<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059</id><updated>2011-05-11T13:23:17.095-05:00</updated><title type='text'>SAFIYA</title><subtitle type='html'>"There are two types of people: Those who come into a room and say, 'Well, here I am!' and those who say, 'Ah, there you are.'" - Frederick L. Collins</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-3574061505033692595</id><published>2006-11-17T20:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T20:33:47.345-05:00</updated><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY COACH</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/3187/1541/1600/951915/jeff.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/3187/1541/200/97929/jeff.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;HAPPY BIRTHDAY... I didn't forget!!! I&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-3574061505033692595?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/3574061505033692595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=3574061505033692595&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/3574061505033692595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/3574061505033692595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-birthday-coach.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY COACH'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-3283214375369115313</id><published>2006-11-17T20:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T20:13:19.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sigh...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/3187/1541/1600/874361/hands.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 412px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 207px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="207" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/3187/1541/320/626553/hands.jpg" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back. Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-3283214375369115313?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/3283214375369115313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=3283214375369115313&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/3283214375369115313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/3283214375369115313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/11/sigh.html' title='Sigh...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-115268427727193875</id><published>2006-07-12T00:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-12T01:46:38.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rich: Simply Pretty....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/Fright.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 147px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" height="203" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/Fright.jpg" width="243" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;ALWAYS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Talented. Driven. Hilarious. Serious. Deep. Passionate. Critical. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Honest. Clever. Deft. Sharp. Gifted. Asute. Quick Witted.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Oh....... and simply..... &lt;strong&gt;PRETTY&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;You are one of the only people that I ever had legitimate ego battles with.....and I hate to admit.... I lost.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;From the banter to the brow, to the long nights and the serious talks, to the moments there were tears and the moments there was laughter...to me you were true to yourself. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me in. I am blessed to have known you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-115268427727193875?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/115268427727193875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=115268427727193875&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115268427727193875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115268427727193875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/07/rich-simply-pretty.html' title='Rich: Simply Pretty....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-115268152281951071</id><published>2006-07-12T00:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T17:01:07.640-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stan: My Spare....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff99;"&gt;Way back in the Day.... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;During a new store opening, where I was working; My friend Tammy came to me and said "I found him". Startled by her enthusiasm, I turned, looked around and said "You found who?". A 'bad girl' smile cemented on her face, she slyly replied "The guy I want". Simple. LOL.... Yes well... There was not anything simple about what was to come between Tammy and the "H.G.G" ( Hot Grocery Guy). Over the next few days, Tammy pointed him out here and there, but being in a new store, with literally at least a hundred new employees it was really hard to concentrate on just one...*wink*... regardless of how "hot" he was. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/Shells%20and%20Stan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 277px" height="370" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/Shells%20and%20Stan.jpg" width="292" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't until the following Sunday (I had heard about the HGG every shift, every hour, every minute on the shift) And FINALLY...He had walked over to our side of the store and I was able to get a good look at him. He had come over and asked me for something but I was really oblivious to what it was he had asked for. Quite honestly I was checking him out and thinking..."This guy? This is the guy Tammy had a crush on?" He seemed nice enough and I guess he was cute...But really, not as hot as she had said...Until of course..... He asked me if I had been listening to him..And when I answered "No actually I wasn't listening"... then he SMILED. And everything that Tammy had seen in him...at that moment I saw for myself. It is amazing what a simple smile can do for a person. I think I amused him that day...Because every day after that, we spoke.&lt;br /&gt;Eventually Stan and Tammy got together and there was drama between them. They were actually very sweet together. But unfortunately other things got between them and it didn't work out. Since, I some how ended up the 'go between', and Stan somehow found my phone number,; he and I began to talk on breaks, after work, before work and eventually on the phone. Most of our conversations began with Tammy but soon we became interested in each other.... Not in "that" kind of way, but in a friendly way...And soon we became very close friends .We would spend hours, grabbing a coffee and going to park in his car. We realized that we had actually met each other more than a few times years before. Stan had actually gone to shool with Dana and Rob. Small world.&lt;br /&gt;Naturally, without notice, Stan became known as my "spare". My spare for Waymon that is. LOL. Actually it was Waymon, that gave him that name. He didn't mind the time I was spending with Stan. Because Stan and I talked about everything that he had no interest in. Basically, Stan got me out of Way's hair...LOL. We have seen each other through some tough times, tough relationships....The moon and the sun. *smile* And he has shared the best of times with us as well. He is unlike anyone that I have ever met...For so many reasons. And there are not words for me to describe how I feel about him. LOL... He was even there when Camryn was born..LOL...Reading the monitors, asking the nurses questions.... Watching me; he would know when it hurt and he would give me that little smile (anyone who knows him...Knows what I mean.) Like he always does...He has the ability to make any pain dim.&lt;br /&gt;Camryn is a lucky little girl to have him as her God Father. And I too, am blessed to have him as my friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;From Fortinos to Legs, to Tim Hortons at 2 in the morning, to breakups and indecision, to the moon and the stars, to hockey and euchre nights to playing pool, xmas parties to motels, to drive bys and road trips... You are my favorite HGG. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-115268152281951071?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/115268152281951071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=115268152281951071&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115268152281951071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115268152281951071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/07/stan-my-spare_11.html' title='Stan: My Spare....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-115258873308603912</id><published>2006-07-10T22:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-08T22:26:21.210-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ponyboy and Sodapop....aka Nicole and Shellie</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/nic3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 119px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px" height="121" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/nic3.jpg" width="211" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ffff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When I was 10 years old my family had moved from a country style area, where the neighbour's were few and far between; to a small street in the city. Young, scared but excited, I didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure if I met Nicole on the first day we moved onto Rowanwood Street or if it was within the first week. (I'd bet my life that she would be able to tell when we first spoke, what I was wearing and if it had been a cloudy day!! She is just good like that! haha) However, I do remember being taller than her; her blonde hair and blue eyes where a sharp contrast to my red hard and green eyes....And I remember that we became Best Friends instantaneously. The kindred similarities between us was always fun..It was always something new... Our birthdays are one day and one year apart. I'm the older, wiser one of course! ( ok, ok... I may as well be honest, since I will most likely be called out on any mistreats...She is very WISE!! Ok Happy now Nic? LOL) Our tastes in music were the same. *NOTE* I said "were". LOL... Nic is a country gal now!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We only lived 2 doors down from each other, but Nicole was a constant presence in our house. We had more sleepovers than I can count. Every sleepover, the nights were filled with laughter, to the point of tears. My goodness the things that we did! From writing love letters to the boys in the neighborhood (of course signing other peoples names.. hehe) to playing hide 'n" seek in my house, blind mans bluff in my bedroom, the Lemonade stands, the bike rides and getting lost on purpose...just to see if we could find our way back..To playing chase around the block, and yes to the emergency room when I cut my leg on those tracks....LOL.....And of course to our Michael Jackson collections. We had the best times, the best laughs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I entered grade 7 (or was it 8?) my parents moved yet again. This time we moved up to the mountain, which at that young age, it seemed as if we were moving to another country. We saw each other as much as we could and when Nic's mom allowed her... she would come up and spend the weekends with me. I remember sometimes having to take the bus all the way down there to pick her up, because her mom wouldn't let her take the bus by herself...LOL... I introduced her to the new friends that I had met; Brett, Dana, Rob, Larry and Ken. Without effort we all became pretty good friends. Since I had started highschool, Nic and I did drift a part for a while, We still spoke but not as often..And I missed her desperately. But it just happened. Nicole joined me at the same highschool the following year and once again we became close. Inseparable really. Her weekends were spent up at my house with Brett and the other boys. We had great times...Driving in the Jimmy with the boys....drives to Kings Forest so we could take long walks, going to Zoo's pizzeria to pick up Rob after work. Hehe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I love about Nic the most, is her honesty. She is the most honest person that I know. I mean really...That's how she works. She always, always calls it like she sees it. If I was acting like a jerk...she would call me out on it. If I was doing something that she didn't like or knew I would regret in the morning...she would tell me. She saw so much in me that I didn't even realize. And regardless of the shitty mistakes that I have made or things that I have done without thinking...She was always there when I needed her. And I was there, when she needed me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23 years later, we still have a laugh or two about our past. It's different now, being all "grown up". Or is it? Everything has changed. We live in different provinces/countries. Our children. Our lives. The only constant is our friendship. Which is in command every time we talk. It just happens. Months, years can pass but when the connection is finally made..Everything but our friendship has changed. Maybe it's because of the time that has past and the growth that we individually have made. The losses we have experienced... Each in our own way; we have learned to appreciate the people..the relationships that we each have. You have always been my best friend, the ambassador of all my secrets, indiscretions; all of my mistakes and triumphs. You know me better that anyone. And anyone who knows me...LOL...knows who you are. Even if you haven't met them personally, they have all heard about you. They know you are my best friend and I know whatever life throws at us...You always will be. I love ya Nic....Forever and always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#ccccff;"&gt;From playing chase, to frosting fights, to the Mtn Brow, to Brett, Dana , Rob and through Dennis and the Party pit, to Michael Jackson and the HUGE battery pack that used to stick out on the side of your head when you wore the Lighted Michael Jackson Visor (I was so jealous...my visor didn't light up.....Now? Not so jealous..haha) to the letters, and the Christmas cards, the 'snail mail' novels that I would write, to email, and messenger....You are still and always be my favorite Nickel. CHOW FOR NOW...I GOTTA PLOW...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-115258873308603912?