Interracial friendship

Sandy mentioned wanting to see the bird and cat together. These photos are terrible in terms of photographic non-excellence, but they show pretty much what I mean.

The whole thing started with the green beans. The birds loved green beans (Peter, the male, has long since passed on and is soaring free above the clouds or wherever your religious persuasion puts him). Specs doesn't so much love green beans - her preference leans towards fruity like watermelon - but felt it was unfair that they got green beans and she didn't.



Trouble is... stealing food is tiring....




It does, however, leave the birds with some peaceful eating time ; )




It doesn't happen anymore, as the table on which they all used to lie, Maluco included, has long since gone. When outside, the bird cage gets hung up in the sunshine. Inside, Specs isn't allowed on tables, which is where the cage sits.

Up 'n down week

My week started with Kippy's wedding and a computer format. I hate formatting because they never go as quickly and smoothly as I'd like. This time, my scanner went belly-up. We eventually got the scanner working by sneaking up on it... and disabling my webcam, as the pc wanted to use the webcam as a scanner source. I was finally functional by Wednesday afternoon, but without a printer. Let's say that lessons and admin became very interesting this week. I rely heavily on technology.

Along with this came an all-pervasive tiredness. No idea where that comes from. I picked up towards the end of the week. Then yesterday, Thursday, we took both dogs up to the village. At the church, we parted company. I had Romany with me. Jurgis had Dingo. She was going to the vet who confirmed that she's diabetic. She was already totally blind in the one eye and had minimal vision in her remaining eye. This past month, she lost a lot of weight. Generally, the dogs start piling on weight as the cooler weather sets in... she just got skinnier and skinnier. She was already a skinny dog to start off with. Her appearance was conflicting... glossy coat, perky ears, still all tail-wag, but otherwise clearly going downhill. She'd lie in the corner under my desk, not following Romany out. We made the decision to let her go. All I'll say is that her tail was still wagging.



While we were out walking, it rained. No ordinary rain, but a typical São Paulo garoa, rendering umbrellas useless. We were soaked through. By nightfall, I was feeling ghastly... sore throat, achy, sheer bliss, of course. This morning, after chasing of the mule train that ran me over, I dragged myself out to teach. What a weird class. She's a new student who wanted me to go over her application for a job. We met at a Starbucks that had Wifi, but she didn't have a service provider, so she couldn't access it. Most of the lesson was spent trying to find an internet connection. This afternoon, I dragged my sorry self back home and went to bed, waking up in time for supper. I think I'll just veg with housework this weekend.... and a few blogs. I'm way behind in everyone's blogs.

PS. The top photo is simply there because I thought it was pretty. I was looking for photos of Dingo and found that one. Not sure what Heidi and Specs were looking at... probably a hyperactive dog.

 

Technorati Tags: garoa,format,dingo,work

The wedding of the year

The wedding of the year took on a distinctly international flair today with celebrations all over the globe. Well, almost all over the globe : )

Our wishes for you, our dear friends... This and soo much more!


Our day was quiet. I was, as anticipated, spending most of the day checking periodically for any news of the happy couple... both happy couples, really... the two in Nevada and the two in London.

While I was waiting, Dani came online. We chatted about this and that and I saw her lovely cake (how does she get it that big?). It was good. Sadly, webcams aren't the greatest for spectacular photos, but at least you can see it was a happy occasion...


Later, once supper was done, Jurgis and I toasted to the happy couple with words to the effect of "May they have many, many years of happiness together!"


And that is our sincere wish, Kippy and Jeremy... that happiness follows the two of you wherever you go : )

Then Katey came online... then Tat... both burnt to a crisp. It seems a good time was had by all. My little heart is happy... except for the fish 'n chips 'n Spur part. That part is jealous *drools* I hear tales of lizards and towers and palaces and soldiers (kinda) and bonds of friendships forged... while distant friendships were celebrated.

Kippy and Jeremy, we may not have been with you in person, but we all held you close in our hearts and thoughts today.

Everyday angels

I'm not a great believer in the whole white light, fluffy-winged variety of angels who seem insubstantial at best. I do, however, believe firmly that human angels abound. They're all around us. And yes, there are angels with fur too.

I've lost count of the number of times I've said a heartfelt "You're an angel" to someone, usually to a friend. The 'everyday angels' have often gone unacknowledged, barring perhaps a quick "Thanks!" and a smile.

