Tuesday, December 13, 2005

An Attempt

This is Cassie and Ben. They are so beautiful.
I am going to try to copy a link here. It is for a commercial. BestCommercial.asf (2.6MB) I don't know if it is usable cuz I haven't paid too much attention to the rules for this place.

I had a really weepy day, and this commercial made me pretty much weepier. Fran sent me a photo of Ben that is just too cute. And it cheered me up to see it, but it, of course, also made me weep. I thought that part of my life would be over when I reached this age, considering PMS and all that goes with it is supposedly behind me. Anyway, I have to spend a few minutes real soon figuring out how to post photos(did it!)and I want to change the template so the ads are alongside instead of at the bottom. I know how to do that, but it is always so late when I get here, I have no energy left to concentrate.

Tomorrow I go to Bradley Counseling Center with Bill. I hope the weepies are over when I get there. I hope the counselor takes the lead as I will not know where to start. I suppose, if I have to, I can just start by saying the school wants the medical diagnosis. I will of course share the outcome as I will need to vent.

This whole Christmas thing is getting me down. I am still so in love with my tree that I sit and stare at it. Today I thought it was an interesting display of so many different takes on the face of Santa Claus. But the actual Christmas event, present wise, is going to be such a drag. The whole Billy thing is just affecting my outlook and moods way too much. He gets to go to Shop With a cop Thursday, and they let him, supervised by the cop, and with a list from home, spend $100 and the twins are too old to go. And today, his paternal grandparents sent him a $75 gift card from Wal-Mart. The twins dad sends them nothing. And we got them a great gift they will love, but we can't keep up with what Billy is getting. And the irony is that every Christmas in memory, he has said, "Is that all there is?" when the gifts were opened. He needs nothing, and appreciates nothing and I got him this huge RC truck cuz I got Ben one on the tenth which was Ben's fourth birthday, and I try to keep stuff fair. So, I just hope the twins don't feel like a couple of left out bums. I know they are older and should just be grateful and not selfish, but with a mom and a dad that get them nothing, I am pretty sure the inequalities will hurt. I do not look forward to the actual 25th of this month.

The card that came from Billy's grandparents said, "We don't know if we will see you before Christmas since your dad is away again." He was to go to court the Monday after Thanksgiving and I said to Bill Sr. Let us know what happens. And of course, we did not hear. And I decided not to ask what happened since they act so oddly about it. So I am guessing that the message in the card means he was sentenced, and I will have no clue about how long or what to say to Billy. So we will just let this hang and Billy will not wonder at all why he doesn't see his dad for the next few years. Okay.

More later on this jolly holiday season...

Thursday, December 08, 2005


It has been a while since I wrote here. My responsibilities to my public are beginning to overwhelm me. (facetiousness...)

Since I upped my Wellbutrin dose, it is a little more difficult to be creative, but in truth I am usually not very creative here, am I? And I find myself, on other forums, going on and on. So I will try to be a little more responsible about keeping my blog up to date.

We actually need to move Lisa to her own place. There is no question about whether she needs to live on her own. Her attitude toward this family is unacceptable, to say nothing of the physical and emotional toll she exacts. The question is whether it will be good for Bill, or not. And Bill has to go live with her. He adores her so. The way he acted out last summer, when she was not living here, was too bizarre. All we can do is make sure the social services are in place to help them out. Having talked to a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and two social workers about this, I will be able to live with my decision to let him go with her. And I am so looking forward to a little peace and order in my life. The New Year is so far offering many promises.

I am receiving feedback about my worship blog, and I hope it will lead to interesting discussion. The pastor of the bible based non-denominational church my grandkids have been attending has folded his tent and moved on. His adulterous relationship with one of the ladies of the congregation received a little too much publicity. I am so annoyed that this is another case where people stood up to tell others the right way to live your life, and even go so far as to compare my "Wrong" way to their "Right" way, when they are fully incapable of identifying their own sins. And it is not just the adultery. In the Catholic Church, if you bring scandal to the Church, or commit it in the Church's name, it is in itself a grievous sin. This guy having the respect and the ear of all these little kids really frosts me. One day it is, "Oh, I know Cliff, and he is a great guy." The next day, "What a complete jerk." Just one more reason why I so strongly feel that the deal between you and God has to be the deal you cut yourself.

