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CLICK HERE virginia's stuff - general |
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Dear Bryburcon readers and contributors, I
have been administering this website for over four years now. The
original intent when I published Bryburcon.com was to showcase the
lives of my grandmother, Nellie Bryant Burdett, and my mother, Alta
Ruth Burdett Johns. With that in mind, I brought the website online
Mother's Day, 2001. The discoveries we have made about the family
past and present as well as the sheer volume of data and creative
writing surpassed anything I dreamed about. Because of issues I
am dealing with in my own life at this time I intend to not publish
any more website updates for at least three months. During that
time I will leave the site online for any one of you to make screen
prints of the pages. I will decide then if I want to continue paying
the web hosting service and to resume publishing updates in the
future. I have most of the material saved to CD which I will be
happy to send to any of you who want it. Virginia May 25, 2005 Click
here to request CD
The allegory, The Valley of the Shadows, appears on the family CD produced 2004 by Virginia. Bill Johns adds passages from Rudyard Kipling which deal with the same subject. The Valley of
the Shadows BY VIRGINIA ISABELLE They
were all splendidly complete, and they glittered and twinkled with
many facets, colors, sounds, themes and joys. They were their own
works of art, choosing their own shapes and directions. They could
make twinkles and music and hues there in their own dimension, but
the deepest beauty came from those who had made the pilgrimage into
the Valley of The Shadows and had returned. Her
vibration to the Others in the Valley sounded and appeared visually
as a "name" they said as "Shreeah". It was there
that she found herself confined in something they called Time, disconnected
from Then and Becoming and only expressing in Now. Soon she forgot
that she had chosen the pilgrimage and the shape of herself. The
Others wrapped themselves in shadows, for they did not remember
that they could be complete while still Becoming there in the Valley.
The shadows writhed and groaned and struggled to fit the shapes
of the Others, but they were only shadows, and they fell limp and
thin and malformed onto the shapes of those they covered; taking
on a vaguely familiar similarity. But they were always grotesquely
inadequate images of what lived within. The
road at the beginning found Shreeah surrounded by shadow-draped
shapes who floated up and then dropped themselves over her. They
attempted to take on the shape of her Other in hopes of possessing
what they no longer knew that they already had. They threw themselves
around her feet to stop her from moving, and they beat on her to
reshape her when they failed to reproduce her form, sounds and hues.
Shreeah stayed with them for awhile, but then her Other within took
her along. The shrouded Others she left behind her shrieked and
danced a rhythm of torment, a dance of those who hadn't moved on.
If
you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think
- and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and
disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can
bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a
trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; Up
and out of the Valley of Shadows the road passed through the Land
of the Tunnels. Shadowy shapes struggled to fit into tunnels in
the ground, in the sides of hills, in rocks themselves. Tunnels
everywhere with shadow shapes wriggling into or fighting to get
out of them, or forcing other shapes into them or even attempting
to pull other shapes out. There was nothing to nurture the shapes
there, but some compulsion drove them there between the barren tunnel
walls. If
you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn
of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your
heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are
gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will
which says to them: "Hold on"; She
walked on, and throughout the pilgrimage she resisted any covering
of herself, any taking on a shadow to hide from those who would
devour or destroy the reality of her form. The shadows created their
own agony for what they concealed, an agony that lay within and
screamed in whispers, wanting out. Shreeah's lonely exposure invited
thieves and robbers, but it shouted to the rainbow sky above a clean,
pure note. If
you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings-
nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can
hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can
fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance
run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which
is more - you'll be a man, my son! She
climbed up and out, and back in her own dimension she shimmered
with the most beautiful light and vibration in the sky, for she
had walked through the Valley of the Shadows and had kept her own
shape. Whenever the shrouded Others in the Valley below dared to
look up, they could see her light there in the rainbow sky. Hello,
All, My weight is still twenty pounds less, and I am into some clothes I haven't worn in years. That's a nice little perk of losing my appetite for months. Now, if I could afford that neck lift (thank you, Bryant/Burdett ancestors for the turkey neck) I would be a real babe. I spoke with Cousin Philip DuBose and Sister Gerry Fay today. We are into the countdown to the reunion with plans for the newsletter in September and crochet work to raffle. I will try to get some stained glass light catchers ready to mail, as I won't be able to attend this year. I
