Daddy's Armory

Oh so many memories, It is so odd to me that so much life was lived before my younger brothers David and Jacob were even a blip on the screen. It is sad too, that they missed out on some of my best memories, although, knowing my family, they have been building quite a long list of their own great memories. This is why I am trying to keep this blog up and going, so they can read and get a glimpse of what it was like when us "older kids" were the pipsqueaks, when we were the ones in trouble all the time, when WE were the ones Mom thought would surely make her age far beyond her years. Today, a new wave of fabulous memories came back, and how 'I wish you had' been around to know all about daddy's Armory

The years we lived in Walpole NH, our Dad worked in the National Guard, he was one of a handful of people who kept a daily presence at the Armory across the river from us in Westminster VT. We knew the place well. We would visit him often, sometimes bringing him lunches, sometimes we stayed there if Mom needed to go somewhere without us. We were there on weekends, we knew the people that worked there, they were like our family. One in particular was Denise Mathieu's ..( I know I didn't spell that right!) He was a big grown up kid, he liked when we came in, and sat and used the computers, played golf with his putting green, he even took us out for Ice cream once in his new, white,  Toyota Supra, top down, just us kids, and Amy at the wheel, in his lap ... only on the back road of course. :D

We knew the grounds, the firing range downstairs, the Motor Pool out back where the tanks were, the woods all around, and the sand pits way way back down the dirt road, where they ran tank maneuverer's and had a little fun sometimes.

We had Hunter safety training there, Matt did Karate classes there. On Saturdays a club for RC cars met there and had races. We got to come sometimes and help with the pit crew, running into the track to remove dead cars, running for spare parts helping in the kitchen.

We did Christmas parties every year, someone was Santa, every kid got a gift. One year we even had an elf! The food cooked by the cook "Roollie" (that was his name right dad?) He could cook! To us anyway, :) We loved the buffet of turkey, gravy, potatoes, cranberry jelly, and the baked apple's wrapped in pie crust! SOOOO yummy.

When the guys had to go away for AT (Annual Training) every summer, they would be gone for a month or so. We had parties when they came home. We would wait on the overpass to see the convoy coming in on the interstate, we'd wave and shout, and then book it over to the Armory where we had a spread of food ready for the tired guys, and all the families dressed up and clean and itching to hug their soldier. They came in with a cloud of dust and a deep ground shaking rumble. Duec and a halfs, Humvee's, jeeps, and pickups. All painted in green forest Camo. rolling in on the dirt road. I can still feel the grit, and smell the diesel, as they rolled in, some parking in the armory, others out in the parking lot. The chaos of getting everyone there, and parked, and lined up and accounted for, and then, BREAK! They all run to the people waiting for them, the dusty green duffel's all get thrown onto the cement floor. The hats come off, and the jackets, and they eat, and wolf down food, and then, you can see all they want is a couch, and a nap. So then, we all take our soldiers, and their dusty, smelly green gear and head home. After a re-connect with everyone, and a change into non-army clothes, Dad would melt into a comfy surface and catch up on some sleep, while his gear aired out under and on the clothes line. To get rid of dust, diesel, and of course "chiggers" the dreaded bug Daddy was afraid to bring home from Texas. We played and ran and played for hours, re-enacting the stories he had told us of the trip he just took.

There were "tank Ride" days. Where Dad would invite the church to come over to the Armory for Tank rides. We did PT with the soldiers, we got free pencils and other ARMY gear, we played basketball in the indoor court, we gave tours, since we knew the place so well, we got to help with a lot of it. We watched soldiers compete in "gun assembly", showing us the importance of proper equipment care and readiness. Of course the big even was the walk down to the Motor pool. There sat the gigantic Tanks. Dad loaded us up on top and a sometimes, a few lucky ones got to ride IN the tanks. They drove to the sand pits, and took us on rides to rival any roller coaster. Up and down the hills of dirt, around and around, fast, slow, up and down. It was a rush, and so cool to be the kid whose Dad made it all happen!

One year they got new tanks. What an exciting day! We all went down to the Green Mountain RR station, which we had driven by dozens of times, and never actually stopped to wait for a train. This was quite a train! The newspaper was there, a little crowd of people, all waiting to see the new tanks. Eric, Matt and I put coins on the tracks, (we'd heard that when you did that, they get flattened by the train, but imagine, a train with 3 TANKS on it?) yeah they were pretty much destroyed.

