================================================ Subject: Re: is it just me?.. From: "Creed - 7M3 - Live" To: Date: Wed 8 Aug 2001 22:53:25 -0400 ================================================ Kevin, I don't think the list is slow. I had about 200 messages from today and 100 leftovers from last night. Rachel, I hope it isn't ME that is slow (as in Windows ME). The one virus was just for the NT varieties. your flavor should be working fine. Later, Jim ------------------------- Kevin L. Brown wrote: > No, it's the members who are slow, not the list. > > ----- Original Message ----- > > From: Moonchild119@AOL.COM > > To: CREED-DISCUSS@WINDUPLIST.COM > > Sent: Tuesday, August 07, 2001 2:43 PM > > Subject: is it just me?.. > > > is it just me, or is the list working rather slow today?.. > Rachel aka Moonchild > -- On this morning in August when I was 13, my mother sent us out pick tomatoes. Back in April I'd have killed for a fresh tomato, but in August they are no more rare or wonderful than rocks. So I picked up one and threw it at a crab apple tree, where it made a good *splat*, and then threw a tomato at my brother. He whipped one back at me. We ducked down by the vines, heaving tomatoes at each other. My sister, who was a good person, said, "You're going to get it." She bent over and kept on picking. What a target! She was 17, a girl with big hips, and bending over, she looked like the side of a barn. I picked up a tomato so big it sat on the ground. It looked like it had sat there a week. The underside was brown, small white worms lived in it, and it was very juicy. I stood up and took aim, and went into the windup, when my mother at the kitchen window called my name in a sharp voice. I had to decide quickly. I decided. A rotten Big Boy hitting the target is a memorable sound, like a fat man doing a belly-flop. With a whoop and a yell the tomatoee came after faster than I knew she could run, and grabbed my shirt and was about to brain me when Mother called her name in a sharp voice. And my sister, who was a good person, obeyed and let go -- and burst into tears. I guess she knew that the pleasure of obedience is pretty thin compared with the pleasure of hearing a rotten tomato hit someone in the rear end. -- Garrison Keillor, "Lake Wobegon Days" To unsubscribe or change your preferences for the Creed-Discuss list, visit: http://www.winduplist.com/ls/discuss/form.asp