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THE 12 MEN BELOW ALL GAVE THEIR LIVES FOR YOU - US - THIS WEEK IN THE MILITARY.

Justin Allen 23,

Brett Linley 29,

Matthew Weikert 29,

Justus Bartett 27,

Dave Santos 21,

Chase Stanley 21,

Jesse Reed 26,

Matthew Johnson 21,

Zachary Fisher 24

Brandon King 23,

Christopher Goeke 23,

Sheldon Tate 27,

Sal : I don't know about you, but I found this information rather sickening.

 
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. 
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world 
begins to close in on me.  She was building a sand castle or something 
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. 

 "Hello," she said. 
 I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. 
 "I'm building," she said. 
 
"I see that.  What is it?"  I asked, not really caring. 
 
 
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand." 
 
 
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. 
 
 
A sandpiper glided by. 
 
 
"That's a joy," the child said. 
 
 
"It's a what?" 
 
 
"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." 
 
 
The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,  hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life seemed  completely out of balance.
 
 
"What's your name?"  She wouldn't give up. 
 
 
"Robert," I answered.  "I'm Robert Peterson." 
 
 
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six." 
 
 
"Hi, Wendy." 
 
 
She giggled.  "You're funny," she said. 
 
 
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. 
Her musical giggle followed me. 
 
"Come again, Mr. P," she called.  "We'll have another happy day.." 
 
 
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, 
and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out 
of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat. 
 
 
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was 
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. 
 
 
"Hello, Mr.. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"   
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance. 
 
"I don't know.  You say."    
"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.    
The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is." 
 
 
"Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. 
"Where do you live?" I asked.    
"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. 
 
 
Strange, I thought, in winter.  
"Where do you go to school?"  
"I don't go to school..  Mommy says we're on vacation" 
 
 
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was 
on other things.  When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. 
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed. 
 
 
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was in no 
mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt 
like demanding she keep her child at home. 
 
 
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd 
rather be alone today."  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.   
"Why?" she asked.   
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, 
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?   
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."  
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!" 
 
 
"Did it hurt?" she inquired. 
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.   
"When she died?"    
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, 
wrapped up in myself.  I strode off. 
 
 
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.. 
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up 
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking 
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door. 
 
 
"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today 
and wondered where she was." 
 
 
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much. 
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.  If she was a nuisance, 
please, accept my apologies." 
 
 
"Not at all --! she's a delightful child."  I said, suddenly realizing 
that I meant what I had just said. 
 
 
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia 
Maybe she didn't tell you." 
 
 
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath. 
 
 
"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. 
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. 
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left  
something for you, if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment while I look?" 
 
 
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young 
woman.  She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold 
childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, 
a blue sea, and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed: 
 
 
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY. 
 
 
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love 
opened wide..  I took Wendy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, 
I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  The precious little 
picture is framed now and hangs in my study.  Six words -- one for each year 
of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. 
 
 
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand 
-- who taught me the gift of love. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 
NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson.  It happened over 20 
years ago and the incident changed his life forever.  It serves as a reminder 
to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. 
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less. 
 
 
Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas 
can make us lose focus about what is truly important 
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis. 
 
 
This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, 
take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses. 
 
 
This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many  
and now I share it with you... 
 

Judy Rudd an amateur genealogy researcher in southern Queensland ’s, was doing some personal work on her own family tree.
She discovered that Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's great-great uncle, Remus Rudd, was hanged for horse stealing and train robbery in Melbourne in 1889.
Both Judy and Kevin Rudd share this common ancestor.

The only known photograph of Remus shows him standing on the gallows at the Melbourne Gaol:
On the back of the picture Judy obtained during her research is this inscription:
'Remus Rudd horse thief, sent to Melbourne Gaol 1885, escaped 1887, robbed the Melbourne-Geelong train six times.
Caught by Victoria Police Force, convicted and hanged in 1889.'

So Judy recently e-mailed Prime Minister Rudd for information about their great-great uncle. Remus Rudd:
Believe it or not, Kevin Rudd's staff sent back the following biographical sketch for her genealogy research:

"Remus Rudd was famous in Victoria during the mid to late 1800s .
His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with the Melbourne-Geelong Railroad. Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of his life to government service, finally taking leave to resume his dealings with the railroad.
In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the Victoria Police Force.
In 1889, Remus passed away during an important civic function held in his honour when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed."

NOW That’s how it's done, Folks!

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24 hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last forty years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger.
I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday. Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door.
I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back ..." Bodies never have pockets where you need them.
Bravely I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver sandals again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black crepe caftan.
I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at Saks: the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner; the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.
Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the 'all day kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off' lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow. But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
Okay, time to get ready! I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed and scoured my body to a tingling pink.I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting "your face will look like a baby's posterior" face cream. I set my hair on hot rollers.
I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra.
I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad.
So I rested. A well deserved rest, too.
The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper buns?"
Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my buns to my knees. But I was firm!
Oh no ... I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle.
I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn -- straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the br a down ... but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, yes, Houston , we have lift up!
My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest. And I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh ... why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again. ........So I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the high school reunion.

(June 30) -- A snake bite is not what killed Cleopatra, queen of the Nile, according to German scientists.

A team led by Christoph Schaefer, a historian and professor at the University of Trier, has concluded that she died after taking a drug cocktail that included opium and hemlock.

