes, and something in his shining, tender look would show them the beauty of their own souls. And when they cried, as they so often did, he would catch a single drop on his finger and whisper, "Such tears quench the thirst of God."


Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • a few new photos from the back yard
  • Instant Download netflix
  • sleeping kitties
  • my microwave oven
  • Pandora Online Radio
  • Music
  • neighbors
  • my nose and wonderful aromas


Sunday, August 29, 2010

Daily Reminder # 91

Gratitude is good for you - not just emotionally, but physically. Who'd a thunk?  This morning I read this short - not very clear - article saying that holding feeling of love and gratitude can change your heart rate and impact DNA (that's the part that isn't very clear). Cool. 

So... Be grateful. It's good for you.

Some things I'm grateful for today:
  • gratitude
  • good books
  • cheese
  • my home
  • paid bills
  • life
  • friends
  • my nieces and nephew

May life give you lots of things 
to be grateful for
and a heart to receive them.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Daily Reminder # 90

Well, even though it was a beautiful sunny day, there was not a photo to be had in the back yard. I had an awful time getting even the two wordzzles I did written ... AND.... some strange, REALLY annoying quirk with this stupid new blogger set-up makes the spacing on posts go totally wonky.  I redid the darned wordzzle post and it was ok and then I went to correct something and it's all full of huge spaces again. I'm too frustrated to deal with it.

So... since all I have is a whining rant in me at the moment, my reminder is to try not to let things get to you.... even if they're very frustrating.

I'm thinking of the AA serenity prayer that says:  

"God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Good advice. So.... I'm taking a deep breath and recognizing that tonight, in my present state of mind, I can't fix the wordzzle post. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to do it. If not, it's not really that big a deal. It looks stupid, but it's readable.

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • the serenity prayer
  • tomorrow
  • soup
  • old photos
  • Jon Stewart yet again
  • a roof over my head
  • reiki


Friday, August 27, 2010

Weekly Wordzzle Challenge: Week # 124

It's week 124 of the Weekly (formerly known as "Saturday") Wordzzle Challenge. Special thanks Argent for this week's words.   Wow, Argent!  I hope you're having as difficult a time with these words as I am. Oh, my.... they're killing me.  It's 10:00 pm and I've finally gotten a mini and a 10-word. I think I need to let my brain rest and do the mega in the morning.  Thanks for the challenge. I think.

Is anyone besides me having an awful time with the new blogger thingy?  Things don't stay where I put them and I get huge gaps of space.  I redid the post to eliminate them and hope that holds.  Very frustrating.  My nephew (bless him) fixed the spacing by copying everything into notepad and reposting it. This apparently takes out all the code.  I just tried to reinstate the bolding and color, but that mucked everything up again and I just can't do battle with this any more, so I apologize for not  making the words clear, but blogger has defeated me for the time being. I'd rather have paragraphs (they went away when I tried to restore bold and color - the opposite of my original problem which was huge gaps of space...) Anyway... hopefully next week, I can return to normalcy but not today. 

Thank you for playing! Newcomers can check here for some guidelines (and they are only guidelines, not rules) to make the process more fun.<

Words for this week's 10-word challenge were: 

corner, cold-stone, rolex, sole, effortless, raindrops, eyebrow, speaker, amusing, leapt   
And for the mini: fluid, acreage, fasten, tripe, pages

My 10-word:

The disheveled speaker on the corner leapt effortlessly from foot to foot in a kind of strange frenetic dance. It might have been amusing if what he was saying had not been so filled with a mix of hate and fear and despair. Martha lifted an eyebrow in surprise as a well dressed man, impeccably groomed, rolex on his wrist approached him, a mix of disgust and compassion on his face. He seemed frozen to the cold-stone sidewalk, unaware of the raindrops dripping off his hat or the muck into which thesoles of his shiny polished shoes were losing their perfect new-ness.  "Father?" he whispered, half crying, half terrified. "Father?" But the oblivious old man looked through him and ranted on.  She felt like she had intruded on something so painfully private that she should turn and walk away, but instead unable to stop herself - she reached out a hand and asked the young man. "Is there any way I can help?"

