Get you visual DNA . . .

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To love me,

is to know me,

To be my friend,

is better then . . .

In the womb of a mother . . .

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What is a surrogate-mother? have you been a surrogate-mother? Do you know anyone that have been surrogate-mother?

In a periode in the midt 1980's, it was so much talking about that subject, but so it suddenly became very silent and at the ned, it shows that no one actually wants to be a surrogat-mother unless in maybe very personal, familiar situations.

So . . . what are "they" doing then, today?

I know how "they" get surrogate-mothers today. . . I have been used as a surrogate-mother.

Here is a parcel from my book; "Tell Me Who I Am"

. . . . . . . . . . . .

One day they came and collected me, after first having drugged me to sleep. I woke up in a hospital, strapped to a bed. For two years I was in this bed, strapped, fed by drips in my arms. They took a child from me every fifth month. Artificially inseminated or embryo-implant. After the fifth month, they could put the child in an incubator until it had grown enough to live. Between every new embryo-implant, they also took eggs from my ovaries. I asked them why the were doing this to me.
One of them answered: “No one wants to be surrogate mother. This is the only way. And everybody wants you to be the surrogate mother for their child.”
“But who take care of my children?” I asked.
He answered: “That’s not my problem. This is written in your destiny, that you should be a harlot. So, since you don’t want to be a hooker, we are only helping you, Kirsten. You have to follow your destiny.”
“My destiny . . . What do you mean? So far as I know, this has nothing to do with destiny; it has to do with your satanic organization.”
“No, Kirsten, read the Bible, and you will see . . . It says that you will be called ’The Big Harlot’.”
“The Bible . . . What has the Bible to do with it all?”
Well, I was thinking to myself, if the Bible and God have something to do with this kind of terror, then maybe I can ask God for help? I started to pray, and asked God to release me from this bed and the terror of it.
The same night, the straps suddenly opened up, I don’t know how, but I jumped down on the floor, tore out all the needles in my arms and looked into a locker. I found a nurse’s frock and a pair of sandals. I put them on and run out, just as a taxi was about to leave. I jumped into the taxi.
It was then I realized that I was not in my own country. The taxi driver spoke English. I asked him where I was and he told me New York. I told him to drop me off in one of the poorest suburbs. He drove me to a place and stopped the car and looked at me. He said: “I won’t go further into this place. From here, you are on your own. But be careful, because this area is dangerous. If you want, I can take you back.”
But I didn’t want to go back to any place. I wanted this area.
It’s easier to hide in a poor, overpopulated area. I paid him with some money I found in the pocket of the frock.
The whole night, I was walking the streets. I saw some people sitting around a small fire they had made in the corner of two houses. They had made some tea. I went down to them and asked if I could join them for a cup of tea. At first they though I was a cop or something, but after a while and a lot of talk, they accepted me as a friend in need.
The next day, I went to a bank and reported my Visa card stolen. It took two weeks before I got a new one.
In the meantime, I stayed in the poor area. One of my new “friends” took me to a kind of café where he thought I maybe could get some work. I asked for the manager.
When he came, I told him a bit about me and asked him if he could give work until the baby came. I also asked him if he had a place for me that I could rent.
He looked at me for a long time before he answered.
I got work in his café and he gave me a small place to live, in the poor area, as well as some used clothes I could wear until I got my Visa card. I cleaned up the one room and kitchen he had given to me.
He turned out to be very nice man. He helped me in all ways, so far as he could. In a strange way, I liked my new life in this poor area. I worked as a kind of waitress. The small café was very popular and always full of people. After work, I started to wash down the café. First I scrubbed the floor and the tables. I put a napkin on each table with a small vase with some flowers I had picked along the road and washed the windows so they sparkled.
The next day, when people started to come, they looked around and asked: “Why all these changes?”
I answered: “Only the best is good enough for the best people in the world>“
They laughed and one guy called Gunshot said: “So you think we are the best people in the world?”
I answered: “At least, the best people I have met.”
They laughed again.
One day, one of the regular guests came in haste to the café and said that there were some strangers in the area.
My boss told me to go to the kitchen and not come out before he told me the coast was clear. I went into the kitchen and tried to help washing some dishes, but I was so nervous.
By now, everybody knew my story. Some believed it, some not. But now, they all understood that these people were looking for me.
