tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57101948515605876252024-02-01T22:56:04.738-08:00Combat CardsTabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-75597321213403206922010-02-16T11:05:00.000-08:002010-02-16T11:09:03.396-08:00It happens every Friday!<div align="left">Friday mornings at the Pentagon.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air Force personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is war. Thousands more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and facing months or years in military hospitals.<br /><br />This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a year long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.<br /><br />Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that fills the halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the Weblog of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America Website.<br /><br />"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands here.<br /><br />This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army' hallway. The G3 offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew.<br /><br />Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area.<br /><br />The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares. "10:36 hours: The clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is applause with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway.<br /><br />"A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.<br /><br />"Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in the burden ... yet.<br /><br />"Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel.<br /><br />"Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of his peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need be by a field grade officer.<br /><br />"11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt. Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30.. Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.<br /><br />They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.<br /><br />"There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her 19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.<br /><br />These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers, and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all year long, for more than four years.<br /><br />"Did you know that?<br /><br /><br />By JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY<br />McClatchy Newspapers<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" /></a> </div>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-75018911736439061662010-01-06T11:15:00.001-08:002010-01-06T11:17:26.972-08:00Wordless Wednesday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_vKhk-GZ4lz_iqOpAvf4XRS1h9IGmb1-XYvAxbN8_paQp3GA70TXNdFx8IxsnyuDRwHAMtpphaTD4oT44zI1PKgcwzJwxo6LB5itxFaB_BD6y-jxjb4WSKarNyybY-LxKSTCPrLRnbxD/s1600-h/YPuppy.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423707951485246594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_vKhk-GZ4lz_iqOpAvf4XRS1h9IGmb1-XYvAxbN8_paQp3GA70TXNdFx8IxsnyuDRwHAMtpphaTD4oT44zI1PKgcwzJwxo6LB5itxFaB_BD6y-jxjb4WSKarNyybY-LxKSTCPrLRnbxD/s320/YPuppy.JPG" /></a><br /><div></div>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-77113273851478287172009-09-21T16:10:00.000-07:002009-09-24T08:06:27.159-07:00More Cards<div align="center">We got another box off to another FOB. That makes the count to 3 different FOB's that we are sending cards to!! WHOOO HOOOO!!!</div><div align="center">Anytime we can spread a little cheer to these soldiers who put their lives on hold and make out a blank check to the USA for, and including, up to his or her life. We are in DESPERATE need for Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa cards. If you have extra's from years past, or have homemade one's you want to donate, please do so. These soldiers can mail these free cards home for free and they just LOVE them. They don't have the availability to go to Wal-Mart and pick up a few cards here and there so that's why we do what we do! Please email me if you'd like to help. Please forward on this to anyone who you know would like to help!</div><div align="center">Lets spread some cheer!</div><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" /></a>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-18497374279543090282009-09-11T11:21:00.000-07:002009-09-11T18:10:52.208-07:00Always remember<div align="center">Never forget, never stop teaching our children either.</div><div align="center">For when we stop remembering and teaching then their memory dies with us. Let us continue to remind our next generations of why our</div><div align="center">soldiers are fighting and who we need to thank for letting</div><div align="center">us sleep in a free land. </div><div align="center">And let us keep each and every soldier and their families in our prayers.</div><div align="center">Thank you to each and every single soldier </div><div align="center">who has and currently is serving our country!</div><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" /></a>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-421411895866887542009-09-10T14:17:00.000-07:002009-09-10T14:33:53.703-07:00A Book<div align="center">One of my Blue Star Mom Friends, Christina, stopped by today </div><div align="center">and gave me a small, sweet little book.</div><div align="center">It's a small book with some BIG quotes,</div><div align="center">quotes that tell it like it is,</div><div align="center">both sweet and sour.</div><div align="center">One touched me, the core of me, </div><div align="center">of a Mom waiting for her child to come home safely</div><div align="center">and I wanted to share it.<br />Thank you Christina, for being so sweet and my friend.</div><div align="center">I added my daughters name in it to personalize it.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">it's all about the <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><em>JOURNEY</em></strong></span>.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">we are <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><em>CREATED</em></strong></span> by it.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">we are made <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><em>STRONGER</em></strong></span> by it.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">we are <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><em>DESTROYED</em></strong></span> by it.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">and we are <strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">REBORN</span> </em></strong>from it.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">for as far as your road goes <span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><em>YVONNE</em></strong></span>...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"><strong><em>I'LL BE HERE WHEN YOU RETURN.