<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394</id><updated>2011-09-22T02:46:57.461-07:00</updated><category term='Yes it is me'/><title type='text'>Thoughts From The Hilltops</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-1957094042622954996</id><published>2011-09-22T02:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T02:46:57.473-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Country, My Home, My Love</title><content type='html'>I heard many people say how thankful they are for the country they are allowed to live in and it warms me knowing that people have not died in vain to keep us free. I have seen, read and heard of attacks on our rights from people that do not understand and or accept our ways of life. I have watched many put on the uniform of this country and stand in the face of danger to protect it. World War I and II, Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq, and Afghanistan to name just a few. I listned to my ancestors when they told stories of attacks on our sovereign nation and could not grip to grip how a nation could do that to another. I heard stories of how the Native Americans once proud owners of this great nation had been sacrificed, dishonored, abused and herded like cattle to make room for expansion of what we know as the United States of America today.&lt;br /&gt;Then I grew up and realized that a lot of the same people that had given thanks for the freedoms they enjoyed had no concern for the ones that stood in harms way to protect them. I heard tell of veterans coming back from war and no one there to meet them, many ending up living alone and homeless. This tore at my heart as I was one that had been taught the great sacrifices endured to keep us free. I watched as civil servants in uniform turned their backs on the American flag that was in a parade just so they would not have to salute. I have watched as people have thropwn the flag on the ground and ground it into the dirt and even set it on fire in protest. I have seen people march in protest when things did not go exactly as they thought they should, not taking into consideration of what the decisions meant for everyone as a whole. The United States has transformed itself with the help of slef minded indivuduals from a nation of we to a nation of "I".&lt;br /&gt;My heart reaches out to the families, loved ones, friends and any others that have suffered the great loss of an American hero being shipped home after paying the ultimate sacrifice for this great nation. Many have sat and talked wondering to themselves and others why, why did their loved ones have to pay such a price when people back here only protested against them. At funerals of heroes, both large and small and i have personally witnessed protests calling the heroes, baby killers, war mongers, worthless, and bums. While I myself stand silent and proud and pay them the respects I was taught as I grew up. My heart pains for kids that lose a parent, parents that lose a child, a lover that loses their mate or a friend that never got to say welcome home to a close comrade. I ponder each of these and looking to the heavens I silently give thanks that I was one of the lucky ones that came back in one piece.&lt;br /&gt;As I sit and right this blog pain fills my heart and thoughts run thru my mind. I can see the injured laying on the battlefield, dismembered hereos laying in beds waiting their turn for parts that will help give them back some resemblance of a normal life. I watch as soldiers are rolled out the front door of a hospital in a wheelchair, knowing that they will never get to leave it for the rest of their lives. I then wonder why and how people can still stand and say they love this country as often as they do and then never reach out to give a hand to those that have defended them and it with honor and pride. No soldier that I know of ever asks for praise for doing what they do nor do they seek a reward for it.&lt;br /&gt;So the next time you feel the urge to acclaim your love for this country, those of you that protest and sit on your hands unwilling to reach out and help, stop and take a good look at yourself. There is one thing worse then not respecting others that do reach out or stand and serve is to LIE about what you feel for your country. There is no greater disrespect given to a heroes then to tell them you are proud of them and then turn and march in protest against the country they stood for. If you are a person that gets a warm fuzzy feeling when you say you love your country just to hear yourself say it, stand in front of a mirror and say it cause the heroes do not want to hear it.&lt;br /&gt;I will close this blog with a saying I was told by a very wise man many years ago: It takes an individual to stand up and ruin something mighty and strong but it takes a hero to stand up in defense of it. May God bless all those that have served, will serve and now serve in the armed forces of this great nation......"SALUTE".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-1957094042622954996?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/1957094042622954996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-country-my-home-my-love.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1957094042622954996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1957094042622954996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-country-my-home-my-love.html' title='My Country, My Home, My Love'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-7720799600879650660</id><published>2009-10-12T02:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T04:46:56.