Suddenly, I heard me boss say: “Gunshot, can you please take Kitty to the vet? She maybe has eaten something which doesn’t agree with her. I’m afraid she’ll die.”
Gunshot answered: “Where is that fuck’n cat?”
I stiffened in the kitchen. I knew it was me they meant. They used to call me Kitty. I understood the strangers were inside the café.
My boss told him an address and at the same time he asked another guy if he could go and bring some vine from the cellar.
He and the guy came into the kitchen. He gave some instructions to the guy and gave me a sign to follow the guy down to the cellar. I felt numb and dry in my mouth with fear.
We went down. It showed up that the cellars of the buildings were connected with a door. We ran down the stairs and through a corridor, through a door to the cellar of the next house and up. The guy stopped me and signaled to me to wait while he went out to look if everything was clear. Outside was Gunshot with a car. He opened the door to the back seat. The guy came and told me to run fast into the car and lie down on the seat. I had hardly got into the car before he closed the door and Gunshot started to drive. After a while I peeped up, and could see that he wasn’t driving in the direction of my home.
I got scared and confused. “This is not the way to my home,” I said.
He looked at me and said: “Do you trust me?”
“Do I have any choice?” I asked.
He said: “Look, you are in danger, girl, and I am trying to help. I have a friend living outside the town up the mountain. I will bring you to him and you can stay with him until the people have left the area. But it will cost you some money. Do you have money?”
“How much?” I asked.
“Five hundred bucks. Do you have that?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I will try, “ I said.
He stopped at an ATM machine and said: “If you don’t have enough, give me what you think it’s worth to save your life.”
I got out $500 and gave them to him.
We continued to drive for almost half an hour, when he turned into a small road which went up towards the mountain. We drove up the road to the end. He parked the car and we went by foot, walking for another half an hour to a lake. At a small place beside the river was a small barrack. We went up and a man came out. I felt tired and dirty and asked if I could go to the river and take a bath. While I was at the river, Gunshot had a long talk with the man, who was called Hermit.
Hermit allowed me to stay with him for a while. His small home was only one room containing a camp bed with two foam mattresses upon each other, a small table, a stool and a small gas oven to make food.
Gunshot asked me what food I needed. I told him to buy the basic stuff, like flour, sugar, salt, pepper, rice, tea, coffee, potatoes and bread. He left, but came back again some hours later with a big carton full of food. Hermit took one mattress from his bed and put it on the floor by the short wall.
Hermit was a nice guy, we went well together. He didn’t talk too much, and every day he went fishing up the stream or hunted birds and rabbits. I kept the small place clean and made food.
One day, I went with him up the stream. While he was fishing, I went into the forest to find mushrooms and berries. After a while I could hear him calling me. I answered, but he continued to call as if he had not heard me and I noticed his voice got nervous. I ran out of the wood and he came up to me in a hurry and asked if everything was okay. I didn’t understand why he was so nervous and told him that I was only collecting berries and mushrooms.
He looked at me and said: “I have promised Gunshot to take care of you, and nothing must happen to you so long as you are here. I need no problems with Gunshot. Do you understand that? No one need problems with Gunshot.”
He had never said so much in one go before. I suddenly understood more than what he had said, much more. After that, I always answered and came out from the wood so he could see me every time he called me.
Gunshot came with new supply of food from time to time. He always asked me what I wanted him to bring the next time he came. Also once I gave him the key to my flat, asking him to bring me some changes of clothes.
One day he came and said: “You better come with me down again now, Kitty. I’m in big shit. They believed that I have killed you and want to call the police, if you don’t show up by tomorrow. They don’t understand that I only wanted you to be here until those people have left the whole area. They left our street, but they were in the area for a long time and asked around. Now there are rumors that I have killed you. This made the people leave the area, but I’m in big shit. So now, you go back for a while . . . Eh?”
I had stayed with Hermit for two months, and was afraid I would have lost both job and home when I got back. But it was all there. Everybody looked relaxed that I looked safe and sound.
I told my boss everything that had happened. When he heard I had paid $500 he shouted out that the bastard had ripped me off. I calmed him down and said: “Maybe it appears like that, but he saved my life, made sure that I was in a safe place, brought food once a week and . . . Maybe it was not so bad after all . . Eh?”

