Tuesday, June 21, 2005

It Doesn't Work That Way...

...but it should.

I guess the only lesson I am supposed to be learning this week is that I have control over absolutely nothing.

Zip
Zippo
Nada
Zero
Zilch
Squat

That's right. Dr. "I Assure You I Will Call You Tomorrow" didn't.
Add to that I have two other doctors whom I've never seen who are more concerned about my health than the one who's actually taking my money.

You know what.
Forget it.
I am just too ticked off to even write anymore.
I originally was going to vent about how doctors must have some special society that forbids them from calling their patients in a timely manner.
But hey...I'm obviously giving them way more of my time and energy than they are giving me.
If I keep studying while I am waiting for answers, I'll be eligible for a PA certificate from DeVry!

The Weight of the Wait

I called my coworker this morning to tell him that I was running late for work, only for him to tell me that he wasn't coming in at all this morning. I laughed and confessed that was my 'plan B" phone call! I told him I had been trying to decide all morning whether I should "work at home" or "sleep at my desk."

I actually considered for about an hour taking a half day of vacation just so that I could sleep, because I think I managed to piece together about 1.5 of total shut-eye last night.

(Isn't that funny that when it is time to sleep, our brain won't shut down, and then when the alarm goes off the next morning, our brain decides to listen to our urgings to quiet down from the previous 6 hours?)

But alas, I figured nothing would be gained from sleeping away half the day when there is much to be done here. And conversely, there is also much that can't be done.

I am waiting for a call from my doctor. And there is nothing in the world I can do to hasten it. I could call and leave a message...but that won't make the information forthcoming. I could show up on their doorstep, and aside from the puzzled look I would probably receive, I'd probably get a bill for a co-pay, to boot.

Chances are that he won't call until the end of the day. Chances are that when he calls, he won't have any earthshattering, life-changing information.

But it's not really the content of the call that is nagging at me. It's the fact that I have to wait for it. I know it's coming...but I don't know when. He'll have one of three things to say, so the mystery there is confined to a few outcomes. It's the timing...it could literally be at any minute in the next 24 hours that he calls. (For you who are numerically inclined, that's 1440 minutes or 86,400 seconds.) Of course, he was supposed to call with the results yesterday, but as luck would have it...my luck...they didn't come back. My results didn't come back.

So back to last night. Over the past two weeks, I have been focused on one outcome. Probably due to the fog of the medications I was on, but in retrospect, it was a good thing. I say that because last night I was pretty clear headed, and then holy cow...a possibility I had not considered until then popped into my head, and I was crushed by the import of it all. Obviously just because it occurred to me doesn't make it so, but my mind became fixated on it.

All of a sudden the wait for the doctor to call started sprawling in front of me like a special effect in a sci-fi film, and the thought of waiting an entire business day seemed like something torturous in a Machiavellian novel.

It felt like a wet sack of concrete hoisted on my back and iron fixed around my feet. I instantly felt weighted down with thoughts and possibilities...

11:45pm -- Let me jump on the internet and see if there's any correlation between these two things.
12:02am -- Lay down. So tired.
12:27am -- Aha, but if that were it, then that treatment wouldn't have had an impact.
1:13am -- Drats. Studies in the UK showed a slight improvement with that course of medication even though it had no lasting impact on the condition. Back to bed.
1:21am -- SLEEP -- WHERE ARE YOU?
1:45am -- I'll just check the blogs and see if there's anything interesting.
2:09am -- Yawn. Crawl under the covers. The cat is upset with my lack of stillness and chastises me.
2:15am -- Wow. The moon is really bright through the blinds. Never noticed that.
2:33am -- The cat takes mercy on me and begins to lick my forehead. (Her show of affection.)
3:17am -- Oh yeah! Let me just check to see if anyone has done a study on THAT!
3:35am -- Wow...there really IS a research team for everything.
4:18am -- Have to at least close my eyes. Alarm will go off soon.
6:00am -- BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
6:09am -- BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
And so on, and so on, and so on every 9 minutes as I slap the snooze button.

Here we are back at my phone call to my colleague this morning.
And here we are back at the wait.
And the weight...

Monday, June 20, 2005

Food for the Soul

I haven't been well this past week.
Stop. That's an understatement.
I felt like hammered hell all week.