So, dear Louie, the spouse with the computer operated heart and the frozen shoulder, just finished spending forty minutes in the garage looking for the tow chain. One of his pals got his pickup stuck in the mud the other day, and then the mud froze. I cautioned him about getting too involved with the helping in this project, but I better spend a few minutes going over the insurance policies again. Meanwhile, I fell sideways over the snowy frozen construction project that is my front stoop.

I have been thinking for three years about putting up a larger Christmas tree cuz we have that huge peaked space in the parlor. So this year I did it. It is nine feet and turned out so well. I have not devoted so much energy and concentration on a project in a long time. I feel so pleased with the success of it, I sit at dinner and gape at it. I have to figure out how to put photos on here. Can't be too hard. Anyway, I wish I could rustle up that enthusiasm for my tile project, but I have made a little progress, and the last batch went very well. But the blocks of time still pose a problem. Yesterday was supposed to be empty and I was all fired up to tile but one phone call led to another and then an orthodontic emergency developed and the day was shot. Moving the boxes of tile around is the worst part. Fran said there is too much junk in this house. Yes.

Okay, not too much going on and no amusing anecdotes, just trying here to get back into the blogging. Let me hear from you.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

The Birds

A student of my husband's who was from a distant country, gave him a pair of canaries. The student's mom had sent them so he would not be too lonely. For some reason, they were to remind him of home. Perhaps he was from a home that had canaries in residence. The young man had to move on to another city and another school and knew my husband had twin grandaughters, so he asked Louie if he would like to take the birds. Of course, my husband said yes.

This was a pair of darling canaries. The twins were not too interested in them, but I was crazy about them. The male had a weird little crest of dark feathers that sat a little crookedly on his head. It actually looked like his toupee had slipped forward into his eyes. He sang his head off, but he did not last long.

One morning, there he was, croaked, in the water dish. I was shocked and saddened. Of course everyone thought I was overreacting. But this guy was charming. I put his body in a ziploc bag for later burial and put it in the freezer. I began to research replacing him. This is why my only google entry is some Illinois Canary afficianado club.

I soon found out that this bird was a crested Gloucester, and he cost over a hundred dollars. The gentleman I spoke with said he probably died cuz I left him with the female all the time and the female tends to harass the male to death. They should only be together to breed. He recommended not replacing him which was sort of a relief. I told the breeder that losing the canary made me sad, but when I found out how expensive he was I was even more sad.

The female was in a cage near my chair in the dining room and we became good friends. She was very demanding and insisted I chirp and cluck at her rather ridiculously when ever I sat down near her. Of course, I enjoyed this because she responded in kind. She also began to sing which is unusual for a female. She laid eggs furiously, and after about a year and a half she began to fail. I knew she was going and held her and petted her. No, seriously, I loved this bird. Well, when she passed, I put her in the freezer in a ziploc bag for later burial.

My relatives were freaked out by the birds in the freezer, but I kinda liked seeing their pretty yellow feathers and remembering them. But, mostly, they were usually forgotten behind the broccoli and the chicken breasts. Then we ordered the new fridge.

I cleaned out the old fridge the morning the new one was to be delivered. As each shelf and crisper was emptied and disposed of, I began to think of what to do with the bird bodies. It was a warm spring day, so I asked Louie to bury them out by the creek. I would have done it myself, but I was really busy, and wanted to avoid getting that little choky feeling I knew I would get if I buried them myself. So Louie agreed to take them out and inter them. I asked him to remember what nifty little guys they were and to think something respectful as he buried them. He agreed and walked out the back door and across the deck. I was standing at the kitchen sink and as he passed by the window and went down the stairs he said, "Here, kitty, kitty."

Friday, June 10, 2005


I need to research this matter a little, but, I think, somewhere in the New Testament, it says something about Jesus not liking self-righteousness, especially if it was because of him. I always took that to mean that He doesn't want people to think they are hot stuff just because they bought His program. Like He teaches humility and doesn't like pride, right?

