Thursday, February 25, 2021

Accidental Self-Knowledge

 

Eventually, I will leave.  I will pack up, make a new start, and move somewhere in the pursuit of that ever-elusive happiness: a sunshine-laden beach, and the success I dream of.  But for now, I am employed (gratefully), working mostly remotely (mega-gratefully), and enjoying the company of the dogs, birds and cat (on most days).  As I said a year ago, this has been the longest LENT in the history of Catholicism.  Don’t ask me what I am “giving up” – I think “SANITY” was an optional sacrifice at one or two junctures of the pandemic. 

There is one thing I noticed, though:  I collect things.  When my two favorite magazines that come in the mail have the word “Collection” right in their title, you understand my bent.  I actually read these magazines as I have dinner.  Mostly I have dinner with Marie once a week, because she is such a good cook, but she tends to go too generous on the salt so we can’t do it every night (Marie Callendar).  Too much salt, and lax patterns of activity and hydration create rotund secretaries.  But back to the Collections topic ….  Because I am home, almost incessantly, I started to notice the environment that I have built up around me.

My college friend Margaret said to me once when we were talking about decorating that she finds small groupings of things visually pleasing.  Here we are over 30 years later, and I realize that I somehow find Large Groupings of things visually pleasing …. Until they are NOT – and then they are overwhelming.  It never bothers people when they see a home that has a few groupings of house plants.  But, we are not talking about house plants here.  Yes, I have those, but oh so much more!

It was the bird houses at first.  Little colorful bird houses I had painted, a nightlight shaped like a bird house I bought in Lancaster a few years ago, a plant holder shaped like a bird house, a cookie jar shaped like a …. You guessed it:  bird house. 

Then you will notice the candles.  Yankee candles.  Walmart candles.  Little candles.  Big candles.  Soy candles that burn nicely; regular candles that burn dirty (is there such a thing really as a “clean burn”?).  Tall, unscented, Catholic candles with the Lord’s picture on them; Short, little candles with a decorative label on them telling me what scent I should anticipate.  In a certain sense, you could probably write a Dr. Seuss rhyme about all my candles:  You can find them on a shelf; you can find them by an elf.  You will see one in the hall; and there is one on the wall.  They come in white or blue; and we have red and pink ones too…. You get the idea.


My VHS tape bins are labeled, and now no one uses VHS tapes anymore.  So all my organization is good for … what?  I have quite the collection of DVD’s because as we all know, there is only really “trash” on television … until you have ROKU and can get pretty much anything for free or at a minimal price.  It’s crazy.  One could actually stop living their actual real life and just get soaked up in the re-runs of Commish (whom I love, having just discovered him last year) and armywives (my new friends) and McLeod’s daughters (who knew series could run for so long?  God bless those Australians!).

And then there are The Angels.  Years ago I attended a wedding in San Antonio.  My college friends and I were received very graciously there by a young woman who literally gave us her house for the weekend.  We noticed that she collected Angels.  Just angels.  Not plants, books, bird houses, candles, etc., like some people you know & love.  We walked from room to room counting angels.  There were like 80 of them.  But see that’s the thing:  because she collected just ONE thing, it wasn’t overwhelming.  And when she goes to pack up that house to move somewhere else, she won’t be tearing her hair out trying to pack a million boxes.  She won’t be making multiple yard sales or trips to the Rescue Mission or Salvation Army drop-off points.  She will simply pack, and move.  Unlike me.

One hundred years from now, when They come to find out why the mailbox filled up and spilled over (more than it does now, thanks to 101 charities I don’t support) They will find my house all boxed up and a skeleton of, well, ME with bubble wrap in my hand still packing bird houses, candles, dvd’s, video tapes, and all the plastic knives I kept from when I buy my weekly bagel and Dunkin’.  That’s what They will find.

