Thanksgiving. A time to be together. Alison and her family visited and we laughed, ate, expressed gratitude, worshiped, and the girls learned to knit. We missed Katie and her sweet family.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
It's September 1st and I'm back. It's my mother's 83rd birthday today. I think she's holding up rather well, don't you?
This post is dedicated to my mom. Our new bishop was in our home for a few minutes last month when she was visiting for Dave's wedding. She of course wasted no time in telling him a story or two, and then launched in to how she feels about Barack Obama (hates him and everything he's done so far). "He's giving away our country, and just why does he have to go all over the world apologizing to everybody?", she said. " WE DON'T OWE ANYBODY AN APOLOGY!" The bishop looked at Cristie and I and said, "She tends to have strong opinions, doesn't she?"
My mother has had strong opinions as long as I can remember and comes from a long line of colorfuls that didn't mince words when it came to politics, religion, weight gain or loss, and general misfortune (ever met her sisters?). Some of my fondest memories are of the spirited card games with extended family up at the family cabin on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Before I was old enough to be included, I'd lay up in the loft listening to the name calling, accusations and exclamations, all in full color, wishing I was down below in the middle of it all with my parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. My mother hated the mountains, but loved the family time. The altitude, dirt, fish, and lack of a shower every day didn't agree with her. She's always felt much more comfortable at sea level.
As she's aged she's become less flexible in her views and more flexible about how often she repeats them. As my kids know well, she'll ask you if she's told you about something or somebody, and when you answer in the affirmative, she tells it to you again. I've heard the same story sometimes three times in the same day. She says she dosen't cuss anymore and then swears; says she never watches TV and then asks you if you saw a recent program. But with all of that, she's a great listener (well, she can hardly hear anymore, but she's very inquisitive), and is more compassionate than about anybody I know. She's been a wonderful mother, an inspiration, with high expectations. She's been my big fan and also a precise critic and I love her and am grateful Heavenly Father gave me her as my mother.
My mom is not a blog reader. Please, don't anybody call her and read this post to her. I don't mean it to be critical at all, wouldn't think of it, but she might take some of it that way and I would NEVER want to hurt her feelings.
This post is dedicated to my mom. Our new bishop was in our home for a few minutes last month when she was visiting for Dave's wedding. She of course wasted no time in telling him a story or two, and then launched in to how she feels about Barack Obama (hates him and everything he's done so far). "He's giving away our country, and just why does he have to go all over the world apologizing to everybody?", she said. " WE DON'T OWE ANYBODY AN APOLOGY!" The bishop looked at Cristie and I and said, "She tends to have strong opinions, doesn't she?"
My mother has had strong opinions as long as I can remember and comes from a long line of colorfuls that didn't mince words when it came to politics, religion, weight gain or loss, and general misfortune (ever met her sisters?). Some of my fondest memories are of the spirited card games with extended family up at the family cabin on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Before I was old enough to be included, I'd lay up in the loft listening to the name calling, accusations and exclamations, all in full color, wishing I was down below in the middle of it all with my parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. My mother hated the mountains, but loved the family time. The altitude, dirt, fish, and lack of a shower every day didn't agree with her. She's always felt much more comfortable at sea level.
As she's aged she's become less flexible in her views and more flexible about how often she repeats them. As my kids know well, she'll ask you if she's told you about something or somebody, and when you answer in the affirmative, she tells it to you again. I've heard the same story sometimes three times in the same day. She says she dosen't cuss anymore and then swears; says she never watches TV and then asks you if you saw a recent program. But with all of that, she's a great listener (well, she can hardly hear anymore, but she's very inquisitive), and is more compassionate than about anybody I know. She's been a wonderful mother, an inspiration, with high expectations. She's been my big fan and also a precise critic and I love her and am grateful Heavenly Father gave me her as my mother.
