Average Speed: 68.2 mph!

I recently had a birthday - not an "age-group significant" one, i.e. one divisible by 5 or 10. Let's just say this was one of 24 prime number birthdays that accrue to people who reach the age of 89. I received thoughtful gifts, cards, and greetings. Among the gifts was a new TREK bicycle, and accessories including a small wireless bike computer. This device displays current, average, and max speed; trip distance and odometer; clock and trip timer; and several other mysterious functions.

I took my third ride on the new bike this morning. But before I took off, I puzzled over the pictures that illustrated how to attach the computer and sensor, and how to set it up. I had wanted to leave home at 8am, but the installation wasn't going smoothly. I wanted a thousand words, not the picture instructions included in the clear plastic packaging. It was 8:30 when I uttered my final WTF! and left the kitchen (bike work area today) and headed out the front door carrying the bike with newly installed computer that registered 68.2 mph. Something's not right.

Today's route included a stop at the bike shop for help. When I got there, it wasn't open yet. No matter...I'll stop on the way back. I had a good ride in beautiful weather, going east on the bike trail toward Vienna VA. Destination: Whole Foods for coffee and a blueberry scone. En route, I met a group of my running friends who were on a long trudge. Got my coffee and scone and sat at one of the bolted-down metal picnic tables outside the store. I leaned my bike against one of the several large wall paintings. Sitting there is pleasant because it's interesting to watch the bike traffic on the trail, and the comings and goings of people. Birds looking for handouts hop close to the tables.

I retraced my route back to the bike store that appeared to be open since the display bikes were sitting outside. The automatic doors opened and I stepped into a dark store that the worker was in the process of opening. He fiddled with the sensor attached to a spoke, moved the transmitter attached to the fork, but the computer still registered 68.2 mph. He needed the directions. Other customers were entering the store, so I cut my visit short.

This afternoon I set up my work area on the front porch, studied the picture directions more carefully, and discovered I had attached the sensor and transmitter to the wrong side of the fork. The sensor was not being sensed, thus the transmitter had nothing to communicate to the computer. I made the switch and all is well. A neat gift. Now I can spend time figuring out its mysterious functions.

3, 2, 1 ...You're On!

It's not everyday that a person goes public...I mean really public. We tend to move in our own comfortable orbits - meeting the same people, using the same streets to get to familiar places, doing things on an established schedule. As we do all this, others we don't know might notice us as we intersect their lives and schedules anonymously, but they don't know much about us. Then comes the opportunity to appear on community television. My friend Carol and her business associates are taping a one-hour program today. They'll be interviewed about their professional lives and the significant features of their dog care enterprise...all in a single one-hour take. They'll go public.

Joining them on the set will be a small, white, mixed breed short-haired dog - a loveable lump that was put on the earth to attract, and then absorb, any excess adoration that may exist anywhere. If this dog only knew the potential of the medium, she would shift into a level of unsurpassed "high cute." During the taping, this dog will bliss out on a dog bed or a lap and will wag as glances come her way. She'll nuzzle and get close. And there will also be a pit bull. Fifty pounds of competitivly trained rippling muscle under a brindle coat, docked ears, piercing eyes. She's very obedient, but she has an edge. She is, as they say, "ready to go."

Unlike the dogs, the people do appreciate what's at stake. Knowing the flow of the interview in advance they divvy up topics, hone their messages, and figure out what to wear (nothing that will show armpit rings, please). The show will air in a couple of weeks to those who will watch any program that has a dog in it, or to (ta-dah) potential clients. I have every expectation that the show will go well. The interviewer is benevolent, the business is doing well and expanding, and Carol and associates will be discussing topics they know very well.

The small white dog may be subtly miffed at the absence of close-ups she deserves, and the pit bull may harbor lingering distrust of the production staff. But the people will get their message out about a business that has consumed their lives, and will enter the orbits of people they do not know.

Improving My Shelter

Early morning, April 3rd. While my running group friends are getting ready for their usual Tuesday jog, I'm thinking about what I have to move to make way for the roofers who will arrive at 8:00. They will strip off the old shingles and "underlayment" (used to be called "tar paper") using long-handled metal scrapers, and will remove the shingle vents. All the old stuff will land on the patio, surrounding yard, and front porch areas. The agreement says they will sweep the yard with a magnet for any loose nails. I suppose this task also includes picking up the nails and disposing of them...but I get too literal. So, I'll move my vehicle to make way for their truck, reposition a couple of kayaks, and slide patio furniture and planters away from the drop zone. My son's aging '78 Blazer will stay in place...as one would expect of a 5,000 pound piece of immovable driveway sculpture. Well, maybe less than 5,000 pounds these days since it has probably shed a few ounces a week due to corrosion...for the past two years.

