tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-172237092024-03-07T13:50:47.289-05:00La Feroce BeteThe Countess: All of us are freaks in one way or another. Try being born a male Russian Countess into a white, middle class, Baptist family in Mississippi, and you'll see what I mean.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-20165766006304372142012-09-26T19:45:00.001-04:002012-09-26T19:45:55.272-04:00A Vow.I will keep your heart.<br />
..because I want you..<br />
I will seize your moments of doubt and fill them with praise.<br />
..because you are important..<br />
I will soften the blows and calm the skies.<br />
..because your peace is my peace..<br />
I will forget our mistakes and relish kindness.<br />
..because swimming is better than sinking..<br />
I will mend your clothes, bad dreams, and wounds.<br />
I will love you and yours.<br />
I will nourish our bodies and souls with the remedies I know.<br />
..because pumpkin pancakes make everyone smile..<br />
I will feed our minds and spirits with Word from above.<br />
..because I know the plans He has for us..<br />
I will cover you in prayer and angels until protection is yours.<br />
..because, like hope, I believe in you..<br />
I will help you find boldness in shadow and strength in dark days.<br />
I will love you and yours.<br />
I will squeeze you tight and whisper funny things.<br />
I will fluff your pillow and iron out all the details.<br />
I will remember your birthday and big days and bad days.<br />
..I will mend you..<br />
I will keep your heart so close to mine that one will not be distinguishable from the other.<br />
..because I need <strong>you</strong>..La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-68110890388424924572012-01-14T19:50:00.005-05:002012-01-14T20:10:58.738-05:00Seven is Steven without the T.<span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#663366;"><strong>Seven is complete. Seventh Heaven. Seven Dwarfs. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Serven</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Seeven</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sehhven</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sewwwwwww</span>. I'll just consider my seven month slack - whole; therefore giving me divine excuse. I don't have much to binge. Eh.. not totally true. I say so much in my head. I spit and stutter. I stand for awkward minutes in the frozen food aisle trying to decide "healthy vs. spicy boneless chicken wings". If there aren't any judging glances I go with the TGIF appetizer special! If I am surrounded by evil I choose the escape shuffle to the wine aisle, select the best <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Malbec</span> for a TGIF special, glance around the corner, and return to said aisle for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Happ</span>-i-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tizer</span> pick-up! </strong></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#663366;"></span></strong><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuSPC-Ja6nM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuSPC-Ja6nM</a>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-61073411048309692342011-06-16T19:43:00.005-04:002011-09-05T16:32:46.982-04:00“Suspense is worse than disappointment.” Robert Burns
<br /><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;">I would never describe myself as depressed. However, I do have a tendency towards self withdrawal. At times I am unable to slide through disappointments and concerns in order to act cheerfully or participate in the joy of others. Mostly this selfish behavior is targeted or not targeted at my friends and family. It's not my normal behavior. During these gloomy episodes, I can step out of self and see my wretched demeanor but have no desire to do anything about it. I think I want to be alone, but when I am, I no longer feel that way. I have narrowed this personal phenomenon down to when I have been disappointed in, hurt by, or frustrated with those closest to me. Everyone gets the grey fury. I have to change. It's not fair to me. Or them.</span>
<br />La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-15037036729086510962011-05-26T19:43:00.007-04:002011-09-05T16:35:00.952-04:00Best paired with Pina Colada - Two StrawsMy letter writing skills are far less advanced than the imagery and focus of great poetry, but I guess that comes from a traditional expectation of being feverishly honest or more typically romantic and pink.
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<br />I am neither.
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<br />I cannot brutally tell the truth because I do not like the way it sounds in my head. If I tend to exacerbate my emotions into themes it is best assumed the guitar solo will carry you away into my fantasy.
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<br />However, in the midst of this truth, beauty, freedom, and love: I write.
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<br />To you.
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<br />It wouldn't be fair to compare you to anything less than a force of nature. The kind of force an artful brunette, flushed from early morning's arduous love-making, cannot predict with what appears to be Elvis burnt into her pancakes. Her trailer parked visions of the Holy Madonna are no match for you.
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<br />You, strong and unpredictable as a tornado. Uncertain and damaging as hail.
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<br />You sweep through backyards carrying hot coals and cold beers - always covering your tracks.
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<br />Most of my evenings are spent watching for you in the sky. Scoping the horizon for an ominous cloud signaling your arrival. In any other daydream this cloud might bring doom and destruction, but these lazy summer days welcome the fresh wind and thunder loving.
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<br />My skin tingles, you blow through my hair, and I smile.