Take the bus conductor this morning, who pointed out a seat further back, out of sight. In a crowded, 3-deep, sardine-style packed bus at 6am, her smile and caring were refreshing.

I watched the big, bearded guy concentrating on his piece of paper on the equally crowded Metro, a small frown on his forehead. It lasted the length of the ride. What he was creating was complicated. When he finished her, he gently placed her on the window sill, then looked up to see me staring in wonder. It was an intricately-folded angel. He reached and gave it to me. I'd had this blog in mind for a while now, inspired by a site I found that thanked everyday angels (that was pre-format and I can't find the link now), so I decided to take her home and photograph her before passing her on.

I like the idea of keeping a journal, as the site I mentioned earlier suggested, concretely acknowledging those who touch our lives, however fleetingly. It's a bit like a gratitude journal. I suppose they can be combined. A gratitude journal allows us to express our thanks for life's gifts, however small... an angel journal allows us to mention those who pass those gifts on.

Looking at this angel, she is imperfect, but beautifully crafted. She is fragile, but amazingly strong (still in shape after a few days in my book bag and it gets rough in there!). In that, she reminds me of the amazing people in my life.

 

Technorati Tags: origami,angels

Everyday angels

I'm not a great believer in the whole white light, fluffy-winged variety of angels who seem insubstantial at best. I do, however, believe firmly that human angels abound. They're all around us. And yes, there are angels with fur too.

I've lost count of the number of times I've said a heartfelt "You're an angel" to someone, usually to a friend. The 'everyday angels' have often gone unacknowledged, barring perhaps a quick "Thanks!" and a smile.

Take the bus conductor this morning, who pointed out a seat further back, out of sight. In a crowded, 3-deep, sardine-style packed bus at 6am, her smile and caring were refreshing.

I watched the big, bearded guy concentrating on his piece of paper on the equally crowded Metro, a small frown on his forehead. It lasted the length of the ride. What he was creating was complicated. When he finished her, he gently placed her on the window sill, then looked up to see me staring in wonder. It was an intricately-folded angel. He reached and gave it to me. I'd had this blog in mind for a while now, inspired by a site I found that thanked everyday angels (that was pre-format and I can't find the link now), so I decided to take her home and photograph her before passing her on.

I like the idea of keeping a journal, as the site I mentioned earlier suggested, concretely acknowledging those who touch our lives, however fleetingly. It's a bit like a gratitude journal. I suppose they can be combined. A gratitude journal allows us to express our thanks for life's gifts, however small... an angel journal allows us to mention those who pass those gifts on.

Looking at this angel, she is imperfect, but beautifully crafted. She is fragile, but amazingly strong (still in shape after a few days in my book bag and it gets rough in there!). In that, she reminds me of the amazing people in my life.

Reaching out

I love my Skype. To me, it's an essential tool for contact with loved ones and for work. Having said that, I tend to get bombarded with contact requests from places like India and various locations in the middle east, BUT...



Today, I got a simple message from a stranger. No add request, just the message. How refreshing!

To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, because it's love that makes the impossible possible, nice meeting you.

Some people are just so nice : )

 

Technorati Tags: friendly,kindness,online

Reaching out

I love my Skype. To me, it's an essential tool for contact with loved ones and for work. Having said that, I tend to get bombarded with contact requests from places like India and various locations in the middle east, BUT...



Today, I got a simple message from a stranger. No add request, just the message. How refreshing!

To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, because it's love that makes the impossible possible, nice meeting you.

Some people are just so nice : )

Mothers you have to love : )

http://www.peoplepets.com/photos/cute/interspecies-baby-love-animal-surrogates/1

To all my mothers

This is a repost.... edited slightly

One woman gave birth to me, but I had many mothers. This blog is dedicated to all the mothers out there... the women who were mother to me and to those who have the souls of mothers, but could never, for whatever reason, be one. My life is a series of moments where I changed hands... I went from mother to mother, each one holding my hand and leading me on to the next stage of my growth.