The new roofing material has been perched on my roof for about 5 days. Neighbors have said pithy things like, "So, you're getting a new roof," and "Hope you get better workers than the stumblebums we had on our roof." I'm expecting the best. Upgraded shingles, a slight color change, and the satisfaction of knowing that I, and any others who inhabit this place, will be sheltered from the elements for the next 25 years. Guaranteed.

Evening Shadows

It's that time of day when breezes calm, light softens, and birds go still. It's a gentle time. I go quiet at sunset, wishing the time could be shared. The outline of trees moves up the sides of houses that are bright toward their peaks and darker below. The early blooms of flowering trees and shrubs have their colors for a few more minutes. The moon appears above it all. I'm drawn gently into night. With warmer weather, I'll enjoy the sound of cadydids.

Some places I've been, this time of day is a cue for the spirit world. Parents bring their children indoors so the shadows of the evening don't fall on them. Shutters are closed - pulled flat against houses so if spirits are afoot, they can move unimpeded around the outside walls and be on their way. Clothes lines are placed parallel to houses, not perpendicular to them for the same reason. Prayers are said before or after, but not during this time of spiritual risk. After dark, the shutters open and the night is filled with outdoor voices.

On the Bike Again

I just got back from my inaugural bike ride of the year. Right...I'm real hard core. I pawed around in several dresser drawers and located my bike shorts and long-sleeve bike shirt. Shoes were on a bottom shelf under a box that once contained a Christmas gift. Dog hair clung to the velcro straps. I opted for a bright yellow-green vest for my outter layer. It was visible in the closet. To the garage. I had to move a few storage boxes, my son's tools, canoe paddles, snow shovels, and a big bag of grass seed to get to my bike - an aging (but good in its day) cyclo-cross job. Returned to the bedroom to get my biking gloves. Helmet was in the garage in its usual place - on top of my office archives kept in a wall of cardboard boxes stacked against two cupboards containing my sons' old athletic gear and other unclaimed items. Replaced a really funky water bottle still on the bike. Tires were at 40# so pumped them up. I was ready to ride so didn't bother to lube the chain or anything else.

I exited my subdivision and stopped at a major intersection in a line of traffic waiting for the light to change. Rush hour begins in earnest at 4pm around here, and traffic speeds down the parkway that my line of traffic must cross. Have to be careful here since a green light doesn't necessarily mean it's safe to venture into the intersection. Parkway drivers often run their red light doing around 50. I got across the intersection and headed north paralleling the parkway on a bike trail. After crossing two more busy intersections and one blind off-ramp, I was headed west on the Washington and Old Dominion bike trail. My destination was Ashburn, Virginia, a round trip of 24 miles.

There weren't many riders on the trail, but a high percentage of them were obviously regular riders in good condition. Their bikes sped by silently. Mine clicked along as I took in the sites. (Should have lubed.) A new golf course is nearing completion. The jarring planks on a bridge spanning one of the creeks had been replaced with smooth synthetic boards. I heard peepers near a wetland area. Vultures caught the wind and flew over trees that line the trail. Large planes on final approach flew low over the trail en route to Dulles. About one mile from Ashburn, a group of teens from a nearby middle school were standing on the trail oblivious to bike traffic approaching from both directions. They made desultory moves so bikers could pass. I started thinking about a snicker bar.

One mile ahead is Partlow's Store, a landmark of sorts from simpler times when the area was cropland and pasture, and the bike trail was the railroad line that took dairy products and produce from Loudoun County to DC. More recently, the land supported sod farms to make instant lawns during the building boom which began in earnest 25 years ago. Housing and shopping centers now sit on the sod farms. With a snicker on my mind, I parked my bike and clomped across the porch of the store. Closed. It's 4:30 in the afternoon! The sign says they will open at 10:30 tomorrow morning. So much for this community fixture where one used to get a cup of coffee or a sandwich, fishing tackle and live bait, and biking snacks (SNICKER BARS) from early morning until dark.