. . . . . . . .

You can read the rest of the story in my book . . . .

Tell Me Who I Am

You can get your copy of the book here,

click the link above

Good Morning . . .

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I'm Dorfus DippinChunks . . .

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Find your new name !

.....DON'T LAUGH UNTIL U FIND OUT WHAT YOUR NEW NAME IS ......

We all need a little stress-reliever! This only takes a minute. Please don't be a bore and ruin it. Sometimes when you have a stressful day or week, you need some silliness to break up the day. And, if we are honest, we have a lot more stressful days than not.

Here is your dose of humour...
A. Follow the instructions to find your new name.
B. Once you have your new name, put it in the subject box and forward it to friends and family and co-workers.
C. Don't forget to forward it back to the person who sent it to you, so they know you participated. And don't go all adult - a senior manager is now known far and wide as Dorky Gizzardsniffer.
D. The following is excerpted from a children's book, Captain Underpants And the Perilous Plot Professor Poopypants, by Dave Pilkey, in which the evil Professor forces everyone to assume new names...


Step #1:


Use the third letter of your first name to determine your New first name:

A = Snickle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . N = Sloopy
B = Doombah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . O = Fluffy
C = Goober . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . P = Stinky
D = Cheesey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Q = Slimy
E = Crusty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . R = Dorfus
F = Greasy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .S = Snooty
G = Dumbo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . T = Tootsie
H = Farcus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . U = Dipsy
I = Dorky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V = Sneezy
J = Doofus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . W = Liver
K = Funky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . X = Skippy
L = Boobie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Y = Dinky
M = Sleazy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Z = Zippy


Step # 2:


Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:


A = Dippin --------------------------------------------N = Rhino
B = Feather ------------------------------------------O = Potty
C = Batty ----------------------------------------------P = Hamster
D = Burger -------------------------------------------Q = Buckle
E = Chicken -----------------------------------------R = Gizzard
F = Barfly ---------------------------------------------S = Lickin
G = Lizard-------------------------------------------- T = Snickle
H = Waffle-------------------------------------------- U = Chuckle
I = Farkle---------------------------------------------- V = Pickle
J = Monkey -------------------------------------------W = Hubble
K = Flippin --------------------------------------------X = Dingle
L = Fricken------------------------------------------- Y = Gorilla
M = Bubble------------------------------------------- Z = Girdle

Step # 3:


Use the third letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:

A = Butt -----------------------------------------------N = Dunkin
B = Boob ---------------------------------------------O = Brains
C = Face ----------------------------------------------P = Biscuits
D = Nose ---------------------------------------------Q = Toes
E = Hump--------------------------------------------- R = Doodle
F = Breath --------------------------------------------S = Fanny
G = Pants--------------------------------------------- T = Sniffer
H = Shorts-------------------------------------------- U = Sprinkles
I = Lips -------------------------------------------------V = Frack
J = Honker -------------------------------------------W = Squirt
K = Head--------------------------------------------- X = Humperdinck
L = Tush -----------------------------------------------Y = Hiney
M = Chunks------------------------------------------ Z = Juice


Thus, for example, George W. Bush's new name is: Fluffy Chucklefanny.

A little Food for Thought:
Children laugh an average of 146 times a day.
Adults laugh an average of 4 times a day.
Put more laughter in your day.

This is the cosmic GOD . . .

This photo was taken by Neil Armstrong and crew, while they were on their way to the moon in 1969.

First time released to the world in 2000.

Something is changing in humans mind these days. All religions are about to dissolve in its own trash.
Even to use the name/title God seems to becoming troublesome for people.

God is an umbrella-word/title for the unknown, the unexplainable, the unexpected, the incomprehensive, the unpredictable force that shows up when we least expect it, when we hope it to happen and it does, when we need it to happen and it does etc.

What this force is, is not important. The important is that it is there . . . To help, to guide, to protect, to comfort etc.

If this force is an entity, a collective state of mind/wishes, one person’s state of mind/wish, cosmic waves or power that gets activated under certain kind of rites only shows the importance of that humanity, single or in groups, should take positive thoughts, speech and acts in their lives.

Obviously, humanity has a very negative conduct, both in thoughts and actions, since it seems that the world comes to an end in a very rapid and nasty way.

No one speak up about all the money used to go out in space, to find another planet to invade. Why don’t they use the money to research in; how to start cultivating the desert around the world?
No one say a word when food concerns throw away a lot of good food, instead of giving it to the needy/poor in the community or in the world. It is greediness that prevents them. “If you can not pay, you shall not have.” They don’t get any money for it when they throw it in the trash, anyway but if they had given it out free of charge to a poor community, they at least could save some lives.
No one say a word, when the medical researching research in how to create illnesses, for so also to make medication for the illness.
It would have been an awful world if we didn’t have illnesses, wouldn’t it? What should the medical care do then???
We can’t get enough of weapon, chemical and bacterial warfare products. That is more important than to use the money to ensure that everybody have a decent place to live. If you ask me . . . A place to live should be given out, free of charge to all new-wedded people.

We are busier with destroying what we have than to cultivate, purify, clean up, care for what we have.

The world today contains, sex, war and violence.
How awful it would have been in this world, if it was built on justice, care and security . . . Don’t you think???