My mini:

"I adore watching your fluid movements as you move through the fields of wheat, my beloved Miranda... Your beauty increases the value of my acreage...." Spencer Wheatly intoned in his best stage voice. Then he turned to angrily fasten his eyes angrily on the director and asked, "Who wrote this tripe anyway?"  throwing the pages of new script onto the floor of the stage. The director stiffened and his wife, sitting beside him, gasped in dismay and began crying. Question answered, Spencer thought to himself. To her he said, "I'm sorry if I have hurt your feelings madam, but your writing is beyond awful. Better you hear it now, than down the road in debt and in the laughter of critics and audiences."  She didn't appear to hear him, but thought he saw a shudder of relief flow though the body of his old friend, the director and maybe a nod of thanks.

The mega: 

My mother was the most god-awful cook you can imagine, Nigel Wickenbottom drawled into the speaker in a quiet voice. She got fastened onto idea that things like tripe and filet of sole were de rigueur, I think. She had visions of marrying a count - someone with a manor house and acreage and a title - and she thought somehow that poisoning me would make her seem more upper crust. Poor Mum. Nothing was effortless for her and she made everything more complicated than it needed to be even so. She leapt at every new fad, scouring the pages of all the fancy magazines to see what fashion was in style, how her eyebrows should be shaped, glopping one fluid and cream after another onto her skin in hopes of somehow making herself acceptable. It would have been amusing if it wasn't so tragic and painful. Because, you see, she was a beautiful charming woman when she wasn't trying so hard. Not the best analogy, but she never saw herself for who she was... she thought she was a timex that needed constant upgrading, when in reality, she was the most inherently more unique and elegant than the finest rolex.  If she hadn't spent so much effort being something she wasn't she could have cornered the market on men....  His voice was quivering a bit now...  but because she tried so hard, nobody saw her... and in her desperation she fell vicitm to those with the most cold stone... i mean stone cold hearts...  His tears were falling now, raindrops of love and sorrow. Others in the crowd were weeping with him.  "She died too  young," he finished up, "never seeing that she didn't have to do anything to be magnificent. She was magnificent. I loved her very much. Rest in peace, sweet darling," he said in conclusion. And at her funeral, all who had loved her - and they were many - wept.


Words for next week's 10-word challenge are: pyramid, laughter, orangutan, recycling, infinity, toilet paper, greasy dishes, Spanish, preparation, back-up

And for the mini: carpet, cane, outer space, hand ball, ambitious

Thank you for playing! Newcomers can check here for some guidelines (and they are only guidelines, not rules) to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week!

Daily Reminder # 89

Very tired tonight, so I'm going to take the lazy way out yet again and just post a poem and a few VERY old photos tonight.  

Many of us haven't had very idyllic childhoods. I have forgotten almost everything about my childhood except for some things I kind of wish I could forget. Still, I guess even troubled childhoods have their moments.  I have trouble nurturing my inner child, but looking at these pictures I kind of think maybe she deserves a little love.  Maybe I wasn't the carefree baby I look like in these photos - but maybe I'm not the distorted mess that memory has made of me either.  Food for thought, I guess...

Remembering childhood days in the park
I wish sometimes
To have those moments back
Of trust
And smiling eyes
And no conscience.

                         -  Katherine E. Rabenau

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • Margaret who helps me 2x/month
  • sunshine
  • cool night air
  • my house
  • teeth
  • mouth wash
  • music
  • memories  (some of them)

And may your memories be sweet.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Laugh and the World Laughs With You

I'm so grateful for The Daily Show, especially now that I've been posting at Huffington post, which is currently awash in bigotry.  Laughter really is a good way to disempower those who hate.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartMon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Tennessee No Evil
Daily Show Full EpisodesPolitical HumorTea Party

Daily Reminder # 88

Basically, I've got nothing tonight, so....here's a quick thought and a poem.  

Tonight's thought:   Sin sometimes has its uses... and of course "sin" is also in the eye of the beholder.