I took a long pull at my water bottle and headed back. Teens were still in the middle of the trail. Peepers were still making their spring sounds. A few more miles and I was back at the parkway. I headed south, crossed the intersections without a problem, and arrived home pleased with the ride. I enjoyed the crisp air, the small gestures that bikers make to each other as they pass - sometimes just a nod or a subtle raising of a hand from the bars - and the look of the sky as it darkens toward evening. Bike is back in the garage. Water bottle is in the sink. Dog is now by my side shedding a fresh supply of hair destined for the velcro straps of my bike shoes.

Saturday Kitchen

One of life's simple pleasures is getting up early on a Saturday, padding down the hallway, then entering a kitchen totally cleaned up from a particularly enjoyable Friday night dinner. I like cleaning my kitchen. I hit a mental button and view the instant replay of conversation, looks and glances. I remember as I stow the evening in the dishwasher. Here go the small dishes that held butter sauce for the steamed artichokes. Next are the plates used for salmon, rice, and spicy eggplant currie. Then a large round casserole dish that held the discarded artichoke leaves. Inscisor scrapings still visible. I'll swish out various pots and pans, clean the stove top, and toss away a few paper towels. Left over salad goes in the fridge. Then the wine glasses. I like the smaller ones brought home from a tasting at a Virginia winery. A good memory. Using them, we serve each other multiple times during the course of a meal. Dishes and glasses, pots and pans each become short-hand to the thread of conversation. I chuckle with some; get serious with others...accompanied by remaining music.

Ready for Spring

I was up early this morning so I could move ahead in a thick book for a while, glance at the paper, take care of Bass the dog, and maybe do a few office tasks I've been ignoring (i.e. "rat killing" as a good friend calls it). There was a light snow yesterday afternoon, followed by a very cold night. Slick patches formed on pathways and streets by morning, hence the plan to get the routine going early and be at the health club by 7:00 a.m. to do something that didn't involve running on ice.

This afternoon I wandered into my back yard to do routine pick-up (dog, you recall). I'm really ready for spring. I like getting my patio back in shape...planters, table umbrellas. Two varieties of sage are still alive out there, as are the chives and lavender in whiskey barrels. Clamatis is brittle and clinging to its trellis. Downstairs in the family room, I've been coaxing along a planter of last year's daisys - positioning it to take maximum advantage of a splash of afternoon sunlight that moves across the floor in front of the t.v. A hibiscus tree and a bougan villa are upstairs in the room adjacent to my office. Both have bloomed most of the winter thanks to hours of sunshine coming through a large southeast window. Not too much longer and these plants will be on the patio, too.

Beyond the confines of the patio, the birdbath is frozen solid. In one plant bed, the gazing ball is not yet surrounded by oregano, mint, horehound, and sedum. In another, the ornamental grass needs to be cut back before its dry leaves scatter all over the yard. The large flowering quince bush is covered with brown frozen blooms; a reminder of premature warm weather a few weeks ago. Spring will be sweet.

A Look Back to 1969 - Rural Malaysia

March 1969 Entry
My Peace Corp experience has really started. The past week old "Count Malaria" (according to Radio Malaysia) has been on the prowl in my village. One of my little next door neighbors was really sick this last week. I took him to the clinic on the back of my bicycle and had a blood test run on him. He had gone to the clinic 3 or 4 days earlier and at that time he was feverish, too. Well, I looked at the prescription he received and my ire was aroused when I discovered he had been given no blood test at the time and was sent home with aspirin and vitamin B complex--hardly the proper treatment for a suspected malaria case. I could be wrong but the man at the clinic doing diagnostic work may have a few misconceptions. For instance, this is a malaria area and all the kids that come to the clinic are not given blood tests for malaria. Only "suspected cases" are. The clinician also feels that the people who live here can tolerate malaria but people from the outside can't. This is bull. The leading killing disease here is malaria.

From work done by another volunteer near a major city to the south (a blood test survey) some old people hardly had any hemoglobin left (exaggeration) because of the abundance of malaria parasites. There are three cases 50 yards from my house. The sickest of the lot who I took to the clinic, is up and around and eating now, so he's made it. Now he must continue with the chloroquine for some time.