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/115258873308603912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=115258873308603912&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115258873308603912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115258873308603912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/07/ponyboy-and-sodapopaka-nicole-and.html' title='Ponyboy and Sodapop....aka Nicole and Shellie'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-115258869946557365</id><published>2006-07-10T22:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-19T17:04:11.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hessie: The other half of the 2 dancing piggies...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Hess%20and%20Sheshie%2070.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/Hess%20and%20Sheshie%2070.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#99ff99;"&gt;Hessie and Sheshie&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(circa 1975)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;From the womb cuz... Literally!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffcc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;QUOTES&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;about Sheshie and Hessie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;"What one didn't think of...the other did" - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Anyone that ever knew us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;"Running around naked, arm and arm like the 2 dancing piggies from Hee Haw" - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Aunt Lin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;"What makes you think it was us?" "What reason would we have to freeze Veronica's bra?" - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Shesh and Hess&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#999999;"&gt;Some things that remind you of Hessie and Sheshie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;The Monkees&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;Laughter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;Grapes and Things - Hess losing her shoe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;Any and All the torture &lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffff99;"&gt;(but in a loving way..hehe)&lt;/span&gt; that Tessie &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffcc;"&gt;(Tina&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;/span&gt; and Bessie &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffcc;"&gt;(Wendy&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;/span&gt; had to endure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;Quad running (poor Pete....LOL)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;The Cat Burgler ( C'mon Wendella....lol..it &lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;WAS&lt;/span&gt; funny.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-115258869946557365?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/115258869946557365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=115258869946557365&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115258869946557365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115258869946557365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/07/hessie-other-half-of-2-dancing-piggies.html' title='Hessie: The other half of the 2 dancing piggies...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-115237102146253441</id><published>2006-07-08T08:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-16T16:17:29.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Brett: "I'm going to be an actor"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;October 6 1984&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/Brett%20and%20Shells.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 286px" height="321" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/Brett%20and%20Shells.6.jpg" width="274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My family had just moved. For "change"...Or so we were told.... Once again I was heading into the unknown; Already missing my best friend Nicole. It seemed like we had moved 100 miles away, but in reality it was only a 15 minute drive. Of course at 12 years old you don't drive, you are not allowed to take the bus by yourself &lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt; one is just learning that 'telephone time' is the MOST important time. (at least for a girl) *smile*. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I saw him sitting on the side of the building, wearing shorts, a white polo shirt and a burgundy sweater. The Aviator sunglasses&lt;/strong&gt; (20 years later; who knew the aviators, would be a fashion "must have"??!!) &lt;strong&gt;covered most of his tanned face. He was by himself and only looked up as we drove by. Our eyes met, only for a split second and he smiled. I will remember that smile...That 'first smile' forever. I giggled with my sister and said "did you see that?" And of course she didn't.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Being in a new environment, for days I just walked around, not knowing anybody and dying for the promised sleepover that weekend, when Nicole would come up. In the meantime I saw him twice more, sitting in the same spot. But unlike the first time, he was never alone. Girls were sitting beside him, in front of him...All giddy, vying for his attention We did share a smile once or twice more. In the hallway, we would d pass each other and simply smile or say 'hey'. But neither of us would say anything more.. He was cute, I must say. And of course I had already told Nic all about him. *giggle*. I had heard one of the girls he was with, gush is name.... "Brett".&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friday comes and the anticipation of my friend coming is quickly kaboshed when I hear my mom talking to Nic's mom and I hear her say "well, I hope she's feeling better". Devastated, I head back into my room, close the door and find solace in My Michael..... Michael Jackson that is! (Don't laugh, it was the 80's and I was only 12) I stayed in my room, thinking that I will never see her again and really did not like my parents at that moment; for making us move and taking me away from everyone, everything that I had known. While wallowing in my own sweet sorrow, I had fallen asleep...Until I was abruptly awakened by the familiar sound of a flamboyant, almost crass voice..That I knew I recognized.Blissfully, I jumped up out of bed and literally collided with another friend; BooBoo. My dad had known I would be crushed when I heard Nic was at home sick, so he stopped by and picked up Boo. Elated we started to scream and jump around, talking deliriously.. My dad put his hands over his ears, shook his head and simply sighed "girls".&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Once we settled down, we had made our way outside, so we could talk..Privately. LOL. Basically, so we could just talk about the "what's goin' on" in my old neighborhood. We sat back on the slide in the deserted playground and watched the clouds pass as we talked animatedly. Laughing, giggling. Over to our right, Brett and 3 of his buddies were playing volleyball over the fence . They seemed pretty cool. And of course I had already given BooBoo the lowdown on him. *smile* However, I had never seen his friends before. As a matter of fact, until that moment I had never seen friend with another male. LOL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Almost an hour had passed when Boo pinched my arm. My eyes flew open and to my surprise, Brett was standing in front of us. He smiled at the shock look on my face. I returned the smile and ever so &lt;em&gt;coolly&lt;/em&gt; said "hey". He replied " I'm  Brett and I'm going to be an actor". This made Boo Boo and I giggle. I replied "An actor? That's cool. My name is Shellie and this is my friend Boo Boo". We, of course had to explain the whole Boo Boo nickname. Her real name was Rachelle but everyone and I mean &lt;em&gt;everyone&lt;/em&gt; called her BooBoo. It was a cool way to break the ice. He then asked us if we wanted to join the game. We both shrugged like it was not a big deal and joined in. Brett introduced us to his friends; Rennie, Shaun and Ken, and asked me to be on his team. Come to find out, Rennie thought I was "cute" and wanted to get to know me.( Later on Ren became my first boyfriend. It lasted about 2 years. nuff said.lol.) Throughout the game we all got to know each other a little better. We talked about music and of course the glitz and glam of Hollywood, and Brett's earnest want to become an actor. After the game we sat around on the grass and shot the shit for hours. It was pretty cool. I could see already that Boo Boo had a thing for Brett. I didn't mind though, 'cause Rennie was kind of cute too.hehe&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Our entire weekend, was spent with these guys. And on Sunday when it was time for my dad to take Boo home, I was devastated all over again. Deflated, I sat on the same side of the building as I had seen Brett for the first time and watched her and my dad drive away. I sat there for more than a few minutes and as I was about to get up to leave, I suddenly inhaled the already familiar scent of Calvin Klein's Obsession. I turned and looked over my shoulder and there was Brett. He came and sat down beside me and didn't say too much, but what he did say made me laugh. HYSTERICALLY.  3 hours later, my thoughts had changed a little. Maybe living up here wouldn't be so bad after all. *smile*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ffff33;"&gt;Feb. 1985&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Although Brett and I went to different schools, we spent a lot of time together. Daily, and then nightly on phone. Just chatting about nothing, about everything. Our weekends were spent comfortably together...Playing volleyball, talking sports, coming up with a title for the movie he was going to write, direct and of course star in. We talked about music and everything else that teens discuss. We became fast friends and without even noticing, we became the best of friends. Brett finally met Nicole. And in return I met his "boys", Dana and Rob. Soon we became a core group of 5. Only Nic was able to contribute to our adolescent antics, solely on the weekends. For the next few years we spent almost everyday together, after school, after dinner, weekends. We helped each other through the normal things that teens go through.. The crushes, the girlfriends,the boyfriends, the issues with our parents, issues at school. We helped each other through all of those things...Laughing and sharing priceless moment the entire time. We watched each other grow and without knowing it, helped shape each other to whom we have become today. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;July 8, 2006&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#66ff99;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I don't look back and smile about the times we shared. I am blessed to have only to look to my side. As we wait again with great anticipation to see what will happen next. 22 years later.....And Brett is still here...And Nicole.... And Dana... And Rob. We have grown up, our families have grown. Some of us are married, some have kids. I look at our picture that sits on my desk and I know that we all will have each other forever and for always. For,  we are each others &lt;em&gt;childhood.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;From Kareoke Bars, to Elvis impersonations, VAMP, long drives and getting lost on purpose, ghost stories, true dare double dare, to the now infamous Egg and the birth of a chicken to Letterman, to the rabbit in the forest.....LOL.....Brett has a gift, many gifts really ...And my sore ribs from the laughter, everytime I see or talk to him proves it. He will always be my favorite actor. Love ya BJ&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/scan0003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: all; FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 390px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px" height="194" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/320/scan0003.1.jpg" width="4" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa"&gt;src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;DANA*********SHELLS*********CLINT*********BRETT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-115237102146253441?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/115237102146253441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=115237102146253441&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115237102146253441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/115237102146253441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/07/brett-im-going-to-be-actor.html' title='Brett: &quot;I&apos;m going to be an actor&quot;'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-114792174814948638</id><published>2006-05-17T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T22:09:08.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Unknown</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;Your fire, such a small and dying ember, tries to be released, and become a flame once more. You have the drive to set the fire aglow once again, in anothers eyes. Get back what ignites your soul, and let go of the spirit, that keeps you in arms hold. Find the strength within your heart, to set the passion free. And ignite the radiant, and luminating heat. Build it deep within your soul. Don't ever be afraid, just let go and hold on to the things that mean most. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-114792174814948638?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/114792174814948638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=114792174814948638&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/114792174814948638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/114792174814948638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/05/unknown.html' title='Unknown'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-114654499211342387</id><published>2006-05-01T18:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-16T11:41:42.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Like Hagar...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;"Do not go gentle into that good night;&lt;br /&gt;Rage, Rage against the dying of the light."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DYLAN THOMAS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time has gone by so fast...As if it were yesterday; It seems as if, I was a young girl again. Thinking of what could have been; and sadly, what it actually turned out to be. For me, not much of anything seems to matter anymore; I guess growing old, and being alone makes you inappreciative of life's values. Why must I be treated so differently? Just because I am a little slower than I once was? Because it takes me a moment to answer, when asked a question? &lt;strong&gt;I am still the same person.