My first dedication, naturally, goes to my gran, the woman who raised me as her own. What I am today, is largely thanks to her. She empowered me to be me. Then there was Sophie. Sophie was the one who abba'ed me (carried me on her back), strapped to her back, Xhosa style, while she worked. She fetched me from school, gave me my lunch. She taught me to love samp and beans. I remember Aunty Val, the lady at Sunday School who took over when my gran took me there at the age of 3 to learn about God. Then there was Miss Brown, my Grade 7 teacher, an elderly spinster lady. Everyone dreaded getting to her class, as she was 'strict', but when we go there, we knew we'd reached a safe place to grow and thrive. We loved her and cried when we had to leave her. We cried again when she died.

Then there was Lynette's mom who said she'd happily adopt me. I cried on her shoulders quite a lot as a drama-queen teen.

The list would not be complete if I didn't mention the hostel moms at boarding school who put up with a lot of stuff 'n nonsense from us, listened to our crying and 'bullied' us into keeping cubicles tidy and doing homework. Now Margaret was hardly a mother-figure, but she was a fair deal older than me and knew how to be a wife and keep house. When I found myself alone in Cape Town as a newly-wed, she was the one who helped me with her unique mixture of humour and common sense. Aunt Molly was the one who later held my hand and let me cry on her shoulder after Ceinwen's death. She had lost her son too. She was just 'there' and helped me through a really difficult time.

Ros... my dear friend, sister, mother and the one who attended Tatiana's first grandparent's days. Ros had plenty kids of her own to keep her busy, but opened her heart, home and life to more as they appeared on her horizon. She was my spiritual mother and there in a very practical sense too. She was the one who helped me stay slightly sane through the trauma of leaving home. And Aunty Ruth *smiles* who was mother to all living creatures that crossed her path. It didn't matter whether you were a child, a woman, a nasty bullying pidgeon or a little turtle dove, whether you were a cat or a dog. Every creature was loved and cherished as only a mother can. My own "Mrs Pepperpot".

Once in Brazil, my mothers were online. The one who truly comes to mind is Felicity. Felicity was, to me, mother, sister, and very dear friend. She was there for me pretty much from the word go when I was struggling to adapt to this strange country and missing home sooo very much. Let me not forget Llynde, who has played a very important part in keeping my dreams alive and helping me grow in the talents she saw in me.

Many of these women are no longer with us, but I know their spirits are still with me, guiding me, keeping me strong and giving me comfort.

Strangely, this is the first time I have not had a mother-figure in my life. I look around me now and I see my fellow-mothers and sisters, those who are mothers and mother-figures to others, the women who go through the same joys, fears, hopes, dreams, sorrows that I do, who inspire me and light my journey. You are all so important to me.

Thank you!

 

Technorati Tags: mothers,mother,dedication

Don't you just hate it when someone always says just the right thing... and makes what you say look insipid? Don't you just hate thinking of the perfect thing to say after they've said it? Then if you say it, it will look as though you're simply parroting them. Or you lie in bed at night thinking of all the perfect things you could have said (this usually happens after an intense discussion or argument).

To all my mothers

This is a repost.... edited slightly

One woman gave birth to me, but I had many mothers. This blog is dedicated to all the mothers out there... the women who were mother to me and to those who have the souls of mothers, but could never, for whatever reason, be one. My life is a series of moments where I changed hands... I went from mother to mother, each one holding my hand and leading me on to the next stage of my growth.

My first dedication, naturally, goes to my gran, the woman who raised me as her own. What I am today, is largely thanks to her. She empowered me to be me. Then there was Sophie. Sophie was the one who abba'ed me (carried me on her back), strapped to her back, Xhosa style, while she worked. She fetched me from school, gave me my lunch. She taught me to love samp and beans. I remember Aunty Val, the lady at Sunday School who took over when my gran took me there at the age of 3 to learn about God. Then there was Miss Brown, my Grade 7 teacher, an elderly spinster lady. Everyone dreaded getting to her class, as she was 'strict', but when we go there, we knew we'd reached a safe place to grow and thrive. We loved her and cried when we had to leave her. We cried again when she died.

Then there was Lynette's mom who said she'd happily adopt me. I cried on her shoulders quite a lot as a drama-queen teen.

The list would not be complete if I didn't mention the hostel moms at boarding school who put up with a lot of stuff 'n nonsense from us, listened to our crying and 'bullied' us into keeping cubicles tidy and doing homework. Now Margaret was hardly a mother-figure, but she was a fair deal older than me and knew how to be a wife and keep house. When I found myself alone in Cape Town as a newly-wed, she was the one who helped me with her unique mixture of humour and common sense. Aunt Molly was the one who later held my hand and let me cry on her shoulder after Ceinwen's death. She had lost her son too. She was just 'there' and helped me through a really difficult time.