Preventive medicine programs are hard to put across because of some beliefs held by the majority of the people here. For instance, if you have eaten watermelon or papaya you can't take any medicine lest you become drunk. Papaya is a marvelous fruit for vitimin A and many people here won't touch papaya even if they have taken aspirin.

So, tomorrow is the last school day this week. Only 2 more weeks left, then glorious vacation. I have to go to Kuala Lumpur because I know I have some sort of nematode worm helping me digest my food. I also have to replenish my supply of malaria tabs.

I should have a fat check in April...$135 Malaysian dollars ($45 US) back rent I paid for out of my living allowance, plus $50 ($17US) more for next month's rent. Plus my $260M ($87US) living allowance...that's $445M ($148US). To this add 5 days of vacation pay which comes to $135M more ($95US). So the total is $580M ($193US).

Back from Boston

Things went smoothly on my trip. My flight left Dulles on time and I arrived 15 minutes early in Boston after a multi-impact landing. A company limo was waiting to drive me north to Bedford ("Bedfit"). The driver had the traffic report going on the radio and made a few detours near the airport to get to northbound 93. The report talked about a slowdown near Medford ("Meh-feh"). We passed the exit to Peabody ("Peebiddy") and after a couple of turns were on Burlington Road in Bedford where I settled in a familiar hotel. Turns out my driver was a retired engineer who worked 35 years for the company I was visiting. He talked about the workplace before computers -- the piles of paper, the clatter of typewriters. He was proud of his typing speed, which reached 75 wpm on a manual machine when he was in high school. He graduated in 1951.

I don't mind work travel. Different setting; a couple good meals; good support for my work. Things went well. The people watching in airports is entertaining. Yesterday's highlights included: a crowded gate area shared by Brazilians going to Sao Paulo and road warriors coming back to Dulles from Boston. The board said, "Washington/Sao Paulo" and the flight was packed. The desk agents were quite calm as they dealt with stand-bys, and multiple questions from Sao Paulo-bound passengers.

Just an observation...30-something computer types may be good in the digital world, but their aptitude for real-world spacial relationships is low. There's no way their ample carry-ons would come close to fitting in the overhead bins. However, I do give them high marks for determination after watching them rearrange the belongings of others and then try multiple times to stow their stuff. Get this...NONE of the road warriors was able to shut the overhead bin. ALL sat down nonetheless. ALL were asked to remove their stuff, walk it to the front of the crammed plane against the flow of boarding passengers, and check their bags. I made eye contact with another passenger who was also enjoying the show. We exchanged eye rolls and quiet smiles.

Going to Boston

I woke up early and turned on the radio in time to hear a re-broadcast of one of yesterday's call-in shows. Co-authors critical of the former Secretary of Defense were selling their ideas, tracing the intersecting histories of powerful people who hold sway over our military policies. But there is a golden retriever to be fed, so I turned it off. I'm in motion a bit earlier today since my flight leaves for Boston at 11:30 and there are things to do before heading to the airport around 9:30.

So, I fed Bass early, then counting on his system to be equally early, let him out in the back yard. I slid open the patio door and immediately smelled that stinking skunk. He/she had to be close. There is risk/reward here. I'm trying to save a few minutes so chose to let Bass do his own thing instead of walking him. How much time would this save if I end up having to find a place to get special shampoo, wash a 100-pound hairy dog, and still be ready for the airport at 9:30? One can't really say to a friend, "Hey, I've got to get to the airport. Could you go to the pet store and buy big container of anti-skunk shampoo and come back and wash my dog...who is reeking in the back yard? I'll be back tomorrow night around 9:00 pm. You can't? Hey, remember the time I lent you my tree trimmer?" Happily, Bass took care of everything without incident. There's time to browse the paper, have coffee, put a few things in my carry-on, and tidy the place.

Somehow inconveniences of a skunk attack don't seem so overwhelming this morning. One of my grown sons is having a tough personal time. My heart is full, and outside of caring and listening, this one is his to solve. He was here last night to do his metaphorical and real laundry. We talked; had dinner. When I went to bed, his stuff was still spinning in the dryer while other stuff probably spun in his head as he lay on the couch in the downstairs family room.
I was flossing my teeth when he came into my room to tell me he loved me. He was near tears.

Now to Boston.

Seventh Grade Journal

Seventh grade English. North Junior High School (subsequently made into apartments, then later torn down). Sioux City, IA.

