The Memories are Forever, If the Breaths of Life are Not

Bookends - Simon and Garfunkel

Music choices for me is not about popularity but how it touches my soul at that moment. Hearing the above track just recently I was swept away in a flood of memories and knew immediately that it had to be the song for this post. 

Memories. Sometimes it is all that is left. I consider myself lucky that music can trigger those memories for me, because then I can feel peace at any moment in the day. For besides my vast collection of Pink Panthers I am known for my love of music. 

I come by it honestly. The more I research my family history the more I find relatives that have the same passion and often talent for music. Be it writing or playing or listening. It's in the genes. My mother taught me that passion by example. 

My earliest and fondest memories involve music. Back in the day choices were limited. With enough homemade wine passed around the adults would break into song, belting out all the traditional songs from the old country. The children sang along - for we were all familiar with the language and the lyrics. If there happened to be an accordion around, well that was the accompaniment. 
In the past quarter century, I have had limited occasions to recall those beautiful words in public but rest assured the lyrics come flooding back with the first strains of the melody. It feels like I am surrounded by my family when I hear those songs. "Sul Cappello, Evviva, Evviva il reggimento."  

With Sandra and Ron in the foreground you can see
the stereo that Dad built in the background.

My mother had a fair collection of albums but the majority were songs from Italy. In fact that was the title of one of the LP's. I still own those records, but unfortunately have no equipment on which to play them. But I have many fond memories of adjusting the pennies on the toner arm of the stereo that my dad built. It was a beautiful piece of furniture that had space to hold LP's and 45's on one side and a turntable on the other. I'm told that the inner workings of the unit were created with the help of my Uncle that passed with my Dad. It was a collection of tubes and wires but had such fancy details as a light that not only illuminated the controls but alerted you when it was left on. Reception for the radio was astounding considering it's basic simplicity. For nostalgic reasons only, I hung onto that stereo well into my 40's and I kept one of the knobs from it, still in the top drawer of my desk to this day. 

Not mine but a reasonable facsimile :)

Mom was not beyond using the tactic of bribery to get her four children to do what she wanted. Case in point, when she got tired of employing all the tried and true methods for getting me to stop chewing my fingernails, she took to the darkness and bribed me. And for a 33 cent 45 I quit - at least temporarily lol! That 45 is still in my collection with it's original price tag entact. Day After Day by Badfinger was released in 1971, and it was the start of a collection that blossomed to more than 550 at last count.  

To appease the tastes of so many different musical minds in the early days, we often gravitated to K-Tel purchases of compilation hit music. The first one that I got to pick out and call my own was another bribe of sorts. I desperately wanted a chocker and my mom didn't like them. She slyly suggested that I would want music instead - a whole album. A chocker would have been soon forgotten. To this day I scour old bins of records to find that precious collection again. I would also like to know how it disappeared from the house in the first place - curses on the culprit whoever you are. I remember the cover artwork in my mind but can't seem to reproduce it on paper, the only song that I remember is Obla-di Obla-da by the Beatles. The album meant a lot to me. 

Sandra and I in our music-themed bedroom

We didn't just listen to music, we used it as a source of entertainment. In the evening the local radio station CKPR would hold a contest called The Top Ten. You had to listen to all 10 popular songs and recite them back in descending order to win a prize. The trick was to have a quick finger on that old rotary dial phone to key in the last number upon hearing the first few notes of the number one song. Of course you had to have entered in the previous 6 numbers prior or you would never be the first caller in. It was competitive and I don't think we ever won but we sure loved playing. It was a real family event. 

Linda at the piano. She learned by listening to
her older sisters practice.

Linda (youngest sister) and I took music appreciation to a whole new level. We spent hours upon hours listening to songs over and over again and we painstakingly tried to decipher and then immortalize the words in our own hand. You don't know how good you have it now that a simple google search or simple click on the Shazaam app will get you all that information without the toil. And between those two extremes of lyrical searches was the magazines that included lyrics of the popular songs of the day. I had such a collection of those lol! 
When we actually got to the point where we bought an album by a single artist, it was a real treat to find the lyrics printed within. But with compilations and "best of's" it wasn't likely to happen. So with either her or I at the control of the arm of the turntable and with a steady hand we would move the song back one or two grooves in the vinyl over and over until we came to a consensus. With an ear right next to the speaker, eyes closed and face scrunched in concentration it was like the worlds best game. In the end, having those lyrics so we could confidently sing along meant the world to us. And that folks, is probably why to this day I can listen to the same song over and over again ad infinitum and not tire of it ever.  