have another reunion contribution I intend to have ready by the
second Sunday of November. I am putting as much of the website on
CD's for the family as I can make fit. I have gone into bullet sweating
mode once more, and I have gained a fairly good ability to make
CD labels, so the CD's I make for the family should have some fun
labels affixed. I will mass produce the Bryburcon.com CD and have
that ready at the reunion for raffle, auction or a small fee. The Kidney Story It began back in November, 2003, when I checked into the Bremerton Naval Hospital Emergency Room. I was in such pain I was vomiting, and the nurse asked me to rate the pain from one to ten. Ten being labor. I said it was Labor Plus. They tested everything they could think of to test - organs, bodily fluids, bodily processes. They did lab tests and CT scans and ultrasounds. Finally the pain subsided, and they told me all they found that might have been causing it were some anomalies on the CT film. A kidney stone, they said, and I must have passed it since the pain was gone. Following that episode Bremerton Hospital and I spent several months trying various remedies for mysterious symptoms, remedies that included some fairly serious surgery. Nothing helped. At last I decided it was time for me to take charge, and I began keeping a daily journal of the symptoms. I kept the journal for around three weeks, and then I printed that out and walked into the primary care doctor's clinic. He issued an immediate referral to Urology. Urology, when I called them, told me they couldn't see me for more than a month, and I said I think I need to be seen sooner than that. Urology made a referral to an "outside provider". When the military medical system management arm, Tri-Care, selected the outside provider it was the University of Washington. I stopped by Bremerton Naval Hospital to pick up the ultrasound film and the doctors' reports, which I took with me to the UW appointment. There, the doctor ordered a kidney CT scan, and when she read that she said that not only did I have a huge tumor in my left kidney, but also she had read the ultrasound film shot by Bremerton back in November, and the mass was plainly showing on that film as well. I decided to continue with plans to attend Lloyd's Army Basic Training graduation on May 12 in South Carolina so that I could tell him in person about the (almost certain) cancer diagnosis. My life became a nightmare of medical tests, phone calls to Tri-Care and to doctors, taking time off from work, arranging transportation back and forth between Bremerton and Seattle (My truck with its camper are too tall for the UW parking garage in Seattle.) Eventually I found myself checking into the surgery department at the UW early in the morning, three family members along for emotional support. That was June 3, and four hours later I awakened to both kids, both grandkids and Mindy's guy looking down at me. Mindy was furiously mopping blood off of my left hand where an artery had fought back when someone in the Operating Room inserted an IV. Hillary muttered tearfully, "Poor little hand." "Well, am I dying?" I asked, and they said no, the doctors had said they were almost certain that the tumor was "encapsulated" within the left kidney, but that lab tests would be done to make sure. "I love it when you lie to me," I told them. I remained in the hospital for three days and three nights, and I was never there without a child or a grandchild with me. All night they slept beside my hospital bed. Morphine was there too, ready whenever I pressed a button. The computer worked out how much I could self-administer, but they told me I only shot up about a third of what I was allowed. I have a bone deep dread of falling victim to addiction of any sort, and so I opted for going at the post-op period stone cold sober. Lucky for me I have conducted life that way because I had virtually nothing to quit doing once I became a person with only one kidney. Once, when Mindy was sleeping beside my bed, I flinched and cried out. "What's the matter, Mom? Are you in pain?" she asked, and I answered, "No, there was a giant bat or moth that just dive bombed the bed….oh, I guess that didn't really happen, did it?" "No, Mom, I really don't think that the University of Washington Medical Center is harboring a colony of giant bats or moths, although it does appear that they have some kick butt drugs," she said. The hospital sent me home with Oxycodone, but I took two doses of that, and then I took no more pain medication. I sucked in a deep breath and concluded that all of that lovely warmth and concern sprang from an emergency fund of goodwill, and it was never meant to become a way of life. I was ultimately responsible for myself, and so do for myself I must. Cousins, nieces, siblings, co-workers, friends from years in the past made phone calls and sent mail to wish me well. They sent flowers, cards, chocolates. Even my ex-husband and "wife-in-law" called to wish me well. The work of healing, of facing the fact that I could and did get cancer, of dealing with pain that lessened with agonizing slowness was, in the final analysis, my work. Three weeks following surgery I met with the surgeon who told me, "I have good news and bad news. The bad news is you can't be in that renal cell carcinoma research project you wanted to be in. Your variation of tumor is not what they are studying. The good news is the kind you had is far less aggressive than what the project is dealing with. Yours has only about a fifteen to eighteen percent rate of recurrence." A month after surgery I realized that day I had not needed a long