When the tanks came in, on big flatbed cars ( i think?), they were tan, Desert Tan, the first time we had seen that. Up till the Iraq war, everything we had seen was green, this was our introduction to the tan that everyone now knows as normal. They were taken off the cars, or something, that part I don't remember. HOWEVER, I do remember them being driven down the streets of the small town Bellows Falls. What a sight it was! Little stores, and Victorian houses, people walking to the ice cream window, being passed by huge, new, tan tanks, rolling along to the Armory. We got to follow, in a caravan, very proud that we were involved in it all. Then of course, they had to go try them out! I remember a husband and wife TC and driver taking one out, with Katie and I along for the ride. The driver was going nuts, having a blast with it, testing it out properly, however, after one  particularly scary move, the TC (tank commander = his WIFE) yelled into the com, "Maybe you can slow down a little?"

driver "No way lady! I am the first one to take it out, i'm gonna put it through it's paces!"

TC = "Well be fore-warned, I have SGT Akins' Daughter and niece up here with me!"

He slowed down, a little, but not after an evil laugh. It was a Fabulous day!

I loved the smell of the place, motor oil, chalk dust, boot polish, coffee and diesel. The sound of the polished cement floors, the feel of the chalkboards in the classrooms with the movable walls and folding chairs and tables. The old wooden desks, the squeaky chairs, the glass show cases of trophies and medals and plaques and newspaper clippings, all documenting the history of their division.

This is probably the reason I love trucks, and loud engines, and the smell of diesel. This would be the reason behind my wedding limo actually being a green Camo HumVee. When we moved to Rutland, although I visited the Armory where Dad worked several times, and appreciated the same feel of the place, it was never really "Dad's Armory" to me. I do remember when they got a new HUM-Vee though, he brought it home, much to our glee, and decided, since we live in the woods, what better place to test it out? SO, much in the fashion of the old days, he loaded us up, and took it for a spin. It was a flashback to days gone WAY BY, and then, when he let Eric, (newly enlisted? Private Atkins? Sooo long ago!) take the wheel, it was a jump to the present, and a little sad, thinking about how much was changing, but, not so very much different, and still, how much I missed those fun days exploring Daddy's armory.

Ice Skating

As I sit and watch the Olympics, and anxiously await my favorite sports, mostly the figure skating events. This year has been the best in a long time, as I am online and can chat with my cousin about the skaters, and the routines, and the costumes, and of course, how much we love Scott Hamilton. :)

Ice Skating has been a passion for most of my life, thankfully, Eric, Matt, and even Amy all shared the love for the sport, along with my siblings, I had Katie and Chris, and most of our friends, most of the winter was spent watching the weather, looking for good ice making weather, so the ponds would freeze solid, then enough time to get out and shovel them off, before the snow sat on them too long and pitted the surface. If it got warm, we would hope for a quick melt then a fast solid freeze again ... like we really had ANY control whatsoever. :)

When the Olympics came around we were ALL ABOUT the skating, we knew each skater, their strengths and weaknesses, we knew where they stood in the ranks, we knew how the scoring worked, we spent hours talking about it, reviewing the performances the next day as we skated in the cornfields and tried to imitate their talents.

There was a rink, about 30 minutes south in Brattleboro, there were Saturdays where we would all go for "homeschool skate" a time where it was mostly "us" as in, all our friends, skating together, on BIG real ice, it was fun. Mom usually left us there for several hours while she shopped or relaxed, :) we skated the day away, once a week, for about two to three months.

Then, Eric got his license, and it got kicked into overdrive. We got a years pass, then we went on Sat AND SUN, then we went on Wednesdays, pretty soon, we were there 5 times a week, Mon-Wed-and Fri nite, then saturday afternoons and sunday evenings. We knew the people who ran the place, we knew the skating guards, we knew the regulars, well, we WERE the regulars! They started letting Eric, Matt, Chris Katie and I skate from 9-10 for the "adult skate" on Sunday Nights. As long as we didn't go nuts, or get too loud. On nights when it was basically just us, they would even play our music for us, and we did our "routines" to it.

In those late hours, we learned SO much! We skated with instructors, who saw our love of the sport, they would coach Katie and I on the finer points of footwork, and how to do a few simple jumps. They gave us a wide berth to practice speed and spins and crazy moves. It was so much so much fun!