A gorgeous lady, A wonderful Mom. A beautiful soul. <3

Rod Stewart and his Every Picture Tells a Story release in 1971 heralded my departure from an egocentric child to awareness beyond self. I thought of my mothers musical taste more along the traditional, country or pop genres. This was a u-turn from the norm. And as I sat at a safe distance, hidden from view, I watched as my mother sat on the floor shoulder to shoulder with a man. To my burgeoning hormones, it was love. The man was a university student who was boarding with us. Chris might have been in his early or even mid-20's, Mom 10 years his senior. Today, I think "Way to go Mom!" Back then my jaw hit the floor and my diary got a page full of shock. And every time I hear a song from that album I still think of love and compassion and of the look of happiness on my Mom's face. Bliss!  

We didn't remain passive listeners for long. Starting with a paper keyboard on the kitchen table, Sandra (my oldest sister) and I began piano lessons 6-8 years old. Maybe younger. It wasn't too long before the need for a real piano became a necessity as we continued to pursue lessons with the nuns of the Avila Centre in Royal Conservatory format. Ron wanted to learn guitar - a few lessons in piano would be helpful. His health and Mom's death sidelined the aspirations of guitar, and he did continue with his piano. Although alternative music on the radio station became more his style and not the classical repertoire or the nuns. My youngest sister Linda picked up piano playing of her own volition. She would try and get in on the action after we had practiced and very quickly was picking out tunes she had heard. A talent not to be wasted she soon found herself tickling the ivories as well. Moms original intention was that the ability to play an instrument made you a more well rounded person. Personally, in hindsight, I think that she had the desire to play instruments but was never offered the opportunity. Hearing music in my sleep may have been her trying to teach herself to play in secret. 

And then there was dance. For what is music without the dance. Sandra, myself and Linda all took dance lessons. Ballet, tap and jazz. To be honest I sucked! Well at least compared to my sisters I did. Let's just say choreographed dance wasn't my thing, but really, I dislike lessons. I felt bad because I was only in the back rows of the dance numbers while Linda and Sandra shone in the front and lead positions. Oh well, we can't excel at everything we try. 

Just Breath - Pearl Jam

"Meet you on the other side"

After they were gone there was a considerable time were Ron and I were estranged emotionally if not physically. He tolerated me and I didn't know what to do with him. We didn't know how to rebuild our family from 5 to just the two of us. 

But with a physical separation when I moved out, we found our connection. We were just two kids trying to make our way through the world on our own and hanging on to each other with spiritual threads. Music gave us that stepping stone into the world together. I called on him to help me build and compile my audio system and he shared the music that he had gravitated towards. To this day still my favourite genre of music, the alternative format and the Canadian musician. Bands like The Deserters, the Villians and Audience. Gone was Top 40 radio and I searched out the CFNY of Toronto for my fix of new music. 

It didn't pigeon-hole the music I gravitated to, it expanded it and the vinyl collection. And although I may get a little teary-eyed when I hear Slade I will never stop listening to it because the memories are all I have. Even if some of those memories are sad not all of them are.  

**On this day, March 21st I have endeavoured to remember my family in the written word in many different ways. This is one of them. For I never feel alone like I do on this day because 41 years later it still hurts. 

For other stories please see:
Website
http://www.pinkpantherfan.caFamily Here and Gone Blog Listing
http://www.pinkpantherfan.ca/Family_Here_and_Gone.php

I am eternally grateful to have found this forum to share and release some of the intense feeling that I have kept to myself for so many years. 

R.I.P. 

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time Another Place - Part 1

And Now the Waltz (C'est La Vie) - Slade

This is a story I wrote a very long time ago and I am ready to share it now to coincide with the 30th anniversary of my brother's passing, June 4th, 1984. 

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time, Another Place

Ron Sdraulig March 1984

By: Gigi Sdraulig

“Another time, another place.  We’ll be together again.”

from: And Now the Waltz (C’est La Vie) by Slade 1984

This is about a young man who had the courage to save the life of someone else but could not save his own. This is about the bravest person I have ever known. This is about my brother, Ron Sdraulig.