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Tuesday, February 23, 2021

Sleeping Beauty .... or Not

 


1:17, 4:44, 5:38 and then 06:45.  You would think they were a tip on lottery numbers.  Actually, they are the times I woke up last night after trying 2 nights prior of Melatonin.  You know, the Melatonin that’s supposed to make you sleep better.  I have an ongoing daytime health complaint that the doctor thought might be sleep-related.  I told her, “Nope.  I sleep fine.  I drop like a rock and sleep until the first time a dog needs to go out, and then fall asleep immediately thereafter until the alarm goes off or a dog steps on my collarbone.”  (Does that SOUND like I have trouble sleeping?)  She smiled, and told me to take Melatonin that it might help with sleeping.  No.  That’s not a cut & paste sentence error.  She heard exactly what I quoted to you that I said to her.  And, she reiterated a conclusion that was incorrect.  But in the spirit of good patient etiquette, I decided to give Melatonin a try, you know, to help with the problem I wasn’t having.

I took one Melatonin on Sunday night an hour before bed.  I woke up Monday and I felt like I was in Gloucester, the sea port:  Just feeling foggy and a bit disoriented.  Like a compliant (albeit foolish) patient, I took one again on Monday night.  Tuesday, same thing.  And very weird dreams.  Tons of dreaming.  You could wake up very tired from all the running around super-heroing I was doing in my dreams.  And I did.  So last night I said to myself, in so many words, “Melatonin?  Not doing it.” 




I woke up at 1:17 am.  Man, was I hot.  Well, the house was cranking 71 degrees inside, I had two dogs on either side of me and fleece sheets.  At least the electric blanket was OFF.  I think.  That’s not really “trouble sleeping” – that’s an environmental problem.

I woke up at 4:44 am.  That was a potty run for the dogs at a regularly scheduled time (T-1) minus one hour since I had been up at 1:17 am and didn’t waste the opportunity as far as they were concerned.  Do you know what it’s like to live with an intact male dog?  When they whine like they need to go outside, you take them outside …. Or, they go to the side of your couch …. Um, yeah.  Insert Remix of an old song here:  “It’s his potty and I’ll cry if I want to.”  I have tried so many different cleaning products on that side of the couch that I’ve created an environmentally hazardous smell.  It least it doesn’t smell like …

At 5:38 am I woke up because my stupid cell phone carrier decided it was an ideal time to “update” my phone and they (wrongly) thought that I needed a “doink” noise to let me know they were On The Job.  When my cell phone “doinks” at night, I do, in fact, get up and check it to make sure that all is well with my friends and relatives.  But if you send me a FB update after 11 pm, note to yourself:  I will be cranky with you next day. 

Yesterday I looked at the potential side effects of Melatonin on webmd. ARE YA KIDDING ME???!!!

“However, it can cause some side effects including headache, short-term feelings of depression, daytime sleepiness, dizziness, stomach cramps, and irritability. Do not drive or use machinery for four to five hours after taking melatonin.”

And

“Seizure disorders: Using melatonin might increase the risk of having a seizure.”

So what is my point?  To the younger generation that feels free to argue anywhere, anytime, with anybody, I guess I have no point.  To the older generation that listens to everything their doctor says or interprets as if it was Moses coming down from Mount Sinai (“take 2 tablets and call me in the morning.”), be your OWN best advocate.  Be honest with your physician.  Communicate – obviously politely – tell them what you think.  Yes, LISTEN.  And Listen Carefully.  But also know what is right for you.  I think a wine and a nap might be right for me. 

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Monday, February 15, 2021

Surviving Married Life - post Valentine's Day advice

 



Roll your eyes, if you must.  Just don’t get caught.  That’s one thing I learned from teenagers.  There is something therapeutic about being able to dissent from ridiculousness without your own mouth getting you in trouble.  I’ve watched a lot of marriages from my safe distance.  I have learned a lot and in the spirit of Valentine’s Day I would like to share my thoughts. 

Last year, my brother said to me: “Don’t cry to me that you aren’t married:  you’ve had your chances.”  This put me in the somewhat awkward or humorous position of having to explain to him that while, as one friend put it “Chris, you’ve dated more than all of us combined,” I still escaped the snare on purpose.  I’ve always wanted to be happily married.  The reason I am not is that I KNEW I could not be happily married to any of the people I dated.  I have guy friends that I wondered, “How come this never became romantic?” and then years down the road I watched how they managed the relationships they were in, and I was thankful it wasn’t me.  There were one or two who “got away” but that is because I didn’t feel any sort of motivation in their direction.  Maybe I will catch them on the next round when they are widowers?  But my answer to my brother that day was: “Those weren’t chances with good odds.  When you have only been dating three months and you are BORED, then something is wrong.  You certainly don’t sign up for the 60-year-plan when you feel that way at 3 months.”  And, for me, it is really as simple as that.

