December 26, 2002

in the deep midwinter

my sister's neighborhood looks like a thomas kinkade painting: strategically perched snow on snow on branches. candles in windows. o holy night in my head. all we're missing is a lighthouse. and maybe some purple-hued mountains.

we've had a foot of snow and christmas. we've had turkey and pie and all the things i longed for on thanksgiving. we've had presents and bagfuls of wrapping paper to be discarded. we've had sleepy children, not able to commit to just one toy. we've had bing crosby and jimmy stewart and the ubiquitous you'll shoot your eye out of a christmas story.

and do you know that my mom gave me back my childhood as a present, wrapped in a nondescript box? she did. i got a quilt of my childhood tshirts--elementary school through highschool. from batman to christian rock: it's all there. and it keeps a girl very warm. moms and their ideas. i tell ya.

oh to sleep now, at 2:29 am. my lips are chapped. i shoveled tonight, for the first time since 1993, i think. and my lower back agrees. never in my life before tonight had i considered taking doans. now, if we (or anyone anywhere) had some, i'd take one. oh no, i'm digressing. sleeep.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

December 24, 2002

groceries.

tonight i bought rootbeer. not for me (though i wouldn't have minded it), but for dave. for christmas. the old-timey IBC bottles. i bought them at tops, local grocery extraordinaire. ran into an old teacher and her husband, my sister peggy's old boss. we exchanged pleasantries and handshakes and hugs. the words ireland, writing, freelance, nashville, and horse all came up in conversation, just before merry christmas and goodbye.

in the checkout line, i was perusing the latest issue of people when the greyish-haired woman behind me asked about my rootbeer. "is that your favorite kind of rootbeer?" she asked. not wanting to have to explain that the rootbeer was, in fact, a gift, i simply replied "yes".
"why is it your favorite rootbeer?"

i put down my people. was this woman a rootbeer connoisseur? salesperson? mrs. IBC? i decided to oblige her:

"well, it's affordable and it's smooth. very rich flavor, you know?" (i'm just making this stuff up as i go, of course. remnants of my previous life as a salesgirl.)
"oh, is it affordable?" she continued, placing her thousands of groceries on the conveyer belt, behind my one item.
"it's not bad; $3.29 for a sixpack."
she smiled. "i used to make rootbeer, that's why i am curious."
i smiled. "oh yeah? why'd you stop?"
her eyes grew sad. "my dad and i used to make rootbeer together. that was a long time ago." she sighed. "a very long time ago."
i looked down at the IBC and back up at her. "well, maybe you can start again, or at least pick up a sixback of this stuff for inspiration."
she smiled and said something like "maybe" before offering me her discount card for possible savings on my purchase (unfortunately it wasn't on sale after all). we then thanked each other and said our merry christmases and goodbyes and i was on my way to shannon and dave's, soon to hold beatrice.


Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

December 22, 2002

where does the time go

was it only a week ago that i was standing on my seat, watching damien rice sing with his guitar and beautiful lisa and drummer that looked like a little person? can a week traverse worlds? because a week ago now i was sleeping, soon to wake up and pack to leave a few hours later, after staying up late, playing shithead with susan and jenna. susan went home to sleep and jenna and i forced our eyes open for another hour of three months in belfast reflection.

what had it all meant?
what does it all mean?
what were we feeling?

and i just sat on the couch, pillow on my lap and a cup of tea. shrugged my shoulders and didn't know much then.

and now it's a week later. i'm in the guest room of my sister's home, and i smell like campfire, after watching the wood in the fireplace burn. peggy wrapped gifts and drew propped his feet up on my lap as we shared the couch. i'd just gotten home from my mom's church christmas party, where i smiled a lot and said hello to the people who knew me when i was 10 years old--some of whom haven't seen me since. hi, i said. merry christmas. i watched the drama of the white elephant gift exchange.

and then i passed the airport on the way home: old blue lights, 12th and grace streets. thought of my father. hello dad, i said.

where does the time go?