My mom is not a blog reader. Please, don't anybody call her and read this post to her. I don't mean it to be critical at all, wouldn't think of it, but she might take some of it that way and I would NEVER want to hurt her feelings.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
Old
New
When we lived in Denver in the 80's, I used to travel to New Mexico almost every month on business. I have fond memories of working in that state. I'm drawn to Native American culture, and there it blends with Latinos and the whites and becomes a "Land of Enchantment." I loved traveling among it's vistas and deserts, shopping for pots, rugs and jewelry made by the Navajo, Zuni, Hopi, and several other pueblo Indian tribes. I visited ruins left by the cliff dwelling Anazasis and enjoyed Tony Hillerman mystery novels set on the Navajo reservation. I've always preferred the state to it's bigger, more populated and in my opinion more glitzy neighbor, Arizona.
I don't know how new it is, but last week I saw the latest New Mexico license plate with "USA" printed on it at the bottom. I guessed that the new plate is a response to surveys done in the US mostly on the east coast, where when asked where New Mexico is a surprising percentage of Americans answered it is in Mexico! I'm sure the good folks in the Land of Enchantment are proud of their status as a state and felt that putting "USA" on the license plate will forever settle it's status in the minds of those who don't pay much attention to anything not in the Bos-Wash corridor. Myself, I prefer the old license plate.
We in the Rocky Mountain states like to be taken seriously. Utah has struggled with it's national image since before it became a state and it continues to try hard to prove that it's well within the mainstream. That's what hosting the 2002 Olympics was about, the candidacy of Mitt Romney, and the tourism board's motto of a few years back, "A Pretty Great State." Idaho would love to shed it's image as the potato state, Utah as the fundamental Mormon state, and New Mexico would just like you to know it IS a state. Montana is in better shape, known as the place where rich celebrities buy up huge ranches, Arizona is where the snowbirds go, and Colorado has successfully marketed itself as THE Rocky Mountain state.
Being a transplant (we've lived here over twenty years, but still, I'm not a native), I've always enjoyed the uncrowded open vastness of the west, sagebrush and all. I was raised in Los Angeles, and we lived there as a family and moved to Philadelphia, Denver, and back to Philly before coming here. Having lived in those big cities, I wouldn't want any city in the Rockies to approach the size of those places (alas, Phoenix already has and Denver is close). To me Las Vegas is everything the real west isn't, and I'd like things to stay pretty much the way the are out here, or even revert back a little. I love to visit San Francisco, New York and Chicago (especially because Katie and her family are there) but give me a home where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Posting from Delhi, India on Saturday, May 9th. 5:50PM GMT +5:30
This is my 8th day in India, and in a few hours I'll be boarding a flight back home, via a layover in Newark, NJ. The flight to Newark from Delhi alone will be about 17 hours. This has been a business trip and I have been very busy running a training program for 22 Merck Indian Sales Managers. I've mostly been confined to my hotel, running the training all day and socializing all night. I have escaped to walk around the local neighborhood here by the hotel a few times, I've seen a couple of malls here in Delhi (boring, just like ours), and we drove into Old Delhi yesterday afternoon and spent a couple of hours in the markets.
Old Delhi was reminiscent of my experiences in Tijuana as a kid and also of some places we visited in South Africa. I was chased and pestered by the old and young, hawking their wares, mostly junk and knock offs. I didn't buy a thing. I t was crowded, dirty, and noisy just like you'd expect. I'm glad I saw it.
My observations...
POSITIVES
The people. Indians are very friendly, warm folks and it is genuine. They all speak English but some have accents so strong I have difficulty understanding them. You see them dressed in traditional Indian colorful, draping clothing, some are red dotted on their foreheads, some men wear turbans, and many are dressed more like us westerners. Indians sometimes angle their heads from side to side when asked a question which looks like they mean "no" when they really mean "yes." Made for an interesting first couple of days.
