48 days times 2

Color me stupid, but I thought you had to have a pod or be a pod or be in a pod or be somepody to listen to podcasts. Were they ever only playable on IPods? Or am I just THAT old? :-|

There is a ridiculous amount of stuff I could have been listening to all this time!

For example, I love Dan Miller! He’s a life coach from Tennessee and not one of those that teaches by bragging about all of his many accomplishments and how you, too, can be just like him for only $99.99.

He’s from the Dave Ramsey School of responsibility and stop-whining-and-just-do-it, but he hides it better than Dave does, which helps, being the nurturing life coach and all that he is.

As of today, there are 96 days left in the year. That’s 48 days times 2. That gives me 48 days to catch up on podcasts and another 48 days to just do it.

So, in October, the month that, according to numerology (not a huge fan, I just think it’s fun to play with), is the best predictor of the following year, I’m committing to one-page-a-day to get the toughest chunk of this thing on paper/screen. Then, by November 1st, I’ll be soooo ready for the annual NaNoWriMo, which I’ll use to finish.

Thanks, Dan. It’s obviously newsletter day! Now that I gathered all that strength to push the button, it’s podcast day, too!

Like sand thru the hourglass...

I know it's an irreverant phrase, but I am wasting time.

Boston Legal’s extra-long season premiere airs tonight!! I love, love, love that show. It’s the imaginary place where morality sits right beside legality, and both always win in the end. Well, if they don’t, we somehow understand – mad cow and all. John Laroquette joins the cast, too. I don’t know how the writers will have time in each episode to fit his and Alan’s closing arguments, but I can’t wait to see. Michelle Pfeiffer must beam with pride every day.

Today is the last day of registration for the Muse Online Writers Conference. I’ve never done something like this, but think I will try it out. It sounds like fun!

The Indiana Clean Elections Summit is Saturday! This group should be so proud of this accomplishment. I’m so happy to be a small part of it.

National headlines:
Bush announces a health plan.
Hillary’s not a lesbian.
Clooney is in tux after bike accident.
Jessica Alba admits to being super-dorky.

These, when the real news is that it’s raining in Indiana this morning! I might be able to skip a dose or two of the allergy meds, if it keeps up.

But seriously, did you know that an assembly of more than five is considered an illegal gathering in Burma (Myanmar)? And that the last time they had a protest like the one this week, the military opened fire on the crowd killing thousands of the protesters? And that, right now, the military is heading towards the crowd who are still protesting? God bless them. Where would we be without people like this?

After reading about this, I have a renewed strength to stand up for the (much smaller) things in which I believe, and a new appreciation (mixed with a pang of guilt) for a few silly American headlines and another irrelevant blog post.

Ramblings

After a whirlwind August, with the move, start of school, project change, life, etc., September has been such a reward. Too many moments to list here, but near the top are the bathrooms at this new job. They are FABulous! Like a bank of hotel, nice restaurant or new truck stop (so I’ve heard) bathrooms, each with its own full-concrete-walled stall and shutter-like wooden doors, automatic sinks and towels, timed aroma spray. Just lovely. A breath of fresh air. Well, for a bathroom.

Last night, during the 29th episode, I finally remembered why I stopped watching Big Brother after Season One. The rewards go to the most conniving, the most hypocritical, the most obnoxious, the most lying, and the most turn-on-a-dime player. This will be the LAST season I watch. I swear. Unless I forget again in another seven years. And that's like dog years to me now.

My freak magnet is in full force and surprisingly entertaining. I was banished by the team manager, along with two other gals (one of whom is now the third person on a permanent deal-breaker list for future projects – first being a man that gurgled all day, second being a crazy person), to a $100 lunch in August to work out our communication problems. Told “don’t come back until you have this worked out.” AS IF.

I came back long enough to send a g'bye email (unprofessional move #2 in 10 years, but it had to be done). *I sound tough here, but I heard about my current job when I got back to my desk from lunch.*

Then, last week, I went to a free event at the WC and got behind a lady in the registration line who wanted to register under “her stage name”. I got a cold chill thinking I had signed up for an audition! I had nothing prepared.

I used the word “conversate” in a meeting the other night. I was using it in a joking way, but the joke wasn’t clear and I got some blank stares, hopefully confused by a rare sign of my being an idiot Psychotic.. I hate when that happens. It’s so hard to overcome. I’ll have to use a big word at the next meeting.

