Thursday, February 26, 2009

Eliza Griswold

I woke to a voice within the room. perhaps.
The room itself: "You're wasting this life
expecting disappointment."
I packed my bag in the night
and peered in its leather belly
to count the essentials.
Nothing is essential.
To the east, the flood has begun.
Men call to each other on the water
for the comfort of voices.
Love surprises us.
It ends.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Coke At Night
Mose Tolliver

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Movies and Such

Went to see The Reader today. I have to agree
with this assessment by Ron Rosenbaum:

"so much is made of the deep, deep exculpatory shame of illiteracy—despite the fact that burning 300 people to death doesn't require reading skills—that some worshipful accounts of the novel (by those who buy into its ludicrous premise, perhaps because it's been declared "classic" and "profound") actually seem to affirm that illiteracy is something more to be ashamed of than participating in mass murder... Lack of reading skills is more disgraceful than listening in bovine silence to the screams of 300 people as they are burned to death behind the locked doors of a church you're guarding to prevent them from escaping the flames. Which is what Hanna did, although, of course, it's not shown in the film."[19]

Kate Winslet tries so hard to make it look like she's intense.
And that's just that. You know she's acting. I don't want
to be thinking how an actor is acting--I want to think they
are the character. It seems to me the primary purpose
in choosing Ms. Winslet for the role was to give her an opportunity
to go around naked in quite a bit of the film.

So, a thumbs down from me for the film, and though Mr Rosenbaum
didn't think much of the novel, I have heard others say they thought
it was quite good.

A friend brought Religulous over the other night. It
was very funny. I am not sure it was supposed
to be very funny all of the time, but I thought it was.
I've never watched Bill Maher, but he strikes me as
rather Michael Mooreish. Rotten Tomatoes rated
it at 71%. It did inspire some conversation, and I certainly
got a few good laughs out of it.

Things are still strange. It takes time to process all of
the emotions surrounding weeks of your life devoted
to staying warm, getting food, living with your mom,
etc. There were things she said during that time
that she has never told me about. I can't go there
with those things yet. I am too vulnerable. Too in need
of good sleep and recovery time. But I'll not forget
what she said, how she said what she said, her
tone of voice, her body language.

It snowed earlier, but now it has stopped and I can see
the beginnings of a sunset through my back windows.
It looks lovely out there. Just enough snow to cover
the grass.

Time to go cook. Tonight's dish:

Roasted Pork with Oranges and Prunes

Marinate a 1 lb. pork tenderloin in apple cider
vinegar, olive oil, and cumin for about 30 min.
Cook the tenderloin in a cast iron skillet until
browned on both sides (about 10 minutes).
Put in a 400 degree oven until pork is done
(about 20-30 minutes).

Put 3/4 cup chopped, pitted prunes in a
medium bowl with 1/4 cup hot water
and let stand for 5 minutes. Add two
peeled and chopped oranges to the bowl.

Remove pork from pan and place on plate
to rest for 10 minutes or so. Add prunes
and oranges to the skillet and scrape up
any browned bits. Slice pork and top with
fruits. Serve with rice or couscous with slivered almonds.

(From Everyday with Rachel Ray magazine)

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Thinking About Frances

It wasn't right that they took part
of you out and left you with so little
of yourself. Your beautiful body and slow
smile remained, but that fight--oh that
fight--was stripped down from full
fledged incineration to smoldering
ashes. Why I would think I would take
them up on an opportunity to remove
a lobe here, snip an axon there, leave
the synaptic nerves shaking their
shaky little vessels so I could sleep
for a night eludes me. But I think about
that, tonight, nearing 24 hours with
no sleep, pouring a fourth glass of wine,
my chicken in mushroom sauce with fresh
asparagus an afterthought. Oh, Frances,
you did not ask for that, and I realize
as I think about you, the limitations
of science, of intuition, of living life
on the edge. All inhibitions
hushed, the life force flowing through
the veins as you grabbed and moaned
and cried--all of who you taken
in that room, sun streaming through the bars
of the windows, not one spark of light
remaining in the vacant storefront of memory.

