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Pastimes : Ask God -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: O'Hara who wrote (13979)	4/13/1998 10:38:00 PM
From: Jane Hafker	Respond to of 39621

Dear Shalom, in my early morning haste to do things I have not time to do, I never edit. May I publicly retract as sentence I wrote which now seems like something I didn't mean. I was talking of the pagan threads and their content. What I meant to say was that I didn't want to specifically talk about their content, or even point out where they were because the threads were places the ordinary posting Christian wouldn't find on their own unless they were following trails for fun. And that place is not somewhere I should have been, and as you know I eventually spoke up begging you to stop trying to do good in a place where such seemed impossible. My retraction is the statement which sounded like you were going places none of US would go, which of course I didn't mean. I'm not even sure anyone could even read it that way, anyway. But just wanted to make it clear. I'm going to go eat and have some R&R. I watched the TNT presentation of the night Lincoln was shot, TWICE in a row. Messmerizing work. The acting was astounding to me. My favorite, actually, the guy who played the dr. on Nothern Lights. Rob something. Anyway, again, a story I really knew nothing of, and one that was enourmously important for history. But, the nice thing is I used to play on Mary Todd Lincoln's grave--right ON it, in Arlington Cememtary. My dad is buried there, and I wish some little kids would play on his grave too. But I was only 10-11, and was always an Indian when we played cowboys and indians up in the national monument cemetary. I remember that I felt like she must have liked a little kid being there, playing cowboys and indians on her grave and hiding behind her tomb. One day I was by the entrance fountains where we all played back in there, there weren't a whole lot of graves then, and Mary was kind of off to heself, strangely. I was tied to a huge tree limb and suddenly the kids all yell run, and they all run away and a security MP car pulls up, two older guys, not at all amused. "What's going on?" They demanded, unamused. "I'm an indian", I replied. True story. They ran me off, telling me sternly the cemetary was not a playground, and of course the next day we were back, as we were everyday. Everybody that was hiding laughed their heads off that I got caught. I was thinking of her yesterday, and the times on her grave. Hiding, waiting for the cowboys to find me.