The Journey of Loneliness . . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

My neighbor Arabia, called at the door and peeped inn. As usually we took a cup of coffee together after work. She worked at another school than me and we used to change experiences and ideas.

Suddenly she said: “I saw someone on my way to the bus today . . . close to the school. She was a beggar, but she didn’t beg or anything. She only sat there, looking out in empty air. I think it is something wrong in her case.”

“Like what?” I asked

Arabia answered: “I don’t really know, Kirsten. She looks foreign to me. Maybe she is a tourist who has gone lost. You know . . . That happens.”

I looked at Arabia . . . If she is there tomorrow . . . Bring her with you. Maybe we can help her to her embassy at least.”

The next day Arabia was later than usually when she rang the bell on my door.She was standing outside together with another woman. I looked at her, a little perplexed at first, before I asked them to enter.The new woman, I guessed was around 25/30 years old, tall, slim, light hair, blue eyes, pale complexion. She was wearing jeans cut off at the knees to a kind of shorts, black T-shirt without sleeves, no bra . . . and she was dirty . . . very dirty. Her hair was almost grey of dirt standing in all direction, her eyes was “dead” and dry and red-lined in lack of sleep.

I took her hand and led her to a chair as I looked at Arabia with questions in my eyes.

Arabia whispered: “She doesn’t talk. I have tried to talk to her, but she only stare out in the empty air. Maybe she is not normal . . . I think so, Kirsten. Maybe it’s better to call the police.”

I answered: “Well, let us see what a bath and some food can do with her.”

I went up to the girl, sat down in front of her, looked into her eyes and said; “ My name is Kirsten . . . Kirsten . . . What is your name?”

She only looked at me with eyes that didn’t “see” me. I made signals with my hands, that she should follow me to the bath, and I gave her soap, sponge and towel and signaled that she should take a shower and wash her hair.

She understood and I left her in the bath, to go and make some food.

Arabia went home and I was alone with the girl. When she came out from the bath, I signaled with my hands that she should come and eat. After eating and with a cup of tea, I tried again to come in contact with her. I signaled a question with my hands if she could hear me when I talked?

She nodded her head.

I asked: “Do you speak English?”

She only looked at me with empty eyes. I continued, now to look for any signals or movements in her eyes:

“Kalamy Arabee?”. . . . No reactions.

“Sprechen zie Deutche?” . . . . . No reaction.

“Habla Espanjol?” . . . . . . No reaction.

“Parle vue France?” . . . . No reaction

“Talar ni Svenska?” . . . She blinked with her eyes

“ Snakker du Dansk?” . . . . She looked at me and a hoarse sound came from her throat.

“Snakker du Norsk?” . . . . She started to breathe faster and looked at me.

I repeated in the Norwegian language: “Do you understand me now when I speak this language?

“She nodded her head and whispered: “yes, I understand.”

On her dialect, I could hear that she came from the vest side of the country. Maybe Bergen or Stavanger. I asked for her name . . . But it showed up that she didn’t remember any thing.

She didn’t know where she was or how she had come here.

Educated as an antroposoph (The study of the brain) I stated a “game” with her to find out her name. We should say names, what came to our mind, fast after each other.

I wrote down the names she said.

She had repeated the name Bente more than others . . . I asked her if she maybe named Bente? But she didn’t remember, so I told her that for time being, she named Bente until she remembered.

I asked where in Norway she lived, but she didn’t remember. When I knowledge her of her dialect, she only looked confused. I asked if she had someone we could call in Norway . . . parents, siblings, aunts etc. . . .

She didn’t remember. I had a “telephone-number-game” with her, where we said numbers after each other in rhythm. Again I wrote down all the numbers she said. At the end I had an A4 page full of numbers.

I knew . . . that among these numbers was a phone-number to someone who knew her. It was late, and I told her to go to bed and have some sleep.

“To morrow, you maybe will start to remember.” I said . . .

I called the emergency number of the Norwegian embassy and told that I had her and that I was about to find her relatives, but wanted the direction number to Bergen and Stavanger . . which they gave me.

The whole night I was sitting up, calling all the numbers she had said in different combinations. Usually I got the message from an automatic answering-machine: “You have called a non-existing number. Please check you number.”

5 o’clock in the morning . . . Suddenly . . . Someone took the phone in Stavanger . . .

A tired voice answered: “Hello”

I answered: “ Hello, my name is Kirsten Namskau and I am calling from Egypt. I am sorry to call so early, but please listen to what I have to say. If it is better for you, I can call later, at a settled time.”

We spoke at the phone for 1 hour to try to find out whether the girl was in his family or not. I told him to try to contact his daughter, who he believed was in Oslo and see if she still was there. I asked him to send some photos of his daughter and the family and gave him my address and phone-number so he could call later and talk to the girl.