nap. The biggest incision had at last healed although it was still tender and ugly. The pathology reports all came back showing no detectable metastasis of the cancer outside the kidney. Even the attached adrenal gland, which they had removed along with the kidney, was clear of cancer, as were all of the twelve lymph nodes from the surrounding area. My go-round with cancer and what the medical folks call a "catastrophic illness" hasn't taught me much of anything new. It has, though, confirmed with a startling newness things I already knew. Family ties keep a person on this side of the other dimension. When a person has been horribly hurt it is essential to get at least one bath per day. A cancer diagnosis isn't necessarily a death sentence. Addiction is more frightening than cancer. Poodles are one of the purest forms of joy and enthusiasm on earth, and they can help heal the spirit. Virginia Guess I musta' forgot the usual disclaimer: not for publication. Bill (Editor's Note: oops) RESOLVING
IDENTITY THEFT ATTEMPT I have read through the article twice. The second time left me even more dizzy than the first. Kudos to you, Aunt V. for breaking bad on the bad guys. Lavida 8-7-03 RESOLVING IDENTITY THEFT ATTEMPT THE BAD NEWS 8/3/03 AM-Went through month's paperwork, figured budget, wrote out checks, on impulse tacked "Identity Theft" mailer from supervisor dated long time ago up on home bulletin board after intending to throw it away. 8/3/03 PM Filled out credit card query purportedly from internet service provider-Became uneasy because of personal questions being asked; attempted to back out of program, but form I was filling out disappeared from the computer screen, and a brief notice appeared saying, "Congratulations. You have successfully completed…" Attempted to call internet service provider, but recorded mssg advised me to call Monday, that they are closed on the weekend-My "Reply" to sender of questionnaire resulted in my mssg being returned as undeliverable 8/4/03 AM very early Called ISP who said mailing was fraudulent. Spoke to Bank, 1-800---- who canceled ATM cards. (Transaction #00000000) Later I called back same phone# & advised them I will cancel bank acct & they said I have to do it in person. Before I left home transferred all but about $4 from Acct#000000 & put in #00000000, (the acct I had months ago set up to auto deposit John Doe Agency & debit Mtg Co. house pymt). Visited Bank, closed out old possibly infected bank acct & opened a new one. Withdrew $9999999 for spending from new acct where we had transferred the $$ Gave Bank Grandmother's maiden name for ID purposes instead of mother's since the Bad Guys now know mother's maiden name. Called credit service Equifax 1-800-525-6285 & made report-They put block on my social security # nationwide against anyone trying to establish credit. Recorded message said they will forward info to other 2 credit services, Experian (1-800-397-3742) & Trans Union (1-800-680-7289)-Equifax will add security alert on my SSA#, confirmation #00000000.--Equifax advised calling Fed Trade Commission which I did 1-877-438-4338 & spoke to Jane Doe; She took rpt & gave me reference #000000000. Called everybody I knew of who has pending ATM debits and/or checks to advise them they may bounce, and I will report in to pay them. Called automotive financier & paid $999999 truck pymt w/auto debit from Acct#00000000 which had been alternate acct set up to handle automatic transactions. Have to use that until new account shows up on bank website with enough money in it to cover stuff. Auto financier took pymt over the phone (since the bank account it comes out of is now closed) & gave me ref#00000.Called non-debit credit card company who made credit card password protected by adding password that has to be used for any transactions. Stopped by office where I work & faxed request to Payroll to cancel direct deposit of my paycheck (which they told me I have to do THIS DAY or their system will try to deposit paycheck & it will bounce, and I won't get paid for a lo-o-ong time…). to Acct #00000000. She acknowledged receipt of fax & said she is sending me a form to request direct deposit to new acct. Visited
Social Security Office where I redirected direct deposit to new
acct #000000000 from #0000000(old infected account). Social Security
advised me to file police report which I did over the phone from
home to Cnty Sheriff; Deputy John Doe called me back & took
report, Case#0000000-He advised me to also contact FBI- Made a list of who I have to contact w/info on new acct. 8/6/2003-The bank & I are still identifying ATM debits & auto pays and figuring out where to take the money from. So far no known attempt to set up credit under my name or Social Security # or to withdraw funds. Brought up the service John Walsh of America's Most Wanted advertises which will alert me to any attempt to use my info for any reason. Can't order that until I get a new ATM/Mastercard. Unwilling to supply info over the computer though, so I may have to order with a cashier's check. Unwilling to send paper checks to strangers since they also have lots of personal information. The
Good News--- It
only costs $66 in this County to do a name change I
don't work on Monday, so I was able to go into action and address
a violation of my whole life. I won't ever do such a dumb thing again, no way. The
story above is why I have been so scrupulously careful about guarding
all BBC.com contributors' personal information. The credit service
& agency phone numbers in the article are real as are the facts
of the ordeal. The police, Social Security and the bank all asked
if I had yet reported the incident to these three credit agencies.