The food. I absolutely loved it. Very spicey, very flavorful. They eat a lot of rice with a variety of sauces to the side or on top. The people I worked with all used western silverware to eat their meals, except one guy who ate with his fingers. They enjoyed intruducing me to new dishes, were delighted when I tried everything and were even more delighted when I loved almost everything I tried. Many were surprised at how spicy hot I like my food.
Architecture. Most of the buildings around the hotel are cheaply built out of brick and mortar. I can imagine what this place would look like after a strong earthquake. The few traditional buildings I saw downtown, however, were striking in their majesty and detail. I wish I'd had time to visit the Taj Majal.
NEGATIVES
Hot and dusty. Dust everywhere, suspended in the still air at night almost like fog. I came during the hottest time of year here. It was well over 100 degrees every day.
The power grid. The power goes out at least five times a day.
The smells. Not so much the smells of life which fester in a warm climate, but the sickeningly sweet air fresheners hotels and other public buildings use to try and cover it up. I'd prefer the real thing. I was surprised they don't use incense for that purpose. I was told that many don't like the smoke it produces and it just adds to the pollution of the city.
Drivers. They have lanes marked on the highway, but nobody cares. Drivers honk to communicate with each other, not just when they're angry like we do in the U.S. I was surprised to not see more accidents in the chaos on the streets, with pedestrians, cars, trucks , thousands of motorcycles, bicycles, tiny little open air rickshaw type vehicles, etc.
Poverty. Lots of it here. I was told that there are so many poor people here, the government can't take care of the sick. No money here, means no treatment. When I asked a guy what people do or where they go if they're sick and don't have money, he said "God is good."
This is my 8th day in India, and in a few hours I'll be boarding a flight back home, via a layover in Newark, NJ. The flight to Newark from Delhi alone will be about 17 hours. This has been a business trip and I have been very busy running a training program for 22 Merck Indian Sales Managers. I've mostly been confined to my hotel, running the training all day and socializing all night. I have escaped to walk around the local neighborhood here by the hotel a few times, I've seen a couple of malls here in Delhi (boring, just like ours), and we drove into Old Delhi yesterday afternoon and spent a couple of hours in the markets.
Old Delhi was reminiscent of my experiences in Tijuana as a kid and also of some places we visited in South Africa. I was chased and pestered by the old and young, hawking their wares, mostly junk and knock offs. I didn't buy a thing. I t was crowded, dirty, and noisy just like you'd expect. I'm glad I saw it.
My observations...
POSITIVES
The people. Indians are very friendly, warm folks and it is genuine. They all speak English but some have accents so strong I have difficulty understanding them. You see them dressed in traditional Indian colorful, draping clothing, some are red dotted on their foreheads, some men wear turbans, and many are dressed more like us westerners. Indians sometimes angle their heads from side to side when asked a question which looks like they mean "no" when they really mean "yes." Made for an interesting first couple of days.
The food. I absolutely loved it. Very spicey, very flavorful. They eat a lot of rice with a variety of sauces to the side or on top. The people I worked with all used western silverware to eat their meals, except one guy who ate with his fingers. They enjoyed intruducing me to new dishes, were delighted when I tried everything and were even more delighted when I loved almost everything I tried. Many were surprised at how spicy hot I like my food.
Architecture. Most of the buildings around the hotel are cheaply built out of brick and mortar. I can imagine what this place would look like after a strong earthquake. The few traditional buildings I saw downtown, however, were striking in their majesty and detail. I wish I'd had time to visit the Taj Majal.
NEGATIVES
Hot and dusty. Dust everywhere, suspended in the still air at night almost like fog. I came during the hottest time of year here. It was well over 100 degrees every day.
The power grid. The power goes out at least five times a day.
The smells. Not so much the smells of life which fester in a warm climate, but the sickeningly sweet air fresheners hotels and other public buildings use to try and cover it up. I'd prefer the real thing. I was surprised they don't use incense for that purpose. I was told that many don't like the smoke it produces and it just adds to the pollution of the city.
