tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post8997257568584921341..comments2008-12-08T05:12:20.651-05:00R.S.Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04167820872532026438noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-37691799755426193942008-12-08T05:12:00.000-05:002008-12-08T05:12:00.000-05:00overwhelmed.<BR/><BR/><BR/><BR/><BR/>let me take you down cause i'm going to strawberry fields.<BR/><BR/><BR/><BR/><BR/>An.lunehttp://teca-littlelune.splinder.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-34291271674260045252007-06-25T13:56:00.000-04:002007-06-25T13:56:00.000-04:00Man,<BR/><BR/>That is some of the saddest s*** i've read in awhile. I can feel that. Seriously, wow.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-34931402372916808832007-06-21T09:02:00.000-04:002007-06-21T09:02:00.000-04:00I appreciate your post. Whoever that guy was who said lennon deserved to die must have been pure evil, or at least close. <BR/><BR/>-RSFR.S.Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04167820872532026438noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-42153433947195804772007-06-20T12:13:00.000-04:002007-06-20T12:13:00.000-04:00PS I forgot to mention that I've been introducing my grandkids to the genius of The Beatles. When my grandson was 3, his favorite song was, Baby You Can Drive My Car. My 4 year old granddaughter prefers, When I'm 64, and, Maxwell's Silver Hammer.Beautifuldreamerhttp://bdreamer.squarespace.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-59340185038875394642007-06-20T12:10:00.000-04:002007-06-20T12:10:00.000-04:00You've really hit a nerve with this post! My childhood (during the sixties) was a dreary land full of abuse. I used to lie awake nights with a forbidden transistor radio under my pillow, listening to the Beatles serenading me with She Loves You, and asking me, Do You Want to Know a Secret? I established a lifelong emotional attachment to their music.<BR/><BR/>When one of my sons was in grade school, he was a bear to get up in the morning. The only thing that worked was to stand by his bed singing, Good Morning, Good Morning. I'm sure it was my off key singing that awakened him every time.<BR/><BR/>I was living in Chicago, driving through the snow, when I heard the news about Lennon's death. I had to pull over and let the tears flow, for it seemed a part of my heritage died along with him.<BR/><BR/>Years later I went on a blind date with a man who calmly proclaimed that "Lennon deserved to die." I never went out with him again.<BR/><BR/>Thanks for writing this post. I found its honesty and poignancy heartwarming.Beautifuldreamerhttp://bdreamer.squarespace.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-1457219625950260222007-06-20T08:22:00.000-04:002007-06-20T08:22:00.000-04:00Very well written, very thoughtful. Your relationship with your daughter is envious.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5433468426208421222.post-79627819537590238662007-06-19T15:12:00.000-04:002007-06-19T15:12:00.000-04:00Touching.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com