Life can be so beautiful...
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I Exist - From my sleepy hollow...
l thought l would sleep on today, there wasnt a reason to get up early, all l would do is go on the computer, nothing would get done, so l just slept on.
Finally my tired old back said, l cant lay here anymore, we must get up, so l did. l rolled over to the side of the bed, placed my feet on the carpet, leveled them out, and sat up as straight as l could. l opened my eyes, blinked, and looked around at the level of light in my room. l looks like afternoon. l then attempted to stand, holding onto the wall, until my body balanced on my overworked feet, l leant against the wall for more balance.
l started around the bed to the bathroom, not feeling that l needed to, because l had been up several times in the last six hours of sleep.
The afternoon sun was pouring through my high windows, and l smiled.
Next l had to turn the cpap off, organise those pieces, and then around the old huge bed, and into the kitchen.
l pressed the button for the heater, opened the lounge window a little, then into the kitchen.
l put the coffee on, and then over to the computer, turned it on, and allowed it time to heat up...
All of a sudden it started to rain on my south windows! l looked a little closer, its hail! shut the windows, and watched for a bit while the coffee was perking and the puter was heating.
Rain looks lovely running down a window.
So back into the kitchen, and made the coffee, put on some toast and back to the puter.
l rang mum, cos she has an ear problem that makes her dizzy, and she has to take several stemitel...sp.. and if she doesnt get it in time, shes in bed. she got it in time. poor mum...shes seventy eight this year, and still fiesty.
dads just waiting for his right hip to slip out he says...yesterday he felt like ninety five instead of eighty four...
Okay, back to make the second coffee, take the pills.
lve decided l will do a course of B12..l do feel better for it.
and of course the diabetic pills metformin. l dont think theyre doing anything, but the dr says keep taking them.
l mean, if l behave, lm a normal number...l dont need the pills , but l shall do as lm told.
lve been taking lovan for over a decade now, and seem to be addicted to them, they do cut my stress and panicky feelings..so l take them. l have however again almost stopped the muralax, - muscle relaxents, although l cheated last night, and took half a one.
The hail stopped shortly after it began, and the afternoon sun came out, l silently laughed to myself, and said, phtt, melbourne.
Soon l shall start on the basic chores, and shower, and be ready for whatever the evening brings me.....it doesnt bring me much at all lol of late, but its nice to be clean and fresh, even if its just for me.
...
Finally my tired old back said, l cant lay here anymore, we must get up, so l did. l rolled over to the side of the bed, placed my feet on the carpet, leveled them out, and sat up as straight as l could. l opened my eyes, blinked, and looked around at the level of light in my room. l looks like afternoon. l then attempted to stand, holding onto the wall, until my body balanced on my overworked feet, l leant against the wall for more balance.
l started around the bed to the bathroom, not feeling that l needed to, because l had been up several times in the last six hours of sleep.
The afternoon sun was pouring through my high windows, and l smiled.
Next l had to turn the cpap off, organise those pieces, and then around the old huge bed, and into the kitchen.
l pressed the button for the heater, opened the lounge window a little, then into the kitchen.
l put the coffee on, and then over to the computer, turned it on, and allowed it time to heat up...
All of a sudden it started to rain on my south windows! l looked a little closer, its hail! shut the windows, and watched for a bit while the coffee was perking and the puter was heating.
Rain looks lovely running down a window.
So back into the kitchen, and made the coffee, put on some toast and back to the puter.
l rang mum, cos she has an ear problem that makes her dizzy, and she has to take several stemitel...sp.. and if she doesnt get it in time, shes in bed. she got it in time. poor mum...shes seventy eight this year, and still fiesty.
dads just waiting for his right hip to slip out he says...yesterday he felt like ninety five instead of eighty four...
Okay, back to make the second coffee, take the pills.
lve decided l will do a course of B12..l do feel better for it.
and of course the diabetic pills metformin. l dont think theyre doing anything, but the dr says keep taking them.
l mean, if l behave, lm a normal number...l dont need the pills , but l shall do as lm told.
lve been taking lovan for over a decade now, and seem to be addicted to them, they do cut my stress and panicky feelings..so l take them. l have however again almost stopped the muralax, - muscle relaxents, although l cheated last night, and took half a one.
The hail stopped shortly after it began, and the afternoon sun came out, l silently laughed to myself, and said, phtt, melbourne.
Soon l shall start on the basic chores, and shower, and be ready for whatever the evening brings me.....it doesnt bring me much at all lol of late, but its nice to be clean and fresh, even if its just for me.
...
Monday, July 13, 2009
I REFLECT...
I REFLECT. july 09.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Juana lnes de la Cruz
 | Juana Inés de la Cruz | for everyone |
| Category: | Other |
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sor_Juana
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Melbourne Fires...
l have tried to imagine
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Telephone - poem -
Deep, Deep, Sleep.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Poem. ( Death-Loss )
lt is so hard to lose someone.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Crumbs in my Bellybutton.
l sit
crumbs in my bellybutton
has life come to this
sitting half naked in front of the screen
drink
l do not
smoke
l do not
messy l have become
shakes shirt to free a mess to the floor
coffee
out of the same mug
not a mug
a shaker
a shaker with a lost lid
not attractive
sits
heater blowing
listens to outside noise
a boy bouncing a ball
cars coming and going
birds flying past
yelling
listens to abc classic radio
wipes crumbs from face
they fall to the floor
the clock says four pm
the sun is behind me
l see the reflexion on the screen
l should be out there
lm not
lm sitting here
listening to opera singers
sound
the heater fan so loud
feet cold
need water over me
need clean clothes
need to start the day
yesterday
wore me out
l must push forward
l hurt
order order
l mentally slap
has it come to this
surrounded by dust
l crave a big garden just for me
a box is where l am
need to mentally expand
l should drive to the beach
there my mind can stretch
only to come back to the dusty box
l rock
in a fetal position
l hold my head
coffees almost done
stale bread
vegemite
heater fan sound too loud
earplugs day
turns up abc
to drown out noise
books stacked
must be read
dust dust dust
cold feet
water
silent scream
inside my box
red and green
green and red
hahahaha
christmas all year round
l lay back
rest my head
close my eyes
stretch my cold legs
darkness
sweet darkness
l dream
for just a minute
relief
a harp plays on abc
dark harp
so sweet
so soothing
l brush crumbs
to the floor
my order is different
where has the old order gone
set in my ways
crumbs are wrong
on the floor
there are no birds
to pick them up
a pressure
living in a box
so much to do
too close
closes eyes
sits in a field
breathes
tension releases
astral
l watch me
sitting
so much space
so quiet
no heater or cars
or children bouncing balls
the harp plays on
coffee has set in
lm awake
lm fed once again
will tomorrow be the same
Friday, October 3, 2008
Astral.
l can rise from small places.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Old Age, I decided, is a gift
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my parent!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ..... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART! MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES ON YOUR FACE AND IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND EVER!
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