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 20, 2002

it's beginning to feel a lot like...

erie, pa. a cold, windy night. flurries swirling in the lamplight. bed has never felt more cosy.

tonight was a snapshot, keepsake kind of memory. shannon and dave brought baby bea over for show-and-tell, and the girls (i.e. peggy and me) retreated to the quiet bedroom with the rocking chair for her feeding. the kids--bob and alaina--immediately joined peggy and me on the floor in front of shannon, as she rocked and fed. bea was fussy and alaina decided that a good story would calm her down, so she brought out her favorite christmas book: olive the other reindeer. bob sat on my lap, avidly listening, and alaina read with confident second grade prowess, stopping to show us the pictures. we all chuckled at the appropriate places and alaina was quite proud of her captive audience. even bea cooed and gurgled in appreciation.

meanwhile, downstairs, the boys talked tattooes and motorcycles till we rejoined them. then it turned to parenting anecdotes, which were funny and encouraging to the new parents, i think.

and now i hear the trains in the distance. no more planes or dogbark or late night ice cream trucks. this is a different kind of home.

relevant article is written. no more work to do until after the new year. i think i may just be ready for christmas.

bring on the wonder. (oh how i miss susan.)

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

December 17, 2002

and so it came to pass

here i am.


medford, new jersey. 9:30 am. tired. look like hell.

but.

guess what i discovered? the existence of sunshine. no, i'm serious. the sun really does shine. i see it right now, just sitting up there in this...um, blue sky. there is nothing grey. just these stark brown branches against this clear, cloudless backdrop. everything is crisp. how foreign.

i think i shall make some waffles.
maybe some sausage.
definitely going to whip out the log cabin maple syrup. mmmm.

don't take the small things for granted. (like syrup.)

funny. here i am.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

and so it came to pass

here i am.


medford, new jersey. 9:30 am. tired. look like hell.

but.

guess what i discovered? the existence of sunshine. no, i'm serious. the sun really does shine. i see it right now, just sitting up there in this...um, blue sky. there is nothing grey. just these stark brown branches against this clear, cloudless backdrop. everything is crisp. how foreign.

i think i shall make some waffles.
maybe some sausage.
definitely going to whip out the log cabin maple syrup. mmmm.

don't take the small things for granted. (like syrup.)

funny. here i am.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

and so it came to pass

here i am.


medford, new jersey. 9:30 am. tired. look like hell.

but.

guess what i discovered? the existence of sunshine. no, i'm serious. the sun really does shine. i see it right now, just sitting up there in this...um, blue sky. there is nothing grey. just these stark brown branches against this clear, cloudless backdrop. everything is crisp. how foreign.

i think i shall make some waffles.
maybe some sausage.
definitely going to whip out the log cabin maple syrup. mmmm.

don't take the small things for granted. (like syrup.)

funny. here i am.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 15, 2002

i wish you could see the way i fly in my dreams.

cold and soft purple scarves. another fire. post-eucharist tea and toast.

jenna wrapping presents.
trevor reading a magazine.
susan reading a novel.

a sabbath moment. an advent moment:

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 14, 2002

the way that light attaches

not many words tonight. more like crammed emotions settling into some hazy, time-constrained numbness.

tomorrow is the last day.
tomorrow is the last day. (she says it again, this time with emphasis.)

today was good.
last day at city centre and breakfast/coffee/long conversation with gareth about things that made me laugh and ponder.

then irish-themed christmas shopping.

then. susan and nantucket nectars. we met at clements. i can't tell you how joyous i was to see her shaggy green jacketed self walk in the door. that is the thing with choosing to keep your eyes open: they sting with tears a lot. you realise: there is susan and she is here and i am here and does she really know how much i adore her and what comfort it has been to have a constant for three months, down the street, always available for tea, shithead, and a laugh?

her car broke down. we sat, cold, in her car, waiting for the "rescue" truck to come, as i sang songs about just how full my bladder was.