Eric would come home from work, tired and exhausted, and eat dinner, and pile us in his little ford escort, and drive an hour each night in snow and sleet and freezing temps, and never complained, he loved the sport, and if we did too, then more fun for all of us. Often on Sunday nights and sometimes Saturday afternoons he would take us through the drive through at McD's and we'd fill the tiny car with the smells of sweaty smelly skates, warm wet mittens and fast food. All the while, U2 is cranked on the radio and we are singing at the top of our lungs.

We had our mishaps, one 'near miss' speeding warning one late night on RTE 5, some run-ins with the skating guards over our speed on the ice, some personnel issues with some of the regulars, practical jokes going back and forth with Matt, myself and the snack shop dudes **I think though, it was Eric who switched the Coke and Root Beer soda tanks on him one Saturday heeh classic!** , and of course there were the injuries.

We were FAST, and we were trying tricks people practice for years, we were just throwing ourselves into these jumps, and spins, and we even tried some of them in Hockey skates. THAT may have been a bad idea. :) I tried a lutz jump one Sunday night, in Hockey skates, and it is a jump that requires having toe picks, so, NOT having those, i went UP and then came DOWN, and landed on ONE knee cap, all I remember is coming down, thinking ... "hmm not a good thing" the next thing I know, I'm laying flat on my back, looking up at everyone who had been skating,now surrounding me, looking at me like i was dead. Seems the sound my knee made hitting the ice, stopped everyone in their tracks, so, i was the only one who didn't see my fall :D

Eric, being the good big brother he was wanted so badly to call the ambulance, but I was dumb and stubborn and wouldn't let him I thought I would skate again that evening, I had 2 1/2 hours to go, I'd be fine......... or not :P It swelled so big, I almost cut my jeans off that night it was so hard to get them off, and it didn't go all the way down till late spring. oops!

Our entire lives revolved around skating, in the winter, we lived at the rink with our skating friends, and we loved it. Katie and I bought professional leather figure skates one year, and nursed blisters for a whole year to break them in. In the summer we spent our time trying new jumps in Rollerblades, trying to work on our footwork, and saving for new skates, I had the professional leather ones, and then of course being a tomboy, had to get authentic hockey skates too!

When Eric left for the Army, it was never the same, partly cause it got WAY more expensive! with the pass, and the gas, and food! ALso, he was such a big presence on the ice, the kids in the rink LOVED him, they followed him all across the rink. He skated on hockey skates like they were figure skates, and part of his body, it was artistic. Even now when I hear U2 songs, I see him skating to it and doing air guitar with a trail of little kids imitating his every move.

It was more than skating, it was bonding, with our friends, and mostly the three of us older siblings. When Amy was able to come, i know she felt so grown up, and loved the time in Eric's car, with the music, and singing, and of course the happy meals he would buy her.

Skating will always be a love of mine, every time i get on the ice, I feel the chill, and the rush, and I want to go fast, and dance, and jump and then i realize I'm 15 years older, and not as practiced, and then there is that knee, with the cracked knee cap, heh.

How I wish you could have been part of our Skating Days, I know I treasure the memories, they will be the stories I tell for years, and never tire of. :)