(Before anyone begins to worry -- I am on the uphill swing and expect that after my last dose of this disgusting medicine tomorrow that I will be back at 100%...okay 75%, but I'm optimistic.)

While I was laid out on the couch...or in the bed...or at the doctor...my dear husband didn't have to lift a finger to make a meal for us or the children the entire week. No, that was taken care of my sweet dear sister friends.

I don't really know if taking meals to people is a big deal in other parts of the country. I don't remember it occurring alot when we lived on the West Coast, but then again, we weren't "plugged in" like we are here. And we ran with a different crowd there in SoCal...I'm not sure that anyone really knew how to cook anything because we were all so busy being seen at restaurants and cafes. (Let me insert here that our best friend couple friends were the exception to this rule and not only could cook an outstanding meal but brought plenty to our doorstep over the years. But let's face it, the LA basin is a big place...I hardly consider one couple's actions a trend.)

So, as I hung out last week thinking about anything else but how bad I felt, I considered the ritual of taking meals to someone under the weather...or with a new baby...or a funeral...

The first reason we do it is just pragmatism. When you're sick, everyone else has got to eat, and there is one less person taking up the slack around the house. Same with a new baby. Since mom is the one who HAS to have the baby (sorry, no equal opportunity yet for men to carry & deliver so the duty and privilege is all female), she deserves at least a day or two before she's back cooking for the whole family and nursing the baby, too! And well, funerals...there's all the company and drop-in visitors and just the energy that it takes to mourn and deal with death. Who wants to think about food?

The second reason is physical nourishment. Yeah, cereal or tv dinners work in a pinch, but in all the scenarios that would call for a homecooked meal, there is typically some need of the physical, nutritional nourishment. Have to knock out the sickness...regain your strength...keep up your strength...whatever the case may be.

But I think the most compelling reason that this tradition continues is the spiritual nourishment.

I look back over the week at the meals that were brought for us -- Spaghetti casserole and homemade lemon meringue pie (lemon = my all time favorite anything) ... then our favorite dish from our favorite Chinese take out (Pei Wei, by the way) ... then a family favorite hearty soup with rice & beans (I had 2 bowls ... and there were NO leftovers) completed with brownies & ice cream ... followed by gourmet chicken parmisagne and salad and oatmeal cookies still warm from the oven...and yes, of course, the FAMOUS meatloaf that makes you want to BE sick just so your friend will have a reason to bring it to your house! Many have tried to duplicate it, but none have succeeded.

Okay, I confess that I run around with a bunch of overachievers, but that's another blog altogether.

My family doesn't eat that well when I am running on all four cylinders, so this was like a tour of fine dining for us. The point is, though, that my friends didn't just 'make do' or do whatever was easy... they took the special act of feeding us and turned it into the act of ministering to us. They delivered their meals all beautifully presented...then came and sat with me...talked to the kids...made sure everything was either in the oven as needed or laid out for my husband so it could take the meal to completion.

The food was great! Hubby loved it! Kids loved it! Heck, I even loved it with the metallic taste in my mouth! (I can only imagine how good it REALLY was.)

While the food was great, the gesture was greater. There was a deliberate thought to each meal. To each delivery. To each element of the meal. To the timing of when we would need it. To what my family would enjoy. To what would make it more than a meal, but would make it special and, in turn, make us feel special, too.

It's food. Stores and restaurants are full of food.
Food feeds the body.
But it was also deep friendship.
And that can't be bought or ordered or prepared or called for take-out.
It can only be served up, sampled and enjoyed.
It's friendship.
And it is friendship that feeds the soul.

Shared Dreams

I went in my son's room this morning to wake him up for the first day of Fine Arts Camp...
the lights were kinda dim, and he was sleeping so peacefully. I gently rubbed his back and told him it was time to get up.

He roused a little and with his eyes half shut, he smiled up at me and said,
"Mommy, I wish you could have been dreamin' with me."

I asked, "Oh really, was it a bad dream?"

"Oh no, it was a good dream, and I wish you could have dreamed it with me."

"Tell me about it, " I prompted.

"It was a mystery. There were two people who were gonna get married, but that wouldn't have made the world a better place. So you and daddy got married and made the world a better place."