then. home and a good fire. susan made dinner and mulled wine for trev, jenna, karin, and me. and i read two of my stories.

soon, my people came over: treena, merv, roo (rew?), mark, gareth, mike (and cary was sorely missed). oh the goodness of biscuits, guinness, patty griffin [treena accompanied "rain" with a big rainstick], and friends who i adore.
a good send off.

tomorrow is church at st. anne's.
an afternoon at mike and cary's.
a fantastic damien rice gig.
and packing.

so. there were more words than i thought possible.
amazing.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

December 13, 2002

what today feels like.

today, i am sitting at the computer like i do every morning-afternoon just after i wake up. i'm wearing my cozy, blue, geisha-inspired old navy pajama pants, and my non-matching black sweater with the snowflakes on the arms. trying to keep warm here. i'm sniffly. finger tips are numb.

it's completely quiet. no neighbor sounds. no dogbark. no kids. no icecream truck. just the hum of my ailing computer and my fingers on the keys. and my sniffling.

i stop.
listen.
and there it is: ireland sighs and i'm still here.

yesterday, i wrote my christmas shopping list on the back of a receipt, over a pint of guinness at a city centre pub. and i did the same thing: i stopped. listened. and i was surrounded by northern irish idle chit chat. i set down my pen after writing "mom: something irish" (like everyone else). took a sip of guinness. looked around at all the people unaware of me. smiled. picked up the pen again. wrote i'm still here. folded up the receipt and shoved it in my pocket.

it is friday. friday is where i am. where you are. and it is all we have today.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 12, 2002

lalala.

A+ is for Anne and the grades she managed to pull off by the grace of God.

(with a little help from her friends, a fire, camel lights, and tea.)

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

December 11, 2002

and bright hope for tomorrow.

i
am
all
done.

this is the good news.
i won't talk about the dumb computer bad news.

everything is beautiful. susan and mulled wine and mulholland drive are beautiful. jeff buckley's grace at 1:45 am is beautiful. e-conversation with sparrow is beautiful.

and the opportunity to post my first photo is absolutely gorgeous.
here world. have beatrice abbot quiggle as a two-week-old:





oh my love.
Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

2:20 pm

two hours of a sleep break turned into 6 (mostly on the couch).

oops.

log is finished at 5000+ words. now to finish story.
my face is completely broken out. i look like death warmed over (or mcdonalds reheated) and i need to go outside and feed the ducks. because it is sunny. and i have four days left in ireland.

i am so tired.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 10, 2002

2:43 am

the chocolate is gone.
the hotwater bottle is lukewarm.
i've forgotten what sentence structure is.
i'm bitchy.
i've got a 2844-word log at the moment; i will easily surpass 3000 words. i am not an over-achiever; i am too tired to edit.
i am writing about yeats.
then joyce.
then beckett.
then heaney.
then some contemporary irish short stories.

then onto my story.

you see, this is not really procrastination in its purest form. noooo, i've read all i was required to read. i simply kept the log in my head for too long, and now i'm forced to take it out of my head and put it into microsoft word format, so that i can email it as an attachment to my poor professor tomorrow, who will then have to grade it at the last possible moment before her grades are due. okay, so this is pure procrastination.

but that luxury has passed. procrastination no longer exists. forget midnight oil: i am burning the 3 am coal.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

12:10 am

the last night of this kind of work.
i'm finishing a log of all my readings of irish lit (1000 more words to go...) at the moment.

endometriosis, which has kept itself quiet for much of my time here, has decided to spend sometime with me this evening--with its perfectly timed throbs and aches.

so, here on my belly is a laptop sitting on a hot water bottle, and in between mumbled obscenities, i'm writing rather well at the moment.

after the log is done, i need to create a fantastic story, and have it fully formed by about 3 pm tomorrow. easy, right?

