Sometime during the week between my birthday and Easter in 1996 my Aunt Sara died. She had a stroke and was in the hospital recovering, when she had another one. I got the news on a Friday and was sitting in the Louis E. Jones Funeral Parlor in Alpharetta on Sunday. Sara had just called me five days earlier to wish me a happy birthday and to make me feel guilty for not visiting her in the hospital. Her call took me by surprise. She had not called me on my birthday in years and I sensed weariness in her voice. She wanted to meet my new girlfriend and I promised to bring her over the following weekend. We talked a while, and with every word I realized that I was not a good nephew. She deserved better. I can still remember her saying goodbye and the finality in the clicking of the dial tone.
I saw Sara’s husband, my Uncle Bud, in the lobby of the Louis place. He seemed small and awkward in his suit.
“Hey Bud, how are you doing?” I asked just to have something to say.
“I’ve been better Doodle”
“I’ve been a whole lot better.”
I sat through the service, which was identical to every family funeral that I had ever attended. The aging Reverend Hatfield presided and improvised a speech about a woman that he hardly knew. The same old songs were played by a funeral home supplied stock organist.
“It is weh el, it is weh el…with my soul” some old lady belted out, a little too happy for the occasion.
It was a bright sunny day, and I took my place alongside the rest of the pall bearers and loaded my aunt into the back of a station wagon for dead people. It was a short ride from the funeral home to the Greenlawn Cemetery in Roswell. She was buried next to her oldest son Butch, who was killed in a car wreck when he was twenty-one years old, and her mother and father. Her youngest son, Keith was there as well as her grandchildren, Jason, Ryan and Reed. We all stood around in the bright heat of the afternoon, trying to make each other laugh. Guys do that. I watched as my Uncle Bud walked away and seemed to grow even smaller as he climbed into a shiny car to go back to his empty house.
My Aunt Sara loved all the children in her family but I think that it is safe to say that I was her favorite. Being the favorite is something that you know without ever being told. Sara’s son Butch died when I was three years old back in 1969. He misjudged a curve on Hard Scrabble Road late one night, left the road, and rolled his car over in just the right way to break his neck. I think that night, I became her Butch. She spoiled me endlessly and took me everywhere. We watched movies on Sunday when the rest of the males were knee deep in football games. Her eyes lit up when I walked in her door, and I was always privy to the latest gossip. She loaned me money, knowing that I would never pay it back, and let me get away with murder. I was an ungrateful child at the time and my heart aches knowing that I can’t change the past.
Each year when the Bradford pears bloom and the white snowflake blossoms blow in the air like snow, I know that I am getting older and that my Aunt Sara is already waiting for me on the other side. I hope that I am still her favorite and that I make her wait for me a long, long time.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
The Meaning Of "IS"
There are many things in the world that are evil, and justice is not only blind, but absent from the universe. Yes, the world has, and will always be full of evil. But in this current time there seems to be a great de-evolution of the moral imperative. A jail is run by the lackeys and bootlicks, socially promoted and careless to their great responsibilities. I used to work in the legal busines and I can tell you that there has been an attitude of insolence and laxity since oh, lets say 1974 something. Just about the time of the ' New Atlanta', my father talked about when he worked down at the capital. I began to notice it first hand between 1989 and 1997.Signs such as,"How many people have you helped today" smack of a cretinous arrogance, smugness and surliness that is hard to stomach from a government employee,such as a mere clerk in one of the filing rooms at the superior court.Someone who had taken a civil service exam and was "entitled" to that postion in the "new" south.Unqualified to work in the private sector postion, don't fear, congress has just voted more money from the qualified to help you, the unmotivated and careless, a job, you can work in the federal or state government, its owed to you.No, you don't have to shift a cultural paradigm brother, the world of Huey P. Long and Jimmy Carter is here today. Its not results that matter, its the fact that somone owes you something and I'm going to take it from them and give it to you.
You need not fear spiritual trial and enlightenment by growth intellectually, you don't have to think outside the box, be a drone.Live and die a simple life, uncomplicated by such thoughts as 'We've inherited a infrastructure, neighborhoods that were built by those before us, schools that were safe, clean and organized streets paved and smooth, a vital community that had security and a low crime rate'. It dosen't ever matter what you do , where or who you are, but what you do with your responsiblities, to yourself, your families, and your communities. The gifts that you are given , what are you going to do with them? Is Atlanta a better place since 1966 ? What do you think? Will you give an intellectually vapid answer of yes?Why ?Because your profeessor at Emory told you so, because Bono said so in some lyrics he wrote on the back of a cocktail napkin while flying from Sierra Leone to Stockholm in first class?I invite you to explore the truth, look at pictures of Bankhead highway from the 1930s to the 1960s.Talk to a woman who grew up in Atalnta in the 30s and 40s,ask about how she could go downtown to see a late movie after work and take the trolly(a bus today)back to the West End, unmolested, unharrased, and unharmed.Care to try that today? Did you answer yes reflexively(?), test it ,take your girlfriend, mother,wife or daughter and test it out and get back to me with your repudation,conditioned by your own lack of intellectual sincerity.Go to the airport and watch a dozen stong men pass through the line, and then see security drone halt and take a 78 year old woman to private room to be strip searched.
When the Ottoman empire, founded by turkomen from the steppes, wild and barbarous,
finally crushed the Byzantine empire at the begining of the rennasiance,they inherited an infrastructue of magnificent proportions.Beautiful buildings, art treasures, viaducts, roads and harbors that were the envy of the world.Many cultures had thrived inside and outside the walls of the fortress city,before the the emperor of the turks rode into the greatest cathederal in the olde world(on horseback),and desecrated one of the greatest symbols in the world.But by turn, he reconsecrated the cathederal into a mosque, took what clerks he had,melded them with the bueracracy of the Byzantines and expanded the freedoms and practices of those within the fortress city walls, Muslim, Jew ,Gnostic, Heretic, Pagan and loyal Christian practiced, prospered, and thrived in a way that many other cultures and countries found impossible if not uninmaginable at the time.This in only a few short years. This was done without an act of congress, the'moral force' of a president waging a 'war on poverty,' or state troops guarding a schoolhouse.WHAT DID THESE WARLORDS, MEN ONLY USED TO THE HARDSHIPS OF LIFE,BATTLE AND LOSS KNOW THAT THE SO CALLED GREAT LEADERS DIDN'T,DON'T KNOW EVEN NOW?Perhaps it was the very srtuggles that made them capable of seeing beyond the mere satisfaction of there daily need, lusts and desires, the short term pleasures versus the long term goals that seem to be so absent today in our"great Society".
Every thing you do matters in some way or the other, you are made up of the decisions you make, in everything. Everything matters.Who you sleep with is who you are, if you sleep with dogs you will get up with fleas and other parasites of the flesh and the mind.If you are slacking off all day and would rather go out for breakfast than stay at your post(security camera monitors) and watch a man overpower a absurdly chosen guard and stroll up to coutroom and slowly execute a judge and a defenseless mother, than continue slowly outside and and gun down the ONE AND ONLY DEPUTY WHO GAVE A DAMN about his job and was diligently trying to do his duty to us, the community and his own honor, then you are responsible for unleashing the evil in your communtiy.Past performance is indicative of future results.And suddenly things that don't seem important......Really Do Matter.Who's watching the store(?),..obviously not the clerks,but don't blame them, they've just been conditoned ,like Pavlov's dogs.Licking their balls while the robbers empty the safe.
You need not fear spiritual trial and enlightenment by growth intellectually, you don't have to think outside the box, be a drone.Live and die a simple life, uncomplicated by such thoughts as 'We've inherited a infrastructure, neighborhoods that were built by those before us, schools that were safe, clean and organized streets paved and smooth, a vital community that had security and a low crime rate'. It dosen't ever matter what you do , where or who you are, but what you do with your responsiblities, to yourself, your families, and your communities. The gifts that you are given , what are you going to do with them? Is Atlanta a better place since 1966 ? What do you think? Will you give an intellectually vapid answer of yes?Why ?Because your profeessor at Emory told you so, because Bono said so in some lyrics he wrote on the back of a cocktail napkin while flying from Sierra Leone to Stockholm in first class?I invite you to explore the truth, look at pictures of Bankhead highway from the 1930s to the 1960s.Talk to a woman who grew up in Atalnta in the 30s and 40s,ask about how she could go downtown to see a late movie after work and take the trolly(a bus today)back to the West End, unmolested, unharrased, and unharmed.Care to try that today? Did you answer yes reflexively(?), test it ,take your girlfriend, mother,wife or daughter and test it out and get back to me with your repudation,conditioned by your own lack of intellectual sincerity.Go to the airport and watch a dozen stong men pass through the line, and then see security drone halt and take a 78 year old woman to private room to be strip searched.
When the Ottoman empire, founded by turkomen from the steppes, wild and barbarous,
finally crushed the Byzantine empire at the begining of the rennasiance,they inherited an infrastructue of magnificent proportions.Beautiful buildings, art treasures, viaducts, roads and harbors that were the envy of the world.Many cultures had thrived inside and outside the walls of the fortress city,before the the emperor of the turks rode into the greatest cathederal in the olde world(on horseback),and desecrated one of the greatest symbols in the world.But by turn, he reconsecrated the cathederal into a mosque, took what clerks he had,melded them with the bueracracy of the Byzantines and expanded the freedoms and practices of those within the fortress city walls, Muslim, Jew ,Gnostic, Heretic, Pagan and loyal Christian practiced, prospered, and thrived in a way that many other cultures and countries found impossible if not uninmaginable at the time.This in only a few short years. This was done without an act of congress, the'moral force' of a president waging a 'war on poverty,' or state troops guarding a schoolhouse.WHAT DID THESE WARLORDS, MEN ONLY USED TO THE HARDSHIPS OF LIFE,BATTLE AND LOSS KNOW THAT THE SO CALLED GREAT LEADERS DIDN'T,DON'T KNOW EVEN NOW?Perhaps it was the very srtuggles that made them capable of seeing beyond the mere satisfaction of there daily need, lusts and desires, the short term pleasures versus the long term goals that seem to be so absent today in our"great Society".
Every thing you do matters in some way or the other, you are made up of the decisions you make, in everything. Everything matters.Who you sleep with is who you are, if you sleep with dogs you will get up with fleas and other parasites of the flesh and the mind.If you are slacking off all day and would rather go out for breakfast than stay at your post(security camera monitors) and watch a man overpower a absurdly chosen guard and stroll up to coutroom and slowly execute a judge and a defenseless mother, than continue slowly outside and and gun down the ONE AND ONLY DEPUTY WHO GAVE A DAMN about his job and was diligently trying to do his duty to us, the community and his own honor, then you are responsible for unleashing the evil in your communtiy.Past performance is indicative of future results.And suddenly things that don't seem important......Really Do Matter.Who's watching the store(?),..obviously not the clerks,but don't blame them, they've just been conditoned ,like Pavlov's dogs.Licking their balls while the robbers empty the safe.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Bullies and Pussies
A childhood bully of mine is dying. I just got the news moments ago. We worked together at the Dairy Queen in Alpharetta. He ruled the grill, I ruled the dish water. I can see why he disliked me; I really did not want to work and was a bit too goofy for an older classmate to tolerate. I had been taking Hapkido classes with his older brother Mark. Mark however was nice to me. David was a big guy, tall and sorta pudgy. He had long stringy dirty blonde hair and was very mysterious in an illegal kind of way.
He eventually got canned from the DQ, when the boss, Doug Sams caught him inhaling the gas off of the top of the whip cream cans. I was not sorry to see him go then, and I don’t know if I am sorry to see him go now. I was, however, was not happy to hear the news. I guess I grew up. It happens. David’s mortality just reminds me of my own.
His liver shut down. He actually drank so much that his liver called it quits and his brain was shut off for eight minutes or so. The docs don’t know if he will recover, and if he does how much brain power he will have…80% or 0%, the brain is not an organ to fuck with.
I am still in disbelief. He drank so much that he shut down major organs. Now that is a Chris Farley or John Belushi type of indulgence. This is not the first time that I have heard of young people keeling over because of drink. Urabadcat told me that she had a friend that died at 34 because of drink. Another friend of mine, C introduced me to a girl that was dead less than a month from the day I met her, from drinking. C told me that she had Hepatitis, and was as yellow as a legal pad, when she finally let go.
You would think that all this death would discourage me from drinking. Hell no. I love to drink. Keeps me sane; Keeps me going into work; Keeps me from jumping off a fucking bridge. I am no different than them, except that I must be in a different league. My doc says my liver enzymes are pretty close to normal. How can that be? I have tried to put Budweiser out of business since I was 18 years old. Maybe my genes have blessed me. I may not be tall, I may not have a 10.5 inch cock, but my liver is still hanging in there.
So David, I don’t think that you even remember me. I don’t think that I even registered on your monitor. I was just one in a number of pussies that crossed in front of your angry eyes. However, I do not want you to die. I will probably pray for you tonight too. John Lennon said that life begins at forty, and although you are probably forty two by now, I have hope that it could begin for you too. I am a late bloomer myself, and I can appreciate how long it takes for some flowers to realize that they are not weeds. Forgive yourself, just think of all the bullying you could do.
He eventually got canned from the DQ, when the boss, Doug Sams caught him inhaling the gas off of the top of the whip cream cans. I was not sorry to see him go then, and I don’t know if I am sorry to see him go now. I was, however, was not happy to hear the news. I guess I grew up. It happens. David’s mortality just reminds me of my own.
His liver shut down. He actually drank so much that his liver called it quits and his brain was shut off for eight minutes or so. The docs don’t know if he will recover, and if he does how much brain power he will have…80% or 0%, the brain is not an organ to fuck with.
I am still in disbelief. He drank so much that he shut down major organs. Now that is a Chris Farley or John Belushi type of indulgence. This is not the first time that I have heard of young people keeling over because of drink. Urabadcat told me that she had a friend that died at 34 because of drink. Another friend of mine, C introduced me to a girl that was dead less than a month from the day I met her, from drinking. C told me that she had Hepatitis, and was as yellow as a legal pad, when she finally let go.
You would think that all this death would discourage me from drinking. Hell no. I love to drink. Keeps me sane; Keeps me going into work; Keeps me from jumping off a fucking bridge. I am no different than them, except that I must be in a different league. My doc says my liver enzymes are pretty close to normal. How can that be? I have tried to put Budweiser out of business since I was 18 years old. Maybe my genes have blessed me. I may not be tall, I may not have a 10.5 inch cock, but my liver is still hanging in there.
So David, I don’t think that you even remember me. I don’t think that I even registered on your monitor. I was just one in a number of pussies that crossed in front of your angry eyes. However, I do not want you to die. I will probably pray for you tonight too. John Lennon said that life begins at forty, and although you are probably forty two by now, I have hope that it could begin for you too. I am a late bloomer myself, and I can appreciate how long it takes for some flowers to realize that they are not weeds. Forgive yourself, just think of all the bullying you could do.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
A Bunch of Assholes
Welcome. It is a great word. It turns a house into a home and a stranger into family. A simple two syllable sound that is so easy to say, but so few people know how to wield it. It is an invisible force that can be sensed without a word being spoken. A feeling that says,
“Come on in”
“Get something to eat”
“Take a nap”
“Kick your shoes off”
“Take a shit”
“Make a phone call”
"Sit a spell"
I always felt welcomed at my Nanny’s house. She lived on Sloan Street, down in the Roswell Mill Village, in a little yellow house with brown trim. Three hundred and sixty five days a year, twenty four hours a day, she was always glad to see me. There was never a time when she said, “Doodle, would you mind coming back a little later, I am in the middle of something” or “I would ask you to have supper with us but I am afraid that we don’t have enough to eat”. Nanny’s house was a refuge. There simply was no safer place to be. She always made sure that you left with your stomach full, and your heart unburdened.
Now my mother on the other hand is a different story. Living with my father for sixteen years took its toll on her. A bitterness crept into her heart, and she began to feel the clock of life clicking away the years. I wish I had a dime for every time that I have heard her say, “I wasted the best years of my life on your sorry ass daddy”. Anything or anyone that she interpreted as an obstacle to her happiness was told that, “If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out”. Those obstacles were more often than not, my brother, my sister and I. We had the great misfortune to be teenagers when my mother took on her new militant view on life. If you came home five minutes late on a Friday night, you could, “Get the fuck out”. If she didn’t like the person you were dating, you could, “Get the fuck out”. If you did something to piss off her new husband, then you could definitely be sure to, “Get the fuck out”.