&lt;/strong&gt; I find it hard to believe that, because my hair is gray. My skin is wrinkled, my mind, speech and body language shows its real age, that I am committed to a "HOME". The dreaded word, that made my mother cringe when I had heard it as a child and as a teenager, I would use this to playfully threaten my parents. Ugh a "home" that treats me as a child, an invalid. THAT..I AM NOT!! Why can't they see? I am spoon fed three times a day. I don't have the sense of independence that I need to have to feel like a whole person. I think I'm capable of knowing when it is time to eat, when it is time for bed or when to get up. People presume that these decsions cannot be made by a elderly person. I believe that the staff should be observing me and my limitations and not just assuming, what I can and cannot do. ASK ME. I have a voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been told that I am being one sided; they tell me that I should be appreciative for what is being done for me. I guess a person could be happy, having their bed made, not having to worry about where their next meal is coming from or where they would be sleeping that night. However, it is a nice place, I'll give them that!. I guess it could be fun, IF I wanted to get involved. Some of the other people here are so lively, flamboyant even. Take for example Cecil. That man has a joke for everything; I imagine that he was quite the catch, years ago. Then again, there are also people like Douglas. Douglas is a quiet man and compared to the rest of the us, he is the "young-un". He is oh I'd say about 67 years old, but the poor soul has been abandoned here. Left to die by himself, by none other than his only son. No, he doesn't say much at all. He's quite caught up on himself; I guess that's because he is an observer. He sits in his room, with his chair in the doorway facing the "family room". Hours on end, he sits and watches. Doesn't stare really, doesn't focus on one person, but he watches everyone. I'm sure he has judged us all or at least has an opinion about most of us; not that he would ever share it. Can't say I've ever heard a word come from his mouth. Actually this place they call Cherry Hill Manor isn't bad at all. But to me, that door, that big oak door I see it more of an escape route than an entrance to our "home".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I sit in bedroom in from of the mirror and I just stare at the stranger that stares back. At times, I cry. Cry because I have so many unanswered questions and I'm really not sure why I am here. What did I do wrong? Why did my family bring me her and leave me? And why don't they visit me more often? When they do visit, it's only for a short time and even when they do come, they seem bored and can't wait to get out of here..Hmm I know the feeling. Don't they see that I too, feel the same way? The only one that seems to know is my grandson Joshua, who always coming running in to give me a hug. Oh I cherish those moments! Sometimes, I think that those moments are the only times that keep me going. Golly do I look forward to seeing him! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;I'm always being told that I think too much anyway. Maybe I do, but right now, my thoughts are all I have. I can't stop the tears, and I hate the feeling of not being able to control my emotions. But when my mind wanders to my family, my friends, my home...All that I once had..I can't help it. I get caught up in the past and I miss being young. I think today; our children take too much for granted. I know I did, what little there was anyway. But I'm not sure that I if I had a chance, to do it all over again that I would take it. The pain and the hatred that I felt through my younger years overwhelms me.Even though I felt it for a short time,it stands out. The pain of losing my big brother Henry to the war, my father taking his hate out on everyone, more so after losing his son. I would run to him asnd say "Papa I'm still here" and he would just shrug me off and send me to my mother. Tears running down my cheeks. I never understood why he hated me so much. I tend to think the only reason was because I was a girl. Most times by the time I reached my Mama I was so upset I couldn't speak. She would hold me close to her and tell me it was "just Papa's way", because he missed Henry so much. We would laugh about something Henry had done and everything would be ok. Gosh darn it, my Mama could make any situation a better one. In a way I guess I was lucky. I do remember when I was a young girl, I always had a smile on my face and I remember being happy. I was a spirited, loving child....ahhh...But now as this stranger in the mirror once again stares back a time, I don't see any of that vibrancy, I only see the sunken eyes, wrinkled skin and my frizzy grey hair... I see no reason at all to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recall being in school one year; I had a book report to do and I chose a book that made me feel sullen at times but was so deep and interesting the rest of the time. I remember choosing it, because it had an Angel on the cover and I thought it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I started to read it and I found very quickly, that I couldn't put it down. A real page turner. The book was called the Stone Angel. Oh what was that gals name that wrote it? Ahh yes, Margaret Lawerance. Yep that's her name. Oh what a book that was. I was 15 or so when I read it and from the day I finished the book, I swore on my life that I would never grow old, like the main character Hager. The novel sort of frightened me, yes indeed it did frighten me. I was afraid of getting old. Is this really what happenes? My Mama thought I was crazy to be frightened of such a thing. It's "natural. don't waste your time fretting something you have no control over" she said. But I'm telling you; from then on I vowed never to put myself in the position that Hager was. Or to be treated like she was...A child. Oddly, now I do feel like her, I really do. The only difference being, I actually got to the stage of being shipped off to a home. In Hagar's case I considereded her to be lucky; she died before she was put in one. Oh, what was that home called? Ah yes Silver Threads. Yes, that's right, Silver threads. In the novel it seemed like a nice place to live, just like this one. But like I did and still do, I felt hurt and abandoned. Hager was stronger than I am, more independent than I ever could be. At times I wish I had the nerve to get up and go to a place that nobody could find me. Lately, I haven't had the strength or energy to do anything, let alone get up and go. So here I sit thinking about an old novel that I read oh so many years ago. I would have never thought that I would portray a person in a novel that I had read as a school girl. Especially Hager Currie Shipley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel cold now, and I am shivering uncontrollably. I hate this feeling. From here I can hear the laughter that seems to boom, throughout the home. Cecil must be telling more stories or jokes. Yes, he has talent. As I wheel myself into the main hallway, into this old metal chair contraption; I start towards the family room. I see Douglas walking into the room where everyone else is. They call this the "family room." Now I know why. Folks are sittig together, playing games, smiling, talking, watching the picture tube or television as they call it. I wheel myself closer to the opening of the huge doorway, where Douglas is standing. He seems afraid to go in. The look in his face shows me that he feels like an intruder, like I sometimes feel myself. I stretched out my hand and gently touched his...Douglas looked down at me and for the first time, he smiled. As he smiled, a single tear ran slowly down his sunburned, weather beaten face. I stayed with Douglas for a long time and together we just watched. A while passed and I was begins to tire, to withdraw again; so I stared to turn my chair around when suddenly it began to get easier as if someone were pushing me. I turned my head and saw that indeed some was. When Douglas and I arrived at my room, he helped me into bed. He turned to leave and I tried to say something, but my throat simply made a crackling noise. So instead I simply smiled.He didn't seem to notice so I slapped my hand onto the dresser top. Startled, Douglas turned around and when he did I was still smiling. Douglas smiled back and for a moment I thought he was going to say something. Instead he nodded his head and continued to smile. He then shook his head, and slowly turned away, making his way in the direction of his own room. I'll never know what Douglas was going to say, for he was found dead in his bed the very next morning. That morning- it was the first time I cried for someone else. I'm not sure why I cried for Douglas, I didn't even know him really. Maybe that's why. I didn't know him at all. Or maybe I knew him better than I thought. And it scared the bejesus out of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;Here I live with 60 some odd people and I don't even know any of them. Sure I know some of their names and I'm sure they know mine, whe we can remember anyway. But I don't really know them. How sad. I don't want to end up like Douglas. It is time. Time to make friends and to share my story as Cecil shares his. The next day I was asked if I wanted to join some of the folks who people who were playing bridge. I accepted. And as we were sitting around the table, they said they were sorry that I had lost my friend. I guess they too are observers and saw me with Douglas the day before. I smiled and thanked them and continued on with the game. I can't tell you howI felt; accepted, liked...More importantly acknowleged. My thoughts drift to Douglas from time to time and I often find myself smiling when I do. From that day on I joined some other groups. We went for walks, or a hike as the young folks who work here call it. And sometimes we even went into town for ice cream or a soda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;Sometimes I still feel alone, maybe that's because I haven't seen or heard from my family. I guess they are all too busy....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sitting in my room, looking out the window, thinking of my youngest grandson, Joshua. Josh so spirited, so free. Like I was once upon a time. He doesn't seem to have a care in the world; like most children these days. He is a special little boy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;I guess you could call him my shining star in an endless of memory; where hopes and dreams of future thoughts will bring a shining end to my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like Hagar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;I wrote this for a grade 9 book report;( many, many..LOL did I say Many?!) years ago. I was spring cleaning when I found it and I thought it was pretty cool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-114654499211342387?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/114654499211342387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=114654499211342387&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/114654499211342387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/114654499211342387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/05/just-like-hagar.html' title='Just Like Hagar...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113807025033760400</id><published>2006-01-23T21:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-23T22:00:55.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Once told Me That....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Afric.%20My%20friend%20%20Robert%20and%20%20family.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Afric.%20My%20friend%20%20Robert%20and%20%20family.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I am an African&lt;br /&gt;Not because I was born there, because I wasn't.&lt;br /&gt;But because my heart beats with Africa’s&lt;br /&gt;I am an African&lt;br /&gt;Not because my skin is black, because it isn't.&lt;br /&gt;But because my mind is engaged by Africa&lt;br /&gt;I am an African&lt;br /&gt;Not because I live on its soil, because I don't....far from it.&lt;br /&gt;But because my soul is at home in Africa&lt;br /&gt;When Africa weeps for her children, my cheeks are stained with tears&lt;br /&gt;When Africa honours her elders, my head is bowed in respect&lt;br /&gt;When Africa mourns for her babies dying of AIDS, my hands are joined in prayer&lt;br /&gt;When Africa celebrates her triumphs , my feet are alive with dancing&lt;br /&gt;I am an African&lt;br /&gt;For her blue skies take my breath away&lt;br /&gt;And her people that greet me as family, teaching me the meaning of community&lt;br /&gt;I am an African&lt;br /&gt;For her wildness quenches my spirit and brings me closer to the source of life&lt;br /&gt;When the music of Africa beats in the wind, my blood pulses to its rhythm and I become the essence of music.&lt;br /&gt;When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun, my senses drink in its rainbow and I become a palette of nature&lt;br /&gt;When the stories of Africa echo round the fire, my feet walk in its pathways and I become the footprints of history&lt;br /&gt;She nurtures an ancient wisdom, while living in the world’s shadow; but still bursts with a radiant luminosity&lt;br /&gt;I am an African and my name is SAFIYA &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113807025033760400?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113807025033760400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113807025033760400&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113807025033760400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113807025033760400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/01/someone-once-told-me-that.html' title='Someone Once told Me That....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113626353946129470</id><published>2006-01-02T23:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-06T20:08:21.510-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is sometimes a song that we have heard but never really listened too.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;I know you think that I shouldn't still love you, I'll tell you that. But if I didn't say it...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well, I'd still have felt it. Where's the sense in that?&lt;br /&gt;I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder. Or return to where we were&lt;br /&gt;I know I left too much mess and destruction to come back again .&lt;br /&gt;And I caused  nothing but trouble.  I understand if you can't talk to me again.&lt;br /&gt;And if you live by the rules of "It's over",  then I'm sure that that makes sense.&lt;br /&gt;And when we meet,  as I'm sure we will,  all that was then' Will be there still.