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

8:35 pm

update: in the fastest turn-in-paper-get-grade experience i've ever had, i just found out that i got an A on my final paper...

working hard over here for tomorrow's deadlines.
and susan is playing new songs.

"i think that might be the most beautiful thing i've heard in a long time" trevor remarked, truthfully.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

4:15 pm

whew. big nasty paper out of the way, finally.

i need a cigarette.
i need some soup.
i need a shower.

...and then on to the next task.
(just take it bird by bird, buddy.)

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

12:15 pm, the next day.

another day, another fire.

tesco muesli with hazelnuts has been consumed. (ah sustenance.)

now to the checklist:

coffee? check.
two litres of water by my side? check.
sunny day makes me all the more frustrated to be inside? check.
paper that should have been done last night finished? um.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 9, 2002

2:10 am

i'm beginning to resent tea.

what was i writing about?

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

12:51 am

finally waking up.
on a roll now...if a roll means 300 words an hour.

making more tea.
God bless tetlea.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

11:05 pm

would you like a cup of tea? i've made some.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

9:51 pm

the fire is burning beautifully.

i took a post-dinner nap as Jenna read The Fellowship of the Ring fireside.

i am well-hydrated.
i've talked to my advisor about spring classes.

i am a slow writer tonight, though after several revisions of each paragraph, i'm happy with my words and ideas.

i wish i felt well.
i am whiny.

i should return to the task at hand.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

5:45 pm

we're trying to get a stubborn fire to stay with us.

eating chicken and chips from the shop around the corner. fingers are greasy. eyes are tired. tummy is feeling better after coca-cola and chicken.

paper? well, it's coming. slowly.
i've just quoted annie dillard in a paper about 17th century women writers. ha.
(obsess much?)

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

10:30 am

still in bed, working. woke up at 8, as planned. cranky.
hungover without the booze. 2 litre bottle of water sits next to me, mostly empty.

the sun is shining for the moment and the street cleaner is loud in the front lot.

i need to go to susan's, print out some research.
i want to sleep.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 8, 2002

here's the thing.

12:33 am. wide awake. my 4:30 am to 11:30 am sleeping schedule is not conducive to the industrious 48 hours i need to have starting tomorrow.

you see, it is the end of the semester. oh, it is, you ask?

yes, it is. (i'd forgotten too.)

so. i am far away from the hustle and bustle of last minute paper-writing happening all over the academic world at this very minute. because i'm in east belfast with the icecream truck--which now plays various christmas carols--and howling dogs.

the world is quiet now.
except for the dying battery relentless beep of the smoke detector downstairs. that's been going on, intermittently, for the past two days. i am developing violent thoughts toward it.

and i can't fall asleep.

i cannot tell you all i need to accomplish over the next two days, for fear that my professors will see how horrible a student i am, and will shame me for the new levels of procrastination to which i've stooped.

(i'm too embarrassed to admit it to myself, really.)

i can't get this radiohead lyric out of my head: you do it to yourself, you do, and that's why it really hurts.

however, the good, redemptive news: i finished a final exam nearly twenty-four hours before it was due.

i'll check in throughout the next 48 hours with reports of my waning sanity.
should make for some exciting reading.

stay tuned. tell a friend. send money.

and now, to sleep. at 12:43. if counting sheep does not work, i will begin to pray. prayers from bed always result in instant sleep.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 7, 2002

more googlisms, more procrastination

my favorites for my fambly:

eileen:
eileen is evidence of divine power
eileen is featured in a double page spread in the december 2000 edition of teddy bear times magazine
eileen is a dramatic actress who keeps getting laughed at
eileen is a shining example of what we seek to be

cathy:
cathy is in fact pregnant and edgar tries to nurse her back to health
cathy is becoming known as the "singing quilter"
cathy is a refreshing change
cathy is currently working on compiling her almost one hundred vietnamese poems into a collection dedicated to her family and friends

peggy:
peggy is the leader of the 'revolution against too many pop tarts and corporate squealing sugar babies'
peggy is correct
peggy is playing with that thing
peggy is sleeping on my back porch then there's no way in hell she can afford ultrasound

marilyn:
marilyn is tricked by a game show host
marilyn is not used to referring to herself in the third person
marilyn is wearing her famous white ballerina dress and crisp white panties
marilyn is still our queen