Roanoke

Many many ...oh many years ago, we used to travel to Roanoke Virginia on a fairly regular basis. See, that is where our family lived. Meemaw and Papaw lived there, Uncle Jack and Aunt Judy lived there, along with a smattering of other family members who always showed up to check out the next generation of "Atkins' Kids" It wasn't the best place in the world to vacation, nor was it always the easiest family visit of the year, but it WAS family, and I have many fond memories that I would like to share with the younger set of my family who missed out on knowing these folks as well as i did.
The apartment I remember was small, dark, near a fire station, and had a LONG narrow staircase. The bathroom I remember had a very old, deep clawfoot tub. It was HOT, box windows fans will take me back to that place every time. :)
We were always greeted with Hugs, and the smell of something wonderfully southern cooking for dinner. There was a certain scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke, grease, and sausage gravy. It was wonderful to me, it meant i was with Meemaw, and Papaw, and Uncah Zak! I was one of his favorite kids, he loved to swing me around by arms and give me airplane rides, which I am pretty sure Mom scolded him for, since he DID do it in the hall pretty close to the steps.:)
I remember fishing, Dad and Jack went fishing, and sometimes we got to go. I remember walking to the corner market with Meemaw, and being in awe of "city life".
I remember two pictures on the wall, of my twin Aunts, not that much older than me really, I would try to remember meeting them, imagining where they were, what they were doing, amazed by tenia who was in the Navy. I didn't know girls did that! :)
I remember playing yahtzee, lots of coffee, and Papaw "bein' crazy" as meemaw would say. He just wanted to show Eric how to target shoot. Guess she didn't like him doing it into trash cans in the alleyway two stories down. :)
Lots of my memories of them there are fragments of moments, little things, smells and words. Whenever we play yhatzee, or sit around drinking coffee and tellin' stories, when i make a perfect batch of buscuits or fabulous sausage gravy, i think of them. Meemaw would be proud, papaw woudn't tolerate that, Uncah Zak would be laffin' When we played Yhatzee, Meemaw, when she got a good roll, she'd say "thank ya" Dad and papaw would get "all fired up" over how "some people" grouped cards in Gin Rummy. Unle Jack would just laugh.
We lost Uncah Zak last week. SO sad, and sudden. I kept seeing his laughing face, hearing his raspy voice on the phone ... "Hey Sara! This is yer Uncah Zak! How's mah Princess doin?" Roanoke feels a little empty now, we were there, and nothing is the same to me, except ... the star, on the hill. A big white star sits on the hill illuminated every night. SOme things don't change.
As we went our ways one night this weekend, My cousin Patrick and I had the same thought. Meemaw and Papaw and Jack, they were in heaven, with endless coffee, and probably just breaking out the yhatzee dice.

Flowers by the wayside .....

My son calls me impatiently from his car seat ..
"Mommy! What are you doing?"

That's a good question, WHAT am i doing?? I'm wading through waist high weeds, I'll probably go home with ticks, or worse, poison ivy! UGH. Then, i see it, the reason I am here ..... and I laugh, as a memory comes spilling over me.

Many many years ago, how many exactly need not be said, however, it was the year I graduated from High school, I also sat in a car, calling to my mother,
"MOM! Are you for real? Will you get in the car? This is nuts! People will see you!"

See, I was home schooled, and that makes my "graduation" something unique. I was the only member of the class of 1995. I also didn't really finish till sometime in June. So, my party was July, with a lovely 4th of July theme. My parents still had two kids in school, and two more upcoming, and the oldest ready to go into the Army. Dad was a full time National Guardsman, Mom was obviously a full time stay at home mom, and schoolteacher. Money wasn't something that flowed in our house, we were creative, we made every penny stretch.

So, when it came to decor, and flowers, My mother had a brainstorm. Somewhere, in the fields below My dad's Armory, were huge patches of Black eyed Susans. Wouldn't they be lovely with the red white and blue? Oh yes, they will, lets go get some!

This is how I found myself sitting in the van, with the patience of an 18yr old who thinks she is the smartest most important person alive, totally embarassed by my mom, wading out into the knee deep weeds, and coming out with armfulls of flowers. Stalks nearly as tall as her, with the roots and all still attatched. SHe dragged them over, and put them in her nice new van, dirt and all.

As we drove home, she with a VERY smug smile on her face, and me shaking my head and giggling, she told me a story, about HER mother, my Nana. My Nana was a lover of flora, she could grow anything, she loved beautiful flowers, and she rarely denied herself. She had a habit of driving along, seeing flowers she liked and hoping out of the car to pick them. Wild or not, they were beautiful, and she wanted them in her house. LOL The ones I remember were Cattails and Pussy willows, she showed me the places to go to find them, and how to pick them.

My Graduation Party was perfect, and the table was lovely, all red white and blue, and splashed with the bright yellow flowers. I will never look at them without thinking of that day, and My mom. I guess it's where I got the "bug" for flowers, for wild ones, I guess it's why I find myself out in this feild in late July,picking these black and yellow flowers, as my children sit and wonder why their Mommy is nuts.

Even for my wedding, the church was decorated with flowers grown in a friends garden, specifically for the event. Recently i heard a rumor that my mother stopped on the way to the annual church campout, with my cousins little girl in the car, welcome to our family heather! See, you can't pick the flowers in the state park, you get in trouble for it, My sister found THAT out. So, my mom stopped on the way, by the side of the highway and picked a little bouquet for her Campsite picnic table. The funny thing was, this story was forming in my mind the week before, and when I got to camp and heard the story, I was convinced this had to be documented. It doesn't seem this trend is ending anytime soon.