Frances Farmer, 1913-1970

Racing Thoughts

So here is how it goes tonight:

I do not like the night, Sam.
I do not like it, Sam I am.

I do not like the cold wind that blows.
I do not like when my toes are cold.

I wonder how I got where I am.
I wonder so, Sam I am.

I do not like these thoughts unleashed.
I would much rather be at the beach.

I do not know why I took this path.
I do not know how to fix a latch.

I do not like the wind that blows.
It makes my ears hurt and my nose.

I love you, Sam I am, for those times
you make me think of rhymes.

I so much love new friends and food.
I so much love what I know is good.

I so much want to rest my head
down on the pillow in my bed.

I so much hope my nose won't bleed.
I hear so much advice I really should heed.

I think I like just where I am;
I think I do, Sam I am.

I so much think you know me best,
you old wise soul who does not test.

I am so gone, dear Sam I am.
I would like a grilled cheese with ham.

I am so gone, sweet Sam I am. Gone
with nothing left but this plaintive song.

But, before I leave you, Sam, my man, I must say
how cold am I. I think that soon I shall go lay

my body down deep in the covers,
and let go, Dear Sam, those lying lovers!

Sunday, February 15, 2009

More Sleep Required

Had a large time at the wine tasting, and so
did my friends. I don't know when I've laughed
so hard. My sides still hurt. I am glad I know
these women, and I am grateful for just letting
life happen for a change. Not asking why. Just
going with it. We had such a great time, but we
have agreed that what happened in New Harmony
stays in New Harmony!

I've been to New Harmony several times. I can't think
of a time that I've been there when I didn't feel guilt
on the way there or guilt on the way home for a variety
of reasons. This was the first guilt-free trip. I also didn't
freak driving over the bridges. I am hopeful that I am

Now, I just feel sleepy. We got home around 3. Then I
went to see my grandson. He had been in FL for 10 days
to get out of this freezing cold, powerless town. It was
so good to hug his sweet little body and to see that smile
that never fails to melt his GiGi's heart. We had a good
time visiting but then GiGi's late night was catching up
with her, so she had to get her arse home. From the time
I got home until the time I turned the lights out, I was
pretty much in the bed. I tried sleeping, but have a hard
time sleeping during the day, so I read. Still rereading
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Mainteance. I confess
to only half-hearted reading time. Though I am adjusting
to my new position, I still find myself rather exhausted
at the end of the work day and pretty much useless
and resistant to wanting to take in anything more for
the day than perhaps an episode of Home & Garden TV
or Biography. Though the work is draining, I like very
much what I am doing.

That being said, I am looking for some book suggestions.
Son is reading another Cormac McCarthy--All the Pretty Horses.
I think I'll read that when he finishes it. I think I may order
Ekateringburg: The Last Days of The Romanovs.
It looks interesting.

Some sunshine today. I am shooting for a Molly walk.
Must start walking. Must start taking care of me--
taking care of her. She's only getting her evening
walk with hubby.

But for now, the bed is calling me back. I have a bad
case of the sleepies, which is ok in my book. I just feel
relaxed, and it's such a rare thing my body is willing
to give into it and let it have its way with me.
Uncle Sam
Howard Finster

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I Can Understand

I could never be bulimic, but I understand
the need to binge and purge. Emotions run
that way. Let me just down all of this shit
and then puke it up and be done with it.

I've been doing that tonight in my own way.
No food involved. A burning of letters, a trashing
of emails, a tossing into the garbage can the last
remnants of a time best lost to time.

Yesterday, we had tornado warnings all day. 60
mph winds, power out again to people who had just
recently got it back, shingles off roofs, limbs falling
on cars. It was wicked.

But I woke around 5 to a waning moon. Still full
to the naked eye. It shone through the bare branches
and through my naked windows, it cast its light upon my
open eyes and I was grateful. I was at peace.

Though I am tired, I am not alone at all. There are
so many tired, hurting, cold and hungry people here.
I don't know how many are still without power.

My son ate one of those MRE meals when he was staying
all night at the shelter his church had established after
they finally got power back. Those of us who had a radio
found out (three or four days later) that those meals had
peanut butter crackers in them. Peanut butter crackers
that should not have been in them as they had been recalled
several weeks ago. My son spent part of the day in the Care
Center having IV fluids pumped into his body. Could be
salmonella, but could be a virus. More testing required.
He was sleeping when I talked to his wife earlier.