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making It....Part 2</title><content type='html'>***The soup was finally ready and I sat at the table inhaling the scent of its aroma. It would not be much as I have not had much to make it with but I closed my eyes and gave the blessings that I had always given before eating. On this cold and dark night I knew there were many people that were having a lot less then this if anything at all, and I was thankful. I brought my spoon to my mouth and took the first sip of the hot broth, feeling it slowly slide down my throat. It was not long before the bowl sat empty in front of me and I leaned back in my chair. I listened as the wind outside had picked up strength as it tossed the tall trees to and fro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***The raindrops were being slammed against the window as the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;storm&lt;/span&gt; was rapidly approaching. I could hear the violent hammering of thunder &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;preceded&lt;/span&gt; by the bright flashes of lightning. I got up from the table and placed my dish in the empty sink as I walked &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;into t&lt;/span&gt;he living room, going directly to the closet by the main door. I knew I had better pull out the hurricane lamps that had been handed down through the family for years and that I always kept filled just in case I lost power. Many nights these lamps had provided the only light in our house, when I was growing up. I raised the glass chimney and lit the wick, slowly lowering the chimney back in place. I walked over to my favorite chair and sat down, placing the lamp on the table beside me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***There in the quiet of my home I listened to the storm as the rain pelted the roof and windows. I wondered how others were doing and if anyone had issues caused by the storm. I had &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;alway&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;s been taught to reach out and help those that I could, giving them anything I could to lessen their plight. I looked at my watch and saw the hour was already late and I would need to be heading to bed soon as I had to get up and walk back to town in the morning for work. I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;reached&lt;/span&gt; down and undid my heavy boots and slipped my feet from them, the cool air of the house felt good on them as they had been confined in those warm boots all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***After a couple minutes it was off to bed and slipping under the down comforter that had been made for me. I pulled myself up from my chair, taking the lamp from the table, and walked slowly to the steps that led up the flight of stairs to my bedroom. Just as I stepped on the first step a huge flash of light and immediate sharp report of thunder rattled the house. The storm was on top of me now and lightning had hit somewhere very close. In a minute my house went dark as the power had gone out. I was thankful that I had already lit the lamp and my eyes quickly adapted to the change of light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***Soon I was standing in my bedroom and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;through&lt;/span&gt; the window flashes of light could be seen followed closely by rolls of thunder. I took a step towards my bed, stopping when something int he window caught my eye. I turned to the window and found I was not imagining things. there was a soft glow of light coming from somewhere outside. I walked to the window and looking outside horror filled me as I right away knew what had caused the glow. There surrounded by darkness was my garage, ablaze from what I knew had probably been that lightning strike I had heard. Pain filled me as I watched the building well on its way to destruction from the blaze. I picked up the phone and found that it was dead and there was no way to reach the emergency center for the town so the fire department could be dispatched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***I watched as the fire engulfed the garage, destroying everything in it. My heart felt empty as a lot of things past down to me by family members that had deceased had been kept in there. The roof suddenly collapsed, followed shortly by the walls of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;structure&lt;/span&gt; as it became a burning heap of wood and metal. I walked down stairs and putting on my coat I went out in the storm and grabbed the small garden hose laying beside the house. I twas not much but it would have to do as I just wanted to keep any hot spots from getting to the house. Hours passed as the fire slowly started to die out and I aimed the water spray over it slowly &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;extinguishing&lt;/span&gt; all that I could. I stood staring at the smoldering embers and small blaze that was left. I was thankful that the storm had passed as quickly as it had entered the valley and now it was time for bed. As I dropped the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;water hose&lt;/span&gt; and turned to walk back to the house I thought to myself, "What could happen to me next?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued.........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-7720799600879650660?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/7720799600879650660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/10/making-itpart-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/7720799600879650660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/7720799600879650660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/10/making-itpart-2.html' title='Making It....Part 2'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-5392592276340251964</id><published>2009-10-05T00:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T05:53:07.755-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making It</title><content type='html'>***I started on what would be a long walk home as my truck sat in the parking area of the local food market. I had tried and tried to start and there was something &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; wrong with it. I had wanted to trade it in before I had to end up putting major money into repairs but with my work hours being cutback I had to scrimp and scrap for every penny. Hard times had fallen all around and at least I could