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<br />The judge who will be sentencing us today just found out the dance studio where his wife has been taking tango lessons for the past year has been closed for eight months. Last known instructor goes by the name Juan, prefers fuzzy navels, neon lights, and blondes.
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<br />"Two hundred miles!" He bangs his gavel. "Round trip." There is nothing to do but serve our time, and hope we'll get off. On good behavior. The sweat on his brow smells like cheap whiskey and reminds me of past time served. The restraints are all too familiar and I refuse to be led down that cold fluorescent hallway again.
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<br />I will be the file in your cake.
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<br />The tattoo of hidden duct work in your prison walls.
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<br />Be my look out.
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<br />My bribed guard.
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<br />My shadow and perfectly planned opportunity.
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<br />Break me out.
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<br />Follow me to the water's edge and disappear with me from sight and smell.
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<br />Resurface with me on the shores of Mexico.
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<br />We'll blend.
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<br />We'll toast.
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<br />To the moon and our enigmatic existence.
<br />La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-65254739439642615692011-05-23T17:15:00.008-04:002011-05-23T17:34:59.947-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5hdm0Y4ZR2BcK-YPopNkAc5J2GWUMaE-vNnFhl6un9M46_X2P2C9K5-Jgr7zKbiX-1-ygTJ88i62jWGgJVUc1jnPVssFhrk53JnmlZGBuq8AZJMtWIAzmZoVOWypfeXSvvBz/s1600/moon+love.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 318px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610027794008200146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5hdm0Y4ZR2BcK-YPopNkAc5J2GWUMaE-vNnFhl6un9M46_X2P2C9K5-Jgr7zKbiX-1-ygTJ88i62jWGgJVUc1jnPVssFhrk53JnmlZGBuq8AZJMtWIAzmZoVOWypfeXSvvBz/s320/moon+love.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff6666;"><strong><em>You made the full moon linger just for me ~ do that with your kisses please!</em></strong></span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-54171630833402345362011-05-11T19:12:00.000-04:002011-05-13T16:26:35.839-04:00Coffee to a Tees!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihD9AzOo6yDiE67swGoDlo9e0GZ31scEWjt1tj1qBa28YJVclIMRAcIfeUefcwxmYM3xXs_vrOqnIhg5dA15DXmg3sZO_Mo7ZdOFCwmlZUHDOi_X_jzGFvPFb5luCEICMx-R3O/s1600/C2AT+t-shirt%2521.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 245px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605600736080804386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihD9AzOo6yDiE67swGoDlo9e0GZ31scEWjt1tj1qBa28YJVclIMRAcIfeUefcwxmYM3xXs_vrOqnIhg5dA15DXmg3sZO_Mo7ZdOFCwmlZUHDOi_X_jzGFvPFb5luCEICMx-R3O/s320/C2AT+t-shirt%2521.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCTB705AI1mWBDYPUo-KIS-D4tMifXHDVzL8ilxTKN_ZdO9t_G7g3zRTXQYCj-wmTl_rR83jtnenPOzx0vH8pPyq-Gi39fb_0dWqfT38Dc-ngmPnfK38yDg3dXyXMKdsb09NP/s1600/C2at+logo+tee.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605600661641884066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCTB705AI1mWBDYPUo-KIS-D4tMifXHDVzL8ilxTKN_ZdO9t_G7g3zRTXQYCj-wmTl_rR83jtnenPOzx0vH8pPyq-Gi39fb_0dWqfT38Dc-ngmPnfK38yDg3dXyXMKdsb09NP/s320/C2at+logo+tee.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>With Pin and Ink<a href="http://http//withpinandink.blogspot.com/">http://http://withpinandink.blogspot.com/</a></strong> has created fun and all natural cotton tees with our LOGO! Check them out and find out how you can order your Coffee to a Tea-shirt!</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://http//withpinandink.blogspot.com/">http://http//withpinandink.blogspot.com/</a></div></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-53906130366913879552011-05-04T17:49:00.006-04:002014-01-07T22:44:47.912-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF6w72UVIOy27sc27F96viycVD4lxZaMlycKrNo-fo3qToP3OpEv1UU1F-FOuuvHB4pFi6Z9gL62wtCFNKB2Rm520JB26TIYzAsD_o_SNPMqoYCjV-WFkuCwHYx5s3r9-WGCm/s1600/pillars.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF6w72UVIOy27sc27F96viycVD4lxZaMlycKrNo-fo3qToP3OpEv1UU1F-FOuuvHB4pFi6Z9gL62wtCFNKB2Rm520JB26TIYzAsD_o_SNPMqoYCjV-WFkuCwHYx5s3r9-WGCm/s320/pillars.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602981619189229186" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 291px;" /></a><span style="color: silver; font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I want to be your sanctuary. Not your priest.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">If I am honest - I want you without all your mess.</span></div>