OK, let’s summarize. I want each one of you to start a journal. Are you with me here? Write in it every day. Write about anything you see or do. Don’t worry about being perfect. I’m not going to grade your handwriting, spelling, or grammar. In fact, I’m not even going to read your journals. All journals automatically get A’s. All you have to do is keep one and show it to me in two weeks. I just want you to get used to writing. I don’t care if you only write one sentence a day; just get going.

My Journal

Day 1

I have to keep a journal.

Day 2

It’s Friday. No school tomorrow. Went to the Y after school with Colin. Played basketball. Touched the net for the first time.

Day 3

Collected with Bill Clark. I am taking his Sunday paper route next week so I went with him. He is going to visit his grandma in Leon Iowa. Sunday papers are heavier than daily papers. I may have to collect for him too since some people didn’t pay. I substituted for him last month and missed two apartments and one house.

Day 4

I collected for the Sunday DesMoines Register with Bill Clark yesterday. We collected in the Sioux Apartments. I think Mrs. DeVries at the desk owns the place. She knows we are the paper boys so we can ride the elevator. The elevator won’t work unless the inside door is closed. We went to the old folks home on Grandview Blvd up the hill from the Sioux. There are two old ladies there who get the paper. The place smells. When people pay, they get a small tab that we tear off their card for the week. Today, I came home from church and watched Bowl-a-Rama before dinner. One of my friend’s mom was bowling. Her name is Lou Borchuk. She also coached my little league team. She is the first lady to coach little league in Sioux City. She can yell.

Day 5

I wrote this tomorrow since I didn’t write in my journal today.

Day 6

It rained today and I got my shoes wet after school at the bus stop. Colin and I were going to the Y to do our fitness events. We got timed in the eraser race and rope climb. The director writes the times on our record. We shot around after the rope climb. Colin and I were chosen to be junior leaders. We had ice cream in the snack bar before we left the Y. Colin’s mom picked us up.

Day 7

I wore my new gray jacket to school today. I don’t have much to say. I guess I can say I carried my violin to school since orchestra practices every Wednesday. The violin case has a zipper cover to protect it. We played March Slav.

Day 8

It was very windy today and the leaves were blowing around. The birds had trouble flying in the wind. There are still robins in our yard. Bill Clark told me that he was trying to collect from some people who didn’t pay last weekend and I went with him. I have his paper route this Sunday. He said the people who don’t pay won’t get the paper on Sunday. He has to tell the paper how many he needs by tomorrow and he leaves for his grandmothers tomorrow afternoon so he needs to collect today. We went to the old folks home and one of the old ladies wasn’t in her room on the top floor so she won’t get the paper. I could see pigeons sitting in her window.

Day 9

I had a geography test today. I think I did o.k. It was about central America. We had to list all the countries and their capitals and list products they produce. The gym coach teaches the class. If we list corn and barley as products he always counts it right. Bill leaves for Leon after school so I have to collect one last time for him and call the paper and tell them how many I need for Sunday. I went to the old folks home and collected from the lady upstairs. She told her friend she was my grandma. She said my name was Keith. She also had names for the pigeons in her window. She will get the Sunday paper. I think there are two apartments in the Sioux that won’t get the paper.

Day 10

I had to pick up my closet. Mom gets mad because I put everything in the closet when I clean my room. I heard shotgun shots today. The owners of apartments and the old folks home hire hunters to shoot the pigeons so they won’t poop all over the place. I went up the street and watched with some other kids and we picked up a lot of empty 12-guage shells after they were gone. Everybody smells gun powder all over the neighborhood.

Day 11

I got up at 5 o’clock this morning and delivered papers. My alarm clock makes a clunking sound because it’s not working right. When I hear the clunk, it’s time to get up. There are 38 people who get the paper. I think I got them all delivered right because nobody called. I went to church and sang in the choir. We sang an anthem with the other two choirs and Colin and I played tic tack toe on the program during the sermon.

Day 12

Some of the other kids said they are drawing pictures in their journals. Some kids haven’t done anything. We have to show our journals on Wednesday. I got a C on my geography test. Steve got an A.

Day 13

Today was good. It was very warm and we had gym class outside since the field was dry. I went to the Y and played basketball and I did my fastest rope climb.