If she was his daughter, her name was in deed Bente and was 29 years old.

When the girl woke up, her mind had started to work again. Still, she didn’t remember everything, but bits and pieces came all the time. I tried to put the pieces together with her like a puzzle.

12 o’clock the man from Stavanger called . . . I gave the phone to Bente . . . and they talked . . . for more than 2 hours. I could see in her face that she started to remember and that we had found her family.

It showed up . . . That some people . . . (The Norwegian Mafia) had kidnapped her, narcotized her, brainwashed her and brought her to Egypt in the trial of selling her as a sex-slave to some Arabs. (Something which is very common) But she had been too old and they hadn’t been able to sell her, so they only left her in the streets, to her own destiny. (20% of the poor people of Egypt are “lost” tourists. Like Bente.)

The same day, I took her to the embassy to get her a new Pass-Port. Afterwards, we went to buy a flight-ticket for her, back to Norway. She got a flight 14 days later, since we had to wait for the Pass-Port.

The next 14 days, I bought her some clothes and feed her up a little and tried to make it as a holyday.

That was like as well good for both of us.

Some years later, I met her again . . . In Stavanger.

She had recovered fully and was in work. Her father was a preacher . . . maybe his prayer for his daughter had been heard.

The prayers of saving her from “Hell and the demons of the life of sins”



God works in mysterious ways . . . She crossed my path and I got strong enough to be able to help.

God, give me something to drink . . .

The summer is coming and it is predicted that it will be the hottest summer ever . . .

Midt-Week Blues . . .

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Beer-prayer
*
Our lager,

Which art in barrels,

Hollowed be thy drink.

I will be drunk,

At home as in the tavern.

Give us this day our foamy head,

And forgive us our spillages,

As we forgive those who spill against us.

And lead us not into incarceration,

But deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is the beer.

The bitter and the lager

Forever and ever,

Barmen.

By ArneBjermeland

Men's fun-day . . .

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Why do God accept that . . .

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Billy Graham’s daughter, Anne Graham, was interviewed at national TV in USA “The Early Show”.
Jane Clayson asked her: “How could God approve the terrorist-attack on World Trade Center in New York?”
Ann Graham answered: “I believe that God is really sorry about this, just as we are. . . But for years, we have now told God to get out of our schools, get out of our governments in the world and get out of our lives. If he is the gentleman I believe He is, He has like as silent and peaceful made his retreat. How can we expect that God shall give us his blessings and protection, when we have told Him to leave us?”
I think it started when Madeleine Murray O’Hare complained and said that she wouldn’t have prayers in school.
And we said: “OK”
Then it was someone who said: “We shouldn’t read in the Bible at school” . . . (The Bible that says: You shall not kill, you shall not steal, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.)
And we said: “OK”
Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said that we should not punish our children when they behaved bad, because it could hurt their young personality and self-confidence. (Dr. Spock’s own son committed suicide.)
And we said; “An expert should know what he is talking about, so . . . OK”
Someone said that the teachers should not teach the students discipline when they did wrong things.
The schools administration said: “Grownups should not touch a student when he / she behave badly, because we do not want bad publicity, and definitely do we not want to be sued.” (It is a difference between discipline and flogging, correction and insulting etc.)
And we said: “OK”
The social workers said that our daughters (school-girls) could make abortion if they want, and they didn’t even have to tell the parents.
And we said: “OK”
Then the school leaders said: “Since boys are boys and they are going to it anyway, let us give them condoms as many as they wish, so they can go and have some fun and get some exciting experiences, without the parents knowing of that they have got the condoms at school.”
And we said: “OK”
Some of the big politicians said that what they did in their private life doesn’t matter as long as the people have work.
We agreed and said that we didn’t care what anyone did, inclusive what the president is doing as long as the economy is OK.
Then some suggested: “Let us make magazines with photos of naked women and call it health care, a reward to the beautiful woman body.”
And we said: “OK”
Some went a step further and published photos of naked children and even made them available on the internet.
And we said: “OK . . . It is a part of our free will”
Then came the entertainment industry and said: “Let us make TV-show and films that promote our ego, violence and pervert sex. Let us make music that promotes murder, drugs, and suicide, terror and Satanic themes.”
And we said: “It is only entertainment, no one take that serious . . . . So, OK”

Now, we ask our self why our children don’t have conscious, why can’t they see right from wrong, why doesn’t it matter to them to kill anyone, friends or them self?
Maybe . . . If you think long and hard, you will find the answer. . . . Maybe it has something to do with “your harvest is as you sowed.”