Austin is so seventeen. I asked about a last mom and son trip for the two of us, he said I should save my money to pay for a Spring break trip to Florida with his friends. I asked about a laptop for Christmas since he’ll need one for college, he said he needed a MacBook. I asked about a new television (ours are older than he is), he said he needed an Xbox 360 to go with. Funny, last year, I thought I had done a pretty good job raising this kid.

Superman

Train and Brandi Carlisle music. The Story. Superman. Beautiful, unattainable boys. Why? Why now?

New, really lovely people and closer connections than I’ve felt in years and years. Centuries, even (ha).

Maybe it’s a universal reminder that I really shouldn’t be in a place so close to things I can’t have. A place where I can’t control my mind from wandering. The sad endings (so many) that I haven’t thought about in ages are suddenly and still so familiar.

All coming along with a reminder that there are these women to admire and emulate. I can take pride in them and me. Can I be happy with that? This is what I’ll find out soon.

King me. Final Indiana move.

The Last Four Days

Moved.
Came down with a nasty cold.
Went on two interviews.
Worked 24 out of 40 hours at day job.
Fixed ICE Pay Pal HTML code.
Taught class.
Arranged cable guy, gas guy, garage door guy – all of whom were EARLY!
Dealt with four plumbers and two working (one new) toilets.
Made insurance changes and filled out and faxed in forms.
Found fax machine.
Sewed a vinyl window curtain for the shower.
Lined shelves.
Got brake light and turn signal fixed on car.
Made trips to Wal-Mart and stores.
Cleaned two houses – old and new.
Adjusted to 6am alarms and start of senior year of high school.
Avoided fist fight about work boundaries.

And stayed current on Big Brother drama.

The Next Four Days

…zzzzz.......zzzzz......zzzzz......

(The Secret principles have been applied to title and the next four days.)

School Days

My recent involvement with the new Indiana Clean Elections Coalition has resulted in something completely unrelated: a real hankerin’ to go to school. We meet at the University of Indianapolis and are organizing a Citizens’ Summit there in September. Three of the charter members are professors. And we click. I love it when Miss Charlotte patiently corrects our grammar. I love it when they talk their everyday academic talk and use words like plenary that I have to secretly look up.

My first adult appreciation for higher education came when I worked for CBU in Memphis while finishing my Bachelor’s degree. I loved it. Well, politics and misunderstood pecking orders aside, I loved it. We employees could take time off for class, for studying, for projects, or just for deep discussions all surrounded by impeccable landscaping, grand old buildings and oodles of ideas, and thoughts, and words, and opinions and perspectives.

I’ve wanted a graduate English degree for years now, but my son’s education has always been top billing. And still is. If I had $10,000 to spend on me, though, I’d be at school tomorrow!

Alive for another birthday

I’m in love. With two people. Brandi Carlile and Khaled Hosseini. What finds. What treasures. I have to keep them apart, though. Each deserves undivided attention. Neither requires it nor demands it; you just want to give it, freely and happily. That’s love.

Another birthday has come and gone. This one went by too quickly. I usually enjoy a few moments each July 17th to think about my past, my present and my future. Test my contentment. Ask myself some tough questions. And, dare I say, praise myself for how far I’ve come.

I didn’t get a chance yesterday, but that’s okay. I received some much appreciated birthday wishes and messages of love, was surprised with a couple of cupcakes and cards, signed paperwork on a new contract, met with a prospect, started a class, finalized website plans with the Indiana Clean Elections committee, and had a lovely, spiritual three-hour conversation and connection with a stranger I now feel like I have known for years.

Austin and his friends returned safely from Chicago's Pitchfork Festival and brought home great stories about some fascinating characters they met. I sent my 45-day lease termination notice, which is a consuming sadness and uncertainty, but the finality of the decision is even a blessing.

Love, work, and a safe, happy kid. Oh, and still alive. Another successful birthday.

Put on hold, by God

Eleven (at last count) phone calls about the house I'm living in (that's up for sale, see previous whine/post), two conference calls in the car with my barking dog in the back seat (have to vacate when the agent needs to show the house, see previous whine/post), and a phone interview in aforementioned car with aforementioned barking dog later, I came home for a little silent prayer time.