I am thinking of the irony and not appreciating it at all.
Make it through -7, no heat, little food, no lights--only
to eat some GD peanut butter crackers that should not
have been distributed.

Life is slowly getting back to normal--whatever normal is.
I suppose it's the going to work, taking a shower, being able
to cook, having heat, driving a car, talking on the phone.
I suppose that's part of normal.

I look forward to this weekend. I finally have some coworkers
who like to go to wine tastings. We are going to New Harmony, IN
tomorrow for a wine tasting. We'll stay the night at the New Harmony
Inn, do the tasting, go to the Yellow Tavern, come back to the room,
put some music on and dance our uninhibited asses off.

Here's to life going on and on and on.

And to the fact that we are all in one piece, and relatively
healthy and still wanting to be a part of the whole mess.

Monday, February 09, 2009


To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.

Donald Hall

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Crazy dream night

I spent a long time typing out my dreams from last night
and lost the post. Don't have the energy to retype the dreams,
but I will go look at these creatures who appeared and try
to see what they mean as totem:

bears (in more than one dream), spiders (in more than one dream),
a wolf, an eagle, moths, worms, crickets.

Damn, I needed to print that post. My father was in two of the dreams.
I was killed in one of them but rewound the scene to be sure I didn't
die. The world was covered in snow. All the buildings made of snow.
There was a telephone and a ruse. A spiderweb and a dream catcher.
A strange game with spiders puncturing your flesh if you made a mistake.

Oh well, maybe I'm not supposed to remember these dreams.


What does the spider archetype mean in dreams? According to, dreams about spiders mean that, "The spider is usually symbolic of an unkind and sneaky individual. Are you the spider building a web, or are you being dragged into one? A spider's web represent[s] entanglement and the general complexities of life. Depending on the details of the dream, it could also be symbolic of a smothering individual in your daily life." In my own spider dreams, I don't find this to be the case. Usually, they are more consistent with Carl Jung's interpretation (also from, "a symbol of wholeness due to its circular shape. He called circular symbols 'mandalas' and said that they had valuable meaning for the dreamer. The spider and his web may be calling for an integration of the dream[er]'s personality leading to greater self-awareness and resulting in feelings of completeness. Therefore, the spider and his web may be considered profound and spiritual dream symbols which call for greater self-understanding and encourage us to derive meaning and satisfaction from the intricate framework and interplay of life." Spiders, to me, have represented a deepening of a sense of connection to the world, a physical and psychological symbol of the "string theory" of quantum mechanics. Everything is, in some way, connected.

Pink Trees
George Colin

Saturday, February 07, 2009

Nothing to figure out, really, and no surprises. I'm just tired and it's way after the fact now and doesn't matter that much anyhow but I guess it does or I wouldn't say anything about it or write anything about it

She asks me where the coffee mugs
are--this the third day of the power
outage. I say The cabinet above the
microwave but I think Why is it that
you don't know? The next morning,
she asks if the "brown" cat can go out,
and I say, You mean Dante ?, and she
says, with her strange accent, OOOh,
of course, Dante. She didn't even know
his f***ing name. I've had him almost 11
years. And I am thinking again how odd.

How odd. How insignificant. How terribly

But I'm too cold to think too long or hard
at that point. And I'm too tired of being in the dark
and stuck in this house.

And I realize it all matters more than I can
let it matter.

At some point during the week, as we all
sit huddled in one room with a propane
heater going, playing Texas Holdum (sp?),
she mentions by name the brothers and sister's
cats and dogs and lots of other minutiea
which starts becoming what it's been all along
which has always seemed to be monumental
in so many ways.

Not in some linear fashion did she throw these
things out, mind you--just
in the course of a long night's conversation.

I remind her the next morning, when she
asks once again if the brown cat can go
out, that yes, indeed he can and he has
been going out for almost 11 years
and his name is Dante and the mugs
are above the microwave.