I don't even have any other observations about the whole exchange...it speaks for itself. And I am so touched that he wanted me to share his sweet dream with him. What can a mother say to that? How do I explain to him that by sharing his sweet thoughts, that I did, in fact, dream it with him?

(And the world is a better place because my husband and I are married...our world is, anyway.)

Sunday, June 19, 2005

The Tide that Binds

No, it's not a typ-o. I'm talking about Tide laundry soap.

You see, today is Father's Day, and we treated our daddy to a day out to the movies with a pal of his, and while he was gone the kids and I cleaned up around the house.
We washed clothes. We folded clothes and towels. We sorted more laundry. We took the sheets off the bed and washed them. We sorted socks. We are up to our eyeballs in clean laundry!

We laid around sometimes. We threw underwear and socks at each other while we were sorting. We had a quick lesson in folding t-shirts. Talked about the difference in hang-up clothes and folding clothes. We laughed at funny t-shirts and fell down laughing in the middle of the big piles of unfolded materials.

It seems like an ordinary day. But for us, it was an extraordinary day.
We CHOSE to slow down today.
We CHOSE to not accept an invitation to go swim.
We CHOSE not to invite someone over to play.
We CHOSE to do the mundane stuff that makes the house keep chugging along.

I take that kind of time for granted. I work so many long hours, and at the end of the day we race to this event or that party or this commitment or that obligation and all the "stuff" of the house goes undone. (Let me insert here that my husband does the majority of any cleaning or tidying that goes on in our house...I do the majority of pig-stying.)

Anyway, sometimes on a weekend when it seems like all I have done is clean or do errands or piddly stuff, I resent that my time was stolen from me. But not today. I felt like the entire day was ours...that we did some mundane little family stuff that's truly inconsequential at face value. But it was precious, slowed down time that wasn't packed full of getting somewhere or seeing someone or whatever it is that we seem to cram our days with.

No, today I am relaxing and enjoying the "TIDE" that binds.



(For complete honesty purposes, I have to confess that I don't use Tide in my laundry, but merely used it here to fit the turn of phrase. This is not intended as endorsement of the product nor have I received any monetary benefit from the use of the brand name.)

A Parallel Query

I found a post on another blog that examines the dwindling of a culture...both in real numbers of people in the race, and in the observance of the culture. The writer went on to talk about how it was important for her children to experience that culture and the physical land firsthand...and asked the question at the end about how to maintain (and I am assuming increase, if possible) the number of people in that race, and how to hand down the precious and incalculable values of their heritage.

I really enjoy this person's blog and find her posts stimulating and honest and provocative. And my heart melted as I perceived a bit of sadness and loss as she wrote and reflected on how her race/religion has suffered as a whole and as she imagined that it might one day slip into oblivion through tragic and horrific acts of the past...and apathy and neglect of the future.

And as I read it, I realized that I feel the same feelings about the heritage of this country.

STOP HERE -- THERE IS NOTHING IN THIS COUNTRY THAT COMPARES TO THE DEVASTATION AND HORROR AND EVIL ACTS OF THE HOLOCAUST. I AM NOT COMPARING THE TWO...I AM MERELY LOOKING AT THE LOSS OF A CULTURE.

I pulled this quote from her blog...But something I have noticed lately that disturbs me is that we are losing our numbers through assimilation and/or apathy. More often than not, you will hear someone say, "I am a cultural Jew," or "I was raised Jewish, but do not practice it." And then it slips away, slowly, bringing something so rich and beautiful to an undescribed halt.

Is this not what is happening to America? I was born in America, but I really don't agree with anything here. They have the right idea in France. -- or -- I am AFRICAN-American...I am MEXICAN-American... I am *insert nationality here* American -- when said people have never stepped foot out of the United States. It seems as though we all enjoy the bounty of this nation, but we don't want to weave it into the fabric of who we are. Instead of wearing our American citizenship as a proud and important vestiment, we pull it around our shoulders during a rain shower or dust storm, hoping no on will notice what we've draped around us for cover.

There are so many Americans who are born here, and raised here...but they don't practice it. They don't understand the freedoms that we have because they don't know anything different. They don't know that there are countries in the world where women would be stoned to death if any part of their body showed. That there are countries in the world where children are sold for the sex trade. That there are countries in the world where this type of open communication would result in my entire family being brutally murdered and all my possessions being burned or sold. They either don't know...or they just don't acknowledge that WE have the choice to sit nice and comfortable here in America all the while complaining about how much it sucks.