So now that we have established why I am not married … I want to talk about situations where people didn’t STAY married.  Oh, the relational car crashes I have watched.  In one case, two friends of mine married after less than a year of long-distance dating.  They had completely different personalities.  Well, actually he didn’t have a personality…. And she had a lot of emotion.  It was a match that was crazy.  When they got married, I said to him, “And you’re moving to WHERE?  A state where you have:  no friends, no relatives, no support for this brand-new marriage?”  He said he was getting a job there.  So what?  There aren’t places to work in the three or four other states where you actually KNOW people?  My fear came true.  They didn’t have solid resources when they hit the rocks.  He asked me to share testimony towards getting an annulment.  Frankly, I did it more for her to have the “get-out-of-jail-free card,” than I did for him.  It was sad to be a part of the people who could stand up and say:  “This shouldn’t have happened.”  Our Catholic thought that annulment says, “This marriage was not a sacrament, was not a sign of Christ’s presence,” is missing something.  That marriage was a sign of Christ’s presence, namely:  Him (Jesus) hanging on the cross suffering from misunderstanding and being the target of the vitriol of broken humanity.  It was also a sign that the marriage-prep process is mostly broken, or a bad or delusional joke.

I have said to the young people in my family:  If you are going to prepare for marriage and the priest offers you a short-cut for marriage prep, go somewhere else.  The only short-cut in marriage itself is divorce.  If you are doing something THIS important, do the preparation well and with sobriety.  One priest once said to me:  “I know MORE about marriage than most married people do!”  If it wasn’t for the arrogant, offensive, and bitter tone in his voice, I may have believed him a little more quickly.  The fact is, all of us have seen the “for better and for worse” of other people’s choices.  A Christian speaker once said:  “Marriage is like flies on both sides of a screen door.  Some of them can’t wait to get in; others can’t wait to get out.”  I will say that not only is the preparation important, but the ongoing work is important as well.  Even after you are married, if you have a chance to take a class or retreat together, do it.  The success of one marriage has a tremendous ripple effect on all the lives around them …. As does the failure of just one marriage.

“I’d go for counseling, but (s)he won’t go.”  Then go for yourself.  You’re not perfect and you’re not whole.  Fix you up better.  Go for your kids.  They deserve to not live in a war zone.  They deserve to see people who love and respect each other.  How dare you criticize the government, the church, the school systems around you that are broken when you don’t try to fix your own self?  As the song “Let there be peace on Earth” says:  “and let it begin …. with me!”  You don’t have to get a medal for doing the right thing.  Making a better you, becoming a more insightful and compassionate being is a gift you give …. To yourself.  If another person shares the joy of that healing and growth, then so much the better.  If they do not, then you are just helping yourself and preparing for a more wholesome future.  Be humble, begin in your own heart.

And so here I give you Bik’s Basic tips (from the sidelines) for Relationships:

Ø  R*E*S*P*E*C*T.  Everyone wants it.  You cannot/should not STOP giving it just because you don’t feel you get it. Be the Bigger Person.  I remember a sweet old man who sat at the bed of his feeble and disabled wife saying to me, “Oh, what a beautiful life we had together!” and he went on to itemize their service to the community as circus clowns (yes, really) for a major children’s charity.  Every time he said the word “She” there was so much love and gentleness in his voice I get tears in my eyes thinking of it.  At the point where I met them, she was completely incapable of giving him anything back – words, touch, feedback.  He was just loving her into Infinity.  When I find a man like that, I won’t sit on the sidelines anymore.

Ø  Courtesy.  If you consider the other person’s needs first, you are following a Biblical injunction for how to interface successfully in all relationships.  St. Paul talks about the “pouring out of Christ” – think of that – how Christ died for the godless, while they were still full of hate and sin – He had no guarantee who would receive Him, and who would not.  He just poured it out.  (Philippians 2).  If it doesn’t hurt a little to pour yourself out, you’re not doing it right.  The Ego dies hard. 