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 6, 2002

things to do whilst procrastinating

in between contemporary irish fiction stories today, i did a fun googlism search on my name.

here are some of my favorite responses:

anne is special
anne is bored with her current homepage
anne is new mayor
anne is an author
anne is kindly fetched by the trumpet
anne is a book
anne is fast copy
anne is starvin' marvin
anne is stuck with him
anne is not a
anne is a infant
anne is pleased to accept your special order requests
anne is special anne acting special anne didn't know my camera could do movies
anne is invited out to tea
anne is fashion's weakest link
anne is eight years old
anne is 10
anne is loved by millions the world over
anne is the one who speaks and introduces herself
anne is thrilled to meet the dashing american writer jack garrison
anne is an expert in the field of people
anne is committed to tax relief
anne is including a free lds youth short story on this website
anne is dead
anne is an attractive 18
anne is a paradise for snowboarders
anne is a member of actra and the canadian actors' equity association
anne is located north of downtown
anne is a literacy champion
anne is shocked at the differences between her own family and that of the van daans
anne is frightened because she is not used to such darkness and silence at night
anne is rather modern in her dress and speech
anne is a real estate agent that is known in the community of new bedford for her dedicated client service
anne is drawn to help her
anne is distraught and begs him to reconsider
anne is located in the charming
anne is issued her private pilot's license
anne is
anne is open to change and willing to accept direction
anne is put on trial for witchcraft
anne is not subsidized
anne is a member of the official phenomenal women of the web seal
anne is standing in front of a traditional picket fence with wild roses blooming on either side
anne is very dynamic and motivating
anne is well known for her versatility
anne is the patroness of brittany
anne is a lecturer in modern british history with interests which run from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries
anne is an inspirational and dynamic keynoter and trainer who is consistently ranked highest on participant evaluations
anne is a featured author in this book of heartwarming
anne is sitting in front of bright river station waiting to be picked up and taken to her new foster home
anne is dressed in a green and white polka dot pinafore
anne is a natural healer who gives workshops
anne is off to uppercross
anne is the patron saint of equestrians
anne is newly built with every modern amenity
anne is fortunate to have two campuses of the university of maryland nearby
anne is clearly above such matters
anne is granted permission to go to the ball and before matthew goes to the lawson's mercantile to buy anne a dress
anne is now 27 and is starting to feel herself prematurely middle
anne is an international caliber resort with the following facilities
anne is not a real girl
anne is redefining the level of women's riding with insane amplitude and smooth technical tricks
anne is displayed for public in the regina caeli chapel of st
anne is currently preparing to go into the studio with legendary american producer and guitarist john beland
anne is responsible for looking after the express horses lodged at the station
anne is never portrayed the same
anne is forced to listen to the constant
anne is part
anne is asked to provide the keynote address for photokina 1998
anne is a great getaway
anne is rescued by peg and returns to avonlea with a new found respect for this mysterious woman of the woods


Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

December 4, 2002

if nothing else, feed the birds.

…I went out at 3:30 for the sunset and bird-feeding. God I'll miss that. It feels like a new routine I should have started a long time ago. (but we didn't have so much moldy bread then!) I saw a real sunset. Not just shadows--the familiar pink and grey evidence that the sun was here, has gone, thanks for coming. I saw the red ball drop behind the lake, behind the cranes and the buildings.

I laughed at the bold geese who followed me onto the bridge, mumbling for bread. And when I got too close they hissed. I don't like that sound so much. I hissed back, chased them away with my big human arms.