La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-76127121228395963712011-05-04T14:30:00.005-04:002011-05-04T18:05:17.068-04:00Twirp, Tweety, and Carl<div align="center">They each have two fluffs and look just like old men.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPskKokfGBnBzg5zNyq6XH7wCmyH7gQzdlMi6RwP28p0uqbJMd2LIGzgTbT0LHMuiXwiC4YnKjZFg1jJG8Ccx8pBGzNVshDpSW740YEkwiEtkO1LOqaDqB76sVFKcyAM4SnMC/s1600/2birds1egg.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602930635789457522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPskKokfGBnBzg5zNyq6XH7wCmyH7gQzdlMi6RwP28p0uqbJMd2LIGzgTbT0LHMuiXwiC4YnKjZFg1jJG8Ccx8pBGzNVshDpSW740YEkwiEtkO1LOqaDqB76sVFKcyAM4SnMC/s320/2birds1egg.jpg" /></a>Their eyes are still closed so when we touch the side of the nest, their fat little heads wobble on their 'stretched to the limit' scrawny necks! </div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZ0XzBOECv48p4Yj86fCcc7_5bFkw9k1Z0QLOOz8ZSPiSP-UggxKZ5jiirLWPSjyFlBQClds7XUEuZ0tZ8ViEiizDDS9JnrGbamP_jWCnxmp5BrAfPIQJvl9gkm6liJmpRFyd/s1600/4hungrybirds.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602930558965497698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZ0XzBOECv48p4Yj86fCcc7_5bFkw9k1Z0QLOOz8ZSPiSP-UggxKZ5jiirLWPSjyFlBQClds7XUEuZ0tZ8ViEiizDDS9JnrGbamP_jWCnxmp5BrAfPIQJvl9gkm6liJmpRFyd/s320/4hungrybirds.jpg" /></a>One little guy didn't make it. :(<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIk_spYL5mKlJquG_VP4MT3kyaScjfcU6NIViJbmd4sJZ7fy-SRy8mKJUEQQR8B80Os7GFWLV8CvHP8awP3eNJYtiEjlbcFA0R6xn2mAhtw1qz29gkWvZxtiBGlo1-VqCriu5/s1600/GrowingBirds.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602930492543076242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIk_spYL5mKlJquG_VP4MT3kyaScjfcU6NIViJbmd4sJZ7fy-SRy8mKJUEQQR8B80Os7GFWLV8CvHP8awP3eNJYtiEjlbcFA0R6xn2mAhtw1qz29gkWvZxtiBGlo1-VqCriu5/s320/GrowingBirds.jpg" /></a> The nest is getting smaller and smaller, and they can see us now. And we can pet them. Mama and Papa Robin don't seem to mind at all.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMVYN8Goon7O82dp5Si_5g9xQGihhNKnlEmPtDLIl49C4iUDeJ4B0-MdUWreQJzcJGy83QJ8fh6_DEcjO3dGnQ_vJjoZ41wNdE3ZOh1OicHQJ9xD9pwKfbvcuV_dBK5xMdk9B/s1600/BirdsGrowingUp.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602930436357917138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMVYN8Goon7O82dp5Si_5g9xQGihhNKnlEmPtDLIl49C4iUDeJ4B0-MdUWreQJzcJGy83QJ8fh6_DEcjO3dGnQ_vJjoZ41wNdE3ZOh1OicHQJ9xD9pwKfbvcuV_dBK5xMdk9B/s320/BirdsGrowingUp.JPG" /></a></div><br /></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-149002037449839362011-04-27T18:47:00.002-04:002011-04-27T19:14:35.074-04:00<div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>I'm mad I was knocked over before I could let go of the handle bars.<br /><br />I'm glad you didn't wait until I was coasting, arms out, and heart exposed.<br /><br />You were only thinking about you. About how you felt. Your problems. Your fears. Your anxieties.<br /><br />The whole time you never asked me about mine. You never asked me what my fears were. What made me anxious.<br /><br />They are that you won't want me. </em></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>That I won't make you happy. </em></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>That I won't make anyone happy.<br /><br />So I'm mad because when you knocked me over, I fell.</em></span></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-67822750759518309882011-04-21T19:14:00.000-04:002011-04-21T19:16:00.334-04:00High Fiver Robert Zimmerman<strong>Make You Feel My Love</strong><br /><br />When the rain is blowing in your face<br />And the whole world is on your case<br />I could offer you a warm embrace<br />To make you feel my love<br /><br />When the evening shadows and the stars appear<br />And there is no one there to dry your tears<br />I could hold you for a million years<br />To make you feel my love<br /><br />I know you haven’t made your mind up yet<br />But I would never do you wrong<br />I’ve known it from the moment that we met<br />No doubt in my mind where you belong<br /><br />I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue<br />I’d go crawling down the avenue<br />There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do<br />To make you feel my love<br /><br />The storms are raging on the rollin’ sea<br />And on the highway of regret<br />The winds of change are blowing wild and free<br />You ain’t seen nothing like me yet<br /><br />I could make you happy, make your dreams come true<br />Nothing that I wouldn’t do<br />Go to the ends of the earth for you<br />To make you feel my loveLa Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-57051486732361121542011-04-17T19:18:00.004-04:002011-04-17T19:56:12.899-04:00separation anxiety<div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="center">you make me use words that taste like vending machine pickles. words with calloused elbows in sweat shops fabricating rips in the knees of my bargain bin cargos. </div><br /><div align="center">words no one ever gets away with. </div><br /><div align="center"></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-22958506955424587912011-04-13T19:04:00.008-04:002011-04-17T19:15:32.787-04:00Coastal Boy<div align="center">I want to judge a chili cook-off and give