Ros... my dear friend, sister, mother and the one who attended Tatiana's first grandparent's days. Ros had plenty kids of her own to keep her busy, but opened her heart, home and life to more as they appeared on her horizon. She was my spiritual mother and there in a very practical sense too. She was the one who helped me stay slightly sane through the trauma of leaving home. And Aunty Ruth *smiles* who was mother to all living creatures that crossed her path. It didn't matter whether you were a child, a woman, a nasty bullying pidgeon or a little turtle dove, whether you were a cat or a dog. Every creature was loved and cherished as only a mother can. My own "Mrs Pepperpot".

Once in Brazil, my mothers were online. The one who truly comes to mind is Felicity. Felicity was, to me, mother, sister, and very dear friend. She was there for me pretty much from the word go when I was struggling to adapt to this strange country and missing home sooo very much. Let me not forget Llynde, who has played a very important part in keeping my dreams alive and helping me grow in the talents she saw in me.

Many of these women are no longer with us, but I know their spirits are still with me, guiding me, keeping me strong and giving me comfort.

Strangely, this is the first time I have not had a mother-figure in my life. I look around me now and I see my fellow-mothers and sisters, those who are mothers and mother-figures to others, the women who go through the same joys, fears, hopes, dreams, sorrows that I do, who inspire me and light my journey. You are all so important to me.

Thank you!

Magic on the tracks

I was listening to some Afrikaans songs tonight when "Trans Karoo" came on. Ah... memories...



Tchuk-tchuk- tchuck-tchuk, Clickety-clack... clickety clack.... one of the best lullabies a child can sleep to as the train rocks gently on the tracks. As I slept, I was concious of pulling into midnight middle-of-nowhere stations and the quiet fuss of loading up fresh coal and passengers.

Come morning, the call of the stewardess, "Coffee, tea, Milo?" That is still used in our home. For once, I wasn't interested in what was being served. I'd push up the window, resting forearms on the sill and leaning out as far as I could, I wanted to see the huge locomotive in front, gaze in awe at upcoming tunnels that secretly terrified me. Gran would get annoyed at the soot she'd have to clean off my clothes then. Looking back, I'd see the long red and beige train snaking behind.


The bathrooms were an adventure in themselves and the tiny metal washbasins. Going to the dining car was a journey of unbelievable excitement and trepidation. Crossing the concertina joins between carriages required a huge amount of courage and the comforting hand of an adult. White linen table cloths, linen serviettes and heavy silver cutlery. I can't, for the life of me, remember the food. I think I had my nose pressed to the window.

The train whistle blows, then Parrrp... parrrp... Khssshhhhhh.... we pull into the station. There's the fuss of pulling cases down, checking nothing is left, the noisy compartment door crashing open. I look out the windows in the passage for the last time. The train empties out onto the smooth concrete platform. Train stations always seem to have ornate metal supports and rails, red brick or cream and grey buildings and pretty gardens.

"You don't get harmony when everyone sings the same note"

Magic on the tracks

I was listening to some Afrikaans songs tonight when "Trans Karoo" came on. Ah... memories...

Tchuk-tchuk- tchuck-tchuk, Clickety-clack... clickety clack.... one of the best lullabies a child can sleep to as the train rocks gently on the tracks. As I slept, I was conscious of pulling into midnight middle-of-nowhere stations and the quiet fuss of loading up fresh coal and passengers.

Come morning, the call of the stewardess, "Coffee, tea, Milo?" That is still used in our home. For once, I wasn't interested in what was being served. I'd push up the window, resting forearms on the sill and leaning out as far as I could, I wanted to see the huge locomotive in front, gaze in awe at upcoming tunnels that secretly terrified me. Gran would get annoyed at the soot she'd have to clean off my clothes then. Looking back, I'd see the long red and beige train snaking behind.

The bathrooms were an adventure in themselves and the tiny metal washbasins. Going to the dining car was a journey of unbelievable excitement and trepidation. Crossing the concertina joins between carriages required a huge amount of courage and the comforting hand of an adult. White linen table cloths, linen serviettes and heavy silver cutlery. I can't, for the life of me, remember the food. I think I had my nose pressed to the window.