Day 14

It's morning and I am writing. Journal is finished!!! I take it to school today in the music pouch on my violin case.

Animal Sightings

About 8:30 this morning a large skunk crossed the street. It waddled through my front yard, and headed toward the southwest side of the house. I may have a visitor in the storage area under the porch. About the same time, several hawks flew over, going south. I left to run errands, and returned to my desk in time to see an eastern vulture fly over, going north. Then this afternoon around 3:00, my neighbor's blue weimaraner pup loped unattended down the sidewalk. About a minute later, another neighbor drove down the street, then returned with the pup chasing her car. She drove into the driveway of the dog's home where the owner was waiting.

Finally, Tally (yellow lab cross) is boarding here for a few days. Bass (golden retriever) has company.

A view from the office

The garbage is at the curb; dog is walked; coffee made. A quick check of the on-line NYTimes and an editorial catches my eye. Something about habeas corpus. Shepherds beware. If you are mistakenly swept up and sent to Gitmo, somebody else will be milking your goats for some time.

The rest of the day includes running and a weight workout at my health club; getting materials prepared and sent to Bedford ("Bedfit") MA for a seminar next week; picking up a dog that I'm boarding for the next four days; having my hot water heater fixed; and receiving a therapeutic massage for my aching ass (search on "piriformis").

Looking out my my office window I see a gray winter sky, budded maples, and melting snow...a natural solution to the absence of even one snowplow into the neighborhood. Part of the front yard is grassy again, and this morning I saw reminders of slothful neighbors who didn't pick up after their dogs. While I'm on the topic, the snow melt in my backyard revealed a few surprises from my own golden retriever...but, it's my yard, o.k.?

The sun is breaking through the clouds. My next door neighbor just made her characteristic high-speed turn from the street into our shared driveway...one of those turns that causes the left front wheel to plunge into the asphalt. She's been deprived of this pleasure for a while due to ice and snow, and this morning's turn seemed a bit enthusiastic. At least her driving is accurate. Through the years she has managed to miss a wide range of pedestrian types, pets, garbage cans, recycle containers, mailboxes, and shrubery.

Weekend Results

"Cognac Nights"

A flash of light and then a shadow cast.

First warmth and then a chill to overcome.

One heart enlivened seeks a home at last,

And moves ahead, less tender to become.

Come in. Stay here. Be warm. Enjoy your peace.

Take comfort as your destination nears.

Give ear to promise; let your faith increase.

I'll take your hand in mine. I'll dry your tears.

Go forth and love, yet keep a sure reserve,

To use when dreams of love do not endure

To be retold, or savored, or observed.

Hold fast to what you know is true and sure.

In dimmer times I dream of heron flights;

And then awake to think of cognac nights.

Journeys intersect...

During the past two days I have found myself traveling with others, peeking into their lives from a certain distance with permission. One of my sons got engaged, thus marking an official starting point for an eventful journey. The "question" was asked a few days ago, but they celebrated the event with a special stay at a fine inn beginning on Valentine's Day. My thoughts go back to a time in my life. I wish them the joys I experienced, and the skill to avoid what I could not.

I also traveled with a special C into her past. I feel privileged to share time with people who intersected her life. Rediscovered memories become first-time stories to me. C's life affects me deeply.

I'm also looking forward to the safe arrival of the other of my sons who will be driving in from Ohio tonight with a special friend.

More lives to intersect as they journey to, then past me.

...but there is also "need"

I don't want to get too heavy here, but all this pilgrimage talk does presume a "need" to travel and to experience the unknown, even in familiar places with familiar people...and then to talk about it. Daily pilgrimages don't have to be life defining moments or knee-scraping ordeals. The dragons can be very small. And with the exception of life's final pilgrimage, all they need is a starting point, a destination, and a return; with stuff in between. OK, enough. You get the idea of what this blog is all about.

In-House Travel

My watch just beeped at me. It's 9:08pm, a memorable time, and this is my kick-off entry. I chose the title "Daily Pilgrimages" because of two books I've enjoyed. Both suggest that one can wring more meaning out of life if daily comings and goings are viewed as pilgrimages of sorts. There is anticipation, preparation, and the start. There are obstacles and challenges, and meetings along the way; then fulfillment and reflection. I'm going to stop now and embark on travel from my office to the kitchen for a final cup of tea. I'll be back soon. This is a good life I have.