you a prize for being hot. I want to take to you the fair, ride the wheel up to the top. You're the smile I fall asleep to and the bod I dream about. Tell me how you'll kiss my body 'til I'm begging you to stop! </div><br /><div align="center">You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to. </div><br /><div align="center">I want to drive you to the country tie you up inside the barn. I want to take you for a ride on my tractor 'round the farm. You're the eyes I fall asleep to and the man I dream about. Tell me how you'll win me over with your looks and boyish charm. </div><br /><div align="center">You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to. </div><br /><div align="center">You can sail out near that island we can see from the bay. You can hold me close and kiss me 'til the boat starts to sway. I'll be the face you fall asleep to and the girl you dream about. Whisper sweet things in my ears while I look at you and say.. </div><br /><div align="center">You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Don't let go 'til I say to.</div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-67424442989810791722011-04-13T15:52:00.003-04:002011-04-13T15:55:01.911-04:00Hello Little Birds To Be.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-oZxI41DGGid-GK8sETsVbKheZEhBMqfvie75UG4S9nM_1x9sZ99XJEQrR0kwMzPGF_oUYz4gFLNM3x43RjqB7J5STwxIPYqxNEXtUD0BxvTpyAe0yz8fl28PlciwFsK7pAk/s1600/Robin+Eggs.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595158536193825938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-oZxI41DGGid-GK8sETsVbKheZEhBMqfvie75UG4S9nM_1x9sZ99XJEQrR0kwMzPGF_oUYz4gFLNM3x43RjqB7J5STwxIPYqxNEXtUD0BxvTpyAe0yz8fl28PlciwFsK7pAk/s400/Robin+Eggs.JPG" /></a> <br /><div></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-11908951364298843012011-04-03T18:21:00.006-04:002011-04-13T16:11:29.258-04:00It Rains for Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxa-ypbBje1HU-3znrNVlMkIqyw9Kv4q1zEU9KVk1HV7qDoqSaytV-8hHWPJ3xojHE-y-5ZqOswdt3a386nF4fepIhgifJilRd3ep0BrtjV5IV7PvuIMAUlJI69CoSNrd66e_6/s1600/Cooper+River+Bridge.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595163307549429906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxa-ypbBje1HU-3znrNVlMkIqyw9Kv4q1zEU9KVk1HV7qDoqSaytV-8hHWPJ3xojHE-y-5ZqOswdt3a386nF4fepIhgifJilRd3ep0BrtjV5IV7PvuIMAUlJI69CoSNrd66e_6/s320/Cooper+River+Bridge.JPG" /></a> <br /><div align="center"><strong>I knew you were talking about the rain when you said it would be alright. </strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>But I opened my eyes anyway and kept to the horizon.</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>Salt water and bullshit stung my face.</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>You said once the rain stopped the water would be smooth.</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>Like glass.</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>So my soul gave my conscience the thumbs up and went in search of calmer seas.</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>And found them. </strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong></strong></div><br /><div align="center"></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-88046849673795446092011-03-24T19:34:00.006-04:002011-03-28T19:31:04.072-04:00<div align="left">It's agitating that she is fretting about not having butter for the biscuits when it's taking everything I have to not call and cancel the whole thing. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I expect I could blame it on the lack of butter, but he would know immediately it's because I am afraid. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">That's dramatic. And presumptuous. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I would never use butter, or the lack there of, as an excuse for anything. And he wouldn't know - immediately. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">But isn't butter an easier explanation for the past 30 years.</div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-73358630950078608932011-03-10T17:14:00.008-05:002011-04-03T18:21:34.993-04:00Wayfarers and Such - Exercise #2Dark men in dark corners can be overheard whispering such things as "Passion should be stirred by simply buying fruit at the market." This is exactly why Woody Allen spends two weeks a year in Paris. One would assume life as a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers would be all visions of gumdrops and celebrities, but if you're Mr. Allen's concaved black rimmed glasses, you may not have a stomach for all the passions of the romantic city. "Psst, Iris!" "Psst." Iris peers over the edge of the provincial vanity she’s sitting on to see Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe, mangy and old at best, on the floor trying desperately to get her attention. With an heir of annoyance, Iris snaps, "I don’t know what it is about this city that makes you a sentimental basket case, but if I have to hear one more time about how Brad Pitt almost bought you right off Mr. Woody’s feet on a dare, I’m going to scream." Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe said, "Mais non, haven’t you been listening to Woody talking about changing his image? He’s been desperate for so long to stir his personal pot, I would think you'd be slightly more concerned than you appear." "If I were to freak out every time Woody mentioned changing his image, I'd be in a 50% OFF loony bin." Iris' confidence was built on years of public recognition. She was almost as famous as the producer himself! Woody hadn’t been photographed in 30 years without her. She had mastered capturing the light and angles of his face to please the paparazzi. "I’ll admit your confidence brings a slight comfort, but I would stake my threads there was talk of big chang..." "Shhh!" Iris cut off Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe just as Mr. Allen emerged from the shower and picked up Iris and placed her on his nose. She wasn’t just a part of him, she was him.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-25829335403939821472011-03-02T15:35:00.022-05:002011-03-07T20:35:34.419-05:00The Original ArtistPsalm 19:1 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.<br /><br />As my focus shifts from one ambitious tree to the next their branches begin to emulate rivers. Each limb surges forward creating tributaries and creeks. Blossoms dance like campfire. Buds crackle and illuminate rosy shoulders. They are still and calm like sand banks to the eye, but chirp and flutter like a mighty current. Canaries in canoes sway against the breeze. Happy tubers grasp branches and avoid dark nooks. As my senses catch up to the warm sun against my cheeks I wonder at the similarities. God must have known how we would assimilate his creation. He knew the resemblances would be his artistic signature.<br /><br />It's natural to follow artists we love. Even if we are not great art critics, we recognize the works of those we find appealing. We know their style because we like it and it speaks to our senses. We gravitate to their interpretations of reality.<br /><br />Have you ever thought about how the first artistic interpretation was spoken from God's lips, THE original artist, into being? We are just a room in His museum. His work is below us, above us, and around us. It is clearly His. We would know it in any gallery in the universe. We would know it in any pawn shop, street stand, corner market, or art festival. God doesn't even have to sign his name and we know it's His.<br /><br />But would we recognize an imposter? A fake?<br /><br />The greatest artists are recognized by their style, special signature, and in some cases careful examination. There are many forgers out to recreate the works of great artists in order to deceive and manipulate, but the experts who have studied the artist, know the art and its authenticity. They know because they are familiar with every stroke, every dot of the eye, and every wrinkle in the canvas. When we pray and study God's word He reveals to us special evidence that helps us recognize His creation and will for it.<br /><br />Hebrews 11:3 By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.<br /><br />Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.<br /><br />(New International Version, ©2011)La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-336414878749779512011-02-24T17:25:00.004-05:002011-02-24T17:28:00.264-05:00Validation<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbk980jV7Ao">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbk980jV7Ao</a>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-83179383613473344202011-02-23T17:59:00.003-05:002011-02-23T18:05:40.978-05:00It's Against The Law To Pawn Your Dentures In Las Vegas<strong>Flutterby!! ~ A 2005 La Feroce Bete Post<br /></strong><br />The names of Popeye's four nephews are Pipeye, Peepeye, Pupeye, and Poopeye!<br /><br />No piece of square dry paper can be folded more than 7 times in half!<br /><br />Over 2500 left handed people a year are killed from using products made for right handed people!<br /><br />A 'jiffy' is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second!<br /><br />It's against the law to pawn your dentures in Las Vegas!<br /><br />There are more plastic flamingos in the U.S, than real ones!<br /><br />Bats always turn left when exiting a cave!<br /><br />You'll eat about 35,000 cookies in a lifetime! Wow!<br /><br />A giraffe can clean its ears with its 21-inch tongue!<br /><br />Slugs have 4 noses!<br /><br />In Tokyo, they sell toupees for dogs!<br /><br />In the year 2000, Pope John Paul II was named an "Honorary Harlem Globetrotter."!<br /><br />Men are 6 times more likely to be struck by lightning than women!<br /><br />The original name for the butterfly was 'flutterby'!<br /><br />It is against the law to mispronounce the name of the State of Arkansas in that State.<br /><br />In Tennessee, a law exists which prohibits the sale of bologna (sandwich meat) on Sunday.<br /><br />There are four cars and eleven lightposts on the back of a ten dollar bill.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-37230662202076598122011-02-18T19:46:00.018-05:002011-02-28T18:52:47.547-05:00House Near a Mill to John and ElaineDear John and Elaine,<br /><br />I am so very honored you thought of me when it came to the care of your pets and home.