Drivers. They have lanes marked on the highway, but nobody cares. Drivers honk to communicate with each other, not just when they're angry like we do in the U.S. I was surprised to not see more accidents in the chaos on the streets, with pedestrians, cars, trucks , thousands of motorcycles, bicycles, tiny little open air rickshaw type vehicles, etc.
Poverty. Lots of it here. I was told that there are so many poor people here, the government can't take care of the sick. No money here, means no treatment. When I asked a guy what people do or where they go if they're sick and don't have money, he said "God is good."
Friday, April 03, 2009
SPRING...THE CRUELEST SEASON?
I love living in Utah. I'm a mountain guy and living in the mountains brings four seasons. I do a lot of musing about the seasons, the virtues and blessings of each. I love them all and welcome the arrival of each and to a lesser extent, mourn their passing.
My relationship with spring has been the most ambivalent. For many it brings the excitement of a new birth, a fresh start, an awakening, a coming out after a long, cold winter, longer days, more daylight. Easter brings the promise of the of the resurrection which adds to the symbolism of the season.
I've found the reality of spring to be much different. Sure, we have our warm sunlit days in spring here, where the bulbs begin to sprout and the birds sing. But just as often, spring brings blustery cold winds, rain, snow, mud and lingering cold. It baits you, tempts you and then quickly abandons you.
Spring in the east, where we have had the privilege of living two different times seems to be a little more predictable than here in the Rockies. It certainly is more colorful, with it's tulip trees in early spring and azaleas and dogwoods coming later. Here, we often go from cloudy and cool to hot with not much of a pleasant transition in between, without an abundance of color to show for it .
This year I've decided to change my attitude about the season and embrace all of it's unpredictability and look more closely for it's unique beauty. I've not been disappointed. I'm in no hurry for it to go. I'm savoring it (well, except for the wind).
Below is a short video I took today of our deck and trees in a spring snowstorm. What you're really seeing is here is me experimenting with the video feature of a new camera.
I love living in Utah. I'm a mountain guy and living in the mountains brings four seasons. I do a lot of musing about the seasons, the virtues and blessings of each. I love them all and welcome the arrival of each and to a lesser extent, mourn their passing.
My relationship with spring has been the most ambivalent. For many it brings the excitement of a new birth, a fresh start, an awakening, a coming out after a long, cold winter, longer days, more daylight. Easter brings the promise of the of the resurrection which adds to the symbolism of the season.
I've found the reality of spring to be much different. Sure, we have our warm sunlit days in spring here, where the bulbs begin to sprout and the birds sing. But just as often, spring brings blustery cold winds, rain, snow, mud and lingering cold. It baits you, tempts you and then quickly abandons you.
Spring in the east, where we have had the privilege of living two different times seems to be a little more predictable than here in the Rockies. It certainly is more colorful, with it's tulip trees in early spring and azaleas and dogwoods coming later. Here, we often go from cloudy and cool to hot with not much of a pleasant transition in between, without an abundance of color to show for it .
This year I've decided to change my attitude about the season and embrace all of it's unpredictability and look more closely for it's unique beauty. I've not been disappointed. I'm in no hurry for it to go. I'm savoring it (well, except for the wind).
Below is a short video I took today of our deck and trees in a spring snowstorm. What you're really seeing is here is me experimenting with the video feature of a new camera.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 05, 2009
"O wind, if winter comes can spring be far behind?" -Percey Shelley
Well, the wind came this week. Three straight days of the cursed stuff. Howling during the day, moaning at night until finally it blew in the blessed snow and stopped. Something about the wind just leeches the juice right out of me. Dries me up like a prune.
Wind has been on my mind of late and came to the forefront of my orb this week. My daughter in law Melissa recently proclaimed her love of the wind and we discussed it one Sunday evening as a family. Her husband and my son Sam and I along with some friends, took a desert hike in a strong wind a few weeks back and loved the hike in spite of it.
