tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89808432011-08-08T18:37:26.696-07:00Samantha B. is a little girl with curly brown hair who had spent most of her life seeing the world and everything in it. But in this world of hustle and hurry, things seldom stay the same. Samantha's about to learn that out of all the adventures she's experienced, nothing would compare to the life that's about to begin in her new home.Blakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16536254267583525443noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980843.post-1114896811511724992005-04-30T14:30:00.000-07:002005-04-30T14:33:31.513-07:00<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:Arial, Arial, Helvetica;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">ChristianDatesOnline.com</span> is devoted to individuals who desire quality dates and more significant relationships. We are dedicated to providing the best services the Web has to offer for Christians seeking compatible matches. Our mission is to bring spiritual singles together and provide an opportunity for them to create lasting connections.<p> We believe you will find our articles and links to the best Web sites for Christian singles helpful, and we hope you find your perfect match!</p></span><br /> <span style="text-decoration: underline; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.christiandatesonline.com/">http://www.christiandatesonline.com/</a><br /><a href="http://www.christiandatesonline.com/christianmingle.htm">http://www.christiandatesonline.com/christianmingle.htm</a><br /><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8980843-111489681151172499?l=samanthabnola.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Blakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16536254267583525443noreply@blogger.com124tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980843.post-1099447532827356712004-11-02T17:07:00.000-08:002004-11-03T19:37:17.216-08:00<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">On a morning not unlike many other mornings in New Orleans, a moving truck unloaded eleven yellow crates at 1981 St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans, Louisiana. Most mornings in New Orleans were bearable, meaning that the heat hadn't gotten out of bed yet, and citizens could feel free to sip steaming cups of coffee before they switched to their usual sweaty glasses of watered-down iced tea.</span> <br /> <br />The address on the delivery man's shipping invoice was home to Gino's Italian Kitchen, a classic Italian restaurant housed not-so-neatly in old indigo warehouse that was built when New Orleans was, well, new. Gino was a small, unhappy little man who rarely beat the heat out of bed most mornings. This morning, however, Gino was awake and ready to greet the day with great anticipation. <br /> <br />"Good morning, I have a delivery here for a 'Eugene Capriotti'," sniped the moving man in a nasally-type voice. "Are you Eugene?" <br /> <br />"Uh, 'Gino'...Eugene, that's me." Gino shoved his hands into his pockets to hide his apparent over-enthusiasm. "I've been waiting for this for years. Ever since my poor sister married that know-it-all." <br /> <br />"Listen Eugene," the moving man said fully intending to sting Gino, "I'm not paid to talk about the crates. I'm paid to deliver them. Sign here." He shoved a clip-board into Gino's face. <br /> <br />"What do you want me to do, sign it with my nose?" Gino barked pushing the clip-board out to arms length where he strained to locate the "Sign Here" spot. <br /> <br />Gino quickly scribbled his name, and at once you could almost see the millions of tiny Christmas tree lights illuminating in his mind. Everything else faded from Gino's view. The only things he could see were the crates, which automatically set in motion fantasies of a new life that the crates' contents would undoubtedly secure. <br /> <br />What treasures did they conceal? <br /> <br />Gino mumbled to himself, "Let's see what you've left me Katherine." But no sooner had he thought the thought than his loyal kitchen crew began to stroll in still heavy with the sticky scent of Shirley G's. <br /> <br />Gino knew the crates were for him, and being a man who rarely received packages, not to mention ones delivered at 7 o'clock in the morning, he was determined to keep these all to himself. <br /> <br />And with that, he ordered his kitchen staff to "forget about dicing the zucchini for now. Get these crates up to the third floor, and be careful, they're filled with, eh, marble statuettes from Rome." <br /> <br />The kitchen crew did as they were told. They never really minded Gino's abrupt personality. After all, they knew it had to be very difficult being such an incredibly tiny man in a city filled with such enormous people. Each of the eleven yellow crates was delicately brought to the restaurant's top floor, and there they stayed until both lunch and dinner had been served. <br /> <br />The sun had long since gone down, and the moon had long since come out when Samantha mustered the courage to take a peek from inside crate number nine. <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8980843-109944753282735671?l=samanthabnola.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Blakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16536254267583525443noreply@blogger.com4