Here's my poem:

The snake said, "Please, just have a taste."
"If you don't eat it will go to waste"
And Eve, only wanting to be polite
Consented to have just one small bite
And Adam too, thought it couldn't hurt
To try such a very light dessert
It wasn't even an apple pie
That causes such fury in Heaven high
And sent that poor unhappy pair
Away from Eden in dark despair
But though they suffered and so do we
For eating the fruit of the apple tree
I can't entirely regret their act
Since it alone, in point of fact
Introduce the two to carnal sin
Which causes babies to begin
And one baby leading to another
Eventually arrived my mother
Who, I am glad, gave birth to me
So, let's hear it for the apple tree
And before we at Eve too smuggly jeer
Remember without her we wouldn't be here.

                - Katherine E. Rabenau

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • apples
  • sin
  • Adam and Eve
  • the ability to debate issues
  • food
  • cinnamon
  • temptation
  • cat toys & a happy Angel (and Tara Grace too)

May Your Day be Great
And May All Your Temptations Be Good for You!

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Rachael Maddow on Mosque and Fear Mongering

Rachael Maddow is always wonderful clear and rational and informed.  Awesome. I was resisting posting another video but this is so worth listening to.

Daily Reminder # 87

Well, I'm lazy tonight, so I'm posting another fable.  The back yard was stingy again so after looking at hundreds of goolge images of whales I wound up with the ones I'm using here. If I can do it right, and you click on the pictures, it will take you to the source.

     MARTA MISHNAGEL               
Katherine E. Rabenau

        Marta Mishnagel was a fisherwoman.  It had not been easy to overcome the prejudice of her parents and the other villagers, who did not consider fishing to be woman's work.  But it had been a struggle she had to win, for Marta had been born with the ocean calling her name, and from before she could remember, the fishes and creatures of the sea had sung to her and told her strange and wonderful tales of their lives below the waves.  So fishing was not a job to her, it was a calling, as deep and pure as any call to priesthood or service.  

In some ways, to say she was a fisherwoman was a misnomer, for Marta did not really fish, so much as go to sea and tell her friends what was needed (who was hungry or in need) and because they loved her -- and she them -- fish would joyously leap into her nets until she had just enough.  She, for her part, would sing sweet songs to them and tell them tales of the wondrous mysteries of land life, just as they told her of the sea.

        Things went on like this until the whale appeared.  It stayed a short distance from her boat, never speaking, but always watching and listening.  The whale was large, even as whales go, and Marta knew (how she wasn't sure), that this whale was old, very very old, as old as time, even, for she was the Great Mother who had swum the sea since time began.  

Marta was deeply honored by her presence.  She was also more than a little uneasy, for she knew that the Great One did not pay casual calls, and she knew too, from somewhere in her soul, that her destiny was connected to the Great Whale.  It was just that she didn't know how and the whale was so big and so primal and all-knowing, and she, Marta was so small and insignificant.  It must be her imagination that the Great Mother could want her.  And she sighed with sorrow at her unworthiness, and with longing to connect to that great, powerful darkness.  Each day she sighed so, and each day sailed a little closer, thinking -- perhaps at least I can touch her, hoping also that the whale would speak and tell her what to do.  When finally the day came that she was close enough to touch the great whale's side, tentatively, for just an instant, she "heard" (felt, really) the great deep voice say gently:

        "No, Marta, it is not enough to simply touch me.  You must enter inside."

        "Oh, no," cried Marta, deeply shaken.  "I feel your power and I see your beauty and I am so drawn to you, but I don't want to die."

        "Who will not die, cannot live," sighed the Great One.  "That is the law of the Universe."

        "I am too afraid," cried Marta, and sailed away, only to return the next day, and the next, and be told again, each time,

        "It is not enough to simply touch me.  You must enter inside."

        After a time, the Great Whale spoke again and said:

        "Marta, you cannot escape the law of the Universe.  One way or another, you must enter in.  You may enter of your own free will, or I will swallow you, but enter you must.  It is your destiny.  It is not a question of whether, but how.  Enter, child, it is time."

        And saying this, the whale opened her vast mouth.  Marta, trembling, eyes closed, leaped over the side of her little boat and dove deep into the dark maw of the great beast, fully expecting to die.

        But of course she didn't.  Instead, she heard a voice say sweetly:

        "Open your eyes, child.  Look around.  Explore.  In that corner is magic.  Over there, the timeless void of Time.  Beyond that, the fountain of inspiration and creativity. Over there, the garden of eternity and the hall of past lives.  And in the center, at the core, if you touch my heart and feel its beating, you will touch Great Mystery itself."