After traveling with other experts to Alexandria, Egypt, where Cleopatra ended her life in 30 B.C., Schaefer and the team looked at ancient medical texts and consulted snake experts. History tells us that she induced an asp, now known as the Egyptian cobra, to bite her to death.

 
Did Cleopatra commit suicide by inducing a snake to bite her, or did she take a deadly mix of drugs, as a German scientist says?But the professor said on a science show on the German television channel ZDF, "Queen Cleopatra was famous for her beauty and was unlikely to have subjected herself to a long and disfiguring death."

He added, according to London's Daily Telegraph, that "Cleopatra wanted to remain beautiful in her death to maintain her myth. She probably took a cocktail of opium, hemlock and aconitum. Back then, this was a well-known mixture that led to a painless death within just a few hours, whereas the snake death could have taken days and been agonizing."

According to a medical writer for the Telegraph, however, it is a misconception that taking such "extremely nasty" toxins resulted in a nice, painless sleep.

"Most poisons that kill you do not cause you to doze pleasantly as you expire," says Andrew M. Brown. "You are likely to be wide awake, and suffering. People make this mistake today, I'm afraid to say."

Cleopatra, who reigned from 51 B.C., was an ally and lover of Julius Caesar, with whom she had a son. She also gave birth to three children with Caesar's onetime right-hand man, Mark Antony.

After Caesar was assassinated, she and Antony opposed the man who took his place, Octavian, but the two of them committed suicide after losing a key battle with Octavian's forces. Ancient accounts differ on which one died first.

Cleopatra was the last pharaoh of Egypt, which after her death became a Roman province.

Click HERE to read complete article.

I am an ER nurse and this is the best description of this event that I
have ever heard. Please read, pay attention, and send it on!

FEMALE HEART ATTACKS

I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is the
best description I've ever read..

Women and heart attacks (Myocardial infarction). Did you know that women
rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have when experiencing
heart attack.. you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold
sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor that we see in the
movies. Here is the story of one woman's experience with a heart
attack.

'I had a heart attack at about 10:30PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior
emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was
sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my
lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually
thinking, 'A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy
Lazy Boy with my feet propped up.

A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you've
been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a
dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you've swallowed
a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most
uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn't have gulped it down so fast and
needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water
to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial
sensation--the only trouble was that I hadn't taken a bite of anything
since about 5:00p.m.

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing
motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was
probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and
under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when
administering CPR).

This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out
into both jaws. 'AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening
-- we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the
signals of an MI happening, haven't we? I said aloud to myself and the
cat, Dear God, I think I'm having a heart attack!

I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a
step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a
heart attack, I shouldn't be walking into the next room where the phone
is or anywhere else... but, on the other hand, if I don't, nobody will
know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get
up in a moment.

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the
next room and dialed the Paramedics... I told her I thought I was having
a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and
radiating into my jaws. I didn't feel hysterical or afraid, just stating
the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately,
asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door
and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came
in.
I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and
lost consciousness, as I don't remember the medics coming in, their
examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their
ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but
I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was
already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my
stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions
(probably something like 'Have you taken any medications?') but I
couldn't make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer,
and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner
had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery
into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side
stints to hold open my right coronary artery.
I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have
taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually
it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station
and St. Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was
already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my
heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure)
and installing the stints.
Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I
want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned
first hand.

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not
the usual men's symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my
sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than
men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn't know they were
having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or
other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they'll feel
better in the morning when they wake up... which doesn't happen. My
female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I
advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening
that you've not felt before. It is better to have a 'false alarm'
visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be!

2.Note that I said 'Call the Paramedics.' And if you can take an
aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!
Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on
the road.
Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking
anxiously at what's happening with you instead of the road.
Do NOT call your doctor -- he doesn't know where you live and if it's at
night you won't reach him anyway, and if it's daytime, his assistants
(or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn't
carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics
do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr will be notified
later.

3.Don't assume it couldn't be a heart attack because you have a normal
cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated
reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it's unbelievably high
and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by
long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of
deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in
the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let's be careful and be aware.
The more we know the better chance we could survive.

                   
Imagine that you had won the following prize in a contest:
 
Each morning your bank would deposit $86,400.00 in
your private account for your use. However, this prize had rules,
just as any game has certain rules.

The first set of rules would be:

Everything that you didn't spend during each day
would be taken away from you.

You may not simply transfer money into some other
 account.
You may only spend it.

Each morning upon awakening, the bank opens your
account with another $86,400.00 for that day.

The second set of rules:

The bank can end the game without warning; at any
time it can say, It's over, the game is over! It can close the
account and you will not receive a new one.

What would you personally do?
You would buy anything and everything you wanted,
right?

Not only for yourself, but for all the people you
love, right?
Even for people you don't know, because you
couldn't possibly spend it all on yourself, right?
You would try to spend every cent, and use it all,
right?

ACTUALLY, this GAME is REALITY!

Each of us is in possession of such a magical
bank. 
We just can't seem to see it.

The MAGICAL BANK is TIME!

Each morning we awaken to receive 86,400 seconds
as a gift of life, and when we go to sleep at night, any remaining time is
NOT credited to us.

What we haven't lived up that day is forever lost.
Yesterday is forever gone.

Each morning the account is refilled, but the bank
can dissolve your account at any time....WITHOUT WARNING.

SO, what will YOU do with your 86,400 seconds?
Aren't they worth so much more than the same
amount in dollars?

Think about that, and always think of this:

Enjoy every second of your life, because time races
by so much quicker than you think.

So take care of yourself, and enjoy life!