&lt;br /&gt;I'll let it pass. And hold my tongue .And you will think that I've moved on&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love and always will be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*d*&lt;&lt;&lt;*i*&lt;&lt;&lt;*d&gt;&gt;o&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;*m&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;u*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113626353946129470?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113626353946129470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113626353946129470&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113626353946129470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113626353946129470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2006/01/life-is-sometimes-song-that-we-have.html' title='Life is sometimes a song that we have heard but never really listened too.'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113409639277569167</id><published>2005-12-08T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-04T16:03:30.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day Before Yesterday I was....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...Standing in the grandstands, somewhere between Orange and Highland; watching the Santa Claus Parade. *smile* Together as one, the crowd stands cheering, laughing, singing as the moment of good ole Saint Nick is soon to arrive. Mounds of tinsel shine in the warm Californian sun. Lights twinkle, people sing. Strangers are kind to one another.  The band plays on. A man stands behind me, leans forward and asks me if I am having a good time. I *smile* and respond "why yes, of course". I turn around to the man with the very sexy voice and realize that I am talking to,  none other than Lenny Kravitz himself. I *pause*, smile and yes I have to admit,I was a little (ok ok..Not just a "little")  star struck...But only for a moment . A feeling of calm, a coolness comes over me and I decide to just think of him as "just a guy".... who happens to be watching the Santa Claus parade. We delve into a 15 minute conversation and I fall deeper "inlike" with this superstar.... This man whose voice has been a constant reminder of some of the most tender moments in my life. *wink* I have admired him for years. For his music, his style,h is unique way of expression. My friend Chelsey turns around, most likely feeling a little lost. I watch as she scans the crowd. Finally she spots me. LOL. I could see her face as the she recognizes who I am talking too. She starts jumping up and down, not unlike the many children that surrounded her. Haha  Not at all star struck...uh huh..LOL....(It was Chels first trip to L.A go figure!!) It was a classic moment. A happy moment.*smile* &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113409639277569167?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113409639277569167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113409639277569167&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113409639277569167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113409639277569167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/12/day-before-yesterday-i-was.html' title='The Day Before Yesterday I was....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113393042496908937</id><published>2005-12-06T21:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-30T18:05:58.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Grrr..."Don't Know" Mode</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#33ff33;"&gt;I don't know if I &lt;strong&gt;"always"&lt;/strong&gt; try to do my best, or make the best decisions. I would like to think that I do but sometimes I have come up short in the past. Who hasn't? Or maybe it's not that I have come up short, but that I have restricted myself from trying my hardest or thinking things through... Hmm ... I don't know. But what I do know, is that we all have all the necessary tools to make work whatever it is that we &lt;strong&gt;"want"&lt;/strong&gt; to work. Whether it be in a relationship, friendship, or career choice. You can always get what you want. &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(within reason)&lt;/span&gt; Maybe I have not found the right person yet, or the right job, or location to inspire me enough. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#33ff33;"&gt;smile* &lt;strong&gt;"Do what we do" ....Right? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113393042496908937?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113393042496908937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113393042496908937&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113393042496908937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113393042496908937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/12/grrrdont-know-mode.html' title='Grrr...&quot;Don&apos;t Know&quot; Mode'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113218935979868142</id><published>2005-11-16T19:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-17T18:07:30.920-05:00</updated><title type='text'>They say...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;... it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEFFREY!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113218935979868142?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113218935979868142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113218935979868142&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113218935979868142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113218935979868142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/11/they-say.html' title='They say...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113192450959104688</id><published>2005-11-13T15:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T20:28:31.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I Was....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/zzz.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/zzz.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;...all by myself..and I am happy to say that I have been able to step back and kind of do a meta-analysis of some things. I, (as we all have I'm sure ) have been through so many things, done so much and lost so much in such a short span of time (I'm only 32 for goodness sake!!) and throughout the whole time I felt like I had been running. Sometimes with my head up, sometimes, with my head down. I think it is time now for me to stop running and take a look back at all I have done, seen, lost and gained and begin to start planning a new trajectory based on that.&lt;br /&gt;I have finally decided to get over my strife and start moving on with things. Some things that I not able to "get over" namely, deaths, but I have learned from them. Somehow I still try to appreciate all that I do have. This is important in the context, I feel, of where gratitude (or perceived luckiness) comes in to play. It is very easy to think about what I have lost or failed to accomplish- but it could be much worse. It could be a lot worse. Countless people throughout the world and throughout history would literally have killed to have the (relatively) easy "problems" or "issues" I have now. Some people cannot afford to put food on the table for their family or stay warm at night. Some people are not loved. Everyone has a long list of things that get them down- failures, insecurities, unfortunate events from the past, ineptitudes, fears, etc. Conversely, everyone also has a list of positives- Future possibilities, loved ones, strengths, past successes, etc. I think that life is a matter of which one of these lists, I choose to look at longer. That is why It's A Wonderful Life (I love this movie) was such a successful movie, it brings to life that premise.&lt;br /&gt;I know we have all been hurt in the past. Deeply hurt in the past. I know that MY life has had as many genuine rough patches and hardships as anyone I am acquainted with. Put differently- my list of things that could bring me down is as long as anyone else's I am acquainted with. I also think, however, that my list of attributes is just as long as anyone else I know.(well..I hope it is anyway! *smile*) If I am able to get past (or at least come close) to past disappointments- then they can hurt me only once. But if I dwell on them, and act based upon them- they will hurt me many times over- I suppose that is not unlike Shakespeare saying that "A hero dies but one death, but a coward dies a thousand times"&lt;br /&gt;I would like to think I am doing a very good job of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It is hard. It is also feels great knowing that I have my friends(&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Gator, Hogie, Stan, Brett, Chels, Hess {to name a few&lt;/span&gt;}) my sister, my dad, &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Wayne &amp; Cammie&lt;/span&gt;, who helped me through my hardships, even though I know friendships are earned- I am very lucky and I appreciate having them. Sadly, some people don't have that and trust me, I recognize and appreciate that I do.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone has problems, everyone has hardships, and everyone has shit that gets them down sometimes. That is how life works. It was not promised to be easy or make sense. None of us even asked to be born, really. What is important is that I am here, so are my friends, my family. I guess I am just trying to make sure all of us make it to the finish line. When someone falls I try to pick them up and don't make a huge deal about it, because assuredly, I know that I could fall as well and will need them to pick me up. &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;This is life.&lt;/span&gt; Nothing is guaranteed and if I am able to seek out some genuine, good-natured pleasure on a regular basis then I am doing better than most people on this planet and I truly feel blessed about that.&lt;br /&gt;Ok, that was kind of ramble-y. Sorry. I am not sure if I wrote that for anybody’s sake or for mine. *smile* I guess that is, for the most part, a lot of my life's philosophy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;Whew!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;Be safe...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;*wg**tc**ng**ew**ss**th**jk**bs**&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;cl**hc* &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113192450959104688?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113192450959104688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113192450959104688&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113192450959104688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113192450959104688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/11/today-i-was_13.html' title='Today I Was....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-113093959716573505</id><published>2005-11-02T08:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T22:07:32.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I am what I am</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#ffcccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;When I stand up for those I love, they call me a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my own way,&lt;br /&gt;they call me a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a bitch means I won't compromise what's in my heart. It means I&lt;br /&gt;live my life MY way. It means I won't allow anyone to step on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I refuse to tolerate injustice and speak against it, I am&lt;br /&gt;defined as a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being&lt;br /&gt;everyone's maid, or when I act a little selfish.&lt;br /&gt;It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I&lt;br /&gt;truly am and won't become anyone else's idea of what they think I&lt;br /&gt;"should" be.&lt;br /&gt;I am outspoken, opinionated and determined. I want what I want and there&lt;br /&gt;is nothing wrong with that!&lt;br /&gt;So try to stomp on me, try to douse my inner flame, try to squash every&lt;br /&gt;ounce of beauty I hold within me. You won't succeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if that makes me a bitch, so be it. I embrace the title and am proud&lt;br /&gt;to bear it. However, I do *hate* the word...*smile*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-113093959716573505?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/113093959716573505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=113093959716573505&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113093959716573505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/113093959716573505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-am-what-i-am.html' title='I am what I am'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112686681694123151</id><published>2005-09-16T04:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T17:27:13.036-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Opened My Eyes...........</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;...And you were there; as you have been for the last 12 years. I need you know to know that I did "SEE" you. I do "see" you. I do "see" what a wonderful man that you are ( I tell everybody...I really do) I feel you beside me, even when you are physically not near me. Through all the tough times, the happy times, the struggles, the loss and more importantly the wins...The one constant, is you being there. Most of my cherished memories include you...*smile* you know that. I look at Cammie and see your eyes, your smile and I hear your mischievous tone in her laugh. I *smile* when I hear her talk to you, whether we are in the same room or on the phone when we are on an "adventure". She asks you almost daily "How was your day daddy?" and she waits and actually listens to what you have to say about it.... I know your heart lunges forward, towards her when she calls your name "Daddy". You are not the greatest father because you provide her with nice clothes and a ton of toys..... You are the greatest father, because you love her unconditionally and the love you feel for her ...She exudes. Cammie is a special girl, she is bright, funny, witty, and she has a good heart... I would like to think that she gets some of that from me....But her love for other people, her patience and her heart is all you. What better gift to give a child, but all of the best qualities that are in you? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"&gt;My love, respect and admiration that I have for you, goes beyond Camryn.... I have known you a long time Waymon.... The resilience that our relationship has...Is undenable. Through it all.... The good , the bad, and the ugly...We have always been able to walk away together relatively unscathed. *smile* Over the years, we have had our issues...No doubt....But we are still here. Working towards a common goal.... To be the best parents that we can. LOL As usual I had intended on just telling you "thank you" for everything.... LOL Have I ever been able to stop at just a few words? ( no need to answer ha) I love you Waymon. You are and always will be my best friend and always, always, ALWAYS will share my heart with our angels. So....thank you.....for letting me have something to open my eyes to....that is so beautiful...