Thursday, March 21st, 1974.  It was the middle of the school March Break and in Thunder Bay, Ontario there was snow on the ground still.  The roads were clear and the weather was warming.  We were taking a family trip-Mom (Livia, 32), Sandra (13), myself (Gigi, 12), Ron (11) and Linda (10).  Although I am not sure why, on this occasion we had an extra passenger: Mom's friend Jenny.  I am not sure how this came about because Jenny was not one of my Mom’s closest friends. In fact, I still know very little about her. Maybe just the adult company, for Jenny never took the wheel to drive.

Linda, Sandra and I holding onto Ron

Mom had planned to get away early in the morning for the eight-hour drive to Minneapolis and then on to Rochester, Minnesota, but it was almost noon before we left the house. My Mom was notoriously late, she had the best of intentions but I think there was just too much on her mind and she often forget. She forgot appointments, things she had to do, where she put her car keys. We were late for everything – that’s just the way it was. Mom would have benefited greatly from writing herself reminders – if she could remember where she left her lists. She was also very fastidious and the house had to be neat and tidy before we left, so that when we returned we would enjoy it rather than worry about having to clean. After a long trip we could come home and relax.                 
        So even though we left late from the house, Mom still had a few errands to run and we had to make a quick stop to switch cars with Nonno (our grandfather). We took his 1966 Pontiac and left him the loaner we had. Mom had hit a deer on a previous trip stateside and our old Meteor was being repaired. Then we were off on what I considered to be an adventure despite the fact that we had made this very trip on a fairly regular basis. Mom's brother and his family lived in a Minneapolis suburb, so we got to visit our cousins, but the primary reason for the trips was cancer treatment and check ups for Ron, who had Hodgkins Disease.

It was Boxing Day 1972, just before his 9th birthday, when Mom first noticed the large egg shaped lump on his neck.  As children, we knew he was sick but cancer wasn’t so commonplace back then, and we did not associate death with his having to go to the hospital all the time.  We did not experience his hospital stays or his pain, because all his treatment occurred at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. We stayed home with various caregivers.  We went as a family only for check-ups that fell on school breaks, as it was on this March day.

Dante and Livia Sdraulig Jan. 8, 1960

Mom was a great mother, who amidst chaos and uncertainty, made us feel as though we were a normal family.  But we weren't.  We had no Dad, Mom was widowed.  When forms came home from school asking for Dads' occupation and we matter-of-factly wrote - Deceased - almost as if that was his occupation.  We didn't know him to miss him.  Dad (Dante) died, along with Mom’s brother, Feruccio (Frank) Babudro, in a car-train collision on February 17, 1964. Mom was a strong woman who coped in the face of adversity far better than anyone I know could. At the time of his death, Dad had been building the family home with the help of Feruccio, and they were going to the lumberyard for supplies. They were broadsided by a train at a dangerous crossing in the middle of the day. They didn’t have a chance. Mom was left heart-broken and grieving with four young children and a partially built homestead. Sandra was the oldest at 3 ½ years of age; Linda, the youngest, was just 5 weeks old. There was an ensuing lawsuit that went all the way to the Supreme Court and did not provide much for the effort. So without a breadwinner, Mom struggled financially. The local school board eventually ousted mom, a teacher by profession, when she was unable to return to university for her Bachelors Degree-required since her graduation from North Bay Teachers College. After that she took a variety of jobs to support her family and at one point, I believe, social assistance.

My mom’s parents were a very big part of our lives – my paternal grandparents were still in Italy. What I didn’t realize then, was that her parents were both a source of comfort and anxiety and stress at the same time. We often heard Mom and Nonna (grandmother) arguing, and once I asked why they fought so much. “Because we love each other” is the answer I got. Love, it seems now had very little to do with it. Nonna didn’t approve of my dad’s side of the family and the marriage…and us children? She also blamed my father for the accident that killed both him and her son. As a matter of fact, it seems that Nonna approved of very little that my Mom did. There certainly was a one-sidedness when it came to the parents supporting the remaining son and daughter. The son, his wife and family wanted for nothing. It is just another testament to the strength and courage of my Mother that she obviously passed on to her children. Strong, honourable character.