After which, I decided to call the listing agent myself to call a truce and hopefully and peacefully lay down some guidelines, but was put on hold. The recording was a meditation tape. Telling me to breathe. To close my eyes. Inhale. Hold. Count. Exhale. Slowly. Relax. Picture yourself on the beach. Hear the waves. Feel the breeze.

That God.

I did eventually have to talk to the agent's voicemail, which, after my typical two to three hours of obsession, pissed me off again tonight, because, as usual, I received no response.

But I get it, God. Women in Ethiopia. Rwanda. Darfur. Afghanistan. Iraq. Katrina. Bigger pictures. Mind off self. Gratitude. Faith.

I donated what I could to an online charity, apologized to the Universe, and went back to my happy place:

cottage.jpg

Driver's License Renewal Day

You know you’re having a bad driver’s license renewal day when:

  1. The Neanderthal behind you in the check-in line uses his outside voice on his 15-minute personal phone call to his buddy about how lax his week has been. And when you turn around to mention to him that it sounds like he has plenty of time to make this call anywhere but within six inches of your left ear, he just responds with a goofy smile and a wink, because he understands how impressed you really must be.

  2. You count four female butt cracks in the pack of riffraff.
  3. The photographer snaps your picture, looks at it on the computer, and says, “Um. No. Let’s try again.” And repeats this process FOUR TIMES.
  4. You arrive and leave on the same page of the book you brought to avoid encounters with undesirables.
  5. You look at your picture when you’re alone in your car and understand the problem: old and angry, a combination impossible to camouflage.

Ever

There is so much I miss
But there is so much I don’t.

I had no idea that I would be thinking now
Of the tiniest of moments then.

Life today consists of strangers
Full of polite and random encounters.

I wonder what would make me belong again
And how long this will last.

Everyone needs attention, affection, and supportive love
Or hope.

Space Invasion

I don’t know what’s going on but, for the past four evenings, strangers with badges and clipboards have knocked on my door. One will come by, then another about every 15 minutes. It must be their attempt at divide and conquer, but they obviously don’t communicate about what houses have already been ambushed.

Nothing (well, almost nothing) makes me madder than people I don’t know invading my personal space, in which I include all house entrances.

I only open my door to either someone I recognize or someone less than 4 feet tall (they’re cute and sometimes have candy).

The last one got a little snippy that I wouldn’t open the door and communicated my lack of interest and frustration at the multiple attempts at solicitation to the peephole. I guess he felt like he had every right to invade my privacy and that I was being rude. As usual, the nutty situations boil down to degrees of dumb.

Saturday

11am. The best night’s sleep I’ve had all week. The dog is beside herself about the possibility of the day. I’m at home. Austin’s at home. The porch is sunny and warm already. Perfect for lying down and sniffing in the wind. One bowl full of food and another full of fresh water. I fix turkey pitas with Trader Joe's Hot and Sweet Mustard (yum) and let Austin move my office radio to the screened-in porch. I can see him reading the directions (good boy). He bought a grill yesterday and is almost as happy as the dog. To be fair, Sabrina also got brushed today, so the bar is pretty darn high, but with no school and all A's and B's and a good clothes shopping trip, he's up there. I can hear him singing along to music from the 70’s. That always cracks me up. Cycles. I start my third book of the weekend. There must be ten neighborhood kids across the street at the house with the only pool for miles around. They’re riding big wheels and directing each other in their outside voices. A baby squirrel gets closer to us each time we go outside to turn the potatoes. It makes his mother mad and she squeaks at him. He runs back to her. I've never seen so many green leaves. I will miss summers in this house. Steak. Talk. A window. Information. Respect. Love. He let me put gel in his hair. He checks it and redoes it, but he let me. June is traveling month for Austin as well as most of his friends. Possible g-bye grill party tomorrow. I will need to leave the house. List of possible activities to keep me busy. A check in the mail. Vacuum and Windex and Clorox Swipes. Febreeze. Austin goes out till curfew. Check Web and e-mail. Neighborhood settles in. Dusk. Candles. Two old movies on the DVR to choose from. Sabrina snores and dream-twitches beside me. Heat lightning. Blessed. A little prayer for the world.