No alzheimer's or dementia here--selective

Thursday, February 05, 2009

My father's ice skates

It's been a long, long 10 days.
My mother is still without power,
and to compound things, when I went
by her house to see whether the power
had come back on, I heard a noise inside.

I'm not even sure why I went back by there--
I had already been today. It was dark. On her
street, the lights were on in most of the houses,
but not hers. I opened the door and lifted
the light switch, but nothing came on. Then I noticed
a sound--like white noise or a fan--something running.

So, I walked into the dark house and walked toward
the sound only to discover I could not see well enough
to know what it was. So, I left.

My brother called and I told him. He went to the house.
He called and said that the water line had burst and what
I was hearing was watering hitting beneath the floors.

So, he and his girlfriend's father turned the water off.

Now, no power, no water, but the rest of her neighborhood
has both.

I know she's ready to go home, and I know I am at my limit.

And then she says to me, after I tell her I heard a noise
at her house and before my brother went over there,
that in the room I heard the noise, beneath the desk
were my father's ice skates and marbles and some other
things he had when he was a child. And she said I want
you to take those.

And I could not give her anything. And I could not look
at her. And I kept working on the meal. And I would not
turn around and face her. But as I cut the onion up
I managed to say I didn't know Dad ice skated. I've
never seen his skates. And I would like very much
to have the skates and marbles.

And I was most grateful I was cutting an onion.
And the tears really were from the onion and not
the skates or marbles or the days and days of close
proximity and not the exhaustion and not the worry.

Just the onion.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009


Answer: Must contain literary
references and lots of metaphor.
Must be clever and contain strategically
broken lines. Must mention
absent mothers and/or drunk
and absent fathers without really talking
about absent mothers and/or drunk and absent
mothers or fathers. Must stray
from straight talk. Must be bowled
over by the grand pooh-poohs. Would
be nice if it likened the self to a natural
element. Must be tercets or quatrains
or couplets (which are particularly
pleasing when sex is involved). Must
not sound sycophantic--i.e., don't
reference wheelbarrows or plums
or how nothing has such small hands
or a crab scuttling--must pay attention
to sonics (no nonsonically inclined posts
allowed). Must be devoid of feeling
(i.e.--no I's) but filled with feeling
which does not include I's. Must not
be about snotty-nosed kids across
the street or dead neighbors or ravaged
trees or changing a light bulb. Can be
about the sirens and soothsayers
and war gods and temples crumbling
to the ground. Can be filled with all
the right sonically pleasing, rhythmically
stroking, killer line break, enjambment
loaded, artfully studied scenester
elements. Can arouse slightly centers
set for arousal. Can refute and rebuke
and puke and spoof (albeit rather ineffectively)
all the reader knows. Can be lauded
as the best thing since heat. Can elicit
lovers and strangers and familiars.
Can ask without asking and tell without
telling. Cannot (let me say this again)
cannot be about the home town grill
keeping the fires burning or the neighbor
warming up Jambalaya on the grill
or the trips to the toilet in the dark
and cold, or the cats accepting the dog
on their longest night alone together
or shit like surviving unless there's some
clever way to share the story, like maybe
how your mom drank so much beer
the first night she thought she was back
home, your dad beside her in the bed
they never shared, his arms holding
her so tightly she feared they may crush
her in her sleep, fitful as it was in the
up to 20 degree outside sleeping bag,
which is not really clever at all, but true.
And sad--oh you must must must
resist ever telling in the quest you decide
is worth abandoning--sad cannot, absolutely not
be included--no matter the fact that your fingers
have become too cold to write another word,
and all the candles are on their way out.
Question: What is a poem?

Tuesday, February 03, 2009


They will kill a man in Tennessee.

I wish my daughter had chosen another
profession. I wish she did not have to
be standing outside the gates fighting
for his life.

But she will be, and I know she must be.
And I cried with her and I said pray

and she did not have to say anything
though I know she was thinking

and so then I said do what you must
but don't let yourself be alone.

Oh my daughter, I can't know what it is
to walk in your shoes. I can't know what
it is to be the family of the accused or
the family of the victim. I can't know

so many things in my life, but I know this:
the tears flow for you, for him, for his family,
for the family who lost a loved one, for the
executioners, for the cold hard truth

which may be true and may not.