They seem to consider their existence general knowledge. Had it
not been for my supervisor's (almost trashed) e-mail I wouldn't
have had a clue. A LITTLE BOY'S FIRST LOVE Lloyd was two or three and in daycare. His teacher, Roberta, loved the dynamic little boy who never seemed to stop running and talking. Lloyd also loved "Bobooda". One day he told me, "Bobooda is pwetty." Curious about beauty in the eyes of a little boy barely out of babyhood, I asked, "Do you think I'm pretty, Lloyd?" He stated flatly, "No." "No?" "No, you're beu'ful." It takes so few things like that to pay for a little boy's raising. I DREAMED by Virginia
I slept and dreamed as spring announced awakenings and birth . We
met with recognition and knowing, my kin and I. And
then I dreamed that I slept. I slept without dreaming.
I looked at my mother, the Earth. Wake
up, stand and relearn, her voice commanded.
Dear Bryburcon.com Readers, It has been nearly two years since I first published Bryburcon.com First Edition. That debut took place on Mother's Day, 2001 following months of planning, interviewing, begging for stories, writing, self instruction in the needed technology, insecurity and plodding along driven by unseen forces. My intention then was to make a record of my mother's family, the Bryants and the Burdetts, as a tribute to her life, heroically lived and cut sadly short in her early fifties. I could not have foreseen the impact the BBC.com would have on me and on the rest of the Bryant-Burdett family. A publishing project that began to honor Alta Burdett Johns quickly expanded and became a tribute to the entire family of her parents, Nellie Bryant and William Burdett. Some of the early editorial decisions that I made evolved into solid policies. Others proved unworkable, and I abandoned them. The structure of the website suggested itself naturally, and I set it up with pages reserved for information on the two root families and also the twelve children of Nellie and William. Even Nellie/William son, Gerald George Burdett got his own page although we knew a mere three or four sentences about him. Gerald had been killed "out west" in California in his thirties, his widow and two boys lost to the family, his burial place unknown. William Burdett, the grandfather, had disappeared decades ago, and his descendants knew almost nothing about him or his family of origin. Other ancestors existed as sketchy bits of information here and there; somebody named Isabelle Bryant had lost her husband in the Civil War and then had lost her mind, spending many years locked up somewhere in a mental institution. Across the United States family members ignited and joined the effort. Ohio that has produced a total of eight U.S. Presidents provided researcher-photographer, Nellie/Wm granddaughter Barbara Burdett Slaughterbeck. Barbara found Gerald George Burdett's family, son Jerry and grandson Gerald James who welcomed the extended family with the same enthusiasm as the family welcomed them. Then she rounded up descendants of William Burdett's twin brother, Simon, who in turn gave us a wealth of documents and photographs, and Barbara researched and provided a Burdett family history dating back to the 1600's. Isabelle Bryant who began for us as one photograph and a few tales followed, and Barbara submitted several inches of documents and photographs which detailed her long life and even rewrote some of her history and that of her husband, George Washington Bryant (who did not get shot in the Civil War but instead died from infection of a wound caused by a falling tree). George William Johns (Alta's son, Bill) discovered why he was named as he was when George W's began dropping from the family tree faster than coconuts in a hurricane. Bill also found out something about his own ability to wrap himself around ideas and force those ideas to take on words. Had it not been for his loyal, unflinching support of the website with articles on every subject needed, this Webmaster would have come up with a blank page many nights. Other cousins, nieces and nephews contributed timely pieces for holidays and group efforts. Reatha Johns Albury found a talent for launching