“Dear God, why didn’t you save this little girl from being killed in her classroom?”
God’s answer: “ My dear scared students, I am not allowed in schools.”

It is strange how easy it is to throw God in the trash, and afterwards wonder why the world goes to Hell.
It is strange how we believe everything written in the news-paper, but are questioning everything that the Bible tells.
It is strange how everybody expect to come to heaven without the necessity to do, believe, say or do anything else of what the Bible tell you to.

It is strange how some can say: “I believe in God.” But in practice are following Satan, who by the way, also believe in God.
It is strange how fast we are to judge other, but don’t want to be judge ourselves.
It is strange how we can send thousands of mails, and they spread as fire in the dry grass, but if we get a mail about God, we think twice before we share it with others.
It is strange how the cheeky and vulgar posts can pass freely through cyber-space,
While an official discussion about God gets suppressed at schools and at work.
It is strange how many Christians devote Jesus at Sunday and at Christian meetings, but are totally invisible the rest of the week.

If you should copy this post and send it in the mail . . . It is strange how you suddenly would worry about to whom you should send it to. For sure you would not send it to all on your mailing-list because of your fear of what religion they believe in or what they would think about you.

It is strange how much more we worry about what other people think about us than what God thinks about us.

An Applaud to all those born between 1930 ~ 1979 . . .

TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the1930' 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they were pregnant.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.

Then after that trauma, we were put to sleep on our tummies in baby cribs covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking .

As infants & children, we would ride in cars with no car seats, boosterseats, seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank koolade made withsugar, but we weren't overweight because of that.

WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.No one was able to reach us all day.And we were O.K.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no150 channels on cable, no video movies or DVD's, no surround-sound, CD's or Ipods, no cell phones! , no personal computers , no Internet or chat rooms....... But we had each other!!

WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and, although we were told it would happen, we did not poke out very many eyes.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!

Rugby teams had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of.They actually sided with the law!

These generations have produced some of the best risk-takers, problemsolvers and inventors ever!

The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.

We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

If YOU are one of them . .

CONGRATULATIONS!

You are one grate survivor!!

Give a little of your time . . .

"Lend an ear", give a helping hand, an encouraging smile or an uplifting glance . . . It is so little but means so much . . .


A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

"Your son is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent.

He reached out his hand.

The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed.

All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward,holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength.

Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.

He refused.

Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the o xygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words.

The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse.

While she did what she had to do, he waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.

The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered."

"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him

"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, and knowing that his son would not reach to come in time, knowing how much he needed his son, I stayed."



The next time someone needs you ... just be there. . . Stay.



WE ARE NOT HUMAN BEINGS GOING THROUGH A TEMPORARY SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE. WE ARE SPIRITUAL BEINGS GOING THROUGH A TEMPORARY HUMAN EXPERIENCE.



HAVE A GREAT DAY AND BLESS SOMEONE ELSE IN SOME LITTLE WAY TODAY!

Thank you . . .

Thank folks for all the advices.
The problem started after the post “The forbidden word . . . “ If it is a connection or a coincidence, I don’t know . . .
I started to spy-ware and virus-scan yesterday. Halfway in the program the electricity went off. (Rolling eyes)
I started the process again and let it run through the night. When I woke this morning, I discovered that the electricity had been off, during the night. (Sigh . . . Egypt.)
I started it again this morning, and just discovered that spy-ware had detected 6 item . . . When the electricity went off. (Damn . . . )
I started it again and fast wrote a post and asked you to cross your fingers, toes and bread your hair, so I could publish the post before the electricity went off . . .

and the electricity went off !!!!

(Damn, fuck’n Hell and holy macaroni . . .)

Pray for me . . . HEEEELP . . . I NEED HELP. . . !!!

It was St. Patrick’s Day yesterday, I think. . . . Yes, today I am at least Irish when it comes to temperament!!!!!

Now, I’m going to try to run through the spy-ware and virus-scan again for n’te time . . .

So, please . . .Cross you 10 finger and 10 toes, bread your hair and pray to whoever you want, knock your head in the wall or turn to Mecca . . .

“God, if you exist . . . Let me have electricity long enough to clean out my PC for bull-shit!”

What is wrong??? . . .

What is wrong with the internet these days, or is it only my computer??
Is it because I downloaded something to make self-publishing, maybe??
My PC is so slow so I dont see what I have written before 10 second after I have written it. I can not open others blog, and if the blog opens . . . I can not comment.
No one get my e-mails these days. I have written to family and friends, but they never get the mail.

Maricopa Mark!!! Have you got my e-mail?? I can not open your blog and far less make a comment.