To have heat, to remember warmth.
To have someone and to have no one.

To listen and know when to stop listening.
To have conversation unforced.

To eat a meal you cook. To accept
the meal offered. To know what it is

to feel alone when you are not alone.
To drag the dead to the front of the house

in the balmy 60 degree weather. To mourn
the loss and have the strength to continue

the work. To let go the losses so irrelevant
and embrace the new. To up the ante

15 pennies to make sure you can't lose
if you make the choice. To surrender

the heart to the dark places it has yearned
to go but not been free to do so. To open

the heart to the filtered light. To lay
the body down at night in complete

and utter exhaustion and to not expect
anything more than perhaps waking up.

Monday, February 02, 2009

On Happiness

"I'd rather have one phenomenal year
than 90 mediocre ones. When you are really
living, it really doesn't matter how long
you're here."
Kris Carr

That statement from an article in Psychology
Today. Kris is living with cancer. Kris changed
many things in her life after her diagnosis.
She changed jobs, towns, her diet, her outlook
on life.

I think the message is one we all need to heed.
That being said, I think it is hard for those of us
trapped in a mentality. It's hard to change
how you've been and lived your whole life.
I applaud her and hope some day I will get that
message and that it won't take cancer or a terminal
illness for me to do that.


I took Molly out to the bathroom a few minutes ago.
The sky is clear, the air frigid. I thought to myself
how beautiful to see the Big Dipper and all the other
stars lighting the night. And then I thought if I was
one of those people in this town still living in the dark,
I'm not so sure I would appreciate the beauty. I had
the luxury of coming back into the warm house.
I had the luxury of being warm when I walked outside
to take Molly to do her stuff. If I was still in darkness
and cold, I don't know that the night would have been
so lovely.

There seems to be no middle ground.

We have what we have and know what we know
and when what we know is no longer a language
we can speak or a face we can recognize or a taste
familiar, we are thrust into a zone which tends to
dominate all of the levels of being we consider


Tomorrow we canvas the shelters. We ask questions.
We help in the small way we can. I can think about
that now that I am warm and full and have a familiar
place to sleep in.

I don't know how useful I would have been last week.

I am grateful for those who have been doing what they
have been doing for a week now.

I don't think there is one person in this community who
has not been affected by this.

Daylight comes. Cars drive by. Those in cold places with
no water know that others are taking their showers
and eating a hot breakfast and going on with life. But
they aren't fixated on that. Fixation is on surviving
another day.

This isn't Montanta or Wyoming or Siberia. This is a small
town in Western Kentucky. A place you would not know
much about unless you knew someone who lived here.
It is a place not so isolated as it is nondescript.

But we are here, and all around there is need.


The First Night

We sat around Mr. Heater,
me worrying about propane
fumes, trying to find the carbon

monoxide alarm I had removed
from the hallway weeks ago, a fresh
coat of paint going up, all pictures

and necessities stuck in closets
or packed away. The cold had not
yet settled into my brain. Naiveté

sang its allegros, lifted its childlike
soprano into the unheated room.
A moment's joy rested on my

shoulders and sat there as uneasy
as a first time root canal candidate
as I lifted it from beneath the bed,

dog and cat hair claiming it. The wall
neither rejoiced nor rejected
the newest encroachment; the occupants

of the bed and floor quite unaffected
by its presence. But I, the doer of deeds
and the worst of worriers, could only

lie there in the darkness and pray
to the off-white circular god, unseen
and unheard, hanging there like a martyr

in the midst of my most defining moment
Back to work

My clinic is still not open--don't know
when it will be, so I will be working
at the main clinic today. Not sure what
we are doing today but think we are
going to have a First Responders training.
Crisis is supposed to go out with First
Responders, but I don't have my certification

Yesterday's paper confirms one weather-related
death. It stated that an 84 yr old gentleman
was found dead, hugging his hot water heater.

Hugging up against his hot water heater.

The last little bit of warmth not enough.

Cause of death presumed to be hypothermia.

It was about 13 the first night we were without power.
18 or so the next night. Then it gradually warmed
to 22 and finally around 38 or so. The nights were
long and cold.