great series and suggested the Darby Stories and The Volkswagen Stories. Reatha also collected, typed and forwarded the Serial Dorothy material which told the story of the family's move from Ohio to Florida during the 1920's. Cecelia Greene "Corky" Wofford wrote her memories of Nellie and her daughters. Lois Smith Miller provided first hand information about Nellie and William Burdett and her parents, Isabelle Burdett Smith and Dolphus Smith, drawn from her own early childhood. Other family members supported the website with writing and photographs. Nieces and nephews wrote stories and poems. Kimberley Johns stepped forward and took on the T-shirt project, thus providing a T-shirt for the family, which bears a logo drawn by family artist, Nellie/Wm daughter, Dorothy Burdett Fuerst. The power behind all of that support kept me going through many an all-night struggle with the technology that hosts the family story. After about a year I chose to switch web design software and also bought a new computer with Windows XP instead of Windows 98. What followed was a nightmare of stumbling along in technology hell, attempting to learn the new web design program and make it work with the new computer. Considering all of that family backing, quitting was not an option. I wrote to Bill Johns that I was not sure if I am much of a technological brain, that I may merely have the staying power of an ox. Whichever it is, at last I prevailed and made it all work. Somewhere along the line something came clear, and I realized that the website may be only a rough draft for the end product. That end product I decided would be a book or a series of books based on the website. I bought a CD burner-printmaker combination. My intentions are to do a series of perhaps four books, the first of the series to be published sometime in early 2003, and to save the entire website (both editions pre and post switchover to the new software) on CD's for the family. I also plan to organize all of Bryburcon.com's photographs into online albums and to make prints of those photographs available for anyone in the family who requests them. Last night I visited my daughter, Mindy; out in Vaughn, and on impulse we decided that I should stay the night. I realized that, retired as I became somewhere during this website project, I am free to do things such as that now, and that I really want to do more of that, more trip taking, more freedom in general. I need time to design and complete the book-publishing project. Because of this I intend to discontinue the daily updates of the website that I have done. I plan to renew the domain name subscription for at least two more years when it expires in May, 2003, so that the website will remain online for anyone who wants to access it and to read it. I will continue to publish the newsletter once or twice per year and to mail that to the family. I will also update the website with information on family deaths or other newsworthy events. I will maintain as complete a database of family addresses and phone numbers as I can. I like to think that this is not a sad ending but only a morphing into a final chapter that we all will be glad for. Much of the vision which has driven this project came from somewhere out there where dreams take form, and many times I have awakened to the realization that I was designing web pages in my sleep, getting help from either the subconscious or something other-worldly. If the latter is the case, it is a benevolent influence, and it loves us. Even my computer seemed at times to be other-directed, and I would struggle to learn something only to find that the next time I tried it my computer had learned how to do it. I have worked on myself and beaten back impulses to lash out at people who frustrated or stung me, realizing that I am taking my orders from the Nellies and the Altas, and that is a whole lot bigger than I am; that even if I have trouble loving someone, those spirits love us all. Virginia REPRINTED
FROM BRYBURCON.COM FIRST EDITION The
Bryant/Burdett Family for supporting this project from the very
beginning. Take away any of its contributors, and we would be much
poorer.