Florida ....part one.....

Huh, i looked up this car model, and now it looks REALLY old LOL. AT the time however, it was fabulous, shiny and brand stinkin new. :)
So, anyway, we went on a trip once, a long time ago, the summer after Amy was born actually. Mom, Eric, Matt, Baby Amy, Aunt C, Kate, Chris and myself, all piled into a wagon much like this one, with leather seats and NO air conditioning, and headed down to Florida to visit out Grandpa Varnadore. (oh and it was August, with no AIr conditioning, but not that we knew we were missing it..... more on that later....)
So, a day or so or a few before we leave, one of the Dads is driving around with the car top carrier on, and a sudden gust of wind whipped up rte 12, along the river, and the top of the carrier flew off the car! Thankfully it didn't hit any other cars, however, it went for a swim, in the river, down the bank, it landed and floated away. FANtastic! Oh well, good thing Uncle CP is the Tarp king, we had to tarp and bungee the thing shut, and every stop, at every hotel, we undid it, took everything inside, and prayed it didn't rain. :)
It took us 3 days of driving down the eastern cost. We went through every state i think, we collected coloring books from each rest stop, i think we took pictures of us at every welcome sign or something like that. I don't remember alot about the driving itself, except that it was HOT, LOUD and leather seats were icky. I'm sure we did a fair shae of complaining, but someone commented that
"At least WE can open the windows! Look at that big car, they have to drive with the windows shut, imagine how hot they must be!"
It was then explained to us the wonder of Air conditioning.
The third row of seats sat backwards, so we all took turns sitting back there. That was the best place to sit! No baby, or annoying little Matt to bug you, it was harder for the Moms to see what we were doing, heeheheee, and you could throw paper airplanes out the window, and watch where they landed. Apeparently that's a little dangerous.
i remember at one stop Mom was changing the wee one's diaper on the front seat and mom turned away for a split second, and the little twerp rolled over, right out onto the pavement! Yeah, pretty sure she fell on her head ... explains alot huh? heeheehehee
I remember the Georgia welcome center, the big brick sign that had Cacti all around it. Mom Trying to take a picture of us all sitting on it, and then Mat falling backwards off of it, into the Native Shrubbery. OUCH!! That wasn't comfy with leather seats either :P I remember the Florida welcome center, and how they gave out OJ in little paper cups. I remember driving through Naples and stopping somewhere in toam, and seeing coconuts in palm trees towering over the cars parked along the street. Wondering if their car insurance covered falling coconuts.
I remember the feel of Grandpa's house. It was small, dark, a tad stuffy, low ceilings, and in the back yard, fruit trees. Limes, lemons, ornages, grapefruit, i think, lol all growing outside, pretty cool! it rained once every day, and after the rain, the newts and geckos came out to warm up and sun on the steps.
..... we had survived the three day trip, we were in Florida, and had many adventures ahead ....

to be continued........

Of Military Packing Habits

There is something intrinsically comforting about the smell of black shoe-polish, I have decided. When I was younger, dad was still in the National Guard, and while he never went overseas when I was around, there were still many long journeys to distant states for prolonged periods of time, for training, schooling, training others, and other things regarding the care, keeping and proper usage of large metal tanks. Dad became quite the expert on packing for these ventures, slight OCD and meticulous care serving him well in a military environment. He knew every trick for saving space, packing exactly what he needed, and had the whole process down to a flawless routine.

When I was quite small, I found this routine absolutely fascinating. I would watch as well-worn grey and white t-shirts got rolled up into neat rolls, everything that was in green camo flat and folded and packed neatly away. When dad brought out his shoe-shining kit, I’d be sure to have my little black mary-janes ready for him too, waiting alongside his big black combat boots. We’d usually had something on tv…Jeopardy, or Austin City Limits, depending on what night it was. And while country music played, I’d watch dad carefully shine his boots. When I was really little, I would pick out one of the rolled up t-shirts, and pretend it was a baby doll. When I was a little older, we’d try to see who could answer the most questions on Jeopardy. And the next day he’d be gone for a long time, and we’d all be a bit glum. But I always looked forward to the night before he left, and I always knew that no matter how long he was gone, he would still come home again.