So I walked around the whole park, dropping breadcrumbs in the water slowly. Only the seagulls followed. The water was incredibly still today, oil-like. And then I threw bread into the moorhen ghetto—they all came flapping and squawking like speedboats, with their feet still in the water. I laughed at the hilarity of it all.

I wonder about the dresscode for Victoria Park. Is one actually required to be an old man with a white-faced Labrador or retriever? An old man with tweed hat, walking stick, and a tennis ball in a pocket? If so, I am sorely out of place. but they still nod and occasionally say hello. So I'll keep coming. For 11 more days…

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

a long december.

it's been a long time since i've listened to the counting crows' recovering the satellites.

"i guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower..."

it's strange how months attach themselves to memories. wistful or malevolent.
like grandmother. like cancer.

"the smell of hospitals in winter."

i remember. those last days were stark (county) and grandma on her back, in a bed. i'd never seen her that way before. i brought pizza and we chuckled about small things. i watched her chest move up and down, breathing.

"...hold on to these moments as they pass."

the last time i went, we talked of nashville, while i held my sleeping baby nephew on my lap. she held my hand a lot. her eyes were tired, so she looked at the ceiling as she spoke. my nephew-holding arm was asleep, tingly. my grandma-held hand sweaty. i followed her gaze up to the drop ceiling tile of the bland room. i assured her that i would be alright in nashville. i had a job, a place to live. friends. emergency contacts, like 911 and poison control.

she looked at me suddenly.

"honey?"
"yes grandma?"
"do you feel my hand?"
"yes grandma."
"it's warm, isn't it?"
"yes."
"that's because i'm alive. and you're alive. so. dive in, honey, dive in."
"i will, grandma. i promise."

that semester, i had been taking a class on counseling (i was still studying to become a therapist then) and my professor had spent the most recent class teaching us how to say goodbye. he stressed the importance of saying goodbye effectively, not merely saying see ya later, when you know you won't.

i was leaving for nashville in five days.

when it was time to go, i held my grandmother's hand in both of mine, and looked her in the eye.

"i love you grandma," i said. "goodbye."
"goodbye honey" she replied, looking back at me. (was that a wink? grandma never winked...) "i love you too."

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

December 2, 2002

later that day, she said...

So I went to the park with some bread for the birds. I wore my green hat, brought the umbrella. But the clouds were pink and grey: shadows of sunset, flickering on the lake. 4 o'clock. No sign of rain for the moment. The wind was gusty, blew right through me. it's winter now. I stood on the bridge for a long time.

Planes took off. Landed. A train crawled past. Cars on the motorway. I didn't hear.
Because I was watching the Holy Spirit move on the water, splaying out with each gust, rocking the scores of seagulls and moorhens, as they floated along, trying to sleep. They were my paper lantern prayers, black and white, bobbing.

I stood on the bridge for a long time: my altar.

And then I walked home for tea. Almost lost my hat.

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

advent

vicky was listening to the innocence mission last night: july.
(too much light to deny.)

the only light i could recognize at that moment was the fire i kept poking. more coal. come on. stay with me here. it lasted for three hours.

light and advent don't go together so well for me. the light makes me squint; i'm not ready to see.

advent is night vision.
december is wintry spirituality, as richard foster describes it.

from his book, prayer:

to the outward eye everything looks barren and unsightly. our many defects, flaws, weaknesses, and imperfections stand out in bold relief. but only the outward virtues have collapsed; the principle of virtue is actually being strengthened. the soul is venturing forth into the interior. real, solid, enduring virtues begin to develop deep within. pure love is being birthed.

and so vicky and i talked of the innocence mission's birds of my neighborhood and the lyrics to the song "birdless" came to me, after a long absence and made me weep:

when we are lost in carlisle
when we are birdless
flowerless in the spring
and we cannot sing
where are we going tomorrow?
where are we going?
all i can only say
we will be found.

in the meantime, i'm waiting in this holy darkness, for the time when we can scratch the sky..

Posted by bananie at 12:00 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack