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9th Corps


notinKansasanymore
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Speaking of plumbers, they've filled in the trench (sorry Tommy!) and gone away. They were very nice. The yard cats are very confused. The children and the house cats spent a little time at the window today, staring wistfully out at what used to be a grand view; then, they sighed, turned around, and went back to a normal life, as children and cats without the Grand Canyon to gaze at, in the back yard.

Youth, and great trenches, are so fleeting . . ..

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Miss Young&Firm, so maany memories. I can see, smell, hear, taste and almost touch so maany scenarios while we were incarcerated at multiple rut locales.

The stairs leading downstairs in the BRC

The bathrooms and water fountain right by the top of those stairs.

Even the flooring there.

The kitchen downstairs where Jon Mahoney would give me treats at 5am.

Those double doors out the lunch room downstairs, where we exited on Sundays to pick up our gorp packs.

The family-style tables, where the way plumbers, following brother Buddy Curry's lead, would scarf most of the main dish before it was lovingly passed to me (Simon, please start the condiments).

The slack shop in Euphoria, the soda machines, where I would set a few little corps gals up on top of after they were done with setup.

"VIP Row" on the main level of the campus center, to the right as we entered for meals, where were the bathrooms where I saw our fodder in the vaudeville setting comfortably, lightening his load, with HA standing at the open door to the stall, just waiting to "fetch" whatever is was the MOG happened to need.

And who can forget the looooong nights upstairs, where our own Lenny would share his heart as we lifted him in perfect hate, that he would come to an end.

Owens Hall, where our beloved Davis and Dana and Frank, you're too fat, and others lived and moved and had their being, exhibiting agape at 3am by putting vasoline on the door handle, taping the light switch down and starting a wonderful Kirby so as to gently awaken the saints from their restful 2 hrs of sleep.

Floyd Trishop leading us into the "all truth" of fatness for loving, downstairs in Kenyon, smelling the coffee burning from the nearby office of the sanctified Blast Patrol.

Devine Design sharing the same area with WayMart and Refractions just overhead.

Need money? No problem. Just visit our brothers Michael Kawolic and David Wahl in Finance, who met into our boosums, pressed down, shaken up and rolling over. Take out a loan for tuition at 0% interest. Then head over to LCM's apartment for an enjoyable time of fellowship, fun and heartfelt sharing.

Ahh, so maany things I miss.

But most of all, I miss standing outside waiting for something to begin, marvelling with you guys over the spirituality of our fearless leaders, and how blessed we were.

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Ahh, Tuttle! You bring a tear to my eye.

You wonder what you can say to your people at a time like this.

I think that we need another Ice Cream Bowl.

Oh, and Exie: the outdoor cats are feral and wild; they stay outside all the time. We've offered to let them in, but they know a good deal when they have it; food, medical care, and the whole outdoors to play in.

The indoor cats never, ever go out; two are declawed on the front, and the third was a little crippled thing that used to be in the feral cat family; we brought her in and had some surgery done; now, she's our little baby. She's too afraid to go out, but we'd never let her out, anyway, because we'd be crushed if she got lost. She couldn't survive out on her own.

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Simon when I got on greasespot this morning, I noticed you were the last poster on the 9th corps thread and just had thought going on my first thought what will this babbler say. Your Corpse to the bone putting others first. I forgot this is where we share hearts in this show and tell site.

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thank you for sharing that simon

plucking his eye out, he was offended by himself ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

oh simon i'm so glad you've been made whole which is able to save your soul

it woulda been hard playing ball like that

what a great caption contest but you'd probably get the finger !!!

socket to me baby !!!!!

no pressure ~ you kill me dipper

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I'm surrounded by boxes. Did I tell youse guys that we're moving a block down the street, at the end of the summer?

Leaving the asparagus bed behind.

Leaving the basement that we never use.

Leaving the wbole second floor that we almost never use.

Leaving the humongous house payment that we can surely use elsewhere.

Moving into the rent house (our renters are moving out at the end of the summer; he graduated from law school, and the Air Force is sending him off to be J.A.G. somewhere exciting in the world).

Kids won't have to change schools.

We will actually be able to save for retirement!

(Retirement: that's when we meet up with Fellowshipper in Australia and all go fishing together.)

For now, I'm surrounded by boxes. Fellowshipper; you're lucky that you didn't stop by to say "hello" the other day; I'd have talked you into saying "hello" to the piano that we were moving out on that day. It went to a graduate student. I've promised my husband that he'll never, ever in his life have to move another piano.

He loves me for that.

One more week of school for the kids.

I'll never get it all done.

Makes me think of George Henley's "Box Factory" story, but I can't remember how the story goes.

Any thoughts on it?

icon_biggrin.gif:D-->

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