be thankful I still had a roof over my head, unlike some of the less &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;fortunate&lt;/span&gt; ones that lived in the valley. I had watched our once thriving community slowly dry up as people moved away in search of better times and more job opportunities. I had stuck it praying that one day I would awaken and this nightmare we were living would be over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***The cool autumn air was forcing its way down inside my jacket I wore. The soft gentle breeze on these cool mountain nights quickly pushed aside any body heat that one could generate unless they were dressed for the weather. The jacket I had kept in my truck barely served that purpose as the zippers was broken and the material worn some places already having holes &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;through&lt;/span&gt; it. I pulled the jacket tighter as I held it closed with my hand. I glanced down at the jacket that I had once worn proudly back in my school days. I could see the dirty school letters that I had earned, playing sports &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;throughout&lt;/span&gt; my high school days. The white leather of the jacket showed the grease, oil, water and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;dirt&lt;/span&gt; that had built up on it as I had used when needed for protection from nature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***I was walking up the last gradual incline to my driveway as I heard the distant rolling of thunder. With the rumble I walked faster as I knew I did not want to be caught out in an autumn storm at night on a dark and desolate road. Not many cars traveled this road and the ones &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; did took it for a race track through the mountains. I could just picture being struck by one of them, having not seen me because of the harsh weather. The incline was long and demanding but many times I had climbed it and this night would be no difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***I just turned on to my driveway and was taking the winding walk up to my dark house as a large clap of thunder sounded. I knew then that I had just made it home and would be able to close the house up before it started raining if I hurried. I was walking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;a little&lt;/span&gt; faster now and as I reached my first step up onto the porch a large clap of thunder and the night sky was lit up like it had instantly become daytime. Skipping steps I was quickly at my front door and unlocking it. The doorknob turned in my hand and I pushed the door open as I stepped quickly inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***The house was dark, yet I knew my way around inside as I had been brought up in it. I made my way over to the table lamp and turned it on, l&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ighting&lt;/span&gt; the room with a soft glow. I looked around and smiled, thinking to myself, "Yes, you are still &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;mine&lt;/span&gt; and no one or thing will ever change that." I then walked over to the fireplace and knelt down before it. It was not long before I had a fire roaring in the fireplace and the heat slowly chased the days coolness from the room. When the temperature was comfortable I finally removed my jacket and placed it on the coat hook, ready for the next days trip back to work. I would have to leave early and hope that some person driving past stopped and picked me up and gave me a ride into town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***I walked &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;into&lt;/span&gt; the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and took out some left over stew I had made a couple days before. I loved letting it it set and then reheating it as it always seemed to taste better the second time. I thought to myself how good the warmth of it would feel in my empty stomach as I had always passed up lunch to save money. I knew it was not a good idea but corners had to be cut and I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; let myself starve that was for sure. Anyone looking at me would &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;swear&lt;/span&gt; I was one of the best &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;nourished&lt;/span&gt; people they had seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to be continued..............&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-5392592276340251964?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/5392592276340251964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/10/making-it.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/5392592276340251964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/5392592276340251964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/10/making-it.html' title='Making It'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-1550711355210706202</id><published>2009-09-06T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T12:42:22.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unwanted News</title><content type='html'>She sat there &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;trembling&lt;/span&gt;, the words that she had just heard instantly dissolved her thoughts.  Could this possibly be happening or was it all a dream.  She could feel tears as they started to form in the corner of her eyes.  There was no way around it, the words had been real and yet numbing at the same time.  What she had feared for years had finally arrived and now she had a decision to make.  Was she going to stand up and meet it head on or was she going to pull herself back into a little shell and hide from it? &lt;br /&gt;****Her doctor sat across the desk from her in silence as he watched her expression.  He knew that what he had said to her were words that cut &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;through&lt;/span&gt; people sharply and each handled it in their own way.  