But it seems that whenever I meet people who are into that new Christian-right modern religion thing that is growing everywhere by leaps and bounds, they think they are the only ones who know the secrets or truth. I was at a little holiday celebration with a bunch of them last year. It was supposed to be a get together where we shared stories of our own families' Christmas traditions. But, as the evening went on, and we played these little sharing games and read scripture, and heard a little homily, I started to think it was a kind of intervention since I was the only one still Catholic and not attending one of these brand spanking new Evangelical churches. So at the end of the evening we were supposed to write down what we thought of the evening and what we got out of it and I presented my little note as a diatribe on how I was already in Jesus and God's family, and had always felt that way and totally did not get the personal relationship with Jesus thing. I also felt I had to mention that what they said about Jesus saying, " I am the way the truth and the Life," was actually Him saying, "I am the Way the Truth and the Light." Huge difference to me at least. So they pretty much leave me alone now.

But my one immediate neighbor cannot resist a little expounding on the love of God whenever the situation arises. We have this little tacit war about who has the best perennials, and I think I win this year. I could have told her those Gerbera daisies punk out after the big show with the initial gorgeous, SINGLE bloom. But, whatever... So, she has these little meetings where all the gals from the church come over to pray and talk about God and stuff. And last week she had two on two days in a row. This is cuz her husband is training to be a pastor, and she therefore, is in training to be a pastor's wife, I am at least assuming. So I think that is swell and won't have sour grapes about her popularity, even tho I am a singularly unfriendly type of person. And the only thing that really bothers me about it, besides the fact that her daughters are champs at bitchiness, is how difficult it is to get out of my driveway when all her guests are parked up and down both sides of our narrow little rural street.

So, I was putting in a few more petunia plants, and planting a row of Barberry bushes, and it was kind of hot and I was getting really dirty, but things were going really well. I was certainly on a roll, and patting myself on the back, figuratively of course, as my partially roboticized body doesn't move around the gardening melieu very well and certainly does not allow for any back patting manuevers. And as I was perking merrily along, I was noticing the large number of cars in the street in front of my home, and I was listening to the ladies of the church, on my neighbor's screen porch, just over my shoulder, spiritedly discussing transformation and other stuff of a religious nature. And for just a moment I thought to myself that perhaps I was remiss in not joining in such types of soul betterment and was not doing right cuz I was not attempting to learn more about the Lord and how to get to be with Him. But I realized that what I was doing was a great form of worship and doing it and realizing what it was worth seems to prove to me that God and I are still on friendly terms.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Pee, Poop and Pizza Boxes

Warning: Major Rant...

First of all, I was going to name this chapter "Piss, Shit, and Pizza Boxes", but I then thought that might offend someone's sensibilities. Then I thought "Offending sensibilities...there's a concept to explore!" But that is really not where I am right now, and besides, my current choice is way more alliterative.

I woke today to the sound of my daughter's dog barking it's head off. We are babysitting him this weekend because her boyfriend is in Las Vegas and she is mostly staying here. Of course, last night being Saturday, she went out with her pals and will not show up here until later today. I tried to introduce the concept of the boarding kennel yesterday when we began discussing her impending trip to New Orleans with said boyfriend. She is really looking forward to this because she thinks he may propose. Propose? All they talk about it getting married, when, if and how, and they have been basically living together for almost two years. I don't get the significance of the formal "Proposal", especially since nowadays every body does what ever they want whenever they want, contracts, promises, vows, etc. not withstanding.

Anyway, the boarding kennel idea was drowned in the sea of facts regarding whether she would actually be gone for an entire week versus a mere extended weekend. And my misgivings about wanting to spend an extended period of time with her three year old, her dog, my three other grandkids, my dog, various pets and other disfunctional members of this family that will remain unnamed, went by the boards.

So, then when I woke up today:

After I put last night's pizza boxes into the recycling bin, I found three pees and two poos in the dining room. Of course, that corner of the dining room is covered every night with half a package of puppy training potty pads cuz our cocker spaniel still has occasional accidents,( or spite pees, but that is another story) so this morning's distribution of canine bodily waste was almost all, maybe about ninety three percent, on the potty pads. So, while I was picking them up, I mentioned to my husband, who was nearby, and God bless his heart, had already given grandson #2 his breakfast, "Did you see all these pees and poos?" He replied that he had seen them and, I of course had to start in about how much longer it would have to sit in the dining room before it got picked up (By ME being implicit). So of course he reminded me that that was why the potty pads were there. And I began ranting, under my breath, but not COMPLETELY inaudibly, on how the potty pads would just be layered ad infinitum did I not come out to dispose of them, and how, when the urine leaked over the edge of the potty pad, it eventually found its way under the three layers of polyurethane on the beautiful hardwood floors that took two solid years to install, and caused said wood to swell and turn black in a very unattractive manner.