*SWG*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112686681694123151?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112686681694123151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112686681694123151&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112686681694123151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112686681694123151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/09/i-opened-my-eyes.html' title='I Opened My Eyes...........'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112594426901163995</id><published>2005-09-05T13:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-05T20:07:56.716-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If It Is......</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;  &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;... meant to be... our hearts will find each other again. And if our hearts melt together,  so will our bodies and our souls. Then every word and every touch will fuel our passion flame. I will be yours;  you will be mine, and we will be one. Forever and Always.... &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*pookie*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112594426901163995?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112594426901163995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112594426901163995&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112594426901163995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112594426901163995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/09/if-it-is.html' title='If It Is......'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112484510390379414</id><published>2005-08-20T15:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-23T19:58:23.926-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I Am....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/sunset1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/sunset1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....sitting on a cliff over looking Butterfly Beach in Montecito, California; watching the sun set from the west side. It's been a while since I was in California. The last time... I was sipping a Mimosa at Shanghai Reds watching the seals in their glory. Today the serenity that I feel, fits the mood that I have yearned for at least 2 months now. Watching the sky as the hues of pink erupt into a glorious red. The only sound that surrounds me, are that of the waves crashing. Nothing is ever different when I come here. The sun setting, the waves crash, the blue of the ocean, the smell of salt water never fails me. Always the same, but some how still fresh. Finally... It is my time. My time to think about nothing, about everything. Time stands still as I walk the beach. Shoes off, hair blowing, the wind caressing my face... As it only does in California. Goodness, it has been too long. I sat on the beach, curled my toes into the sand, hugging my knees... I smiled. Mmm...The tears dry as I try not to be sad because it is over...And a smile spreads across the lips that you once loved.... And I am finally just happy that it happened at all. Thank you for a wonderful ride... This roller coaster  has fulfilled me in a way that no other ride was able to. Always.  (mu)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112484510390379414?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112484510390379414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112484510390379414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112484510390379414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112484510390379414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/08/today-i-am.html' title='Today I Am....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112414855139774895</id><published>2005-08-15T15:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-15T18:29:12.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Soccer%20and%20then%20some%20038.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Soccer%20and%20then%20some%20038.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ccccff;"&gt;....took a drive. As I was waiting for the light to change; I looked over to my right. And I watched as an elderly man held his hand to the small of his wife's back, (I assume it was his wife) as his other hand held the door of their car open for her. She climbed into her seat, he gently closed the door.....Out of her window, I could see her smile up at him. The moment seemed to last for ever; as their eyes met and held. He smiled at her in return. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ccccff;"&gt;For the rest of my day that image was stuck in my head... I wondered how many moments like that; they had shared... I wondered if they found certain times to be tough... I wondered if they ever thought that they had lost "that" person forever... I wondered if they had spoken words that were never going to be forgotten to one another; words of love, hurt, sadness, frustration, sadness, dismay... words of forgiveness...I wondered if they had made decisions that changed the path of their futures...One thing I did not have to do, was wonder if these two people were "happy"...Because that "look"...That "moment" spoke volumes....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112414855139774895?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112414855139774895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112414855139774895&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112414855139774895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112414855139774895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/08/today-i.html' title='Today I.....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112372083401741019</id><published>2005-08-10T19:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-10T23:36:42.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Something to ponder....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, cherish, not to endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing...I want to see and hear and do it now. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;*smile*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112372083401741019?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112372083401741019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112372083401741019&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112372083401741019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112372083401741019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/08/something-to-ponder.html' title='Something to ponder....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112243448311697224</id><published>2005-07-28T10:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-10T23:41:01.783-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's All Good....really...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;For me, the only thing that's mine.. is &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt;. Emptiness passes, but deep-felt love abides . Life is beautiful, though many things go wrong. For all who ever were, still are. The road ahead is like the road behind. The dreams achieved revise the dreams to come. I love the clarity of air, each time I take a breath. I &lt;em&gt;love &lt;/em&gt;the friends who walk with me, and then must go their way. I love to laugh at all the things that do not know they're fun....so...."no worries"....*smile*....IT'S ALL GOOD...REALLY.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112243448311697224?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112243448311697224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112243448311697224&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112243448311697224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112243448311697224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/its-all-goodreally.html' title='It&apos;s All Good....really...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112106174060182223</id><published>2005-07-11T00:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-17T23:26:18.886-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I Was.......</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/NYC%200651.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/NYC%200651.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;.....Sitting on a bench in Central Park, listening to Charlie play the familiar sound of his own Jazz styled opus. A smile crossed my face, as he nodded his head in recognition and waved his fingers at me...As he continued to play, a feeling of peace filled my heart, the warm breeze caressed my face, as my eyes took in the beauty of the grass, the trees, the people.....The "Park." Every single time that I am in New York City, I do this. And it never gets old. In fact, it only gets better. Everytime my experience is new, fresh...Uplifting. The passion and love that I have for this city is undeniable. Every one of my senses come alive, especially here in the park. At this moment I feel positive about my life. I cleared the air with someone that means a lot to me;I got a lot off my chest, I said a lot...Felt a lot. Acknowledged a lot. I hope he feels the same. We can never go "back"... but our friendship can only get better, if we want it too. The foundation that we laid was built on honesty, trust, laughter, sincerity...And that will never break down....It was the walls and layers in between that started to falter, and ultimately fell. Our friendship was effortless, it was our relationship that took the effort. I felt good finally realizing that; as I walked the perimeter of the park. Thinking about and missing "tatopies" ...wondering why I could'nt keep it...I still was able to  &lt;strong&gt;*smile*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112106174060182223?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112106174060182223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112106174060182223&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112106174060182223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112106174060182223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/today-i-was.html' title='Today I Was.......'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112094332691096812</id><published>2005-07-09T15:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-10T20:35:58.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Soccer Baby...*ahem* I mean "Big Girl"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/camera%20064.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/camera%20064.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Soccer%20Baby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Soccer%20Baby.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Soccer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 117px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px" height="200" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Soccer.jpg" width="134" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff9900;"&gt;CAMRYN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;"&gt;#10&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She is amazing.... We had Game#5 today and the "Tim Bits" won 6-5. Cammie scored 5 goals while yelling &lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;"Come on orange, let's do this!!"&lt;/span&gt; (Thanks to her daddy..I'm sure)   I am beaming with pride as I watch her, do her thing... The other parents come to me and tell me, what a "great team player" she is, and what a "natural". After the game, Cammie turned back and said &lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;"Take it easy Coach."&lt;/span&gt; Which made me *smile*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She really is good. She loves it...and I am so very proud!!! Bet you didn't know that huh? Yeah Right. Just keep having fun babygirl..be happy...be safe... Mommy loves you!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112094332691096812?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112094332691096812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112094332691096812&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112094332691096812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112094332691096812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/my-soccer-babyahem-i-mean-big-girl.html' title='My Soccer Baby...*ahem* I mean &quot;Big Girl&quot;'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112081553471702094</id><published>2005-07-08T06:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-09T10:19:56.696-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Soul Mate...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My phone will always be answered... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My door will always be open...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A piece of my heart and the "moments" that we shared...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Will forever be yours....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Always, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Soul Mate&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112081553471702094?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112081553471702094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112081553471702094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/soul-mate.html' title='Soul Mate...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112061196864002780</id><published>2005-07-05T17:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T20:06:08.646-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mmmm</title><content type='html'>"I'd rather have bad times with you then good times with someone else...&lt;br /&gt;I'd rather have the one that holds my heart".....Luther Vandross&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112061196864002780?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112061196864002780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112061196864002780&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112061196864002780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112061196864002780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/mmmm.html' title='Mmmm'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112054781567797080</id><published>2005-07-04T07:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T02:16:55.683-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Can See Clearly Now....