Cancer was a disease that was treatable for some and terminal to others.  He knew in his heart that the disease she had could be fought and there was a chance that she could beat it.  However it was his job to prepare her for what lay ahead depending on the course she would take.  He knew that the decision would take a while along with a lot of thinking about her family and what effect it would have on them.  She finally looked up at him with a blank stare and he tried to think of words that would comfort her.&lt;br /&gt;****She slowly gathered herself and stood from her chair, running her hands down over her skirt smoothing the material that had ceased from sitting.  Finally she spoke in a soft and trembling voice, "When do you need my decision?"  He looked at her as he stood from his chair and walked around the desk to her.  He calmly took her hand and said, "Take your time, I know it is a big decision and one not to be made without thought."  She nodded and turned and walked to the door beside him.  He reached out and opened the door for her watching her leave his office and walk slowly down the long corridor that led to the exit.&lt;br /&gt;****Another life had just been altered by those very words that he had spent much of his career saying, "Sorry to bring you this news but your test have come back positive for cancer."  His heart was as heavy as hers now as he knew the crisis that she had felt.  When he received her tests his heart had sunk deep in him and he knew that telling her would take all the strength that he could muster.  He, better then anyone knew that those words had destroyed some and yet had made others stronger.  He sat there alone in his office now, his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks.  He wondered now what his mothers decision would be since he had just told her that she had cancer.&lt;br /&gt;****Many times in life we are asked to stand up and tell someone things that they do not want to hear.  No matter how big or how small we need to respect the pain that it may cause to the them and be willing to reach out a helping hand.  He now knew that he would respect whatever wish she would have and stand by her in strong support.  That is all one can ask from family and friends in their times of need.  The love of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;true&lt;/span&gt; support, never dictating or demanding, never questioning the rights and wrongs of decision one person makes in their battles for survival.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-1550711355210706202?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/1550711355210706202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/09/unwanted-news.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1550711355210706202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1550711355210706202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/09/unwanted-news.html' title='Unwanted News'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-6533374532840356491</id><published>2009-09-01T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T13:02:11.119-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tearful Years</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Sp119L4e-MI/AAAAAAAAABE/yppEK3VxCdA/s1600-h/2353683904_ce1c6bf39d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376583224172411074" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Sp119L4e-MI/AAAAAAAAABE/yppEK3VxCdA/s320/2353683904_ce1c6bf39d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can still hear the screeching pain of the braves as they were killed one by one in battle. I listened to the maidens who lost their husband in war. Lonely became the villages as all the young braves went off to fight for their right to live free and on their own land. Many people had come into their world and most of them were content on pushing them off the fertile land. Each day they could feel the pressure of the settlers that had come from far distant places as more and more &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; land was taken from them. No one cared that they had been on the land long before and even less cared that they were made to leave what they called &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****As each season passed them by, their food got more scarce and their land dwindled in size to what it had been. None of them could understand what happened, but they knew one thing. It would not be long before they were pushed out of their homelands all together and forced to live as herded brothers on a small tract of land given to them by some ungrateful nation. A shiver came over me as I sat there on the river bank remembering what it must have been like. No matter how I tried and no matter how much my heart pained I could never begin to come close to the tortured pain that they must have felt and lived thru. Why was there no justice for these people when they needed it most?I could not find an answer to that question and many others that had consumed me as I kept my heritage alive in my heart and in my every day living.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****Many of the desecendents dismissed their heritage as a curse or a load that they were not willing to carry through life. It pained me to watch their ancestors pass on and no one mourn their loss. I on the other hand begged and pleaded for my ancestors to feed my thirst for the heritage that was part of me. Nights and days would pass as they made sure that I not only learned but understood what kept them strong. For this I thanked them over and over. Now as I look to the heavens, sitting here near the babbling brook I can see the brave warrior tat was my ancestor. I know that deep in the heavens they were banded together now and watching over me, bringing me strength, courage and the will to be the best I could be everyday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****No words were spoken between us as I watched in silence. My heart and dreams remembering each and every one of them that I had the priviledge to know. A tear formed in my eye and quickly slipped down over the bronzed skin of my cheek. I raised my hand and in one quick swipe I removed it. There was no reason to be crying over my thoughts. I knew instead that I should be elated that my ancestors had helped me to remember and to respect those that had come before me. One more glance to the heavens and I nodded to the great spirit and softly whispered, " I will never forget, that you can be assured of." With those words spoken I stood and walked back to the house, went inside and closed the door on another day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-6533374532840356491?