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French picture sleeve shown here. Something you can't hide Says you're lonely Hidden deep inside Of you only It's there for you to see Take a look and be Burn slowly the candle of life Something there outside Says we're only In the hands of time Falling slowly It's there for us to know With love that we can go Burn slowly the candle of life So love everybody And make them your friend So love everybody And make them your friend Something you can't hide Says you're lonely Hidden deep inside Of you only It's there for you to see Take a look and be Burn slowly the candle of life Something there outside Says we're only In the hands of time Falling slowly It's there for us to know With love that we can go Burn slowly the candle of life.
April, This single was the "B" side for the hit single "Question" , released four months before the album "A Question of Balance".
In order to achieve our vision, our mission is to promote eye health and vision care as a human right. This is achieved through advocacy, education, policy development and humanitarian outreach. Founded in , Revo quickly became a global performance eyewear brand known as the leader in polarized lens technology.liagormimi.tk
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Revo sunglasses were first created by utilizing lens technology developed by NASA as solar protection for satellites. Nearly three decades later, Revo continues to build on its rich tradition of technology and innovation. Optometry Giving Sight is a fundraising organisation that targets the prevention of blindness and impaired vision due to uncorrected refractive error — the need for an eye exam and glasses.
We fund the solution by supporting programs that train local eye care professionals and establish vision centres for sustainable eye care. Optometry Giving Sight has 12 years of partnering with the Brien Holden Vision Institute in helping to deliver eye care programs around the world. We believe in creating effective powerful partnerships to implement successful child eye health programs. Our Children's Vision has the capacity and purpose to unite a strong coalition to drive the outcome of providing eye care services to 50 million children by Childhood blindness and visual impairment are major global health problems and India is the home to a large proportion of this.
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Our Institute has been involved in issues of children's eye health for nearly a quarter century, with increasing involvement at all levels from simple screening to providing complex surgical care with a multidisciplinary approach. In addition, we have trained multiple pediatric eye care teams from all over the world and are actively engaged in research.
Those little feet were so far down there, the sweaty socks as hard to pull off as a wetsuit.
Grandpa, Bob and I drew straws several times a day to determine whose turn it was to manage the shoes. Two under five confounded two over sixty.
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I was alone for hours with them with no respite. Their father lived above the garage, went to work and helped around the place.
That was all he could manage. Early one morning, Liza was in her crib and it was dark outside. She arched her back and held it tight, pushing her belly into the air then dropped it flat again. She kicked, flipped over, stiffened her arms and screeched. I knew by the look on her face that we both needed more sleep. Every time I tried to touch her, she slapped at me. She pulled my hand to her mouth and tried to bite it; to her, perhaps my hand was a misshapen, wrinkled claw, a monster hand.
I pulled it back and tucked it under my arm. Bob and Ryan, in the room all four of us shared, were both fully awake by then, covering their ears with pillows. Ryan had crawled out of his cot at the end of our bed to slide in next to Bob.
Finding the We in Them, the Us in You
He was crying. Maybe Bob was, too. I lowered the crib rail and left Liza to manage on her own. And then, as I tried to stand up, the muscles along my entire backside seized. It was five a. Bob and Ryan drifted back to sleep.
Our beagle snored raggedly by the bed. I was hurt someplace deep inside, to the core. She poured out a basket of small animal figures and talked to them as she tapped each one around on the coffee table. Can you hear me? I braced myself and rolled to the floor; stifled a scream, tipped to one side and stilled. Liza stood toy animals all around me—dog, cat, dog, cat, cow, horse—and hummed, as if I had died there, the toys my shrine. After a week I loosened up enough to shuffle along in my socks.
I typed out a detailed ten-page instruction manual for friends and family who offered to help: all of my systems for managing the children, their toileting routines, favorite meals, least favorites, too, and their daily schedules. Bob reluctantly printed and hole-punched it for me then displayed it on the kitchen counter, complete with photos and sketches in a thin binder.
They rolled out the dough, sliced apples and made two big pies together. I was stuck in the recliner, watching and listening to the fun, the flour trailing from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bath, settling on every flat surface. The kids went to bed before the pie was ready to eat, so we ate it first thing the next morning, a la mode.
I laugh when I recall someone stopping in and mistaking the dog snacks for chicken jerky for the kids. They asked for that kind of jerky for months afterwards. Some of them were the very people who had warned us not to take in the children. They seemed to better appreciate our decision after helping bathe and settle Ryan and Liza in for the night: the pleasure of slippery bodies fresh out of the bath, warm pajamas, reading stories and tucking them in.
What had seemed at first like a catastrophe gave way to discovery: My grandchildren gained a newly enlarged sense of safety in their community; they learned that there were many loving people who could care for them. I can let go. Today is the day I am to gird my loins and rescue my grandchild Benjy from his dragon mother. I am stiff, bleary eyed and trembling and earplugs cannot silence the cacophony in my head. Instead of feeling fit and ready, the early morning sun swats my fragile eyes, every muscle aches and my ancient bones creak as I lift myself from my rumpled bed. I stumble towards the bathroom, to relieve my bladder and my headache, in that order.
What started as individual nattering naysayers is now an unwelcome Greek chorus—insistent and foreboding. Too softhearted for my own good, will I take their advice? They insist, as in days of yore poets did more eloquently, that you are the master mistress of your own fate.