With the last of the errands completed, we crossed the set of railroad tracks where I mistakenly believed my dad was killed. Perhaps because of the pain it caused her, perhaps because we never asked, but Mom never really talked about Dad. I knew nothing of his personality, his height, his character, his likes, dislikes, habits, hobbies. One framed picture was on the bookshelf. The same picture that adorned his mausoleum.  I knew how he died and that my parents were in love. That’s about it. We visited his final resting place often but never went to the scene of his death. So the tracks that intersected Thunder Bay between the twinned cities of Port Arthur and Fort William were not were my Dad breathed his last breath. Instead, the crossing was nearer the Port Arthur waterfront on Clavet Street.

All together!
Linda, Mom, me, Ron, Sandra

Spirits were high and excitement building with chatter of fun to come when the song “Photograph” by Ringo Starr came on the radio. It was one of Sandra’s favourites and a lively discussion ensued about everyone else’s favourites. Mom’s was “I Am Woman” by Helen Reddy; Linda’s was “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. I, like Ron, could not pinpoint any one favourite. I liked too many.  To this day hearing those songs evokes a rush of emotions. Both sad and comforting but mostly hurt. Music was always important in all our lives. The stereo was a more prized possession than the TV. Of course, that was in part due to the fact that my dad built the stereo cabinet and put together (possibly with help from my Uncle who died with him) the interior components complete with the old tubes. No electronics back then. Many nights we would sit by the stereo as a family, listening to the Top 10 hits of the day on CKPR radio and then trying to be the first to call the radio station with the names of all ten in hopes of winning. I don’t remember the prize, or even winning. But I do remember the excitement of playing the game. Rewards and treats came in the form of new albums or 45’s. I still own the first 45 I ever earned. It cost $.33 in 1971 and was Day After Day by Badfinger. We all learned to play the piano and had aspirations to expand our musical abilities with other instruments. Singing as a family was another activity we enjoyed together, there was a host of traditional Italian songs that we learned (and I still remember), but there was one that came to impact my life in later years for reasons I have never really understood. The song was “Farewell to Nova Scotia” and I did not know what if any importance there was in that song for her. Perhaps it was because Nova Scotia and Halifax were the first things she saw in Canada when she came through the gates at Pier 21 as a pre-teen girl leaving her homeland. Perhaps she had hopes of one day returning for a visit. I’ll never know.

It was getting dark when we stopped at a Perkins Restaurant in Duluth, Minnesota for supper. With four hungry bellies whining, it probably wasn’t that late at night but the daylight hours are significantly shorter in the winter months. Perkins was a real treat because we liked the food, Mom liked the prices and we could only go when we were in the States. Downstairs, near the washrooms, we found a telephone and called Nonna to tell her all was well. Nonna was concerned with the darkness of the hour and the journey ahead. Mom assured her we would be fine, she was not at all tired. We only had another four hours or so to go, mostly on divided highway and with good road conditions. Mom was also very accustomed to this journey, having done it so often before.

            We didn’t make the rest of the trip. 

Forever in my heart, forever in my thoughts...forever 21 years old. My brother Ron Sdraulig

Wouldn't It Be Good - Nik Kershaw 

January 9, is my brother Ron's birthday. Ron and I were cut from the same cloth we lived in the same house and couldn't have been any more different. We each had heavy crosses to bear growing up - much more than any child should have to endure. Ron's got too heavy and he left the physical world to join the rest of our family at the age of 21. 


In happier times, Ron was a bit of a privileged soul. With Dad having died when we were babies, Ron was the only source of testosterone in the gaggle of 4 female in the house. He was revered by my grandparents - who tended to favour the male species. There were no hand me downs for him, no girly toys to share and he had his own "boys" bike for his use only. Mom fought to have us all treated fairly but with financial struggles, she didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. At the time, except for the bike which I was envious about, it was all good by me. Life was grand! We thought we were living the dream!


Then came Christmas Eve 1972, Ron was just shy of his 10th birthday. We were all in the kitchen with my grandparents and Mom had just finished making her traditional Crostoli. There was laughter and Mom was gong to embrace Ron when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence and with a fear in her voice that silenced the room, she gently touched the goose-egg sized lump on the side of Ron's neck and asked how long it had been there. 


That was the moment that changed the rest of my life from a dream to a never ending nightmare. 