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/6533374532840356491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/09/tearful-years.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/6533374532840356491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/6533374532840356491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/09/tearful-years.html' title='Tearful Years'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Sp119L4e-MI/AAAAAAAAABE/yppEK3VxCdA/s72-c/2353683904_ce1c6bf39d.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-3005335034217303423</id><published>2009-08-31T06:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T06:34:23.382-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heroes One and All</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpvMthJRiiI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FvbdzxNWtbc/s1600-h/8ac6896122b4f94e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 135px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 111px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376115662560266786" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpvMthJRiiI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FvbdzxNWtbc/s320/8ac6896122b4f94e.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Each and every day heroes around the world answer the call of duty. Each and everyone with their own reason for wearing the uniform of the nation they serve. Taken from the safety of the shores that they called home they traverse the world when asked to defend theirs or other peoples beliefs. None of them do it with the thought &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; will be thanked when the task is completed nor do they really want it. All they want and expect is that they are respected for serving their country and the jobs they were asked to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;****No soldier puts on a uniform with the thoughts of how many people will they be able to kill or how many wars will they be able to fight in. They put on the uniform with honor and pride, knowing they are among the many that stand in defense of a nation that they love. Their pain comes when they see people that they defend stand in opposition against them, slandering them or protesting them. Pain comes when they have to carry the body of a fellow comrade under his nations flag, knowing that he paid the ultimate sacrifice. They still do not waiver in their service as they know and understand wars bring out more pain then most should be asked to bear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;****As I watch young soldiers head off to battle in wars that I don't understand nor sometimes I agree, my heart lays heavy inside of me wondering and praying that each will return to their loved ones when their mission is completed. I have walked the many hallowed grounds around the world where flags, standing by simple markers, wave in the breeze. These markers are for the many heroes that have given you, me and all others the rights and freedoms that we enjoy this very day. No one life more valuable then the other nor no one hero dead or alive more important then the other. In thanks we should stand and honor them and when passing should acknowledge each and everyone letting them know that we are more thankful then they will ever know for their service.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-3005335034217303423?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/3005335034217303423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/heroes-one-and-all.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/3005335034217303423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/3005335034217303423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/heroes-one-and-all.html' title='Heroes One and All'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpvMthJRiiI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FvbdzxNWtbc/s72-c/8ac6896122b4f94e.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-8569900326033405008</id><published>2009-08-30T01:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T05:44:05.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trail Walking</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Spo0nfojLlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/TBgAzykzy1U/s1600-h/fall-1-1024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375666958331227730" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Spo0nfojLlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/TBgAzykzy1U/s320/fall-1-1024.