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	<title>Barbecuing and Memory Sharing</title>
	<updated>2012-02-11T17:30:59Z</updated>
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		<title>Veterans Day, 2008</title>
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			<name>Mark Withrow</name>
			<email>mark@veteranshield.org</email>
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		<category term="November 11th" />
		<updated>2008-11-12T15:09:00Z</updated>
		<published>2008-11-12T15:09:00Z</published>
		<content type="html">Yesterday was Veterans Day.      And, once again, I'm sorry to say that I was sorely disappointed (but not surprised).     Why?  Well, because I decided to conduct a bit of informal research, which consisted of my driving around the neighborhoods of my town yesterday evening and noting the kinds of outdoor decorations that folks had (or - more likely - had NOT) placed on display to honor our veterans in observance of such a sacred national holiday.    I set out after dinner (around 7:00 ...</content>
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	<entry>
		<title>A Salute to Kodak: "Keep Me, Protect Me, Share Me... and I Will Live Forever"</title>
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			<name>Mark Withrow</name>
			<email>mark@veteranshield.org</email>
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		<category term="VeteranShield" />
		<updated>2008-09-01T19:22:00Z</updated>
		<published>2008-09-01T19:22:00Z</published>
		<content type="html">I've always admired the Kodak company.  Like most boomers, I grew up with them; looking back, there really is no other photography company that comes to mind during the 50's, 60's and 70's.  Back in the day, "Kodak" was the word printed on the back of the family snapshots taken by almost every American.    Today, of course, the advent of digital photography has made the number of supplier choices practically endless.  And that's a good thing.  Still, Kodak remains a powerful force to be reckoned with.  They've recently ...</content>
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	<entry>
		<title>The VeteranShield Story: In The Beginning...(Part 1)</title>
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		<author>
			<name>Mark Withrow</name>
			<email>mark@veteranshield.org</email>
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		<category term="VeteranShield" />
		<updated>2008-08-28T19:47:00Z</updated>
		<published>2008-08-28T19:47:00Z</published>
		<content type="html">The first part of this story begins in late 2005, with the discovery of an old footlocker…  ÒÒÒÒÒ      I was visiting my widowed aunt, Ulla-Britt Withrow, in Scottsdale, Arizona; we were at the home she had shared for many years with my late Uncle Bob.  While there, Ulla-Britt asked me to help her move several heavy items that were stored in the garage.    The crusty, dusty old footlocker didn’t look like much.  As I heaved it out into the sunlight, my aunt casually remarked, “You might ...</content>
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