        And Marta did just that.  And she was never the same again.

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • Imagination
  • Whales
  • voting
  • my cane
  • sound and ears to hear
  • yogurt
  • artists
  • paint shop pro

I messed with this one... probably should have left it as it was, but...


Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Jon Stewart on Fox News

Absolutely BRILLIANT (as always)!

The Daily Show With Jon StewartMon - Thurs 11p / 10c
The Parent Company Trap
Daily Show Full EpisodesPolitical HumorTea Party

Daily Reminder # 86

Labels mean nothing. It's how you live, who you are that matters.

I've been all wrapped up in political discussion this week - about the non really a mosque not really at Ground Zero and now the nonsense about how President Obama is a "secret Muslim." Arrgh. It has been fascinating to me to see the Republicans - as they did with the Birther nonsense - either add fuel to the fire or disagree with the lies in such a way that they plant seeds of doubt. Things like "Well, if he says he's a Christian, I guess I have to take him at his word," or the Rev. Graham saying that Obama's problem (by way of allegedly defending him) is that he was "born" Muslim.  I posted the following comment and I think I'll just quote myself because I think I got it pretty right and no point in trying to redo it here:
Seems to me like Mr. Obama not only claims to be a Christian, but behaves in ways that live the principles of his faith unlike the doubt seeders who encourage racism and re-enforce lies by innuendo. I hate to go all biblical here, but the right brings to my mind the phrase from the book of Matthew about "you shall know them by their works." For me personally, people who stand for tax cuts for the wealthy, but no health care for the poor, who will let their fellow Americans starve but worry about too many rules for businesses, who deny global warming so that they can get campaign contributions from big oil, are not very reflective of the teachings of Jesus. Nor is encouraging racism and/or religious bigotry. Obama plants hopes (even if he isn't always successful) for the future. The GOP plants poison seeds of doubt while claiming to care about the children, democracy and the nation. Hmmm. I doubt them.
Ok... So I'm all political and not very spiritual reminder-y tonight. Sorry. I'm caught in the vortex of  my need to speak out against lies and innuendo and racism and hate... Or hopefully - even better - I'm speaking out FOR truth and love and honor and a free society.

But back to the phrase I started out with.... I think how you behave and what you say and do matters much more than what you call yourself. Seems to me that many of the people who wail loudest about the importance of Christian values seem to think they only apply to the rest of us.  Guess that's it for me tonight.

Some things I'm grateful for today:

  • a place to vent about politics (Huffington Post)
  • a shower
  • indoor plumbing
  • visiting bunnies
  • water
  • Netflix instant viewing
  • great movies - The Pianist


Monday, August 23, 2010

Daily Reminder # 85

I continue to be deeply distressed by the hate-filled nonsense that's going on about the proposed Muslim community center near the site of the World Trade Center bombings. Big wigs in the GOP are fanning the flames of bigotry. The "news" media's talking heads are gabbing away with little or no regard for the actual facts of the case - still calling it a mosque, ignoring the fact that this isn't a group moving into the area, but people who already have a mosque there and have worshipped in that community - not bothering anyone - for over 20 years. There's talk the majority of Americans polled being opposed to the center, but I wonder what they are being asked. Are they being asked inflammatory questions? Are they being asked about the actual situation or are they being asked about the mythological wasp's nest that the GOP (mostly) and the media have stirred up. In any case, it makes me sad. My country is better than this. That this community has worshipped a block from the center for so long, un-bothered by anyone is what New York and the USA are really about. The rest is hatred and nonsense stirred up by politicians who care less for the nation than for a possible vote and by a small faction of people who really are frightened bigots.

Anyway... I decided tonights' Reminder would be one of my fables. I'm pretty sure I posted it before, a couple of years ago, but I'm posting it again and hope you will enjoy it.

