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Poll #1668610 Transportation survey

When you take a taxi, bus, limo, train, plane, etc, do you want your driver to be well rested?

yes
1(100.0%)
no
0(0.0%)
vivarin, coffee, redbull are good enough
0(0.0%)
don't know
0(0.0%)

How many hours should a driver sleep before each shift?

8
1(100.0%)
6
0(0.0%)
2
0(0.0%)
as many as possible
0(0.0%)
not important
0(0.0%)

Why should a driver have more or less sleep?

Do you trust the driver on your trip?

yes
1(100.0%)
no
0(0.0%)
maybe
0(0.0%)

Why does a driver need to be rested?

How long should a driver's shift be and why?

Are taxi drivers the same as any other type of proffessional driver?

Anything you want to add or explain, please feel free to add in the comments.
My comments are closed for your privacy but this post is public.
Thank you for helping me out.
(A friend posted this and I being the thief I am, grabbed it to share- please take the time to read, think and share what follows)
Malachi 3:3 says: "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God. One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: "He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver." She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time.

The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?

He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it."

If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has his eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His image in you. Pass this on right now. This very moment, someone needs to know that God is watching over them.

And, whatever they're going through, they'll be a better person in the end.

This is for my brother's children's neighborhood playground and i am excited about the plan!   All I am asking you to do is bookmark this and vote every day-- we get to come back daily and show support. Please help out!!!

Today is another day & another vote- Please take 30 seconds out of your
day to help our elementary school win the$5,000 Pepsi Grant. Our
playground committee has worked tirelessly for almost 2 years to raise
the money to build a safe playground and community fitness trail. (I
just voted again)
Click here to vote everyday:

www.refresheverything.com
Vote for the most refreshing ideas to win Pepsi Refresh Project grants for Neighborhoods

Adoption needed

I was just sent a message that my Rolli is now up for adoption at Hi Tor Animal Shelter in Pomona, NY and I cannot have her so I am begging you that if you can give a home to my baby please do so- I will provide her food and chews forever but i am asthma allergic so i am unable to do anything else other than walks. PLEASE. At least pray for her.

If you know anybody or if you can repost this I would be so thankful.

http://www.hitor.org/pages/contact.html  the shelter has my info attached for her food.

If you read my early journal entries, you will remember my Rolli. The only thing the man had going for him was that he loved her. She should have been adopted out years ago when she was a puppy and easily adopted. This hurts unbelievably- for her and myself. (I wish awfully mean things to befall that useless man but not much worse can help make him suffer since he is homeless and unemployed and nobody cares. )

Spread the word please.

Do you shop online?
Try this
-or atleast sign up and we both get $5 rebate just from your sign up!
I like Ebates cuz I just go to their site first and they reopen the window giving me a % back from whatever I buy--just read their info!!
http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=pOSnCj54Nmw9lAADITCXlg%3D%3D

The site is easy and I get a check every couple of months. I am having fun with it cuz I just check first before i purchase something . My New Balance sneakers this month came through them-no shipping charges and 2% back. The purchase was made through the Kohls site that I wanted to use.

Use the link I gave you to sign up so I at least get credit for it or I can email you an invite if you send me your email (remember, rose.amethyst at gmail dot com)
CHEYENNE
By Catherine Moore

'Watch out! You nearly broadsided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right?' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

'I saw the car, Dad.. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then, turned away and settled back. At home, I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day, I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned and then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon, I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session, he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day, I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, 'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one, but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement..

'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him; that was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in, I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going to kill him?'

'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.'

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. 'I'll take him,' I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house, I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog, I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me.. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words, Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when, suddenly, the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him.. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently.. Then, Dad was on his knees, hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together, he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then, late one night, I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe, and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later, my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned, overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And, then, the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'

'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article.

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter, his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father, and the proximity of their deaths. And, suddenly, I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Feb. 21st, 2010

http://s3.amazonaws.com/picable/2009/07/20/1183799_Linux-penguin-vs-Windows-Pc_620.jpg

Saw this and thought of a certain friend!


I just realized that it is Valentine's Day already in some places!!!!