<br /><br />I was intent on following your written instructions to the letter and settling into your <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">poopsies</span>' routine. I wanted to make sure I acclimated to them and not them to me. After feeling my way around and re-introducing myself with a string of indecipherable ramblings about how cute and sweet they were, I walked with them from room to room.<br /><br />Your house made me want to name it or maybe just sing it out like an old Southern Hymn (this is where I pictured Cherry pews, stained glass, and Sister Berta in a thin white dress fanning familiar spirits and harmonies).<br /><br /><em><em>Plaster walls forgive me<br />Hardwood floors release me<br />Just As I Am, Just As I Am</em></em><br /><br />I listened to the tub quote Kahlil <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gibran's</span> friendship prose as I brushed my teeth. Sweet Pea and Little Bit blamed the Nag <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Champa</span> and porcelain pitcher for mixing up the postcards in the kitchen, but I know it was them.<br /><br />In the evening Emma, Sam, and I talked about the day while love notes pinned to cork boards flapped like white cafe curtains. Your high ceilings playfully threaten to tie us to the moonlight with ribbon and wrap us all with twine to the sun. Sam teased them back as shadows passed and Emma crossed them off her list.<br /><br />Most hours I thought about flipping through your books. While the lights were on they appeared stacked together in purposeful pillars but once the lights went out I could here them playing chicken on each other's shoulders.<br /><br />Just before I turned in, I heard Emma snoring and Sam's fan and all the house listening to an encore of porch chimes clonking ancient stories like Shaman aboard a train.<br /><br />Your house is rich and kind; which I imagine, as I tend to do - is a mirror image of your souls.<br /><br />Thank you for letting me fill your shoes and bowls. Sam and Emma delighted me and Sweet Pea and Little Bit renewed my faith in snobby kitties.<br /><br />Your home is a confirmation for humanity. Every room captures love.<br /><br />Your walls and fridge represent passion and creativity.<br /><br />But your passion for West <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Greenville</span> demonstrates humility, faith in mankind, and love. Love to be experience and shared by all... who live.<br /><br /><br />Again, Thanks.<br /><br />~Aubrey<br /><br /><br /><br />PS. Sam passed gas so badly, Emma and I had to leave the room and convene in the kitchen for prayer.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-29325324957712679042011-02-14T15:29:00.015-05:002011-02-23T15:05:41.391-05:00Some Suicides Are Never Recorded - a writing exercise.if I suffer at this<br />typewriter<br />think how I'd feel<br />among the lettuce-<br />pickers of Salinas?<br />I think of the men<br />I've known in<br />factories<br />with no way to<br />get out-<br />choking while living<br />choking while laughing<br />at Bob Hope or Lucille<br />Ball while<br />2 or 3 children beat<br />tennis balls against<br />the wall.<br />some suicides are never<br />recorded.<br />C. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span><br /><br />The aroma of fresh brewed Brazilian <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Peaberry</span> swirled around inside her nostrils with almost enough authority to distract her from the blatant glances of disapproval. No matter how she tugged the man-made materials they kept their pucker. A returned glare from tired eyes confirmed she was quite aware of how ridiculous she appeared. Sporting an ill fitting acetate/polyester blend leisure suit on this balmy afternoon paled in comparison to the last ardent?.. 24 hours.<br /><br />Just a day before Sadie was sketching a cityscape on the light teal plaster wall in her downtown apartment. She had been anticipating this day off for weeks. That morning she rolled out of bed, grabbed a cotton tank - leaving her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">PJ</span> bottoms on the floor next to the chair that had become a temporary wardrobe. Sadie wasn't as particular when it came to her bedroom as she was with the rest of her apartment. She liked the old cracked tub in her bathroom and the creaky wood floors in the living room and keeping everything tidy showed off those special amenities. The complex had been built in the forties and fit her like a glove. She spread her plans out on the carpet. Her paints and water bucket sat on a drop cloth she had spread against one wall.<br /><br />Two pots of coffee and four skyscrapers later, Sadie heard a strange thud from the unit above. She was used to the familiar raps and thunks that came from Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski's</span> third floor studio, but this one was different. It had purpose. The rhythmic pounding normally associated with Mr. B's one man Foxtrot, was unlike this thump that clotted her thoughts and swelled in her brain until she couldn't concentrate on brush strokes and had to check on her hermit neighbor.