Thinking Aloud

I just read Lee Iacocca’s new book, Where Have All the Leaders Gone, tonight and I have to say that there wasn’t anything in there that screamed insight to me. There were facts and information, but all easily google-able. He spent most of the 250 pages bashing Bush. Okay, rightfully so. There is a bandwagon rally now, futile and way too late as it might be. There are countless wrongs that this administration has committed: ignoring the Geneva Convention, ignoring that whole Saudi 9/11 “thang”, Iraq, Halliburton, crimes, crimes, crimes, oil, oil, oil. But it’s all old news. Hell, if all Lee Iacocca can do is gripe, what can the rest of us do?

The one argument the former CEO made that pulled me to his corner (for another minute) was that voting should be a DUTY in a democracy, not just a RIGHT. We should be required to vote and penalized if we don’t - we don’t get to use the child credit on our 1040’s if we didn’t vote in the last election. Something along those lines. I like that idea. We should be responsible. Accountable. I like that idea. But, wait, then there’s that whole popular vs. Electoral College voting dichotomy. 2000, wasn’t it? Popular vote sure didn’t mean much in that election (and I’m not a Gore fan). Even our Dancing With the Stars votes mean something.

Then he turned on me. He had a revelation fairly early in the book that Congress should take a year off and meet at a convention center by a lake to review each bill they have passed in recent years to evaluate its performance. Then, they could cut what isn’t working in favor of those that are.

Are we supposed to believe these people would sit in a room and accomplish anything so good, so beneficial, so logical, so black and white? The same people who spend most of their 97 days (the least amount of time served in US history, by the way) voting for their own raises and pension increases and pork projects in the dead of night? Puhhhleeeez. These people would be comparing hairstylists and drivers and the number of buildings or wings named after them before the first day’s $1,000 lunch was served.

About mid-book, Iacocca touted Joe Biden and John Murtha as his personal friends and high moral examples. Strike two for me. And I thought I’d like you, man.

And then, close to the end of the book, he riled me most of all. He droned on and on about the trillions upon trillions of national debt we have now. Debt to other countries as a result of our government’s shameful, ill intentioned, and completely orchestrated Iraq War. We know, we know.

Yes, I’m pissed off. I believe most of us are pissed off. But if Iacocca has no pull other than to publish a “we’ve heard it all before” bitch fest of a book, what can be expected much from us lowly working class folks?

Apparently a great deal. He then had the gall to call upon Americans to “get off the golf course and do something”. His effort at sounding like a leader was to tell us that we need a leader to tell us that we need to be willing to give back to our country and pay for the rewards of living here.

For something as wonderful as universal health care, for example, we should all be willing to sacrifice - to give up a tax deduction or the cost of a gallon of gas a week or a pothole repair this month. All for the common good of the good ol’ UsofA.

Capital B Bullshit, Mr. Iacocca. Strike three. You’re out. Go ahead and retire (he talks endlessly about how he can’t retire). Nobody will really mind.

Enough. I give more than enough. And what do I get for my investment? Daily, make that hourly, stories of the bazillions of dollars blatantly wasted by my government and its corporate bed buddies. All as some politician or CEO is going to tell me to cut back?

So, to Mr. Iacocca, I say this: Bazillionaires first, Mr. Iacocca, bazillionaires first. And thanks for the book. It oozed leadership.

An Ode to Ron Paul

“First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win.”   -– Mahatma Gandhi

The media talk about there being too many choices in the presidential race, to which I scream:

Too many choices!?!?!?! Are you kidding me?

I’ve never seen a group of more identical people. A vote for one is really a vote for another.

There may be a lot of pre-candidates, but there’s not an individual among ‘em. And certainly not one who’s running for us, the people.

Save one. One who stands, not for himself, but, out and alone, and 100% for America.

I’m standing at the gates of Nirvana. And its name is Ron Paul.

An Ode to Ron Paul

Integrity, loyalty, and fortitude.
The way it was, the way it should be.
Sincerity, responsibility, and logic.
All wrapped up in an impeccable voting history.

One. Ron Paul.

Rejects his own congressional pension.
Lowers his bills to avoid patient assistance claims.
Voted against the Iraq war the first time.
For smaller government, more liberties, and NO corporate games.

One. Ron Paul.

How many candidates want to solve illegal immigration?
How many want to get rid of the IRS?
How many want to leave some issues to individual states where they belong?
How many refuse corporate campaign money and everything that suggests?