Twenty years have past since I was a teenager and I still do not feel welcome in her house. One year, while having Thanksgiving dinner at her house, my back suddenly began to cramp severely. The pain was so intense that I could hardly speak. I laid on the floor awhile while my brother pretended to be a chiropractor and waited for the pain to go away. It didn’t. Back in those days, I drove a big Chevy van with no windows, the kind preferred by ice cream men and kidnappers. It was a high ride, and both passenger and driver had to pull themselves up to be seated. I was in no condition to drive home that night, and Dolly, who stands a towering 4’11, could not even reach the pedals. I needed Mom to ask me to stay the night. The thought never crossed her mind.
“You’ll be alright”.
“You’ll be home before you know it”.
I have heard people say that you can never go home. I know that is at least true for me. The home that I knew has been broken since I was fifteen and it was a violent, noisy place anyway. It is funny to me that I have been made to feel more welcome in my friend’s homes than in the places where my mom or dad dwell. Rbutler’s mother and sister have always made me feel like family. “Come on in, there is cold watermelon in the fridge” or “RButler’s out cutting the grass, do you need a Co Cola?” It seems like such a simple thing, to treat a person with dignity:
-To offer them a seat in your home and not mind if they rummage through your old people magazines and tabloids
-To let them know that it is not the end of the world, when they accidentally knock over the $2.49 cent statue of the sad clown that you bought at Eckerds
-To let them stand by the fire when it’s cold and the fan when it is not
-To offer them a story and something cold to drink before they continue their journey
Making someone feel welcome is beginning to be a lost art, like letter writing. Our lives just keep getting faster and faster and the little things that put the “civil” in civilization get pushed to the edge of the road. Pretty soon we are all just a bunch of assholes.
“Come on in”
“Get something to eat”
“Take a nap”
“Kick your shoes off”
“Take a shit”
“Make a phone call”
"Sit a spell"
I always felt welcomed at my Nanny’s house. She lived on Sloan Street, down in the Roswell Mill Village, in a little yellow house with brown trim. Three hundred and sixty five days a year, twenty four hours a day, she was always glad to see me. There was never a time when she said, “Doodle, would you mind coming back a little later, I am in the middle of something” or “I would ask you to have supper with us but I am afraid that we don’t have enough to eat”. Nanny’s house was a refuge. There simply was no safer place to be. She always made sure that you left with your stomach full, and your heart unburdened.
Now my mother on the other hand is a different story. Living with my father for sixteen years took its toll on her. A bitterness crept into her heart, and she began to feel the clock of life clicking away the years. I wish I had a dime for every time that I have heard her say, “I wasted the best years of my life on your sorry ass daddy”. Anything or anyone that she interpreted as an obstacle to her happiness was told that, “If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out”. Those obstacles were more often than not, my brother, my sister and I. We had the great misfortune to be teenagers when my mother took on her new militant view on life. If you came home five minutes late on a Friday night, you could, “Get the fuck out”. If she didn’t like the person you were dating, you could, “Get the fuck out”. If you did something to piss off her new husband, then you could definitely be sure to, “Get the fuck out”.
Twenty years have past since I was a teenager and I still do not feel welcome in her house. One year, while having Thanksgiving dinner at her house, my back suddenly began to cramp severely. The pain was so intense that I could hardly speak. I laid on the floor awhile while my brother pretended to be a chiropractor and waited for the pain to go away. It didn’t. Back in those days, I drove a big Chevy van with no windows, the kind preferred by ice cream men and kidnappers. It was a high ride, and both passenger and driver had to pull themselves up to be seated. I was in no condition to drive home that night, and Dolly, who stands a towering 4’11, could not even reach the pedals. I needed Mom to ask me to stay the night. The thought never crossed her mind.
“You’ll be alright”.
“You’ll be home before you know it”.
I have heard people say that you can never go home. I know that is at least true for me. The home that I knew has been broken since I was fifteen and it was a violent, noisy place anyway. It is funny to me that I have been made to feel more welcome in my friend’s homes than in the places where my mom or dad dwell. Rbutler’s mother and sister have always made me feel like family. “Come on in, there is cold watermelon in the fridge” or “RButler’s out cutting the grass, do you need a Co Cola?” It seems like such a simple thing, to treat a person with dignity:
-To offer them a seat in your home and not mind if they rummage through your old people magazines and tabloids
-To let them know that it is not the end of the world, when they accidentally knock over the $2.49 cent statue of the sad clown that you bought at Eckerds
-To let them stand by the fire when it’s cold and the fan when it is not
-To offer them a story and something cold to drink before they continue their journey
Making someone feel welcome is beginning to be a lost art, like letter writing. Our lives just keep getting faster and faster and the little things that put the “civil” in civilization get pushed to the edge of the road. Pretty soon we are all just a bunch of assholes.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Where to eat in Atlanta.
Hey don't look at me that way ,I'm no Cliff Bostock, about to describe a meal while deriding the republican party, GW Bush and the Holy Church. No, just a short list for the less traveled in Atlanta, affordable eats for the working man.
A list in no particular order.
1) OK CAFE, yea you saw that one coming.Good comfort food, must tries include Grilled sourdough ham and cheese, pot roast, get the collard greens and a sweet potato with butter and sugar, and the ladies all dig the chicken pot pie with the letters spelled out in the crust.
2)The Collanade on Cheshire Bridge road, very old southern comfort restaraunt, favored by gays and old people, but hey ,they know where the good food is right?A huge menu that has something for everyone but wait till you get their dinner rolls.
3)Doc Chey's on N. Highland, fusion asian cusine with a kick, I like the chicken and broccli in spicy sauce and a cup of chicken cocanut soup, get adomomi soy beans for an appetizer.
4)Did someone say but yeh this is all good but where can I get tater tots, try the Highlander on Monroe and lookout for the blue plate specials.
5)Next door is Apre Diem,a good sandwich ,but try the pricey entrees, never been disapointed.
6)Find cafe Mambo for Cuban, they just moved ,but the Ropa Vejo, a shredded steak in garlic sauce and marinade, served with plaintains is awesome, ladies love the seafood though.
7) Nam on Buford Hwy is great too, a little more exotic than some tastes but the fish sauce is just right on everything.Prices are good too.
8)The Highland Tap, incredibly good food, a steak house of excellence, easily overlooked but a real treat ,$20 entress are common but worth every penny,a marinade pork loin you might fight over.
9)Fat Matts rib shack, never had the ribs but their sandwiches are really good , pork or chicken.Go before it's too late in the night so you don't suffer from the indifferent(blues)bands playing there that is so common to Atlanta these days.
10) The Olde Hickory House at Northlake,the oldest kind of BBQ, the best ribs in the world ,go on a friday or saturday for the best ones served.
OK I'll add more as I think of them.
A list in no particular order.
1) OK CAFE, yea you saw that one coming.Good comfort food, must tries include Grilled sourdough ham and cheese, pot roast, get the collard greens and a sweet potato with butter and sugar, and the ladies all dig the chicken pot pie with the letters spelled out in the crust.
2)The Collanade on Cheshire Bridge road, very old southern comfort restaraunt, favored by gays and old people, but hey ,they know where the good food is right?A huge menu that has something for everyone but wait till you get their dinner rolls.
3)Doc Chey's on N. Highland, fusion asian cusine with a kick, I like the chicken and broccli in spicy sauce and a cup of chicken cocanut soup, get adomomi soy beans for an appetizer.
4)Did someone say but yeh this is all good but where can I get tater tots, try the Highlander on Monroe and lookout for the blue plate specials.
5)Next door is Apre Diem,a good sandwich ,but try the pricey entrees, never been disapointed.
6)Find cafe Mambo for Cuban, they just moved ,but the Ropa Vejo, a shredded steak in garlic sauce and marinade, served with plaintains is awesome, ladies love the seafood though.
7) Nam on Buford Hwy is great too, a little more exotic than some tastes but the fish sauce is just right on everything.Prices are good too.
8)The Highland Tap, incredibly good food, a steak house of excellence, easily overlooked but a real treat ,$20 entress are common but worth every penny,a marinade pork loin you might fight over.
9)Fat Matts rib shack, never had the ribs but their sandwiches are really good , pork or chicken.Go before it's too late in the night so you don't suffer from the indifferent(blues)bands playing there that is so common to Atlanta these days.
10) The Olde Hickory House at Northlake,the oldest kind of BBQ, the best ribs in the world ,go on a friday or saturday for the best ones served.
OK I'll add more as I think of them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)