Do the rest of you also have these problems, or is it only me??

When the children reveal your secrets . . .

The feeling of being connected . . .

.



People have told me, " Don't take the internet seriously. They have told me, "Those people aren't REAL. They have told me a lot about the internet.
I have heard story after story of heartache.I have witnessed pain, sorrow and intense love.


I have seen peoples hearts printed out for the world to see, in hopes it will touch someone.
One of the most important things I have seen though, I'm not sure I could put into words.

It's a CONNECTION.

It's hard to imagine unless you've been there. When people get together, over the miles... state to state andcountry to country, and they connect.

REALLY CONNECT!!

It is amazing. Absolutely amazing.


I'm not talking about the "man to woman"connection. I'm talking about the "friend to friend." I'm talking about some people you have "met", that instantly you KNEW were going to be important in your life.
The ones you laugh with, kid with, cry with, hurt for when they are hurting.

They make you worry. They make you crazy! The ones who touch you deep inside when they are not there anymore, and make you wish they were.


If you have ever experienced that type of connection with someone you have never met... face to face... you have indeed been blessed.

I know, without a doubt, that I have!

Art of all kind . . .

This piece of art is made by JRD Tata.

Stop for a moment and try to find out what it is he try to show. What do you see in the painting?

An angle looking at the sunset?? A shot through the heart of an person, with streaming blood??

The moon or crescent moon . . . Or something else? It is a lot of possibilities . . .

If I tell you that this is a self portrait of the painter, will you believe me??

Do you notice the "hole" to right, in the center of the crescent? That hole is essencial . . .

In a moment the face of the painter will appear right in that hole . . .

If you take the painting and lay it down on the surface of a table . . .

Then you put a cylindric mirror exactly in that "hole" to right, in the center of the crescent . . .

The face of the painter will appear in the mirror . . .

*

*

*

The painter never told how he did it . . .

A readre's review of my book . . .

A harrowing tale of intrigue and spirtuality, October 4, 2006
Reviewer:
C. D. Salcedo "jsalcedo2" - See all my reviews

I received it in the mail today and finished it in about 2 hours .

First off, this book was not what I expected.

It is actually an autobiographical work that is more terrifying than any horror novel and at times more sorrowful than the classic tragic dramas.

If you are skeptical person like I am I urge you to keep an open mind when reading this book.

Kirsten Namskau reminds the reader many times that you are free to take or leave any of the experiences she describes.

I believe she put it succinctly when her book was described as the authentic Divinci Code .

I have personally witnessed some of the phenomena that Kirsten describes in her book and like her, I don't care who believes me.

"Tell Me Who I Am" is definitely a page turner no matter what your spiritual or political beliefs are.

This book trancends, religion, spirituality, politics and social morality.

After reading this book, don't be surprised if you look over your shoulder a little more often.

The Forbidden Word . . .

.

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I wrote my book “Tell Me Who I Am” in 2002. I had not sent it to many Mainstream Publishers before the manuscript got banned by the Norwegian authorities.
The contains of the book was not in the favor of Norway. . .
I got the message “accidental” by someone who “talked” too much or slipped in the choice of words, may say that the manuscript was banned.

The contains of the book is authentic. You don’t have to believe it, it is the truth anyway.
Because of the ban, I had only one chance to publish the book and that was through a funded Publisher.
That means; I have to pay by myself for the 2000 first copies. About $8000,- (4600,- Sterling Pound)
I found Athena Press, UK and wrote them a letter where I sent a parcel of a chapter. I told them that the manuscript was banned at the Mainstream Publisher.

They accepted to publish the book to the price mentioned above.

Now . . . For those of you who already have read the book, you know that I had to give up everything of belongings. Material belongings as well did I loose all my money, bank accounts, properties, houses, and apartments I had around the world. Even movables, jewelleries and clothes were taken away from me.
I was deprived work-permit in Norway as well as all juridical rights. All lawyers in Norway were told not to support me in any juridical claims.
This itself is against “The Humans Rights” But when all Norwegian lawyers was told not to help me, I could not even get a lawyer to bring the case to the court of Human Rights.

Because of all this, when I left the country as refugee and found myself settling in Egypt, more and less in exile, I now live from hand to mouth. I have my small work and a close friend of mine offered me one of his flats to a decent rent in an area the Egyptian themselves look at as “the poor peoples village”. For me, it is "paradise".

My work keeps me living, but it should take 4 years before a friend from Denmark offered to sponsor the publishing of the book. Since I knew that I never actually would be able to finance it.
It takes about one year before I can expect any income of sale, and maybe it doesn’t sell that well neither.

