Explore this website! I heard about it through thelistserve.com:
"1. He is everywhere.
Lurking in the woodsmoke that fills the house in winter, there's a memory of the first time we built a fire together.
Cleverly tucked into the taste of cinnamon and cider, there's a memory of us walking underneath the changing leaves, steaming mugs of autumn in our hands.
Sometimes, it's not so simple.
Sometimes, it's a whiff of cologne in a crowd, and I am reminded of a shirt he used to own-- and the memory of that shirt unlocks whole passages of time spent together I hadn't thought of in years. The images come flooding back; the porch we'd argue on, the bed we slept in, the trip we planned for months and never took.
You know the feeling: all it takes is one tiny thing, a domino, and a whole world of the past tumbles into focus. Triggered by a smell. A touch. A song.
Let's play a game.
My name is Olga Nunes. I'm a singer, and for the past two years, I've been working on an album called LAMP. LAMP has a story woven around it, and I'd very much like for you to be a part of that story.
Call this number: 1.415.857.0589
It leads to a Google voicemail box; you can call it from anywhere. When you call, you will be asked a question. Answer it.
I'll post those answers to a blog just for this, and will make them part of the LAMP story.
Feel free to Google "Olga Nunes LAMP" to hear the songs, or see how this has unfolded so far.
The sentencing of juveniles convicted of horrible crimes is a tough issue with good arguments on both sides. I don't know how appropriate it is for a newspaper to print an article about it that uses language like "to mow down a man and woman."
There's a lot to think about where the death penalty is concerned. Still, I can't help cringing when I read things like: "Edna Worley died in May, her son said. "She planned on attending the execution. She wanted to be there for her daughter."' I don't think the poor woman's daughter was going to "be there," anyway. Still, I have to remind myself not to judge, because I suppose I don't really know what I would say or do if that kind of horrific tragedy were to befall me.
I think dad would be thrilled if I suddenly became a patent lawyer. He thinks the current system stunts rather than promotes innovation, and should be changed. Here's an article he suggested I read via an email with the subject heading: "The truth at the end of the tunnel." Ironically, he apparently agrees with the system, or vice versa, every now and then. DISCLAIMER: I tend to go with the tech flow suggested by my dad and brother in law, so I've owned a Samsung phone for some time now.
It's so strange that whether or not this man has passed away is so important to what I suppose is the exile community in Miami. I wonder what will happen when he finally does pass, if he hasn't already. If my reaction to Osama bin Laden's death gives any hint (see below), I doubt I will rejoice. If anything, I imagine I might be somewhat anxious as I wonder...what's next?
I am asking this question "do horses cry?" because I saw one do it. I'm trying out a new horse, Chevy, and when my mom and sis saw him they mentioned he looked sad. It was only the second time I'd seen him myself, so I couldn't be sure. But yesterday, after my ride, I took my time grooming him. Because he's so tall and I wanted to brush his forelock, I coaxed him into bringing his face down to my level by petting him over and over again just above his nose. When he finally brought his head down I rested my cheeck against his face and just stood very still. Chevy started to cry. Like in this blog, there was no goop or discharge, just tears. It makes me wonder who he is and what he's lived through. It makes me want to get to know him.