Only one. Ron Paul.

I feel like I did when I found Joyce Meyer, giddy and twinkly and tingly.
I think Ron Paul might just be Hope for America, like his campaign slogan says.
Because I do feel a little sliver of hope that Americans might finally be fed up.
If we don’t begin to demand more, we don’t deserve more than another bought and paid for prez.

The one for me. Ron Paul.

I’m going to go contribute now. Even though it may just buy you some paper clips.
Today, I thank you. I appreciate your record, your character, your service to us.
Just to be near and feel the residual rain of Hope for America,
I wish I could drop everything and hit the road following you and your campaign bus.

A dream. Ron Paul. Check him out. And VOTE.

www.ronpaul2008.com

http://www.ronpaulblog.com

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ron_Paul

===========

I also dream about asking these questions. If only I could.

To Joe Biden: Why must you start every sentence with “Look”? You might want to LOOK around you. There’s a big world. And it’s round. And it’s offended. By you.

To Hillary: Why? Just why? (This is rhetorical, of course, because I do know I’ll never understand.)

To Edwards and Kucinich: Seriously?

To Rudy: You’re kind of who we talk about when we say “men suck”.

To Barack: Hmmmm. You said you would support public funding if Hillary would. Sounds awfully safe. I’m still watching you, though. And hoping.

To Mitt: Oh, come on.

To Mike: Step it up, man. Or just call it a day.

To John McCain: God bless ya. How do you feel today?

To The Others: You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

To the always lurking Gore: Please stay in Tennessee. I can’t afford you.

To Dr. Ron: HOPE for America. God knows we need it. And more people like you!

Unshun

I’ve been on a discouragement downward spiral since a couple of writing rejections earlier this month. Rejection is a strong word when your writing is just disregarded. I didn’t get a letter from anyone saying, “We reject you”. They just assume I’ve figured it out by now.

On top of that, a current project has been too slow for my liking, so I’ve felt pangs of uselessness. And, on top of even that, a decades-long friendship ended on principle and with a telephone hang-up. But, I have felt sorry for myself long enough.

I finally put my confidence and effort and time where it should have been initially. It’s a wonder to me how every single stinkin’ time I watch Joyce Meyer’s television show, her topic is custom-made for me. On a recent show about attitudes, John Maxwell defined discouragement (you talkin’ to me?) as the difference between expectation and reality. I know I’ve always had high expectations and it has always caused me unnecessary grief. If Joyce has told me once she’s told me a hundred times to put my confidence in God, not in people. I’m like her (and God’s) unruly toddler. The one they would just shake their heads at wondering why I don’t understand that the stove is hot already.

So, I prayed and prayed for a new attitude and a new local friendship or two and received so many gifts in return.

My full-time project is moving again. I’ve been asked to do some work for a client I worked with last year and am enjoying the renewed relationship. I’ve accidentally (ha) reconnected with a local friend with whom I had lost touch. I’m going on a long weekend trip to Holland, Michigan by myself, which Miss Hazel, my replacement Mom, thinks is “just grand”. I’ve found two new blogs that I love and love. I’m a late adopter, so probably the last to know Ross and Heather. They don’t know me, of course, but getting to know them makes me happy. And the JELCC summer catalog is out.

I may even write some more on my novel soon. I’m officially on UNSHUN (Dwight reference). I hope RESHUN isn’t in the offing. I guess that’s up to me, though. I’ve been given the gifts, it’s up to me to receive. Stove. Hot. Yay. Cookie.

Speaking of Miss Hazel, she’s moving to a senior’s retirement apartment complex and I’m excited for her. She knows some folks who already live there, she won’t have any homeowner worries, and she’s going to have free cable TV for the first time in her life! She’s a news and PBS show junkie on the air (antennae? I don’t remember what to even call this situation) channels, so she may never leave her apartment. I can’t wait to visit her this summer! We’ve discussed sneaking out to the casino. What a hoot.

52projects and Ikiru

I regularly visit Cynthia Morris’ Original Impulse blog because I love her writing and her coaching. I won a Daily Impulse Writing competition last summer and got the chance to talk to her on the phone for a few complimentary coaching sessions and it was the best experience ever!

Anyway, she’s always discovering interesting websites and passing them along to her audience. Recently, she mentioned www.52projects.com, so I had to investigate.