It is not that I expect to become a best-seller, but I hoped I would sell enough to let me retire with a peace of mind.

After I came to Egypt, the Norwegian embassy and authorities have several times tried to “get to me” and several very embarrassing situations have occurred in the process. (Embarrassing for the Norwegian embassy and the Norwegian authorities. For me it has been in favor, since the situations have proofed the truth of my stories.)

My book had been on the marked only 4 weeks when I got a message from one of the biggest Russian Publisher for the sole right to translate the book to Russian.
The book is deliberately written in a way so it should be easy for whoever authority to find out if the stories is true or not.
The Russian Publisher did that investigation and got to know far more than what I had written about. Through ways, I learned to know that they even had found witnesses I never dared to count on.
But they did one mistake . . . They contacted the Norwegian Embassy.

I think it is by no coincidence that suddenly, everyone who had contact with me got fired from the Publisher and the translation process was put on freeze.

I have been asked, from several directions, to write the second book. Some with specific interest in certain events they know has happened in my life.

The book is now finish and I contacted Athena Press if they were interested in the next book too. They said that they certainly were.

But again, I meet the same problem . . . I don’t have the money to Publish it.

Therefore am I now going out in public and I ask you; “Can you help me to publish my book?”

If you can, please contact me through e-mail. You find it in my profile. Or send me an off-line message on my "giggle" on this page, with your e-mail address.

It is only one way that I can receive money, to ensure the money reach me.

Since years of torture, my days are counted. The injuries in my body do not get better by age . . . they get worse. I do not get younger and healthier.
It is only me that know and feel how the injuries are changing character.
That is why I never count on another day, another month or year.

I can wait a year and see if I have earned enough money from my first book to publish the next . . . But will I live so long???

Have you ever been so tired? . . .

.

The value of nothing . . .

(Invisible friends)

.

Click on the pic to see what happens

I have this day today
When sadness is taking my heart
and the tears freeze in the corner of my eye.
I know I won’t have another start

I know I did what I thought was the best
You never know before the time has past
When I did my best, I trusted God in doing the rest.
To make sure what I did good also would last.

No one promised me happiness in Hell
The sadness comes from other seeds grown
Seeds of nettle that hid a deep well.
A trap made by those I trusted.
The people from my own . . .

Earthly values have never been an issue
I don’t miss a bit of that.
I freely gave up all except for a tissue
To dry the tears of blood that dripped from my heart.

No one know my sorrow, no one see my tears
A sentence in my head is always coming
No one feel my pain or knows about my fear
“God do not forgive them, they know what they are doing”

The hidden truth . . .

.
What is it with the people???
Why is it so much fuzz about Britney Spear cutting her hair off? What is wrong with that? She has a beautiful head-shape and looks like as beautiful without hair as with hair.
What if any of us ordinary people do the same . . . Will it be looked at as a like as big symptom of madness, or being in need of “help”, or is it only because she is rich and famous?? Because then she is not allowed to do what she wants?
Is it forbidden to choose a hairstyle which is not a fashion any longer??? Maybe this is something she always wanted to try, but didn’t have the courage or was prevented to do it by her “manager” while it was a fashion . . . But now, she did it, fast and in a sudden . . .Because that is the only way for her to do what SHE wants.

What is it with Anna Nicole Smith. Suddenly her family is the last one who can make decision in the burial or whatever else concerning the woman.
She shall be embalmed and buried with tiara and a dress of pearls.
What kind of madness is this??? She was not even a royalty . . . She was a playboy model and call-girl.
Is the truth about this, that the “sex-mafia” who have abused her, raped her, kept her narcotized and made her life a Hell, now try to make it up . . . after her death? Is this their way of trying to bring humanity to believe that they are so full of respect and sorrow and regrets by their evilness and what they did to her while she was alive??

The next now is the fight about the child, so that the eventual father can take over whatever she had of values and the inheritance after her late husband.

Don’t come and tell me they care about the child. They give a damn shit about the child. If she had been whoever else, they would have denied any possibility of being the father of the child.
Greediness! ! ! That is what it is about . . .

.

The only law and rule that works in Scandinavia . . .

.

Jante-loven av Aksel Sandemose 1933

1) Don't believe that you are anything
2) Don't believe that you are better than me.
3) Don't believe that you know more than me.
4) Don't believe that you can teach me anything.
5) Don't believe that you suit to anything
6) Don't believe that what you have is better than what I have.
7) Don't believe that you are more intelligent / smarter than me.
8) Don't believe that your profession is better than mine.
9) Don't believe that you understand something I don't.
10) Don't believe that anyone care about you.

AMEN