By the next day, Mom and Ron were on the way to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota and the diagnosis was Hodgkins Disease! Cancer of the lymph nodes.  We didn't understand, we were just children. I was 11, Sandra was 12 and Linda was not quite 9. Cancer was not as commonplace as it is today. We didn't know anyone who had it, we didn't understand what it meant. Ron was sick and we had to put up with a succession of care-givers who came into the house to care for us while Mom and Ron were gone for treatments or checkups. I resented those people and even tried to runaway once because I missed my mother and her kindness, compassion and love. I feel bad now that I understand I probably caused her stress that she could have lived without. But children are selfish creatures and I didn't see beyond my own needs. 


Beyond that initial lump that was found I don't know anything about Ron's prognosis or treatment. I now know that Ron and Mom got very close, spending so much time together in travel and in waiting rooms. When she died, it affected him much more than it did me. Ron and I had very different interests, in the family we were on opposing teams. In an argument or in play it was always Sandra and Ron against Linda and myself. In a physical contest, they always won! But I digress, with Mom gone, my grandmother took over the guardian role and accompanied Ron to his appointments. The same grandparents so spoiled Ron before, continued to shower him with his hearts desire. For me, Mom wasn't around to balance the scales any longer. I rebelled. I argued. I fought. Ron didn't understand. He didn't see that we were being treated differently (selfish children remember), he thought we should be grateful. We had horrible fights about it. He didn't see my side and I didn't see his. 


Ron had a lot of medical set-backs throughout his teen years. He contracted Chicken Pox for a second time and with it came Shingles. I am beginning to review diary entries and learn about the on-going cancer treatment that Ron endured, but I don't know about recurrences except for the tumor in his head because the treatment caused hair loss. I felt so bad for him, that small patch at the base of his neck grew back in tight curls completely contrasting his wavy thick hair. Needless to say, because of our tumultuous relationship at home, we didn't discuss sensitive topics like feelings or his medical condition. I once overheard some talk about tumors found in his belly, but I don't know what it meant - today I am annoyed that I didn't care enough to know. 


Thankfully, there came a time where Ron and I were able to get close and be supports to each other. I moved out and he began to understand the restrictions that I was dealing with. All the negativity and anger that was directed at me was now directed at him. Some of my best memories of that time include him. Looking for a hill to teach me how to change gears while on an incline without rolling back. Him laughing at my ineptness and promising that we were going to keep it up until I was ready to trade in an automatic sports car for a standard. When it was time for him to go back home, he took my car and left his standard. I did my share of gear grinding and screeching as the car rolled, but by the end of the summer I was a pro! Ron came from Thunder Bay to the Toronto area to visit, but also for treatment at Princess Margaret. I wasn't allowed to visit, he didn't want me to see him throwing up and so sick. 


All told, we had about 4 years to repair our relationship. Four years that hold a lifetime of memories for me. For a couple of naive, hurting kids, we did pretty good. In his own way, Ron tried to make me a stronger person and prepare me for his death. My dad died in 1964, my mom and sisters in 1974, and we were nearing 1984. Everyone knows that bad things happen in threes and Ron's big concern was my sanity if I should suddenly find myself alone and if something bad happened in 1984 - the prophecy would be true. In his words, he was afraid that I would become "a crazy dog lady. Living alone with a house full of stray and adopted dogs, never leaving the house out of fear." 


Sure enough, Ron died in 1984. He was 21 years old. The doctors said that he shouldn't have died, that with the advances in research and treatment, that he could live to his 30's. By that time, progress would give him another 10 years. His doctor told me that in a sense, Ron committed suicide. He gave up, he refused treatment, he had had enough. Mom was his support and she wasn't there when he needed her, he missed her terribly. Ron didn't have a lot of hope for his future, he was fired from a part time job at MacDonalds because he needed too much time off for medical treatment. That wouldn't happen today but in the early 1970's it did. Ron spent the last few months of his life in the Port Arthur General Hospital. I left my life in Toronto to be with him, not knowing that the end was there but sensing I was needed. I watched as his once muscular legs became thin stalks barely strong enough to support him. Two days before Ron died I had officially closed an unpleasant chapter in my life and was moving on and he saw that and knew that he could move on too. And he did. 


And I still miss him...