<br /><br />Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span> had lived in apartment 3B for 22 years. Everyone called him Mr. 3B. Sadie liked him from the beginning. But she liked most old people. They delighted her and always had wonderful stories to tell. She learned he was divorced and had two sons. One son lived in Taiwan and worked placing orphans with American families. The other son, his youngest, was adventurous. He would write every month about a cliff-hanging escapade he was on and where he was headed next. He was always travelling from one natural phenomenon to another. Mr. B was proud of his boys. He missed them but they always kept in touch. Lately though, he seemed disconnected. He still checked in on Sadie, but he kept conversation short. She knew he hadn't heard from his youngest in a couple of months.<br /><br />Sadie went to the corner of the room between her only two windows and knocked on the water pipe a couple of times. Three knocks meant I'm home and safe. Five knocks meant goodnight. She had been communicating with her neighbor like this for years. Most of the tenants thought Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span> was weird because he never left his apartment, but Sadie knew better. He was very concerned for her well-being. He insisted she let him know when she was home. Sadie didn't mind. She cherished him and always checked on him too. Although recently, grumpy and distracted more suited his demeanor. Two knocks were just a hello. And he would always knock a happy beat back, but today she got no response.<br /><br />Panic gripped her and without thought to her bear legs, she bolted up the one flight of stairs and pounded on his door. "Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span>." "Mr. B, It's Sadie." Sadie pressed her ear against the door, but heard no sound. Instead her senses broke into a memory of her college friends huddled around a campfire roasting marshmallows... "Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span>!", Sadie yelled louder. She ran back down to her apartment and rummaged through her junk drawer for the spare key he had given her. When she returned, the memory had manifested into white smoke. She struggled with the lock but it was the door that seemed to be stuck. She yelled for help and continued to throw her body against the wooden barrier. With a bruised shoulder, a deep breath, and concentrated determination, the next jolt jarred the door open. Flames surged toward her but she could see Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span> on the floor just a few feet away. Sadie closed her eyes tightly and ran toward his still body. She thought she heard sirens in the distance.<br /><br />Bright light forced itself on Sadie's retinas. She tried to focus on the images around her. A northern accent had her shoulders pinned down and was telling her she was a brave and very lucky girl. Voices around her were barking orders and taking charge. Sadie let her eyes close again.<br /><br />The unusual clothes were the first thing she noticed. She itched. All over. Immediately Sadie knew she was in a strange room. A small woman, who she identified as another neighbor, sat sleeping in a chair close by. A feeble sense of humor grasped Sadie as she noticed their suits were identical in style. Sadie got up and without the hindrance of an IV, left the room.<br /><br />It was morning again and the sun was shining. She was tired, thirsty, and confused. All she could think of was Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski</span> and his body on the floor. She could remember running towards him. She remembered trying to wake him and someone running in after her. She knew he was gone.<br /><br />As Sadie walked back to her complex, she saw the trucks first, and then the rubble. Sadie and 14 others had lost everything. She turned around and walked to the closest coffee shop. She couldn't shake the feeling that the fire had started somewhere in Mr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bukowski's</span> heart, but she would never really know.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-90121481133369533392010-11-07T18:13:00.001-05:002010-11-07T18:15:30.908-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzHkUUl63ohA-0Vaz6L-28tRKLickrzSzBmZBd9Mn_ACqwoU_oIqMmmrYenbMWS4sZW5PLiCvNSqhWDlKtLgCpw7MptMps_Oci1YgXGF0wnpkFvDhjznpwmZMjXCFV3HcZvUN/s1600/Aubrey's+Art.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536950320709769890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzHkUUl63ohA-0Vaz6L-28tRKLickrzSzBmZBd9Mn_ACqwoU_oIqMmmrYenbMWS4sZW5PLiCvNSqhWDlKtLgCpw7MptMps_Oci1YgXGF0wnpkFvDhjznpwmZMjXCFV3HcZvUN/s400/Aubrey's+Art.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-8549320142508831022010-10-26T23:40:00.001-04:002010-10-26T23:41:34.737-04:00It is better you are there and I am here.La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-6057274501980504102010-10-26T18:55:00.002-04:002010-10-26T18:58:58.490-04:00Because of the physical smile his words create. See, you smile.