Katherine E. Rabenau

The angel stood on the hill singing in her sweet high disembodied voice, and around her the world grew quiet and still. The beasts of the field, even the flowers and trees, paused in their living to listen to the sound of love, to let it wash over and into them. And in the town below, people paused and smiled at one another. Even those who a moment earlier had been quarreling bitterly, were transformed, forgot their angry words and, shedding a tear at their foolishness, embraced one another. Somehow the angel's song reached into their hearts. The sound of her voice let them see with her eyes, and when they looked at each other, they saw only beauty and light and perhaps most miraculous of all, they saw themselves reflected back in their neighbor's eyes through the light of love. They saw only that which was highest and best in themselves and their world was transformed forever.
Most of them, that is. Of course, as there must be, there were some who felt the tug of love and fought it with all their might. These were the ones who cried "witchcraft," "Satan," and other such foolishness and ran through the streets trying to shout down the magic of the power of Love. Sadder still, when they realized that they could not shout Love down, they tried to kill it. "Where's it coming from?" their leader shouted. "Michael's Hill," another responded and off they went, clubs and pitchforks in hand, ready to fight the demon of love with all their might.
As they reached the top of the hill, they began shouting as loudly as they could, "Death to Demon-spawn," and "Silence the Dark Voice." So raucous were their venomous cries that they almost did drown out the angel's song. But not quite. And in their fear and rage they were not prepared for what awaited them over the crest of Michael's Hill. They gasped almost as one being as they approached a vision of such radiant loveliness that she - for this particular angel seemed not so tall or majestic as angels are expected to be, but was rather small and delicate - and, yes, distinctly feminine. When they talked about it later, there was much argument among them about just what they saw. Some reported a raven-haired beauty with bright blue eyes, some a young girl with green eyes and fiery red hair. Others swore her hair was like spun gold and her eyes large and brown as a fawn's. She wore a soft flowing robe that shimmered with a rainbow of colors - or perhaps, like the angel herself, simply reflected back that color which most deeply touched and comforted the eye of the beholder, for as one man remarked "did you ever see threads of such fine silver," his companion gaped at him in astonishment and said, "Silver? It wasn't silver! Why it was greener than the greenest emerald." And his old mother, standing at his side, rebuked him saying, "Why you're both fools. Her robe was as blue as the bluest summer sky with just a hint of clouds in it." And so on.
But about one thing almost everyone agreed: The expression on her face was so tender and gentle, so full of love and compassion and goodness that all the anger and hate which had brought them surging up Michael's Hill simply disappeared. Most dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, not so much in awe, as in delight. And even when they looked away, it was as though the angel's loving gaze washed over and through them, cleansing away aches and pains, not just of the body, but more incredibly, even the most ancient wounds to their spirits and hearts.
Orphans felt themselves wrapped in a mother's love and knew themselves orphans no more. The lonely and bitter felt her hand in theirs and realized that they had never truly been alone. And the poor and hungry knew that from that moment on, they would be rich beyond material measure and their hunger no longer gnawed at them. This moment in the angel's sight made them richer than any king. And the rich - well, suddenly they saw their riches for the paltry treasures they were - and, both worse and better - they felt the hunger in some of their companions and were moved with compassion and a desire to share.
And at the same time they began to feel her song. Which is, of course how one must "hear" an angel's song, not with the ear, but with the heart. Then, one by one, they began singing too so that her song became part of them and they part of her song. They understood as they sang that she would leave Michael's Hill and bring her song to others, but that she would never truly depart because she was part of them now, in their hearts and voices - and, yes, in their eyes and their smiles.
At sunset, as mysteriously and unceremoniously as she had arrived, the angel vanished. But her song lingered on.
Among the villagers, there were a few who wanted to build a great shrine to commemorate the miracle of the angel on their hill, but wiser heads and hearts prevailed. "Don't you see, we are the shrine. We must keep her song always in our hearts, and if we must build something, let it not be some fancy, empty temple, but a place of good works: a school, perhaps, or a shelter for those who are hungry or cold, a place of companionship for those who are lonely and sad. Let it be a gathering place for love and healing. And let it always and forever be a place of song."
And that is the story of the day the angel came to Michael's Hill and sang her song. If you listen carefully, perhaps one day you, too, will hear and be glad.


Some things I'm grateful for today...

  • rain
  • rhinos (PBS NOVA)
  • all the earth's amazing creatures (except maybe mosquitoes)
  • Angel and Tara Grace
  • television
  • Planet Earth
  • cheese
  • angels

May Angels Sing to You and May You Hear Them!