Ø  Reverence.  Think of your spouse at his/her most vulnerable moment.  Would you reach into the sink strainer and pull out that yuck and fling it at him/her?  (say: “No, of course not. How horrible.”)  And yet what language do we throw at that person in our anger? YES we get frustrated.  YES we don’t think we can take two more minutes of the pointless arguing.  THEN we need other tools.  Cussing someone out blows off steam in the moment but does not heal the root cause of poor communication.  In fact, the more you assault another person’s self-esteem, the more you chip away at the foundation of any remaining relationship.  If the person has no proverbial emotional leg to stand on, how can you move forward?  Do not destroy anyone’s sense of self for any reason. 



Ø  You know all that “active listening” training we all go through for work?  Use it.  Let the person really know that you “hear” their heart.  Pick a day to try it out where you really just put all your own concerns back-burner and ask, “so how are you doing, really?”  If your child falls off his/her bike, you get down to their level and say, “how can I make it better?”  Why not do this for your spouse?  And you know how it seems when you talk to men they think you want them to “fix it”?  When you need to just be heard, say that in plain English.  Ie) “I’ve got something that is bugging me, and I need to talk it through.  Can you just listen to eight minutes of me saying it – don’t try to fix it -don’t try to give advice – just let me say it out loud and I might feel better.”  He is going to feel helpless, so just kiss him on the cheek and move on.  I am not sure that most men perceive that “listening” actually IS doing something in a woman’s perspective.  Perhaps they can be taught, though.  Sometimes.  In some cases. 

Ø  Put as much work into your marriage relative to the level of greatness that you want out of it.  There is a law of sowing & reaping that says, “what you put into something is what you will get out of it.”  My Uncle John used to grow incredible tomato plants.  He could take them from a seed, to toothpick skinny, and make them grow to produce tomatoes the size of a professional boxer’s fist.  It took time, patience, attention, practice and strong will.  Some years may have been better than others.  But overall, he was a giant when it came to raising tomatoes.  In relationships, on days when you want to just forget it and skip the weeding or watering process, you do it anyways.  When the fruit comes it will be amazing.  People will marvel and no one needs to know what went on in the background to get you to greatness.  Pay the price.  It’s worth it.

Ø  Remember the early days when love was blind.  Now realize that taking that approach may help you now.  When your partner makes a screwed-up choice, don’t rub their face in it.  We all make the wrong decisions, sometimes even with the best intentions or reasons.  Forgive as you would have forgiveness come back to you.  My head still swims with remorse for things I did ten, fifteen and twenty years ago.  I feel the humiliation as if the people who were there originally were still responding to my idiocy.  And yet, they have most assuredly moved on with their lives.  It is me that keeps returning to the garbage pile and picking through it.  If I had one person to put my face in my past mistakes, there are days I feel like it would crack me.  BUT … if I had one person to be my cheerleader to tell me I can be better and I can do better, I would be so empowered! 

I watched the movie “Fireproof” years ago and was struck by the beauty and power and rawness of it.  It shows how when a relationship has a breakage in communication, other forces can come in and try to pull the parties apart.  (And, somehow, we think the next situation will be better than what we are leaving?)  Shortly after the movie came out, yet another one of my friends was watching his marriage erode.  He kept saying that there were no grounds for annulment.  I kept telling him that THAT was not the issue at hand.  While she lived under his roof he had “home court advantage,” and needed to re-court his wife… “woo-her,” if you will.  And my gosh he fought that notion in its utter simplicity six ways to Sunday.  I wanted to drive out there and crack him on the head myself.  (but I don’t want to be impeached for saying that.) 

I gave him a first step from the Fireproof movie:  buy her one single rose.  He actually FOUGHT ME on the idea – that he didn’t have enough spare change to be buying roses, etc.  I told him in my endearingly heartless tough-love way:  “Skip a cheeseburger, you jerk.  One single rose is a lot cheaper than alimony.”  Just put it in her room, and when she stares at you and says, “What’s this for?”  Just say, “Because you’re my wife.”  Then:  put your hand over your mouth and leave the room.  Do not say one more word or you will screw it up.  What you are trying to accomplish is to put some initiative back into the process.  He called me a week later.  He tried it.  She did snarl at him and he followed my directions - or so he said – to a tee.  And she looked at him and said: “Don’t think you’re getting lucky.”  So right there he gets the barometer on how much wooing he’d actually have to do to get her to not be so angry.  And what did he then do?  From everything he led me to know, nothing.  He let the process die there and so did his marriage.  Secret:  women want to be re-courted periodically.  We just need to know that we still got it… Other secret:  I think men need to know they still got it too … so a little flirtation never hurt anyone.  That’s all I want to say about that.  Well, other than if you are not willing to re-court your partner, don’t be surprised if they are accidentally ensnared by someone who does want to court.  Look at courtship as a fence you build around valuable property.  It provides the protection and care to keep what belongs inside, happily inside, and what belongs outside, outside.