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The cool autumn breeze tugged gently against my skin as I walked along the one of the many winding trails around my home. I had always had a calling to nature and was glad that it had been fed and nurtured by those in my life that I had loved dearly. The sun was sitting high in the sky but the hot sun of summer had passed and now came the brightness of the autumn sun. I watched as the trail twisted and turned in front of me. Soon I was passing one of the many opening where long ago lumber camps had once stood. These woods a wild and long history of men that had worked in them and some that had given their lives deep inside them. &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****I could see some people coming towards me as they traveled a different direction along the same trail. As we passed each other I nodded my head to them and wished them a good day. It always made my heart pound with joy when I saw people enjoying the calling of nature as I did. Many city folks come up into the area during all times of the year. Many take to the numerous trails that lead into the deep woods of the Presidential Mountain Range, a part of the Appalachian Mountain Range that stretches up and down the eastern United States. Slowly I walked along the trail, stopping for a second by a babbling brook that came cascading down from the mountains to adjust the small backpack that was strapped to my back. I never carried water with me as I relied on the many brooks to quench my thirst when the need for a drink came to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****The days were shorter now as the long summer ones had passed and now the hours of daylight were adjusting as we headed for the coldest time of the year. The cool nights had taken their toll on the leaves that had once shaded the trail from the sky above. Now color filled the leaves as I looked on in awe, admiring the red, yellow, orange, and brown mixtures. Each tree had its own colors depending on species. This was a special time of year and like the other seasons I enjoyed this one as well for its own special reasons. Out of the corner of my eye I saw sudden movement and I stopped in my tracks. With a rustle of the leaves I large male deer leaped from the woods and now stood in the middle of the trail. There he stood in all his glory, his head held eye showing off the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;beautiful&lt;/span&gt; rack of antlers that had grown over the summer. I reached for my camera and quickly snapped a picture of him before he bolted into the woods and was gone from sight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****More and more people both local and tourists started filtering into the woods. This was a perfect time of year for picture taking or just enjoying the beauty that I called the color season. I looked at my watch and realized that the morning had silently passed and it was time for me to head home and get some daily chores done. I turned and walked back along the path from which I came until I was at my vehicle. A couple came to me and asked me questions about the area, which I was more then happy to spend time answering. I enjoyed seeing people interested in the area I lived as it had a lot to offer the mature lover. After we shook hands and I took their picture for them with the backdrop of the colors of autumn, I was in my vehicle and headed home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****I thought of the day and all the people that had crossed my path. I wondered if one of them may have been you and if not maybe in the future by chance we might cross paths on one of the many trails. So if you have not visited the area before or if you are a returning visitor all I can say is welcome to nature's beauty &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;as it&lt;/span&gt; will be unfolded in front of you. Until then I tip my hat and with a smile I bid you good day and may angels walk with you forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-8569900326033405008?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/8569900326033405008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/trail-walking-cool-autumn-breeze-tugged.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/8569900326033405008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/8569900326033405008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/trail-walking-cool-autumn-breeze-tugged.html' title='Trail Walking'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/Spo0nfojLlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/TBgAzykzy1U/s72-c/fall-1-1024.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-1310320761157984333</id><published>2009-08-29T08:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T05:27:44.934-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lake's Calling</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SplOw4jf6NI/AAAAAAAAAAs/VNB9RmbniGY/s1600-h/NH+Foliage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375414231965362386" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SplOw4jf6NI/AAAAAAAAAAs/VNB9RmbniGY/s320/NH+Foliage.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The cool depths of the mountain lake called to me on this hot summer day. I had been hard at work and my body was covered in sweat. Slowly I pulled my sweat soaked shirt up over my body as the material stuck to my skin. Finally I was able to pull it over my head and I tossed it on the ground behind me. Next I undid my belt and let my shorts fall down to the ground. Finally my work boots were undone and my feet bare as I was ready to take a plunge. Having been raised in the mountain. I knew that the rivers and lakes like this one afforded many spots where one could get a cooling and refreshing dip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stood on the flat rock that ran out into the water, looking into the lakes placid blue depths. Nearby I could hear the soft quacks of the local lake inhabitants. I knew the family of ducks were somewhere playing along the shoreline that they call home. Kneeling I reached down into the cool water and rubbed my hands over my body, readying myself for the plunge I was about to take. A quick shiver crept over me, soon eaten by the warmth of the summer sun that sat high in the clear blue sky. Suddenly I stood and as I ran out along along the rock knowing it was now or never. Planting my feet I dove into the water, my body rapidly encased by the coolness. Gently striking the water with my feet my long muscular arms pulled me along silently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was right this had been a welcome relief from the days hard work I had &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;endured&lt;/span&gt;. A moment that should and can be enjoyed by everyone that enters into the area that I call home. If not a dip in the public lake a dip in one of the many public and well used pools along mountain streams is just as rewarding. I continue my swim into the depths of the water now as my muscles welcome the coolness against them. Finally it was time for me to get out of the water and lay my body &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;against&lt;/span&gt; the flat sun warmed rock. Laying there I allowed my body to dry before getting redressed. As I laid there I closed my eyes and smiled knowing that someday I may even have the pleasure of meeting you the reader, whoever you may be, in the same lake or even along one of the many rivers. Until that time stay safe and may God watch over you forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-1310320761157984333?