<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/Tiddlypush6986"><title>Tales from the old and being with the old - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Tiddlypush6986/</link><description>Reflections on the lives of old people. </description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Tiddlypush6986/538613" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Tiddlypush6986/538613"><title>Mixed thoughts</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Tiddlypush6986/538613</link><description>I have a combination of happy and sad recollections from working with old people: I will try to simply write what I observed: They are old and they know it. They don't need to be told what they are feeling, they don't need to be reminded in subtle ways that their thoughts are muddled. They walk...</description></item></rdf:RDF>