What are the most important words in Relationship-land?  I am not going to say that it is, “I love you.”  If you want that, watch the Hallmark channel.  I suspect that it is actually, “I am sorry, please forgive me.”  The church down the road has a sign that says: “Forgiveness is a new beginning.”  I like that.  It doesn’t make forgiveness easy to do.  In fact, I believe it is the hardest thing to do.  But the alternative is ongoing bitterness – and keeping that bubbling inside you is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to get sick:  You’re the one it hurts.  If you want to tell me how the other person did you wrong – in quantity and quality – I don’t want to hear it.  I KNOW.  I am aware that there are wounds that really feel quite unforgivable. But it is important to say that while we must forgive, that does not mean we are to EXCUSE bad behavior.  Nope.  I have always been a fan of calling things as they are and holding people accountable.  One of my dearest friends, on the other hand, was so lenient that if he had a horse thief in his family, he’d say this: “Well, he’s basically a great guy.  He just has a little problem when he gets around horses.”  I have no room for that kind of excusing in my brain.  I know Forgiveness does not mean that.  Forgiveness must then be something else, perhaps like:  “every time I see that guy I am going to try to not remember that he stole a horse.  And yet, I will not let him take my horse and say it’s not a problem.”  It’s a fine line to walk and I am sure I don’t have it figured out yet.  It is truly a decision, an act of the will, to move your brain into forgiveness mode. I just know this, when a person humbles themselves and says, “I am sorry, I truly am.  Please forgive me,” well, that does a lot to begin the healing.

So, if you are reading this blog and you think I wrote it for you, I didn’t.  I wrote it for the Lord.  If He wanted you to read it, He has His own reasons.  Maybe I said something that will save you heartache.  Maybe I said something that will save me heartache.  I think over the years I have seen enough and figured a few things out.  And Mr. Right, if you are out there, practice saying “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”  You’re a man, and you’re going to need it.  XO XO XO ….

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 p.s. I forgot to add HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR AND LEVITY to the list.  Maybe next time. 

 

 

Saturday, February 6, 2021

My Masked-Saturday Activities

 

My Masked-Saturday Activities

Perhaps I looked like a flamingo in a black snow jacket as I stood in line at Ollie’s.  I had my left leg bent up behind me to ease that twinge of sciatica pain that was working its magic on my lower back at that moment.  I felt my face making a twist with each passing second that I waited, and my back tweaked. 

  The woman in line behind me dropped something flat and paper-ish for the second time.  She was elderly and I couldn’t even bend down to pick it up for her because I was cart-less and my arms were full:  a package of puppy pads, a new journal with a beach scene on the front, a dual-sided dog dish, and a dog treat launcher (just wait until Valor gets a go-at this activity!).  My nerves were frazzling as each line was loaded with people, only three clerks were working, and the guy in the next aisle literally DROPPED a rolled-up rug that went BAM! and all of us jumped.  His cashier just laughed.  The woman in front of me was leaning on her cart with one foot on the rung.  She turned to me and rolled her eyes.  The general patience of all the people around us was fraying at the edges.  The woman at the cashier’s station was having some sort of a payment problem that wasn’t resolving.  I tried to think of how embarrassing it must have been for her, then my low back twinged again and the woman in front of me exhaled in frustration and said, as if we were talking already, “and I just had chemo last week.”

 Now I ask you, what the hell do you say to that piece of news from a stranger?  I said:  “I’m sorry.  But I guess it is better to be on this side of the counter than that side,” as I nodded towards the cashier.  Inept.  Some days it’s what I do best.  I think that’s why I used to prefer to be the pitcher when I played softball:  I’d rather deliver the news than have to respond to it like the batter does.