I agree with my friend's blog that apathy is the worst and most devastating kind of destruction. It is like drifting from the seashore only to look up and see no land in sight and have no idea which way to start rowing.

Perhaps the young Jewish people she refers to are so far removed from the atrocities of what their families went through that they can't understand why their traditions and belief systems are so vital...so important...so significant.

And perhaps the reason for the drifting from American values and beliefs is because they have provided us so much freedom to express ourselves that we have forgotten that the very things we complain and protest against are the very foundation that gives us the right to do so.

So as I read my friend's blog...I was sad for her. Then I was encouraged for her that she is doing something proactive and encouraging her children to explore and appreciate and embrace their heritage. And I was glad that she made me look at my own heritage and culture...and it really made me look at whether or not I am doing the same for my children for both the faith and culture that shape who we are.

The Heart of an Artist

My husband and I just had probably one of the most tender and tough conversations we've had with our oldest -- our 8-yr-old daughter. She is quite possibly one of the most sensitive, compassionate, artistic children I've ever seen. (That's without bias...if I were biased, I'd use really subjective language!)

I won't go into the context of why were having this discussion, but I will talk about how amazing it was to talk to her and learn so much about myself in the process.

She had become really sullen and weepy after we had stymied her plans to go do something this afternoon. (And in my original version of this message, I went through all the details, but the sentiment got lost in the minutia.)

After lunch, when she had hunched away...eyes all puffy from not quite crying...we called her back to the table. We assured her that we think she is one of the brightest, funniest, most artistic, sensitive, compassionate kids ever. And that it concerns us that she really hasn't been 'herself' lately and wanted to find out if there was anything going on...anything she wanted to talk to us about.

We talked about daycare and school and some changes that are going on there...and then it hit me. She is 'wired' just like me.

Every answer she gave had to do with her internal, emotional angst about things that were beyond her control. Friends not getting along...worried about someone else's feelings...fretting over someone else's poor choices and their consequences...afraid about things that are bigger than her brain can comprehend, but they still weigh on her nonetheless.

So, I began to explain "the heart of the artist" to her. (There is a book by that name, which I NOW MUST read end to end instead of scanning through it.) I explained that while so many people walk through life in everyday colors (and she got it immediately -- she used the word 'dull'), that she sees and feels things in bold, bright neon, Spongebob colors. Everything hurts more, feels better, is more exciting, more special, softer, brighter, scarier -- she just feels and experiences things with the palette of Andy Warhol rather than Ansel Adams.

And bless her heart, I realized that with these past few weeks of summer being filled with cheer camp and fine arts day camp rehearsals and birthday parties and softball and play dates...that all of that hyperexperience together has overloaded her circuits!

As I was sitting there explaining "the heart of an artist" to my sweet little girl, I caught a glimpse of my husband who sat there nodding. He told me later that 'that' was the exact conversation that we needed to have.

It helped me to help her make sense of how she was feeling...to embrace her sensitivities instead of being afraid of them. She is around all sorts of artists all the time -- I am in theater and my dearest friends are all fellow actors and actresses, directors, musicians, singers, dancers and writers. My parents are accomplished watercolorists, and my husband is a gifted 3D artist -- the child gets it either from nature or nurture, but she definitely has it!

As I sat and laid out what this all meant for her, I realized that I was talking to myself. I realized that I had never embraced my own heart...my own heart of an artist. I realized that many of the struggles and emotions that I have fought for so many years were because I was fighting the way I am wired...I was resisting my very nature.

So there at the table while I had this tender heart-to-heart talk with my sweet baby girl, it just so happened that it was from the heart of one artist to another.

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Am I Just in my Disgust?

I wonder if all parents struggle with the balance of being an advocate for their children and also letting them learn their own lessons of rolling with the punches, so to speak.

When it comes to sticking up for my kids, I would say I am pretty laid back. First of all, I don't think that we put them in a great many situations where there is need to "stick up for them" in the first place. But the stuff I am referring to include 1) jockeying for specific teachers at school; 2) talking to a director or program leader in advance to ask for a choice role in a production; 3) talking to the sports coach about a specific position...that sort of stuff.