So, as that rant increased in volume and emotional content, Louie fled to the yard to mow like a son of a bitch. I hope he realizes that the anger I generate in him increases his energy level, causing him to complete these chores amazingly quickly. But then, quickness is not his goal as the lawn and the swimming pool are only there so he can keep busy enough to not have to wallpaper or install toilets or clean the garage. My theory anyway.

So then I went out to the deck, or, as I so quaintly refer to it, in my charming grandmotherly way, the back porch. There I proceded to pick up some more defecations that had accumulated since I had performed that task yesterday. I put aside my worries about the fact that apparently one of the dogs seemed to be having a little stomach distress, and scraped and bleached and disposed. This involved only one trip to the basement to get more paper towels, during which time, I efficiently filled the washer and folded a few items of clothing.

By this time it was 8:45 a.m. and I had to hurry to put a "cuter" outfit on grandson#2 cuz his paternal grandmother was going to pick him up at 9:00 a.m. to celebrate Mother's Day at a "Brunch" with her mom and her kids. They did this last year and I cried almost all day and went to Denny's with my younger daughter. So, Grandma Sue just called to say she was too busy to pick Ben up, so he will be here today. So I will have his adorableness to enjoy and it is sunny and warm and I have lots of beautiful new flowers to put in. Now I am going to try to stop crying long enough to call my mom and wish her Happy Mother's Day. In my book, the ultimate oxymoron.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Further Musings on Crime

It seems to be an effective parent, which I no longer want to be, I will have to go to law school.

My older daughter's ex is in jail. I do not know why fetishism is a crime and how serious a crime it is. I think, in order to provide my grandson with any kind of an explanation as to why his dad is incarcerated, I should have a working knowledge of wtf is going on. I was in discussions with the imprisoned person's sister, but apparently I overstepped my specified place in the situation, and they are no longer speaking to me about it. So I made up a little story about how Billy's dad went to visit his neighbor and, for some reason, this time she did not want to visit with him, and she became angry and called the police. He seems to have bought that. But, seeing him trying to deal with that, along with being abandoned by his mother, I have asked the schools to provide him with a little psychological counseling.

To further complicate my feelings about this situation, my older daughter's current boyfriend was recently arrested and is in the Cook County Jail with no bond. We have not even bothered to discuss this with her son. He barely knows Jody, the felon, having met him but once or twice, and I really think seeing this pattern in his mother's life will be overwhelming for him, especially considering the time frame. This has all happened in the last month.

I dare not muse, even momentarily, on why my daughter chooses companions of this type. But, it is definitely a pattern. Two former companions also spent time in jail, all, of course, for varying reasons. My wise older brother suggested that I think of it as poor choices on her part. I think, if she wants to correct this pattern, she needs to find answers within herself, preferably with a professional counselor helping her. But of course she would first need to get rid of the notion that she is a hapless bystander in life. And that ain't gonna happen for awhile...

So, when she first moved out, her son asked if he could have her room, a perfectly wonderful reaction in my book, and I am going to go out, right now, and by some beautiful blue paint for that room. Flat surfaces once again call to me.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Crime and Parenthood

Am I a "victim" or a "control freak"? I am going to have to go back to talking to the psychologist and ask my shrink to up my meds. I slept last night and that is so wonderful.

I am overwhelmed, as usual. On the days when I don't have two or more commitments, and I am so looking forward to having some time for myself, I walk around the house, flitting from project to project, unable to focus or rest, and accomplishing little or nothing.

I am 61 and my husband is 67. He has a bunch of metal parts in his heart and I have a bunch of metal parts in my knees. We are faced with raising an 8 year old that is a complete bundle of problems. I cannot see laying on my death bed wondering if he has a clean pair of socks to wear to school tomorrow. I have mentioned to his mother that she needs to make arrangements to move back to this county and take care of her son. I realize that will probably not happen, and even if she provides a home for him, the care part is an unreasonable expectation.