The train whistle blows, then Parrrp... parrrp... Khssshhhhhh.... we pull into the station. There's the fuss of pulling cases down, checking nothing is left, the noisy compartment door crashing open. I look out the windows in the passage for the last time. The train empties out onto the smooth concrete platform. Train stations always seem to have ornate metal supports and rails, red brick or cream and grey buildings and pretty gardens.

 

Technorati Tags: garden-route,train,memories

Positive : Negative

Should I be grateful that I have a challenging job with endless variety or can I complain that I never know what my students want?

Should I be grateful that Brazilians are polite to a fault or can I complain that they're incapable of saying "No" and would rather let you down or leave you hanging?

Should I be grateful that I have a job that allows me plenty of free time and flexibility or can I complain that I never know, from one day to the next, what I'll be earning or if I'll be able to pay my dues?

Actually, this blog started out as a major rant... a really big rant... an enormous rant... but I ran out of steam. I'm still angry and feeling let down. Selfishness is something that really irks me in a big way. When you blithely go through life never thinking of the next person or how your actions affect others, that bugs me.... big! Second on my list of rants for the day is incompetence.

Anyone else got a rant to add. You can safely do it here where no one will accuse you, however temporarily, of being negative ; ) In fact, I may just add more as I think of it.

Good morning sunshine

The little girl climbs the stairs, her dark curls spilling from under the hood of her jacket, her fluffy teddy clutched up to her chubby little cheek. Memories gripped my heart... and squeezed.

In the park, the sun's first rays filter through the trees and mist, lightly warming my shoulders. I greet the trees and smile at the fragrant blossoms, their heady scent obliterating the smell of the nearby road. The two old blue gums stand like sentinals on my path. The sun radiates off their white trunks turning them into majestic pillars of light in the cool dark of the park.

The old man comes along and has his usual cheerful unintelligible conversation with me. I nod, smile, agree and eventually he moves on to the fallen tree to do his morning stretches.

A bird flies down among the filtered rays of the sun. I feel as though I've received some sort of sacred blessing. Someone stops to take a photo. I'm not in the least surprised.

Time to go, to start my day ~ renewed, refreshed at the end of the week.

Positive : Negative

Should I be grateful that I have a challenging job with endless variety or can I complain that I never know what my students want?

Should I be grateful that Brazilians are polite to a fault or can I complain that they're incapable of saying "No" and would rather let you down or leave you hanging?

Should I be grateful that I have a job that allows me plenty of free time and flexibility or can I complain that I never know, from one day to the next, what I'll be earning or if I'll be able to pay my dues?

Actually, this blog started out as a major rant... a really big rant... an enormous rant... but I ran out of steam. I'm still angry and feeling let down. Selfishness is something that really irks me in a big way. When you blithely go through life never thinking of the next person or how your actions affect others, that bugs me.... big! Second on my list of rants for the day is incompetence.

Anyone else got a rant to add. You can safely do it here where no one will accuse you, however temporarily, of being negative ; ) In fact, I may just add more as I think of it.

 

Technorati Tags: rant

Good morning sunshine

The little girl climbs the stairs, her dark curls spilling from under the hood of her jacket, her fluffy teddy clutched up to her chubby little cheek. Memories gripped my heart... and squeezed.

In the park, the sun's first rays filter through the trees and mist, lightly warming my shoulders. I greet the trees and smile at the fragrant blossoms, their heady scent obliterating the smell of the nearby road. The two old blue gums stand like sentinals on my path. The sun radiates off their white trunks turning them into majestic pillars of light in the cool dark of the park.

The old man comes along and has his usual cheerful unintelligible conversation with me. I nod, smile, agree and eventually he moves on to the fallen tree to do his morning stretches.

A bird flies down among the filtered rays of the sun. I feel as though I've received some sort of sacred blessing. Someone stops to take a photo. I'm not in the least surprised.

Time to go, to start my day ~ renewed, refreshed at the end of the week.

 

Technorati Tags: tree,peace,renewal,park

Treasure Hunting

 

This is a repost... because it seems like a good idea right now

Treasure Hunting
Discovering the Little Things that Make Us Happy

Life is full of little wonders that can make us happy. The sound of a baby’s laughter, a good book, the comforting smell of a favourite old sweatshirt, and the warmth from a cup of hot tea are simple pleasures that can easily put smiles on our faces. These “little things” are easily accessible to us and can be sources for finding happiness. A key to doing so is taking the time to put those rose coloured glasses from childhood back on so you can easily find the joy in all the “little things” that life has to offer.