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/1310320761157984333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/cool-depths-of-mountain-lake-called-to_29.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1310320761157984333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/1310320761157984333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/cool-depths-of-mountain-lake-called-to_29.html' title='The Lake&apos;s Calling'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SplOw4jf6NI/AAAAAAAAAAs/VNB9RmbniGY/s72-c/NH+Foliage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-3165277975136731459</id><published>2009-08-28T04:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T05:38:03.482-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Yes it is me'/><title type='text'>Nature's Lover</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpfFrfChUrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Wm-Eu-UZugY/s1600-h/TMD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374982031147094706" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpfFrfChUrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Wm-Eu-UZugY/s320/TMD.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;As you can see I am a lover of nature. Here is one of my favorite spots where I like to come and clear my head of all the worldly events, (not many that make sense anyways). The river calms me as I close my eyes and listen to it flowing all around me. The clear deep pools reflect &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;back&lt;/span&gt; to me the image of a man that has weathered the course of his years and yet has not turned around when hard times were heaped upon him... I only ask one thing in life and that is others &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;respect&lt;/span&gt; my privacy as I would respect theirs. I hope this blog will become engaging and a place where we can share many thoughts and feelings. Feel free to post any comments you wish.....Oh yes one more thing..my spelling sometimes gets the best of me so forgive me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-3165277975136731459?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/3165277975136731459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-you-can-see-i-am-lover-of-nature.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/3165277975136731459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/3165277975136731459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-you-can-see-i-am-lover-of-nature.html' title='Nature&apos;s Lover'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpfFrfChUrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Wm-Eu-UZugY/s72-c/TMD.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2155804896764203394.post-8488164031523112741</id><published>2009-08-28T03:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T05:59:02.211-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A little about me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpeziSL6RuI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XqJdHUZIpzI/s1600-h/257_5717_std.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 256px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374962081868695266" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpeziSL6RuI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XqJdHUZIpzI/s320/257_5717_std.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am just a simple man living a simple life in the heart of God's country. Yes you heard me right it is truly the marvel of nature's beauty that surrounds me. I live in the heart of the mountains of the New Hampshire, encricled by the Presidential Range. My life is sometimes hectic and other times I use my hobbies to fill the void left after work. I love to dabble in the writings of both poetry and stories, which I freely share, and I understand that others will not always agree with my thoughts. I know that others will have different views of some subjects and that is why we are called&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;individuals. However, I do ask that you respect these writings as my thoughts and enjoy what I am willing to share with you. So in closing I can only ask you to stay tuned for my entries as they come to you slowly but surely....  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you are interested in reading some of my poetry you can proceed to the following link: &lt;a href="http://www.angelfire.com/nh/america"&gt;http://www.angelfire.com/nh/america&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2155804896764203394-8488164031523112741?l=thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/feeds/8488164031523112741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/little-about-me.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/8488164031523112741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2155804896764203394/posts/default/8488164031523112741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtsfromthehilltops.blogspot.com/2009/08/little-about-me.html' title='A little about me'/><author><name>Tall Mountain Dreamer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14409647890974551336</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5i0tMqH0n3Q/SpeziSL6RuI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XqJdHUZIpzI/s72-c/257_5717_std.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