Am I in this position because I have tried to keep my kids under my control and crippled them for ever being able to take care of themselves? Or am I using all these problems other people have to keep myself from living my own life and making decisions for my own welfare? Or is every one just taking advantage of poor muddled me? I know every time I have to come to a decision about my own health or welfare it takes months of rumination. I also am painfully aware that the decision making and organization part of my brain is untrained and ignored.

Beside making a concerted effort, sort of in the form of a resolution, to organize the material part of my existance, I am not improving my life or anyone else's by much lately.

I have been making an effort to make my grandson be more of a presence in his father's life and this seemed to be working out well. I had a lot of cooperation from his paternal aunt and grandparents. We had hoped that when Bill reached high school age he could live with his dad. Then, last week, the sheriff called to tell me that Billy's dad was in jail for a sex crime.

The sheriff misspoke about the type of crime it was, causing lots of fear and confusion. When that part was cleared up, and we realized it did not directly affect Billy, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Someone mentioned to Bill that his dad was in jail and I was able to give Bill a sort of simplified version of what happened that seemed to satisfy him and perhaps consoled him a bit. We are definitely consoled by the fact that is was not pedophilia as the sheriff first stated.

But the fact remains that Bill and his dad are undoubtedly NOT going to be doing much father son bonding in the future. So that tiny glimmer of hope for MY future has been extinguished and I am back to living somewhat reluctantly in the day to day.

I am feeling like the future would not seem so scary if I was able to count on some kind of plan being in place. I am always telling my kids and grandkids that they are responsible for themselves and their own welfare and well-being, and I guess all I can do is hold myself up as a bad example. Maybe I do not need to point the finger of blame at anyone for this mess. Maybe I just need to go to the laundry room and make sure the clean clothes are all put in the right drawers.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

The Birthday from Hell

Every year I wish people would ignore my birthday or, if they must acknowledge it, to do so quietly in a way suited to my advancing age and fragile state of mind. This year was the worst in a long string of horrible birthdays.

My husband actually said "Happy Birthday." I should have stopped right there. He has not said that in about twenty years. Then he actually asked me if I was starting to feel old. Something kind of like a conversation then ensued. That would have been another good stopping place.

I was going to make a spice cake, so I wouldn't have to eat one of those store things with the dark blue "frosting". Dja notice that no matter what color scheme they approach, they always manage to get some of that dark blue stuff on there? Well, I never got around to baking that cake...

My grandson woke up several times during the night saying his leg hurt. He is three and is not a crybaby. Then in the morning, when everyone, the six on hand anyway, was up and moving around and starting the day, we noticed he did not want to get out of bed. Then when we tried to encourage him to get up, he said he didn't want to cuz his leg hurt. When grandpa picked him up, he yelled kind of loud in pain and began to cry. He was at our place cuz it was date night for mom, so we had to call her to come over a little sooner than she had planned. When she arrived, we took him to the acute care place, which is kind of a cross between a hospital and an ER .

We were there almost four hours. They did a lot of blood work and xrays and decided it must be a pulled muscle or sore tendon. They couldn't even determine from interviewing him exactly what hurt. So they suggested we try ibuprofen cuz it is more of an anti-inflammatory. And sure enough, by evening, he was taking a few steps. I stopped on the way home and purchased a small sheet cake with a lot of dark blue frosting on it.

So we went to the Buffalo Wings place for dinner and I had a beer! Totally the high point of the day! We didn't do the candles and photo in the birthday hat thing, and I feel kind of bad about that. Crushed, actually.

Ben seems fine and walked and played today. What the heck hurt him so bad?

Next year I check anonymously into a motel with a book the day before the birthday.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


My husband's family is originally from Spain. The offspring have always had a little thing for Don Quixote. They usually have a copy of Picasso's drawing, or a little statue of Don Quixote on horseback, and, of course, the often-owned, seldom-read, book itself.

I am thinking there is a little more to this than interest in or affection for a charming Spanish folk "hero". I think they see sort of a common bond, or they have taken the character's traits too much to heart.

My 39 year old daughter is currently in a relationship with a sort of nice, very needy, guy. She walked away from a long-standing decent job to move in with this guy, and now they are on a sort of quest. They look for jobs. They send out resumes and go to job fairs. I do not think they have any interest in actually taking a job or earning money.