"Another time, Another place

We will be together again"

(And Now the Waltz) C'est La Vie by Slade

- In the past 15 years or so I have participated in a sibling study conducted by the Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota. In an effort to understand treatment options and their effects better I have granted access to Ron's medical history and submitted my own DNA and medical records for comparison. They have found that many children of that era suffered heart failure and died prematurely due to the radiation levels they were subjected to being to strong/high for their fragile and immature bodies. Officially, Ron died of heart failure


- In recent years I have learned that my parents celebrated their wedding anniversary on January 9th. With my father's early death, the day must have caused my Mom as much sorrow for the loss as joy celebrating her only son's birth. Never in life did I have a chance so I shall now, with all my heart wish Livia and Dante Sdraulig a Happy Anniversary and I am glad you are together to love each other...We'll be together again some day also! 

All I really want for Christmas can't be bought in a store!

Merry Xmas Everybody - Slade


And again I find myself re-thinking the whole concept of the Christmas Spirit. For some it is truly alive and well, for others it is another excuse to spend money for the sake of spending money. I figure, if you aren't going to put some real thought into the gift, don't bother. Throwing money at real people doesn't show love. But we all know at least one of those fake people who will wear or consume anything as long as it is affiliated with a celebrity and has a brand name. Those people who wouldn't be caught dead wearing or owning something from a discount retailer let alone physically going into Zellers or Wal-Mart. I feel sorry for them. True happiness is a state of mind not a state of bank account. 


The commercialism of Christmas becomes more and more of an issue with each passing year. It really started to hit me with the Cabbage Patch Doll craze of the 1980's. People went crazy trying to secure one of these dolls to put under the tree. After countless hours spent on the phone looking for the store that was expecting a delivery, there was the line up outside the doors, the stampede in and the physical fights to get one in your hands and keep it. I don't know what started the craze initially but it was nuts. Top story on the news nightly. Sad really, punching someone and knocking them to the ground because they had their hands on the same doll as you did...that's some Christmas spirit...lol! And the kids who got the toys, did they even get that this toy was so "special". Probably not, because it wasn't. But it was great marketing that has been used again and again since to create similar frenzys. Remember Tickle Me Elmo? 


These days we have expanded this insanity not just to a product but a day. What has become known as Black Friday, the day after the United States Thanksgiving holiday is when the consumers have been told that they must go shopping in preparation of the next Holiday. So for a full month, retailers can get people worked into a "spending" mentality. Brilliant! Thanksgiving dinner is wolfed down so that people can begin lining up outside their favourite retailer to lay their money down on crap they are told they must have.This year it was a waffle iron on sale at Wal-Mart for $2.00 that created a stampede, people were crushed, thrown to the ground and trampled on. Seriously how often do you eat waffles that you need an appliance just for that? Do you eat them often enough to shoot your fellow shopper over it? But it was $2.00! If you want one, wait until spring garage sales, I am sure you will be able to pick on up - barely used if at all - for $1.00. 


I don't care if the latest and greatest, technologically superior television is on sale for 80% off if you already have more than you can possibly watch? But people will buy to have new and then throw out perfectly good products to make room. What is sad about a lot of the technology is that the commercials themselves tout them as solitary usage. Consider cell phones and the family. I admit we were guilty of using the text messaging to speak when we were all in the house together but spread out in different areas. Fortunately it wasn't our only form of communication and it did cut down on the screaming. But there are people whose voice I haven't heard in months. But I am an adult: is this what we want for our children with their young impressionable minds. One of the latest gadgets for children is a product that promises to teach your kid to read on their own. I heard this and was immediately saddened, for teaching my kids to read and love the written word was one of my favourite ways to spend time with them. 


But there is good to be found. Consider the 22 year old couple who have decided that since they lived a life of never wanting or lacking the necessities and luxuries of life that they would share some of their fortune with the less fortunate. Why is it so hard to come up with that list of things you want for Christmas? Because in the impatient world that we live in when we want it we go and get it there is no waiting. But if you struggle to survive with the basics, there are things you really do need. So beyond picking up a few special toys for the single mom and her young son, the young couple saw on the list bed sheets and thought how sad that was. They don't want Egyptian cotton with a thread count of 900, they want sheets without holes. And because someone is not selfish, they will get it. And what I want, they have and are willing to share...


All I really want for Christmas can't be bought in a store. 
All I really want is the same thing I always wanted all my life. 
All I really want doesn't come just at Christmas. 
All I really want can be given by anyone reading this. But you have to want to...