I'll make it very clear that I will defend my children vociferously whenever necessary, but this looks at what those conditions are that raise the ire of parents.

I'd like to think that we encourage our kids to pick their battles and understand that sometimes we don't get what we want...sometimes we do...and we find our happiness in our attitude about things instead of trying to manipulate everything.

All that being said, I am about to depart from that line of thinking.

We were at my daughter's softball game this morning (keep in mind, these are girls who are 8 an under, so this is not championship stuff), and my daughter and a couple of others sat out the first inning that our team was on field. Fine, no biggie -- there are more girls on the team than positions, so no sweat. Second inning comes along, and the coach asked who had sat out the last time, and then placed those girls in the game. Good! They're all going to rotate out. Third inning came along, and lo and behold I look over, and the same three girls who sat out the first inning are out again...(if you can do the math, the girls play 10 on the field, so there was ample opportunity for another set of three to rotate out.) And then the fourth inning came, and the second set of girls who sat out were on the bench again.

I really, really fought being angry about this, but it just sent me over the edge that it was sooooo calculated. Let me back up and tell you that there are some REALLY strong players on the team (needless to say they never sat out)...but the girls who did sit out are good, little consistent players. My daughter gets a good solid hit more than 80-85% of the time she gets to bat. She has become a good little outfielder, consistently stopping the ball and getting it back to the infield for the play. Is she the BEST player? Nope, not by a long shot. Does she have a good attitude? I'd venture to say she has one of the BEST attitudes. Juxtapose that with some of the better players who are rude and moody and throw tantrums and deride the other girls when they make errors.

There are other parents who have left the team...those who take the coach to task at the end of the game for their constantly correcting the girls on the field...those whose eyes roll back in their head when lousy plays go by without comment from the coaches because the player making the error is one of the 'stars' and they get by with a "that's okay...good effort", and the very next play someone could do the same thing and the response is "you have GOT to catch that ball and get it to 1st base!"... I am not one of those parents. (See earlier post about my general nature is to cheer on everyone and give lots of applauds and clapping for 'good efforts" or "you'll do better next time")

Anyway, I didn't make a huge deal out of it. I mentioned it to one of the coaches (there are like 8 on the team...don't ask), and he agreed. We had an offside conversation about the whole phenomenon, but that doesn't go with this topic. I got in the car to leave...commented to my daughter that she did great with that good solid hit, and that while she was out at first herself, she was still able to hit in a team mate for a run. And I complimented her on her awesome stop behind second base and being able to stop the running from taking second base.

We don't talk about these things in front of the kids because we want them to enjoy the game. We don't want them to have to consider the politics of parents...and then of course I sit and wonder if I am playing the same game of politics when I sit there and get upset about what appears to be unfair...or unsportsmanship like favoritism.

So, my husband and I talked about it on the way home of whether we are not zealous enough for equality for our kids? Or is our approach to take note and not bring it to the attention of our kids the better way to go. I just wonder when they get older if they will look back and think we were even-keeled balanced people or why we didn't 'go to bat' for them more often when we had the chance.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Information Puts Us In Formation

I was sitting there motionless with an IV hanging out of my arm with some sort of dye coursing through my veins...the valium already having kicked in...and the loud thumping, drumming of the MRI assaulting both my ears and my tense body, and it was in that moment that I had this incredible (yet fleeting) glimpse of clarity.

Truth is immutable. By its very nature, it just is what it is.

So, like I said, I was laying there having this MRI and wondering what the machine was seeing and what it would all 'mean' when I find out the results. Then clear as day, I realized that the reading of the results changes nothing.

I am exactly the same now as I was 4 hours ago before I went in.

However, the information I receive will put me in formation -- I will be lined up differently because I will have a new relationship with the truth. My perspective may change...my outlook may change...my mood may change...but the truth remains the same. The change will be in how I either embrace what I hear...deny it, process it, claim it, fight it, resist it, or ignore it. And regardless of how many ever of those positions I take...the truth will remain what it is. The pictures won't move around and amend themselves for my comfort or for my edification or for my clarification. In fact, those pictures will be exactly what they are whether or not anyone even reads them.

Nothing is different in me now than it was 4 hours ago. And nothing in me will be different on Monday when I find out what they see.

But how I line up...how I get in formation with regard to that information...that will be the real result.