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;I have made this trip a million times. I have driven the same roads, the same route, since I was 16 years old. My vehicles have changed, my CD selections have varied, my thoughts...obviously have been different...However on these trips back and forth between Hamilton and New York, the one incessant feeling that I get...Is the feeling of CLARITY. Every single time...It's odd... I KNOW. But honestly, when I have something that is weighing heavily on my mind, and I happen to be driving this particular route...EVERYTHING becomes that much more unambiguous. Crystal clear.&lt;br /&gt;I have to ‘respect’ the decision. That is what he wants…and I love him enough to give him that. I miss him every minute…can’t stop thinking about him. I want to call him every minute, share with him the events of my day, and hear all about his. I wonder how Granny is…she is too sweet. I regret not going there to celebrate her birthday. I hope she is well. Hmm…Last night, I was thinking about ‘us’. I was wondering if we could ever get back what we had. If maybe down the road…just maybe…I can’t think like that. I have to move on… *smile* He used to always say that we have to ‘keep moving forward.’ So, that is exactly what I have to make myself do…Move forward… But how do you start looking for something/somebody…when you had found what you wanted, without even knowing that you wanted it in the first place? I’m not sure if I will ever have the answer for that question….for now. I don’t even want the answer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112054781567797080?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112054781567797080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112054781567797080&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112054781567797080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112054781567797080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-can-see-clearly-now.html' title='I Can See Clearly Now....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112025749625690045</id><published>2005-07-01T19:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-09T15:11:18.820-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Look Within.......</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We need to look within ourselves and try to help each other...Because one day...We may need the help of our neighbour. And would'nt it be nice if they actually answered the door. Something to think about.....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112025749625690045?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112025749625690045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112025749625690045&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112025749625690045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112025749625690045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/07/look-within.html' title='Look Within.......'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112009879934764176</id><published>2005-06-28T03:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-04T21:18:50.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>BabyLove....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Shellie2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Shellie1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;Close your eyes and you will see ME there. Not an image of my body, or the clothes that I have on...But you &lt;em&gt;will &lt;/em&gt;feel my spirit, my energy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and you will hear my voice, my thoughts, my opinions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and you will undoubtedly hear my laugh. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and you will smell the scent that reminds you of me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and feel the tears that you wiped from my cheek. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and touch my dimples, as you did the first, the second and the last time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and feel the softness of my skin. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Close your eyes&lt;/strong&gt; and feel the comfort that you feel, knowing that I am yours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;Forever and Always....When you close your eyes babylove...I'll be there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112009879934764176?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112009879934764176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112009879934764176&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112009879934764176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112009879934764176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/06/babylove.html' title='BabyLove....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-112017495125505826</id><published>2005-06-24T18:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-04T18:20:30.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tomorrow I want to be...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/1600/Running%2022.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/200/Running%2022.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;...sitting in the sand, next to the ocean...Listening to Gator laugh; while he tells me something silly or goofy. I want to feel the waves at my feet, as we walk and talk...And continually laugh at ourselves and our giddiness. We would be talking like we do every other night...Except this time; we will be seeing one another; as if "everytime was the first time". He could be telling me about his day, and the drama that the girls sometimes put him through. Or he could be talking to me about his dreams, his aspirations, his passion for the music that he writes. And I will listen....And savor every moment that I hear his voice, his laugh...Just like I savor every sound that I hear, when he plays for me...Knowing that later on, I will be sitting in front of him and the piano...Watching as his beautiful hands glide effortlessly across the keys..Seeing the passion in his face, his smile....As he continues to play.....And I continue to fall in love with him. Tomorrow is going to be a good day!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-112017495125505826?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/112017495125505826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=112017495125505826&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112017495125505826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/112017495125505826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/06/tomorrow-i-want-to-be.html' title='Tomorrow I want to be...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111947905681870349</id><published>2005-06-22T16:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T01:10:43.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I  Was .....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;.... Taking a walk along the mountain brow in good ole "H-Town". This is one of my favourite places to walk, tea in hand...Thinking about, days past and the days yet to come. I've come here plenty of times before; to share my secrets and my thoughts with the wind. When I come here, I "exhale" and I am filled with memories of laughter, tears of joy and of sadness. I remember the first (of many) times we came here, Tina driving the Jimmy (a.k.a ECKTO), Brett in the front,Nicole, Rob and I in the back and Dana in the far back..Thinking we were cool as hell. &lt;strong&gt;SHOOT...WE WERE COOL AS HELL!!!&lt;/strong&gt;LOL. Filing out of the truck, laughing our a**es off about this, that or the other. Talking into the night. More often then not...We were late getting back from the "video store" HA!!! Later years, brought Rob and I there alone...awww. Brett and I would come here...Drink coffee, share a cigarette and talk about his plans to move to Cali and &lt;strong&gt;finally&lt;/strong&gt; have "Never Say goodbye" picked up by some huge production company. LOL Even later, brought the "Party Pit"(nuff said) here...LOL wow..The Party Pit (Nicole, Ricky,Chris,Bruno,Jap, Tina and myself)...Classic time. Then the "Prep Club"(Timi, Gonzo,Coona, Xnay,Dave and I) (gotta love high school). Then of course the infamous "Gino" wedding....And the "Walk and Talk"(WA----WAY!!!!!) *smile* Not soo long ago it was "Pretty" and I, talking late into the night, about everything, everybody...Nothing and nobody. Sharing smiles and legitimate ego battles, witty banter back and forth...LOL Rich and I bringing Camryn here as a baby, to play ball...and laughing when you almost kicked the ball over the edge...more than once!LOL Sometimes I would come alone and think about Nicole and how much I really did miss her...and wished she were with me at that moment. I can't forget Stan and Hogie.... Memorable moments, thoughtful discussions, laughter once again. Hmmm..... I never realized how this spot has seen me grow, heard me dream and wonder....... As I walk along the ridge thinking of all of these moments, these people...I *smile* and think of each and everyone of them; for these people, this place, is a piece of me that I will never let fade away.Simply, I am blessed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111947905681870349?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111947905681870349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111947905681870349&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111947905681870349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111947905681870349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/06/today-i-was.html' title='Today I  Was .....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111939787131213759</id><published>2005-06-16T22:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-04T18:17:18.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How far are we?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"&gt;When we move our thoughts to the center of our hearts, there the ego is melted by loving compassion, for all others and for ourselves. Especially to the man or woman that we give our heart to. Time passes; life happens and in a lot of cases…distances separate. Sadly, I am not only talking about geographical locations. You could be miles a apart from your love, living coast to coast. But it &lt;strong&gt;could be&lt;/strong&gt; worse; you could be in the same room and be sitting down beside him/her &lt;strong&gt;and &lt;/strong&gt;still be miles apart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111939787131213759?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111939787131213759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111939787131213759&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111939787131213759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111939787131213759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/06/how-far-are-we.html' title='How far are we?'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111750865579746474</id><published>2005-05-30T21:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-15T12:51:13.406-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An Angel On My Mind...</title><content type='html'>Smile!! Thinking about the perfect 10 toes, 10 fingers, the little nose, your mouth that I didn't have the chance to see smile...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111750865579746474?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111750865579746474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111750865579746474&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111750865579746474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111750865579746474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/angel-on-my-mind.html' title='An Angel On My Mind...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111731638622178527</id><published>2005-05-28T16:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-28T16:39:46.223-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Love is......</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Love is...... what makes you smile when you're tired. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111731638622178527?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111731638622178527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111731638622178527&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111731638622178527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111731638622178527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/love-is.html' title='Love is......'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111661231455582352</id><published>2005-05-19T22:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-20T13:05:14.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Laugh is like "WHOA"...</title><content type='html'>Have you ever heard me laugh? I am doing a study on "How One's Laugh can Determine Your Character." (FYI. I didn't pick this topic) Agree or disagree? And if you agree, and you HAVE heard me laugh... What does my laugh say about my charcater? Please comment. Looking forward to reading what you have to say...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111661231455582352?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111661231455582352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111661231455582352&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111661231455582352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111661231455582352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/my-laugh-is-like-whoa.html' title='My Laugh is like &quot;WHOA&quot;...'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111661169973125245</id><published>2005-05-19T12:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-20T12:58:00.993-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Power Point....The "AWARD SPEECH"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;FINALLY FINISHED !! Hurray!!! And what a presentation it was!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to put a shout out to all those who, I just couldn't have done it without...To "TRON", what can I say? Never would have been able to do this with out you..Literally...Thanks for telling me how to "open new page"... Using all of your technological terminology...Thanks. Ahhhh yeeeahhhhh..... Funnyman, talk about being stressed out huh? Thanks for keeping me umm.."Amused" and for keeping me on track..Not always..But yah did what you could. Much love to you!!! And of course...I have to thank my heavenly Gator, without whom, I would not be here today. Your love and support is what has carried me throughout this project and kept me going. Thank you !!!! THANK YOU and PEACE OUT!!! tee hee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111661169973125245?