She called to tell me of this wonderful interview she had. It was with a company that made earpieces for musicians. They count among their clients a rock band that has a name that refers to hearing impaired felines, a particular favorite of my daughter. Her enthusiasm was boundless. Who needs to go to work or earn money when you can get this excited over an interview? Maybe I should read Don Quixote, tho I have no desire to do so, to find out if he actually stabs a windmill blade, and what then happens. But I don't think I care enough.

I was recently debating if I should send her a small amount of money each month to make her life more comfortable and to perhaps keep her from thinking of returning home. Then I forced myself to think of how bad it would hurt if I went outside and banged my head against the garage wall.

Monday, April 04, 2005

A Fresh, Cool Breath of Air

I am reading the latest Michael Crichton, State of Fear. I am so delighted to find out that I am not the only person alive that thinks "Global Warming" is a bunch of baloney. If you are the kind of person that does not want facts, or, as I choose to label it in this instance, "reality" shoved down your throat in the form of fiction, then I urge you to buy or borrow this book anyway just to read his highly editorialized but factual bibliography. And heed it, and share it with all your friends, enemies, cohorts and relatives. Feel free to stop strangers on the street to tell them about this work.

Even if what he says is already known to you, or suspected by you, the novel is a very entertaining techno-romp. But, keep in mind, every minute you are reading, "the footnotes are real".

And there is really no need for you to question my motives. I think we already know that we do not need to help Michael Crichton make any more money.

Saturday, April 02, 2005


I wake up at 1:30 a.m. and finish a novel and start another. As I start chapter three I pause and try to remember what the novel I just finished was about. When I get that sorted out in my head, --it takes a few minutes cuz I have it mixed up with that other novel I was trying to read about transplanting the fetuses into the Supreme Court Justices that stunk so bad, the novel, not the justices--I have to remember, in order all the verses to "The Last Time I Saw Richard". And this is one of those times that I am probably not going to get back to sleep.

I really have to call and get my Welbutrin Prescription increased.

I am so worried about my granddaughter. I have no idea what to do about it except worry. Her paternal grandmother is institutionalized with schizophrenia, and I fear that it is in her future. She makes these weird little snake noises to comfort herself, and it drives me right up the wall, chilling my heart at the same time. She wears these weird clothes to hide herself, and she is so beautiful and darling, and unwilling to deal with her cuteness. And I reprimand myself for still thinking that being beautiful and darling is the part that is important and what she should deal with. And the part about all the twins I know or have heard of, where one of them is either dead or has schizophrenia, is in the forefront of my mind all the time, afffecting everything I think or see or know about my cute little granddaughter. And having to be raised by this loon that is me cannot be good for her.

My mind is like one of those old desks with all the little cubby holes stuffed with pieces of paper, cuz that is how my information or knowledge is stored. I can sit for hours and try to sort it out, but it is an impossible job, and will never be anything but mishmash. So, this morning, I made a little progress on the cubby hole labeled Joni Mitchell songs.

I would much rather sleep.

And the dominant characteristic of this morning's glorious sunrise is that it shows up all the fingerprints on my deck windows. I will go wash those windows now and try not to think about whether or not snakes even make a noise.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Eight for Easter

My older daughter joined us for Easter with the excuse that she wanted to visit her three children. She has been gone for two months, and in the meanwhile, she has not learned a thing. She spoke to Billy in exactly the same hostile way. When he continued, through the evening, to dog her every footstep, she told him to stop cuz that was exactly what was causing her to stay away. Nice burden to lay on an eight year old.

Later Billy said, "Mom is leaving Monday." And I replied, "No, mom is leaving tonight." I am coming down with a virus cold, and I don't feel too great. Lou was great, as usual, about helping with the dinner, and it all turned out really well. But, all the table setting and serving and cleaning up was left to me. Fran dozed on the couch and Lisa talked on the phone. Fran's three year old, Ben, had liquid diarrhea and was not exactly at the top of his game. But the vomiting has slowed way down. I drove Lisa to the train at nine o'clock and gave her a twenty for train fare, etc. Big-hearted me. I would have given her a grand to get on that train if I had it.

Fran stayed over cuz she had to work Monday and Tuesday. So I am not getting much chance to catch up on a little rest and get over my cold. What else is new? C'ya, later...