A week ago, I found myself at the commissary again, buying those ever-familiar grey PT t-shirts, only now they said NAVY across the chest instead of ARMY (“I can’t fold over the R to make my name anymore!” “…What?” “Long story…”) . Whites and new running sneakers and many socks followed. A can of Kiwi black shoe polish was tossed into our cart. Ah, old friend, how I’ve missed you. That evening, I sat cross-legged on the floor of our apartment, helping Rick pack up his sea-bag. A.F.I was playing on the laptop and we were quizzing each other on obscure movie knowledge, as he polished his work boots, and I rolled up t-shirts. At one point, his friend James came by to pick something up, and saw me folding. “Wow, you’re good at that.” To which I responded, “I learned from the Master.”

That night the Husbot set out everything he would need for the next day, work uniform, watch, freshly polished shoes, socks, all in order where he would remember them. The next day he would be gone for a long time, and I’d be more than a bit glum. But I am comforted in a manner most familiar. I know that no matter how long he is gone, there will always be a meticulous shoe-polisher coming home to me.


~ Amy

Grandpa George

I wish you all had known my Grandfather Atkins. Actually, I wish I had known my Grandfather Atkins. He died when my father was still a young boy in 1938. I was named after my grandfather, George Clyde Atkins. George, I can handle, but the middle name of Clyde never did give me a “warm fuzzy.” I always thought of myself as a camel, from a popular song back in the sixties. I guess I resented being the kid that had to carry on the name for family’s sake. However, as I grew older, my opinion started to change.

The family, uncles & aunts, would visit and tell stories about my grandfather that would interest me. Such as examples of his honesty, or perhaps his work ethic which was certainly worthy of admiration. The stories that would interest me most were about the way he provided entertainment for the small community in which he lived and worked. He worked as a foreman on a modest but successful farm in rural Virginia. In the evenings families visited their neighbors more frequently than they do now. There were no TVs, or Stereos. Most families in the area were too poor to afford movies or dinning out. Even if they could afford it, such places weren’t available around Porter’s Crossroads, VA.

When families would visit my grandparents they would always ask my Grandfather George to tell them about the latest novel he was reading. From what I understand he had an appetite for reading the frontier novels of Zane Grey that was never satisfied. So he would tell the story. “Riders of the Purple Sage,” “The Last Trail,” and many others were always told with an intensity that kept listeners on the edge of their seats, even if they had heard his telling of the story before. Folks would listen for hours I’m told. One night he provided a special treat, according to my Uncle Jack,as he had just finished the novel “Tarzan.”

I came across some information about my Grandfather from an unexpected source one day. I’m sure it is the most precious bit of knowledge I will remember. I was seventeen years old at the time and very much into myself. The year was 1968. Integration in the Public Schools in Virginia was still something new that both Black and White kids were trying to get used to. I do think the kids were doing better at it than their parents, but that still remains to be seen even today. Anyway.

I was hitchhiking to football practice one day in the summer prior to the school year starting, when an elderly African-American couple stopped to give me a ride. I got into the back seat beside a young lad my same age who just happened to be member of the school basketball team, as well as a friend of mine. It turns out that the couple was his grandparents, so introductions were made.

The elderly gentlemen then asked me, “You must be the grandson of Mister George Atkins, correct?” I told him that I was, but that I never knew my Grandfather. He said, “I knew your grandpa, you should have known him, he was a good man.” He told me how his father and family would buy livestock in Wytheville. It was about a sixteen mile trip over a mountain trail. They would herd their horses and mules and drive them over the trail. He said, “We would always make sure to see that Mister George could go with us. Mister George would tell us all the stories that he could remember and we all laughed and had lots of fun. The trip always seemed too short. But the real reason that my daddy wanted Mister George with us was because he knew them White Traders weren’t going to try and cheat us with Mister George there.”

Nowadays I sit around and read Louis L’Amour or, perhaps, study my drama script. I think of how nice it would have been to have known and shared my Grandfather with my own family. But then sometimes I wonder; maybe my name isn’t all that I got from my Grandfather. I no longer despise my middle name, I’m thankful for it. I pray that God will let me live up to it.

Written by George Atkins 1-17-2008