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111661169973125245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111661169973125245&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111661169973125245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111661169973125245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/power-pointthe-award-speech.html' title='Power Point....The &quot;AWARD SPEECH&quot;'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111621388557355745</id><published>2005-05-15T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-15T22:47:50.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"Ain't it the truth...It's the Truth" - Duckie Dale</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;....................................................................................&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;....................................................................................&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;"The Pure and Simple Truth is Rarely, Pure and Simple"&lt;/span&gt; - &lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;Oscar Wilde&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;"Children Seldom Misquote You. In Fact, They Usually Repeat Word For Word What You Shouldn't Have Said"&lt;/span&gt; -&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt; Unknown&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;"A Life Spent Making Mistakes Is Not Only More Honourable But More Useful Then A Life Spent Doing Nothing." &lt;/span&gt;- &lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;George Bernard Shaw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;"Forgiveness Is Not An Occasional Act; It Is A Permanent Attitude"&lt;/span&gt; - &lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;"There Are Two Types Of People: Those Who Divide People Into Two Types, And Those Who Don't"&lt;/span&gt; - &lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#66ff99;"&gt;Anonymous &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111621388557355745?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111621388557355745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111621388557355745&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111621388557355745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111621388557355745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/aint-it-truthits-truth-duckie-dale.html' title='&quot;Ain&apos;t it the truth...It&apos;s the Truth&quot; - Duckie Dale'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111610451249643419</id><published>2005-05-14T03:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-18T00:07:38.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I was .......</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff6600;"&gt;…..In South Africa. Where the sun rises and sets consistently with an array of color. Hues of orange, yellow and pink illuminate the sky, surrounding the sun. Sitting on a chaise on the front porch, with my knees pulled up to my chin, letters, pictures and memories at my feet. Conversations that we once had, giggles and innuendos that were made, whispers that were shared…mmm…. His face comes to my mind and I *smile*. My mind races with thoughts about, what is yet to come. The anticipation of him finally arriving is at its peak. Warmth covers me as the goose bumps on my skin rise. The ache that I have felt for some time now, is at its height.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the distance I can see the elephants making their way to the destination of their choice. Without a worry, not having any concept of time; they walk freely through the grass lands, swinging their trunks, often walking into each other or so it seems from here. A giraffe feeding, on the high trees, its long neck and the outline of his shape is all that I can see. Only distance between us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thoughts disturbed by the sound of a jeep coming my way. I look up and I *smile*. It’s getting closer. My *smile* widens. My heart begins to beat wildly. I see it. It stops in front of me. I can’t move. There is no going back now. The door opens, and he steps out, closing the door, bag over his shoulder, he looks up at me and *smiles*. Neither one of us can move. Time stands still. He begins to move towards me, slowly. As he gets closer, the movement of his body relaxes. He drops his bags, he climbs the steps and now FINALLY he is in front of me. Emotion overwhelms us both. We can’t speak. There really isn’t a need. He is in front of me looking down. My hand rises to his. He accepts it, squeezes it. He climbs behind me on the chaise, he lies back, and I turn around, resting my head on his shoulder. His hand caresses my cheek; the other hand rubs my back. My hands are on his neck, his chest. Like I had always known….Words wouldn’t need to be spoken. Just a look and a *smile*, could tell our story. Our story truly began as we watched the sunrise for the first time together. (nash)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111610451249643419?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111610451249643419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111610451249643419&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111610451249643419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111610451249643419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/today-i-was.html' title='Today I was .......'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111585837564017210</id><published>2005-05-12T05:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-13T12:29:21.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I am....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"&gt;...Sitting on the patio of Shanghai Reds in Marina Del Rey. Sipping Mimosas, enjoying the warm breeze that is caressing my face, watching as the seals swim in the cool blue water that surrounds the patio in its entirety. The pelicans ..mmm... beautiful. Sunglasses, hiding my face...My hair swaying around my shoulders with the rhythm of the breeze. Sun kissing my shoulders. I'm warm...comfortable, relaxed. Thinking of everything, but really nothing at all. Peoples voices, diminish in sound into the background of my thoughts...Only HIS voice and HIS words ring true to my ear. I sit there and make the mistake that so many of us feel compelled to do...go over and over "it" again, trying to think of ways you would say or do things differently. It doesn't matter now, it's not going to change the outcome, he is no longer there....The images of him walking towards you, changes....He isn't walking towards you anymore. Images have been altered. Now he stands farther away then it seemed before. And desolately, you know that one day, the reflections that you have in your mind will be of him standing there, even pausing perhaps. BUT HE will turn and walk away. It doesn't matter how long it takes for you to get to that point. Sadly you are aware that his walking away IS inevitable. Soon his laughter will fade...Slowly the sound of his voice will fade too...But never completely....And that is where my thoughts have brought me today. Memories alone, will not be enough to slake my want, my need, for him to be walking towards me....With that wicked smile, dancing eyes and outstretched hand..............(W.H.B)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111585837564017210?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111585837564017210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111585837564017210&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111585837564017210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111585837564017210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/today-i-am.html' title='Today I am....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111587304386220098</id><published>2005-05-11T23:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-15T15:53:10.573-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yesterdays</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday &lt;/span&gt;- Ricky would have said "Hi Sweetie!!! Would you like a cocktail?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - My brother would have said "Can I come with you guys? Please!! Please!! I'll do&lt;br /&gt;the dishes for you....."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - Dray would have said "I'm not feeling very well...." A day earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - When I heard "Shwell!!!!!!!" being called out...I wouldn't have turned around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - When I was told that I would be driven to the airport..I would have found my &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;own way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - When Timi called and asked me to try a cigarette with her. I would have not have&lt;br /&gt;answered my phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - When asked certain questions, I would have divulged more information.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would have talked less and listened more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would have went to  OH. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday &lt;/span&gt;- I would have respected sweet mesquite  and believed more in, what was going on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would not have said "umm" so many times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - Nothing would have stopped me from seeing *w.h.b*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would have screamed "HERE I AM...LOOK AT ME NOW"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would not have said "Take Care" and hung up the phone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would not have given up so easily.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; - I would have not said another word.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;"....Oh, yesterday came suddenly.. she had to go I don't know she wouldn't say... said something wrong, now I long for yesterday... love was such an easy game to play... I need a place to hide away, I believe in yesterday." Lennon - McCartney&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111587304386220098?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111587304386220098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111587304386220098&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111587304386220098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111587304386220098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/yesterdays.html' title='Yesterdays'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111560661359023483</id><published>2005-05-08T12:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T19:50:13.266-05:00</updated><title type='text'>To: Tina Chaun</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I wanted to take a moment to say a few things, that I doubt I would actually ever say in person..Well I might..But I doubt it would sound as well thought out...So here's hoping that you read this.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;"Happy Mother's Day" to my sister, my best friend...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to tell you that you are appreciated. But I also know that you are not made aware of that very often.... Everything that you do, that you say....The little things....You do for everyone else...Never do I see you take the time for you. I'm not sure you realize how much you are loved,and appreciated...Maybe its our fault, maybe we don't show it enough.....But I see it...I see it everytime that you are talking to the kids, their eyes light up, (even when they are in trouble..tee hee) when they hear you laughing outside with me...They come running to the door...And they are already smiling.....I see it when I am holding Jack and as much as he loves his aunt Sheshie...It is you, that he reaches out for and breaks out into that wicked "Jack" smile that of course you can't help but fall in love with...I can see, when Jess comes home, and even at 12 still likes to be hugged and touched by her mom.....(cause I know, I wasn't doing that at 12 *smile* hadn't I moved out by then? JK) I love that you and Cammie are so close, and already I know that you will have a relationship with my daughter, like I do with Aunt Linda...And that couldn't make me happier...That says so much right there...And you know what I am saying.&lt;br /&gt;I love that since we were kids you have always been my confidante and regardless of what trouble I was getting into...(even now haha) you love me for who I am.. I love that I can still make you laugh, even at the worst of times...That I guess is my gift to you....I love ya Ti..And thank you for not only being my sister but also my best friend. Happy Mother's Day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111560661359023483?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111560661359023483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111560661359023483&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111560661359023483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111560661359023483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/to-tina-chaun.html' title='To: Tina Chaun'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111551972879724421</id><published>2005-05-08T05:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T19:50:36.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Free Spirit..........</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;A Free Spirit - "One who is not restrained as by convention or by obligation, a non-conformist."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Throughout my childhood, my teens, and even my adulthood, I have been described as a "free spirit"...I always took that as a compliment,an acclamation... Something different...Something jovial, special. I heard it. I read it. I felt it. That was me. I still feel the same way....When I am in one particular situation for too long..I feel caged, restless..I look for an outlet, some way to express my desire to "fly away"....And I don't want to land...so I don't...I haven't........but can he accept that? Is my "flight" worth the will to find out? hmm...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111551972879724421?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111551972879724421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111551972879724421&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111551972879724421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111551972879724421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/free-spirit.html' title='A Free Spirit..........'