</em></strong></span></div><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" /></a>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-56047052078895576092009-09-02T11:23:00.000-07:002009-09-03T15:08:10.935-07:00Card fronts<div align="center">When we get card fronts from stamping demo's <em><strong>(thank you SO much ladies!!)</strong></em> we organize them in these boxes <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">according</span> to card type.<br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HksKyFphV4X8qRvOCwI5Bxu1XWzI_Wkr_D-Vcx2o5LejTmaIrEhjsfCy84Y3G_kvqkSPj81Zug-yxylqtOGkJbFWbjD0pMIJ1LrwCbcQ-BLapFPGzQKRCeitQrnxLGr4L0I-q77K528Q/s1600-h/Pinetop+191.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377363061510784850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HksKyFphV4X8qRvOCwI5Bxu1XWzI_Wkr_D-Vcx2o5LejTmaIrEhjsfCy84Y3G_kvqkSPj81Zug-yxylqtOGkJbFWbjD0pMIJ1LrwCbcQ-BLapFPGzQKRCeitQrnxLGr4L0I-q77K528Q/s320/Pinetop+191.jpg" /></a> After we make them into full cards, we add envelopes and organize them into these clear boxes that have locking lids, add dividers to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">separate</span> the card types, then mail it off to a Chaplain.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE3bC1o9h1ZFCy1yJlykyl8aL9pGP67Vh1JvunyQRqKJ7kCsBLren9oS9Nw5YnXCzp_51LgEVEe0TfM8ZaPhhVx1QMpSoNMH0lr1nHV7CdG-Z4FuyahOZrgBN9Bs_7KWYNyfF8SqGbj96/s1600-h/Pinetop+190.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377363053313944338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE3bC1o9h1ZFCy1yJlykyl8aL9pGP67Vh1JvunyQRqKJ7kCsBLren9oS9Nw5YnXCzp_51LgEVEe0TfM8ZaPhhVx1QMpSoNMH0lr1nHV7CdG-Z4FuyahOZrgBN9Bs_7KWYNyfF8SqGbj96/s320/Pinetop+190.jpg" /></a> We just received <strong>another</strong> Chaplains name that is at a pretty big FOB and is anxiously awaiting this box of cards for<strong><em> "his guys."</em></strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong><em>SO</em></strong> cute for him to put it that way!<br /></span><br />Thank you for your support ladies! You're gonna put <em><strong>smiles</strong></em> on soldiers faces!<br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" /></a> </div></div>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5710194851560587625.post-72180603140569159402009-08-14T10:00:00.000-07:002009-08-14T11:02:47.522-07:00The Sack Lunches<p class="EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;" align="center"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >The Sack Lunches<br /><br />I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my<br />assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight.. 'I'm glad I have a good<br />book to read Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought. <br /><br />Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and<br />filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to<br />start a conversation. 'Where are you headed?' I asked the<br />soldier seated nearest to me.<br /><br />'Petawawa. We'll be there for two weeks for special training,<br />and then we're being deployed to Afghanistan .'<br /><br />After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that<br />sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several<br />hours before we reached the east, and I quickly decided a lunch would<br />help pass the time..<br /><br />As I reached for my wallet, I overheard a soldier ask his buddy if<br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems like a lot of money for</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >just a sack lunch. Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks. I'll wait</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >till we get to base ' </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > His friend agreed.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >fifty dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.' She grabbed</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked</span> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq ; it's almost like you are doing it</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >for him.'</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >like best - beef or chicken?'</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > 'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a minute</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >later with a dinner plate from first class. This is your thanks.'</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >heading for the rest room. A man stopped me. 'I saw what you did. I</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >want to be part of it. Here, take this.' He handed me twenty-five</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >dollars.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;" class="EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal"> </p><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;"> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 51);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 51);font-size:12;" > </span></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >only on my side of the plane. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled,</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >held out his hand, and said, 'I want to shake your hand.'</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >hand. With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier and I was a</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >military pilot. Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act of kindness</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >I never forgot.' I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >of the passengers.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >in my palm.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > When we landed I gathered my belongings and started to deplane.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >Another twenty-five dollars!</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > dollars. 'It will take you some time to reach the base. It will be</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >about time for a sandwich. God Bless You.'</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >their fellow travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" >giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals. </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;font-family:Monotype Corsiva;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" ><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style=";color:black;" > It seemed so little...</span></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85741/tabbystreasures/6c76fcc3b91adac65a2c1da97cea610c.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" border="0" /></a></span>Tabathahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475897504503819990noreply@blogger.com0