Finding a puppy rummaging through the laundry basket, trying on that perfect shade of lipstick, or discovering the extra change you left in your back pocket can turn into moments of delight. Like kids digging in the sandbox for buried trinkets, we may even begin to experience happiness when we engage in the seemingly mundane. Figuring out a software program can feel like deciphering a treasure map, and that first sip of tea in the morning can taste like a forbidden delicacy. Swaying to music playing on the radio can turn into an interpretive jig, riding a bike can seem like flying to the moon, and getting a phone call from that special someone can feel like winning the lottery. A pickup game of basketball becomes an exciting match among champions, and observing an elderly couple walking hand in hand can turn into a meditation on peace and contentment.

When we begin rediscovering that the little things in life can make us happy, we naturally want to share this joy with others. We may gush over a friend when we run into them unexpectedly, praise a street musician for their talents, or blow bubbles for the neighbourhood kids to chase. We may even start to think of the little things we can do to make other people happy, which in turn makes us happy all over again. There is an endless supply of little things and little moments that can make us happy. All we have to do is look for them, and they’ll magically start to appear.

Technorati Tags: little things,thoughts,om

Treasure Hunting

This is a repost... because it seems like a good idea right now

Treasure Hunting
Discovering the Little Things that Make Us Happy

Life is full of little wonders that can make us happy. The sound of a baby’s laughter, a good book, the comforting smell of a favorite old sweatshirt, and the warmth from a cup of hot tea are simple pleasures that can easily put smiles on our faces. These “little things” are easily accessible to us and can be sources for finding happiness. A key to doing so is taking the time to put those rose colored glasses from childhood back on so you can easily find the joy in all the “little things” that life has to offer.

Finding a puppy rummaging through the laundry basket, trying on that perfect shade of lipstick, or discovering the extra change you left in your back pocket can turn into moments of delight. Like kids digging in the sandbox for buried trinkets, we may even begin to experience happiness when we engage in the seemingly mundane. Figuring out a software program can feel like deciphering a treasure map, and that first sip of tea in the morning can taste like a forbidden delicacy. Swaying to music playing on the radio can turn into an interpretive jig, riding a bike can seem like flying to the moon, and getting a phone call from that special someone can feel like winning the lottery. A pickup game of basketball becomes an exciting match among champions, and observing an elderly couple walking hand in hand can turn into a meditation on peace and contentment.

When we begin rediscovering that the little things in life can make us happy, we naturally want to share this joy with others. We may gush over a friend when we run into them unexpectedly, praise a street musician for their talents, or blow bubbles for the neighborhood kids to chase. We may even start to think of the little things we can do to make other people happy, which in turn makes us happy all over again. There is an endless supply of little things and little moments that can make us happy. All we have to do is look for them, and they’ll magically start to appear.

Dear Reader - The Same

***

***


Dear Reader - The Same
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZ87RvDDISY

Lyrics:

land, land of my birth
are you my mother
or am i an orphan

where, where do i belong
will i find a place in this world
or forever just wander around

southern hemisphere
how did i end up here
i have nowhere to go
this is the only home that i know
such a great divide
between you and i
how i wish it would go
i live in a place in my mind

no i don't listen to kwaito, wasn't born in soweto
i don't understand you
but i want to you know

same, were both the same
we share the same heart
we're made of the same parts

please don't look at me that way
i already live with the guilt that i own
from my forefather's past
does this land belong to the tribes who engraved her stones with stories of old
they're long gone you know
now this is our home

i want to strip you down to the core
take off your shirt, hat, shoes and trousers
erase my head, all the books that i've read
the language i speak, the customs you keep
keep on going right down to the heart
to the pain that is yours - the pain that is ours
tell you it's all going to be alright
is it going to be alright

heal, can you heal
heal, oh can you heal
heal, oh mother, can you heal
or am i an orphan
forever a stranger here

same, we're both the same
we share the same heart
we're made of the same parts

Makeover for a New Life

http://www.wciu.com/youandme.php?section=aleah&assetID=10002119
I've seen academies advertising for people wanting beauty treatments. To me, what this academy is doing is really special. Don't you agree?