The letter in which you encourage your partner and give advice on how to handle the situation emotionally is written below.
<h3>How to write the letter?</h3>
Dear sir,
How are you doing today sir? I know that it's being tough on you lately but I want you to take it easy.
I heard about the divorce and I am so sorry about it. I know that this is a tough period for you. You've spent a number of years together with her and I know that this is a tough period for you.
I know that it's hard but I don't want you to think about it. Rather than thinking about it, I'll encourage you to move closer to God and always be with your friends. This is an avenue for you to quickly forget about the issue and move on quickly with your life.
Things like this happen and it's not the end of the world. The next time that I will write a letter to you, I want you to be in a better mood. If you need anyone to talk with, I'll always be here for you sir.
I wish you well sir.
Yours faithfully,
John.
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Answer:
Jill, one of triplets, becomes involved in the problems of her family--her widowed, hypochondriac mother, daughter Daisy, workaholic brother John, and over organized sister Julie, who runs off with a lecherous priest.
Explanation:
Oh wowed is the best thing for me was better to
Answer:
1. I have keys but no locks.
I have a space but no room.
You can enter, but can't go outside.
What am I?
im a comp student so the riddle might be lame lol :'D
To the causal eye, Green Valley, Nevada, a corporate master-planned community just south of Las Vegas, would appear to be a pleasant place to live. On a Sunday last April—a week before the riots in Los Angeles and related disturbances in Las Vegas—the golf carts were lined up three abreast at the up-scale ―Legacy‖ course; people in golf outfits on the clubhouse veranda were eating three-cheese omelets and strawberry waffles and looking out over the palm trees and fairways, talking business and reading Sunday newspapers. In nearby Parkside Village, one of Green Valley’s thirty-five developments, a few homeowners washed cars or boats or pulled up weeds in the sun. Cars wound slowly over clean broad streets, ferrying children to swimming pools and backyard barbeques and Cineplex matinees. At the Silver Springs tennis courts, a well-tanned teenage boy in tennis togs pummeled his sweating father. Two twelve-year-old daredevils on expensive mountain bikes, decked out in Chicago Bulls caps and matching tank tops, watched and ate chocolate candies.
David Guterson, ―No Place Like Home: On the Manicured Streets of a Master-Planned Community,‖ excerpt from Seeing and Writing 3