View from the Bryburcon.com Office PINKIE, BLINKIE, REDBIRDS AND BLUEBIRDS I am usually pretty adept at navigating my way through complex situations, following detailed instructions. I have computed, written, built, driven coast to coast and avoided bankruptcy. There is one process, however, in which I have consistently come in last among any competitors you could name. Well, almost any competitors. Occasionally I encounter another member of this gene pool who seems as challenged at this process as I am. My problem is with figuring out where north, south, east, west and all points in between are. I expected this difficulty to surface on the coast-to-coast trip last November (Washington State to Nashville to eastern Florida and back again). It didn't. That's because, when I abruptly decided to NOT get back onto that Greyhound Bus I had taken from Washington State to Tennessee and from Nashville to return to Washington State, I looked at a map and saw that Highway 40 runs all the way from Nashville to California. East to West. Not many decisions here about East West North South. Take all of those compass points with the little NE, SW, SE, NW thingies thrown in; add a mountain, which must be gotten around, a free form body of water, canyons, cities, and detours, and I don't come off looking very smart. See what I'm getting at here? (I started to say, "See where I'm going here?" but you probably would get confused too if you tried to do that.). At any rate, the title of this story should eventually get worked into this directionless narrative. I first met Pinkie and Blinkie when I was in elementary school. They were white rats (or mice; I've never been sure). They were given to our school by (probably) some Hillsborough County department charged with educating us, and we were supposed to feed them different types of food, keep statistics on their growth and intelligence and thus learn lessons about why we shouldn't eat junk food. The school children suggested and voted on their names. We completed the study, drew our conclusions and probably none of us forgot the little rats/mice. A drawing was held to determine who should assume ownership of them once the study was completed, and one of the kids in my family won. So, cage and all, home with us they went. Then the real fun began, for we made pets out of Pinkie and Blinkie as we did with every other animal on the place. We taught them to follow commands, allowed them to crawl all over us and kept them alive without worrying about who was eating what. I don't remember what became of P&B, but ever since we adopted them I have thought of them when I heard or read about white rats and laboratory experiments. Now, here is where several meandering highways of this story merge. Classroom schooling taught me that regardless of what children are called when they are "ability grouped" (Redbirds and Bluebirds, for example) the kids know who is smart and who is un-smart. Pinkie and Blinkie and their extended family have been the basis of smart and un-smart experiments for many years. Which of their family can follow a maze and which cannot dictate conclusions about smart and un-smart. The Redbirds and the Bluebirds of the white rat family.
I can do a lot of things that seem to make me a Redbird, but as
a white rat I am a failure, a Bluebird. If I try for another sixty
years I will never be able to effortlessly find all of those compass
points, to turn in the right direction in order to follow a maze.
Don't bother giving me X# of trials; it isn't going to happen. I
relaxed over my inability to pass a white rat IQ test when I read
somewhere that a sense of direction is tied into the level of some
chemical in the brain. I wonder, though, if it hasn't anything to
do with being smart and un-smart, what about the conclusions we've
accepted for so long about Pinkie and Blinkie, that the ability
to follow a maze demonstrates intelligence?
'TOONING This
doggy is the result of my going into the Internet, keying in the
words "cartoon lessons" and then selecting a likely looking
article. I followed the very elementary steps in the lesson and
produced my first cartoon. Then I went to the bookstore at the mall,
and I bought a couple of lesson books which feature a wide selection
of human postures & facial expression as well as thousands of
common objects and situations. I will be playing with these sketches
and following the lessons in the books. I hope to very soon begin
producing regular cartoons for Bryburcon.com. If you have any situations
to suggest for cartoons please feel free to forward them. V THE BILLS ARE COMING DUE It's
true, for me and for you. ...When did our stomachs cross that invisible line…Not able to digest either salsa or submarine sandwiches…When did hearts and arteries finally choke on fifty years of french fries?…and we had to accept that we could not drink high octane fuel and scream off down the freeway? When did we roll off of the power track? And the powerless quit jumping when we said, "Frog!" …The clues were there…Teenagers rolling their eyes instead of crying and begging forgiveness….Long suffering spouses marching off to lawyers. No longer afraid. When did houses built of denial and make-believe collapse?...And unused or misused brains agree that yes, if you call dogs, "cats"…OK, they are cats….and now you don't know the difference. When did a point of no return arrive? Neglected or abused ties break?… In insidious silence long before we knew that there was no going back?… Before we knew that last chances do not throw up neon warning signs or send off fireworks?… Just a quiet but expensive little turning point now added onto the invoice. Oh,
the bills are coming due… It's true, for me and for you. a room full of time by Virginia A
room, a room full of memories A
room, a room full of yellow roses I
hear the wind whistle, wrapping around us. A
room, a room full of wispy touches
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