<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#cc9933;"><strong><em>“Now tequila may be the favoured beverage of outlaws but that doesn't mean it gives them preferential treatment. In fact, tequila probably has betrayed as many outlaws as has the central nervous system and dissatisfied wives. Tequila, scorpion honey, harsh dew of the doglands, essence of Aztec, crema de cacti; tequila, oily and thermal like the sun in solution; tequila, liquid geometry of passion; Tequila, the buzzard god who copulates in midair with the ascending souls of dying virgins; tequila, firebug in the house of good taste; O tequila, savage water of sorcery, what confusion and mischief your sly, rebellious drops do generate!” Tom Robbins</em></strong></span>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17223709.post-848326190056183922010-10-16T16:46:00.009-04:002010-10-19T00:01:59.250-04:00Five Things<span style="color:#cccccc;">Close your eyes and imagine you've ship wrecked on a island. There are waves, sun, gawky seagulls, sand, and seaweed. Imagination or not, the ship has run up on some rocks you can't see because they're under the water and you have to swim-slash-wade through the shark infested tide to the shell infested shore. It's not pretty and at this point neither are you.<br /><br />The game says you can pick five items to help you survive. "Only five", you say! Most dudes you ask will include matches, a trap, some kind of tool, etc.. There are many versions to this game and surviving <strong>on </strong>the deserted island has never been a part of mine. My imagination goes quickly to the rescue and how I'll look when that Navy ship sends a vessel of it's best looking sailors to save me from my doomed life of loneliness and sugar free coconut lattes.<br /><br />My five items represent a whole different kind of survival.<br /><br /><br />The first of my five objects is a worn pair of blue jeans. They fit well, hug my booty with perfection, and are just dark enough to give that slimming affect at any angle. I can dig clams, shimmy palm trees, and jump up and down when I see a dinghy on the horizon. Whether torn, worn, or frayed, these blue jeans won't betray my Cosmopolitan ego or my need to protect my gams from crabs, bugs, or creepy volleyball heads.<br /><br /><br />Item number 2: My deep orange Pashmina. It was gift that brings out the green in my eyes. I wouldn't think of being rescued without it. The mere brightness of it's hue would signal rescuers from across the sea while also shielding my delicate skin from the glaring island sun, crabs, and the crisp starry night. This stunning orange wrap could also be used as a fishing net - if for some unsightly reason I was stranded for more than a week. Which, by the way, is the longest I've ever gone without food. Eight days tops and that's considering I have lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. You might have heard of the Lemonade Cleanse, or as I like to think of it; Preparation for Deserted Island Scenario.<br /><br /><br /><br />Number three is very near and dear to my heart. And my lips. Cherry chap stick can be found in two out of three purse pockets, my night stand drawer, the worn blue jeans' left pocket, every room in my home, and work place. I do not go ANYWHERE without it. And that especially includes a deserted island. The sun is harsh and these lips are moist and if I were to ever meet a crab without it, he'd be sorry. Scarlett O'Hara was quoted in Gone with the Wind as saying, "As God is my witness.... If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again." My personal Tara story ends with, "As God as my witness... I'll never have chapped lips again." This is not the moment in which you pass judgement, it is the moment in which you say, "Amen."<br /><br /><br />My fourth possession is a silver cherub pendant. I hardly leave home without it. It hangs around my neck in glamour, in tradition, and as a promise. It's my personal rainbow. I believe the first thing Noah did on dry land was have a rainbow tattooed on his shoulder to remind him of God's promise that he would never destroy the world again with a flood (fitting, considering I'm stranded on an island surrounded by water). My silver cherub is not a tattoo, but reminds me just the same that God will take care of me. Deserted island, vicious crabs, or not I find much comfort in God's promises.<br /><br /><br />Last, but not least, are my white strips - Five Minutes to a Brighter Smile! I could be dressed in rags, sun burned from head to toe, worn blue jeans soaked in salt water, and angry crabs hanging from each lobe, but if I maintain a smile whiter than the sun these pearly whites could signal a ship of hot sailors from 6000 miles away. "I am ready to be rescued and pose for Cover Girl!"<br /><br />Just because your five items don't include ice skates for a potential root canal, a palm frawn hammock, or a human hair crab net doesn't mean you'll never be rescued. It just means you'll have much less explaining to do.<br /><br />Go ahead. Figure out your five items. Everyone should think it through once. It's all about being prepared. For anything. (wink squid ink)<br /></span>La Feroce Betehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07430109508691275063noreply@blogger.com0