More troubles this morning. I went to the basement
to do some laundry. My son was upstairs taking a shower.
I noticed water pouring from two pipes. Oh, on it goes.
It's fixable, though. It's fixable.

I can't reach my hubby. He went to his shop today
but he must not have power. No phone service either.
I just wonder what the government will do for all the lost
wages. He's never asked fo anything, but every day he's
been unable to work is a day without money and a day
which gets us closer to the day bills are due.

We, like everyone in this county, lost about 60%
of our trees. Beautiful old dogwoods, strong oaks,
my magnolia looks a wreck but I think she'll make it.

It looks like we've been bombed. Much more damage
from this ice storm than the F4 tornado we had.

Damn, I wish I knew how to get started on repairing
the pipes. Another thing I am going to learn how to
do. I have learned how to be very resourceful through
all of this. I think most of us have learned we must
never forget how to take care of basic needs. Preserving
food, creating heat, keeping basic supplies.

All was not gloom and doom, though. We just sat around
at night talking, playing cards by candlelight, cooking
on the neighbor's propane grill. I don't know what
we would have done without our neighbors. They
are fantastic, amazing people.

My mother's been with us since Tuesday. I am glad
she had somewhere to go. I am also taxed to the max,
but I am hanging in here.

I seriously think Molly has some PTSD. She is so jumpy.
She started the night the limbs started breaking and falling
to the ground. Now, when I take her out back, she stands
there and looks at the devastation, knowing something's
wrong with the picture. The cats want to stay on my bed
all of the time now. They stayed huddled next to us at night,
my mom on a pallet on the floor. My youngest son on
another pallet. Molly in her crate with a comforter draped
over it.

Yesterday it was 64 outside. The only clue that anything
went awry here were the downed trees and snapped
power lines.

Time to go. Time to get back to work. I am grateful to
be going back to work.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

To be forgotten

I know a bit about how the Katrina folks felt.

We have been without power since Tuesday morning.
As a matter of fact, the power went out about 5 minutes
after I typed in my last post.

No one expected this. And apparently no one (out there)
seems to know the severity of this county's situation.
This county and the four surrounding counties
all without power until yesterday.

Ours came on at 11 or so last night.

On Wednesday, the mayor ordered an emergency evacuation
for anyone who could evacuate. But that was a tricky
situation. You could not get gas, kerosene, propane,
food--nothing at all for days. We were fortunate that
we had gas in our vehicles. We drove to Clarksville, TN
to try to find a generator but were told there were none
to be found anywhere closer than AL. We couldn't even
find an oil lamp or a cooking stove.

On Thursday, our neighbor drove to Terre Haute, IN
and bought two generators. We bought one from him.
So, on Friday morning, we had some power in the house,
but the generator was not compatible with our heating
system. It did pump out the two feet of water that had
risen in our basement and it kept the fridge going and
the microwave and a small electric heater and a few lights.

We had been told it could be up to four weeks before
we had power again. And it is likely that the outlying
areas in the county will be without power that long.
I am only a few blocks from downtown--the city
center--so I hoped we would get ours sooner than
the predictions.

It feels strange to be connected again. We've all been
in survival mode all week. Just trying to keep warm and
keep food in our bodies.

It's odd, too, to become connected once again and find you
haven't been missed. Odd indeed. This whole experience
has much to say to me about my life, who I am important
to, and what is important to me.

It's hard to say what was most missed. Had we not had
a small propane camping heater which kept the room
we stayed in around 40, I would say the heat. But you don't
know how much you miss the light until the night comes
and blackness is all around and there are no trains
running and the only sound is the occasional passing
on the road of an emergency vehicle.

I feel humbled. I feel happy to be alive. I feel strange.

I am looking at the wreck that was my backyard. It looks
like a war zone out there. But we have out house. I don't
know how many burned down in town. We had no radio and no
paper until yesterday.

Yes, I feel we were forgotten. We were all saying
Where's FEMA, where's the National Guard, where
are supplies? But nothing was happening, or it was
and we just didn't know. That remains to be seen.

And, yes, I was forgotten, but that doesn't seem so
important either.

More to come.