 I had just come from PetCo where I got some supplies in anticipation of little Sophia Hope’s arrival in March.  I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it.  Apparently, puppies coming-and-going both make me cry.  I always thought it was just when I sold one, I cried.  Now I am crying four weeks in advance of having her in my arms, tucking her little face under my neck for the very first time.  Which reminds me, I’ve got to clean ears of the spaniels I’ve already got.  At PetCo I had an adorable little turquoise gem-studded tag engraved with her name, my cell phone # and last name.  It was so cool when it was engraving, then it popped out of the machine and I marveled at how tiny the inscription was.  Maybe it’s just my eyes are aging, but I have trouble with small print now.  So aggravating.  But she will be microchipped just in case….

 I was driving home thinking about my morning.  Saturday COVID routine is only a little different than normal times were:  I wear a mask.  The responsibilities are the same.  For some reason, I feel a need to purge this house of extraneous things (is that nesting before Sophia comes home?)  Today I tackled the Chris Arabik Memorial Sock Collection.  I’ve got one of those plastic 3-drawer towers and have them labeled:  white/light socks, Dark socks, Athletic socks.  Then I have a pink fabric bin with decorative fringe where I keep heavy winter socks.  I went through each container and matched socks and inspected for holes.  Ask a Type-A person if they can throw away a good sock AND a bad sock with a hole in it.  No we cannot.  I have now a plastic lego back with a sticker on it that says:  “Socks without mates.”  In case I buy the exact same design of a particular pair of socks, I have a back up when one of THOSE gets a hole in it.  Then I have a box in the bathroom closet for the holey-socks so they can be used as dusting rags.  Not that I dust.  It’d just be wasteful to throw the socks out.  One pair went into the trash.  It was stressful.  It’s too bad I was born in the 60’s, I would have done so well if I had lived during the Great Depression.


I headed out the door after the Sock Detail to take the trash to the landfill and flirt with “Dynasty.”  Last week he tried out, “Hey, Babe.”  I don’t like it as much as “Hey, Beautiful!”  Actually, I don’t like Babe at all.  The 30% of me that is fire-breathing feminist finds that functionally demeaning.  Don’t ask me to explain that in any more detail.  Today he tried out, “Hiya, Sweet Pea.”  I guess that makes my mother Olive Oyle and my father Pop-Eye?  They will be thrilled…. Not.

 I went to the Methodists with two bags of bottle returns for them.  I went to the Wesleyans with one bag of clothing for the bin.  And then I went to the Boulevard to the other two stores as previously mentioned.



 On the way home, the radio was playing, “The God of Angel Armies is Always By My Side.”  I always think of an event I was at a few years ago in a Protestant church when I hear that song.  I happened to be standing near a Protestant pastor and his wife.  They were singing so loud, in his case it seemed like he was trying to impress someone with his zeal.  I was singing along, holding my own but still felt at the end that it was more like dueling vocal-banjo’s than it was worship.  That’s what I get for going to a church not my own.  Speaking of which….

 More recently, a doctor at work barked at me for going to Church during COVID.  I said to him, “Look, here’s what you don’t ‘get.’” – we have that kind of relationship after a decade of working together.

“In my church, every other row is taped off.  I’ve been single for my whole life and the last 30 years I’ve been sitting socially-distanced by at least ten feet before it was in vogue.  Everyone is facing the same direction with masks on.  Either the masks work, or they don’t – and I believe they do.  PLUS, I’m Catholic and we PAY someone to stand up front and sing FOR us: the cantor.  It’s not really a germ event.”  He laughed out loud.  I was only kind of kidding.

 I came home after my journeys today and cleaned the Bird Room with the spaniels at my heels.  Wait until Sophia Hope sees that she has birds IN the house here!  And when we have fed and watered the four birds (Spice Finch, Fischer lovebird, Cockatiel, Sun Conure) in each of their cages, the dogs sit nicely waiting for a Pepperidge Farm goldfish cracker.  It’s a big hit.  They won’t leave the room without one.  The conure, “Sunny D,” moves close to the bars of the cage and extends his wings out behind him and bobs his head low until he gets one too.  Then we move onward to more relentless house-cleaning.  I should “nest” like this more often.  I am getting a lot done today.  😊

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