(Now you have to admit...that's pretty darn good for a chick loaded on valium & having had an IV drip for 5 days. If only I could have moments of clarity and profundity on my normal days!)

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Old Glory

I am a proud, proud wife.

No secret to anyone who knows me that I am a flag-waving, America-loving patriot who thinks that we live in one of the most blessed nations in the world (if not THE most blessed -- stated from a position of thankfulness and humility, not arrogance.)

My husband came home today with an extraordinary token that almost burst my heart wide open with pride. Let me copy the text of the note he received...

One of the things that we are allowed to do here is fly an American flag over this military installation in honor of those who support us and the cause for which our nation now finds itself fighting for. Because of your support and dedication, along with the cooperation of the (city) College District, we were able to provide Occupational Command Spanish training to over fifty members of the United States Naval Research currently deployed to Kuwait in support of Iraqi Freedom. In recognition of that support and dedication I had this flag flown in your honor on Memorial Day, May 30, 2005, over the United States Military Hospital, Camp Arifjian, Kuwait. I now present unto you that very flag which has flown over a Military installation during a time of war in a theater of war. This makes it rare, and a flag rich in tradition in honor. It is our way of saying "Thank You" from all the sailors of EMF (city). May God bless you, may He continue to bless the United States of America, and may "Old Glory" continue to wave gloriously throughout the world and shine as that beacon of hope and freedom for all. Thanks Friend!

MA2 (name)
Petty Officer 2nd Class
Expeditionary Medical Facility (city)
United States Navy

That note was attached to an American flag, which as noted, was flown over a US Military Base in Kuwait. This beautiful and touching gesture was in response to his never-ending dedication to his clients and his instructors...and it just goes to show that while working in a county college district, that our efforts can transcend the county line and impact and encourage and enrich a group of "strangers" halfway around the world.

May Old Glory continue to wave...it has always had a special place in our home...and now even moreso as we more personally remember the lives of the good and brave folks who are serving "all in a day's work" at the US Military Hospital in Camp Arifjian, Kuwait. All of our love and prayers are with you and your comrades. Be safe...and take care of one another.

Signed with immeasurable admiration for our service men and women...

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Throw Away Line

You've probably heard or used the expression "a throw away line" -- referring to a part of a script or speech that the speaker/audience can take or leave. It doesn't really further the scene or the conversation any further.

It's been awhile since my last post, and while I think of topics sometimes to write about, some are too personal, some are too banal, and others are just too darn hard to capture in the space of what a normal blog would be.

Then I looked through some of the past posts, and some of my favorites have gone unnoticed...unread. And then I felt a little slighted...like casting pearls before swine. There's all my "good" stuff going unread, and it's only when I scratch out something light & whimsical (or maybe a little too cerebral) that someone looks on.

So it made me wonder about a "throw away blog" and if there is such a thing. If the whole purpose of having a blog is just to capture, if even for a moment, a thought or a dream or a question...or just to ponder or observe, then is there such a thing as a "throw away" entry?

I love my friend Barb's blog, and the topics she comes up with. Who would have ever thought that the topic of Cockfighting would dig so deeply into the human condition...responses really considered what they said, and there were some insightful posts about how we are wired. The fact that she engaged people...and the THOUGHT...and then they articulated those thoughts, made for a wonderful mental exercise in looking at something in a different way, and peeling back the layers of what lies on the surface.

No, this entry is not intended to evoke any deep discussion or peek into the human psyche. It's more of an appreciation for fellow bloggers who commit their thoughts to the page, and then have the confidence to let it take off. Perhaps that's what I lack -- the confidence to be more transparent and then see what happens. Perhaps that is my reticence in posting more often (that and the constraints of time and opportunity) -- that I fear my best post will go unread, and then I might be judged on the lesser contributions in the collection.

And YIKES -- isn't that kinda how life is? We worry about being judged on our weakest moment instead of the total of our accomplishments and achievements? We worry that our "throw away" day may be the defining day to someone casually observing.

Which brings up the question of whom do we try to please? Is it really good to try and be our VERY best every moment? Or are sometimes the throw away lines and events the very ones that offer the cushion and padding and comfort and timing and rhythm so that the high points stand out even more?

But I do know that while there may be throw away lines and throw away blogs, there are no throw away moments...