I’m not sure I support some of the author’s suggestions (like using work time for play time, calling in sick to take advantage of holiday weekends, things like that), but I did like him enough to get his book from the library.

And I did one project last weekend: write down how you feel about your job, all the good things and the bad things. Then watch the Japanese film, Ikiru, and write it down again.

The film was like a train wreck from which you can’t look away. It was horribly Japanese – overly dramatic, drawn-out (almost 3 hours, if I recall correctly), and just weird. But the cinematography was haunting and the point was poignant.

The main character learns that he has stomach cancer and six months to live after wasting thirty years as a city clerk doing just enough to get by, partly because it was all that was expected from his superiors and partly because he had become numb from the low expectations over the years.

When the mothers in the community come to the clerk’s office for help with a sewage problem in their neighborhood, they are given the typical bureaucratic run-around and get stuck in the mire, literally.

In the end, the man decides to forge ahead and do whatever it takes to fix their problem, regardless of the nonsensical bureaucratic loop. He ends up, not only fixing the issue, but building a park for the community children as well.

Loud and clear. We can make a difference. We all have what it takes to rise above status quo and arbitrary rules. Unfortunately, sometimes, it takes knowing we are going to die to start living.

How did I feel before and how do I feel now?

Before: Tedium. Just a couple of IT attitudes. The rudest of the rude cubicle dwellers love me.

After: I could be focusing on what's important to me. I could be helping and initiating more. And I could be doing something more rewarding, more contributory and participatory.

I didn’t need a Japanese movie to tell me that.

This week

Well, anything posted this week feels more insignificant than ever before. My numeroscope promised one of the best weeks of the year. And then, VA Tech happened. My losses last week – a friend to principle, a couple of writing rejections, money to healthier food, etc. – just don’t add up to a hill of beans. All I can do, though, is, like everyone else, pray for the families who, while never making sense of it, can hopefully find gratitude and comfort in the time they had with their children.

It’s prom week in our house. It doesn’t have the same connotation when it’s your SON’s prom, though. I don’t really get to do much. I was asked for my advice about corsage flowers and I did get to pick up some fancy dress socks at Wal-Mart while I was buying Lipton Green Tea and dog food. But when I proudly presented them for the cause, I was told that a complimentary pair was given with the tux rental. Hmmmph. Unnecessary again.

It actually has been a positive week and included a call about a new project from a company for whom I did some work last year (teaching me to never delete anything again) and a call from the perfect friend who sounded happy and loved, whether she likes to talk about it or not. I also have no writing rejections to report, but that's only because I have no writing submissions to report either. Note to self: suck it up and get back in the game.

No Sunflower

I am no sunflower this week. I’ve been mad and sad all week. No real explanation or maybe too many explanations.

  • Yesterday, I paid 69 cents for a cucumber and $1.15 for a red onion at the grocery store. Both were pre-tax amounts. What is wrong with this world?
  • Every day, I pray a multitude of gratitude prayers asking God to help me deal with one woman who sits near me at my day job and makes eight full (no exaggeration) hours of personal phone calls every single stinking day and another woman nearby who coughs non-stop (again, no exaggeration) every single stinking day. My prayers remain unanswered.
  • I think I’ve learned that one of my best friends is doing something questionable which concerns me, but about which I’m scared to say anything, because she’s quick to rile and because more than one of my past friendships have ended on principle (mine).
  • At a funny and interesting lecture/event last night, a woman behind me snored for about fifteen minutes. Another woman in front of me repeatedly cracked her knuckles throughout the whole evening.
  • A new season of The Deadliest Catch started with drownings. It reminded me of a guy named Steve Hall of Rome, Georgia, whose blatant negligence on a kayaking trip caused two 15-year-old boys to drown two years ago. I guess it still haunts me because those boys were my son’s age, and because two days after the boys were found dead in the ocean, Mr. Hall was, according to the local newspaper, “having fun” coaching his school’s soccer team. But I digress.
  • The owner of the company I sub-contract through on my day job emailed about a possible mid-contract cut in pay. The jury’s still out on this one.
  • I had two writing submissions rejected last week, one of which really stung.
  • And I received neither emails nor phone calls from anyone who might care about any of the above.

Yes, too many explanations. Maybe next week will be better. I hope so! Hope. There it is.