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111552767087105224</id><published>2005-05-07T22:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T19:50:56.093-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Camryn</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;She sits on my lap, on the backyard deck that I just built, my own satisfaction making me smile, she turns her head and looks up at me, smiles and says " good work mama"!!! Her appreciation makes my accomplishment and satisfaction that much more glorious...I look around and notice that the grain on a few of the boards are not going the same way...Small things...Camryn notices that I am looking at something... That I am concerned about something that I see...She gets up and inspects my work and says "this is just perfect". &lt;strong&gt;I forgot about the misplaced boards&lt;/strong&gt;...We go inside the house and Usher is on the television...Camryn immediately starts to dance and sing the lyrics to "Caught Up"...I watch her and I smile...Her curls bounce, her eyes dance along, as her body moves to the music..Her voice loud and clear..She knows the words, she knows his routine and tries to copy them...To me she is perfection. When she laughs, it comes from her belly, and it is &lt;strong&gt;contagious&lt;/strong&gt;....I smile and laugh along with her..Sometimes not even knowing what she laughing about..I can't help it. Our smiles widen as I dance along with her, our identical dimples deepen, as I attempt to sing- a- long with her....The music is loud..Our laughter is louder....Over the music..I hear.."Look at me Mommy"!!!!! Unaware that I already cannot take my eyes off of her....her beauty goes way beyond the surface of her skin.....She loves to make people smile, whether it be a relative, a friend of mine or her daddies... Or her cousins..She is always being funny and trying (with success) to make people laugh. Yeah...She has jokes...Her delivery is what makes her jokes hilarious...Because more often than not...She is laughing at herself before she has even begun to tell the punchline..What a wonderful quality to have....Being able to laugh at yourself...Hopefully she will keep this characteristic...mmm..It's "quiet time" now...We turn the TV off, turn the stereo on....I lay back on the couch with my legs up....Camryn climbs up on top of me, laying her head on my chest...Her arms holding me, my face is in her hair, kissing her head, rubbing her back...We talk about our days, we giggle, she falls asleep...And I lay there, savoring this moment..For this moment is &lt;strong&gt;"perfect&lt;/strong&gt;". And at this moment...I HAVE "landed"......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111552767087105224?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111552767087105224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111552767087105224&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111552767087105224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111552767087105224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/camryn.html' title='Camryn'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111535544866282981</id><published>2005-05-06T03:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T19:51:29.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The ILIAC vs HAPPINESS</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;For those of you, who have read my blog (specifically the blog entitled "The Iliac Crest")...Let me clarify something....As sexy as the "Iliac Crest" is...And trust me..It is......&lt;strong&gt;LET ME CLARIFY&lt;/strong&gt;......There is &lt;strong&gt;NOTHING SEXIER&lt;/strong&gt; than a man that will rub your back, when you come home from work, or ask you how your day was ( and really CARE how it was..), or cuddle up with you on a Sunday morning..Or better yet, continue to hold you after a passionate night of 'cuddling'...Or who will stand behind you, as you are cooking dinner and wrap his arms around you, as you are cutting up the vegetables at the sink..And whisper in your ear how beautiful he thinks you really are, or when out...He could be across the room and somehow with hundreds of people around find you, catch your eye and give you a look, that you &lt;strong&gt;KNOW&lt;/strong&gt; is only &lt;strong&gt;MEANT&lt;/strong&gt; for you....(&lt;strong&gt;and guys..This does go both ways&lt;/strong&gt;). There is nothing sexier than &lt;strong&gt;THAT &lt;/strong&gt;look...&lt;strong&gt;THAT&lt;/strong&gt; man..Not even the Iliac crest....Not even close. I personally, feel that I have met this man..The man &lt;strong&gt;sexier&lt;/strong&gt; than the Iliac crest.....Lucky, lucky me!!! Girls eat your hearts out...*wink*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111535544866282981?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111535544866282981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111535544866282981&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535544866282981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535544866282981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/iliac-vs-happiness.html' title='The ILIAC vs HAPPINESS'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111535395418990469</id><published>2005-05-06T03:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-05T23:32:34.193-05:00</updated><title type='text'>C.A.S</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;The time that you need will be there.... just don't let the moments of laughter, excitement, truths, and giddiness, slip your mind and fall into a endless sea of memory where only &lt;strong&gt;future&lt;/strong&gt; thoughts, dreams and desires exist......(unless of course a "Bean" is included in those thoughts.*smile*)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111535395418990469?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111535395418990469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111535395418990469&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535395418990469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535395418990469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/cas.html' title='C.A.S'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111535324485274834</id><published>2005-05-06T02:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-05T23:20:44.863-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What you see, is what you get....OR is it?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffff33;"&gt;I have always maintained a "I am what I am"...(and no..Not like Popeye) or like my tag line...."What you see is what you get" attitude...Always, always ALWAYS. Ask anyone that has known me, for longer than a minute..They will tell you. I try not to falter from that...But I am not perfect...There!! I admit to that as well. *smile* Who knew I had it in me huh? *smile*&lt;br /&gt;Until recently...I felt I &lt;strong&gt;was&lt;/strong&gt; an open book and anything that I did keep to myself..I felt justified....I really did. But where I made my error, was expecting that everyone should give me the same in return.....An open book policy...A typical 'give and take' relationship....With friends, co workers...Interests, Loves....."In likes". I expected it. And I received it. But I didn't return it. Not always anyway and not to whom it really matters. And it bothers me..That I did that. It truly does..I know how I would feel on the receiving end of that..(been there ...Done that...And it is not a good place to be) I wouldn't like it. I would *hate* it. Nobody deserves to be the "giver" all the time and get nothing in return. &lt;strong&gt;Nobody&lt;/strong&gt;. However, in my thought process..I was protecting my own and it is hard to sway away, or see someone else's point of view... When at the time...Your own decisions, that you made and&lt;strong&gt; thought,&lt;/strong&gt; you had made a firm, solid decision was the correct one...Only to find out that you were only taking in to consideration your own feelings..And not the person on the receiving end of it. It is not fair..And I do apologize. I would change the way that things went down, if given the opportunity&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111535324485274834?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111535324485274834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111535324485274834&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535324485274834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535324485274834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/what-you-see-is-what-you-getor-is-it.html' title='What you see, is what you get....OR is it?'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111535073492734929</id><published>2005-05-06T01:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-05T22:38:54.936-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I ADMIT.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#33ccff;"&gt;I never had a problem admitting when I am wrong...Can't say that I like it...But who does? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111535073492734929?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111535073492734929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111535073492734929&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535073492734929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111535073492734929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/i-admit.html' title='I ADMIT.....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111517821893641796</id><published>2005-05-04T05:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T23:46:18.263-05:00</updated><title type='text'>THE ILIAC CREST.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;MMMM.....The Iliac crest....What is that exactly? Well...Thanks to ALL of my knowledge that I have gained in my medical terminology classes..Which seems like I have been taking for years...I can tell you that it is (besides being the sexiest part of a man..MMM) the "upper margin of the ileum"...Basically the "v" shaped bone that starts at the hip and ends in the ..umm..The pelvic area.....Sorry Snickers..LOL I had to "go there"...mmm ok..Still not getting it? Well Usher...Shows it off...ALL the time."J"..I am sure you have it...Gator has it....umm yeah...Ok, so I still have not answered why I love, love, love (did I say LOVE?) the Iliac Crest...Well..I honestly don't think I can descriptively give it justice...It is JUST the most beautiful area on a man....Great to look at..You know..If his pants sit in just the "right spot"...mmm..And it is of course totally kissable..*blush* LOL Well IT IS!!!!! Oh and did I happen to mention that &lt;strong&gt;Taye&lt;/strong&gt; has an amazing Iliac Crest? Well...Let me tell you...He DOES!!!!! OH..And for those of you that don't know..&lt;strong&gt;Taye&lt;/strong&gt; is my main man....Ok, ok so he really isn't "my man"....But there is nothing wrong with a little imagination right? Tee hee......... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111517821893641796?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111517821893641796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111517821893641796&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517821893641796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517821893641796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/iliac-crest.html' title='THE ILIAC CREST.....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111517088807003346</id><published>2005-05-03T20:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T20:41:28.073-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Something Profound.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;"He who created us without our help will not save us without our consent. "&lt;/strong&gt;                            &lt;br /&gt; Saint Augustine&lt;br /&gt;(thanks for sending this to me Jay...there was something about it, that stayed with me today, and hopefully will tomorrow and always)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111517088807003346?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111517088807003346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111517088807003346&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517088807003346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517088807003346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/something-profound.html' title='Something Profound.....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111515094648519160</id><published>2005-05-03T14:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T15:09:06.486-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Freedom of Speech....</title><content type='html'>hmm....What has this world come to? A place where I, (Shell, Shells, Sheshie, Semmie, ShellieBean...) can go to and write and write and write about &lt;strong&gt;whatever&lt;/strong&gt; is on my mind....hmmm how dangerous could that be? For those of you that know me....LOL...You KNOW I am going to have some fun with this....For those of you that don't know me....But happen to come across my blog......"Hi..Nice to meet you !!!! And welcome to my world!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111515094648519160?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111515094648519160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111515094648519160&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111515094648519160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111515094648519160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/freedom-of-speech.html' title='Freedom of Speech....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12627059.post-111517710402779463</id><published>2005-05-02T16:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-03T22:25:04.033-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A day in the life....</title><content type='html'>What can I say? As I walk to where I parked my car.. I look around, aware of the rain that is falling silently.....Rain drops kissing the tip of my nose, lost in my thoughts...Thinking of tatopies, a funnyman, a wehobro and a whatway...mmm. Sounds of &lt;strong&gt;laughter&lt;/strong&gt; trigger memories of past conversations, wishes, dreams, thoughts, desires, kisses. Sounds of &lt;strong&gt;laughter &lt;/strong&gt;trigger, images of thoughts, desires, wishes and kisses..Yet to come...It's time...Can't wait.... In the car, Ms. Keyes is singing about "what goes around, comes around"...Stevie is up next..And he will be loving me "always"...And WHAT? Mr.Cullum is "Frontin' "....Move over Pharrell...mmm...Oh no...And GUY...Suggesting to "Let's Chill"....What more could a girl ask for?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12627059-111517710402779463?l=mizsafiya.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/feeds/111517710402779463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12627059&amp;postID=111517710402779463&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517710402779463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12627059/posts/default/111517710402779463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mizsafiya.blogspot.com/2005/05/day-in-life.html' title='A day in the life....'/><author><name>Shellie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16923317156997584926</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1742/1079/640/ME.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