On day two of the blast this week, I took my usual walk on a trail above Salt Lake City. This wasn't a cooling, dancing summer breeze, mind you but a stiff steady 30mph 'er with gusts up to 50. Part of the trail goes right beside a busy freeway and I imagined drive by chuckles at Jerry-at-an-Angle, bracing and trying to walk at the same time. Dust kicked up, blew in my eyes and air borne debris stung my face. I was mildly amused at articles flipping and gyrating in the air, out of control and worried about their future. I watched an unleashed kite dive and pitch by on its way to Kansas, plastic bags looking desperately for a fence, and a long piece of tp twisting like a snake in very strong current.
The valley below was cloudy with with dust, the mountains above me blurred. Walking with the wind at my back was also a show as I lurched forward trying to negotiate through the gusts.
Driving home, I got to thinking that it wasn't all that bad. I walk in all four seasons, am a nature lover and thus should appreciate all she has to teach me. Re-thinking Melissa's wind love, I pulled in to the driveway and was confronted with three overturned trash barrels spewing their contents all over ours and the neighbors yards and to the dusty sky above. As I chased I changed my mind back again.
Well, the wind came this week. Three straight days of the cursed stuff. Howling during the day, moaning at night until finally it blew in the blessed snow and stopped. Something about the wind just leeches the juice right out of me. Dries me up like a prune.
Wind has been on my mind of late and came to the forefront of my orb this week. My daughter in law Melissa recently proclaimed her love of the wind and we discussed it one Sunday evening as a family. Her husband and my son Sam and I along with some friends, took a desert hike in a strong wind a few weeks back and loved the hike in spite of it.
On day two of the blast this week, I took my usual walk on a trail above Salt Lake City. This wasn't a cooling, dancing summer breeze, mind you but a stiff steady 30mph 'er with gusts up to 50. Part of the trail goes right beside a busy freeway and I imagined drive by chuckles at Jerry-at-an-Angle, bracing and trying to walk at the same time. Dust kicked up, blew in my eyes and air borne debris stung my face. I was mildly amused at articles flipping and gyrating in the air, out of control and worried about their future. I watched an unleashed kite dive and pitch by on its way to Kansas, plastic bags looking desperately for a fence, and a long piece of tp twisting like a snake in very strong current.
The valley below was cloudy with with dust, the mountains above me blurred. Walking with the wind at my back was also a show as I lurched forward trying to negotiate through the gusts.
Driving home, I got to thinking that it wasn't all that bad. I walk in all four seasons, am a nature lover and thus should appreciate all she has to teach me. Re-thinking Melissa's wind love, I pulled in to the driveway and was confronted with three overturned trash barrels spewing their contents all over ours and the neighbors yards and to the dusty sky above. As I chased I changed my mind back again.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Happier times on the slopes a few years agoI was skiing by myself at Deer Valley on Friday. I enjoy skiing with others, especially my family, but I also don't mind spending time alone doing things I love like fly fishing and skiing.
It was a beautiful sunny day, the snow was good and the pre-holiday crowds manageable. I skied hard in the morning and was moving over to some easier slopes to cool down before going home. On one of those easier runs I was skiing faster than most on the hill when a young girl turned unexpectedly into my path. To avoid hitting her, I went down....hard. I did the splits and immediately knew I'd pulled or torn a groin muscle. The swelling and bruising indicate it's a tear.
So I'm hobbling around the house feeling sorry for myself today. I read online that groin tears are slow to heal. It's the end of the ski season for me this year and I hope I heal up enough to ump again come spring!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Wave
Me and my son Sam, my friend Bob Nydegger, and his brother Fred took this hike yesterday. It's not far out of Kanab, Utah, right on the Utah/Arizona border. It was chilly and windy, but the chill, wind, and the snow the previous day meant we had this very popular little trip in paradise all to ourselves. I've taken many hikes in our red rock country and lived in it for a month with nothing but an army blanket when I was in college. This ranks right up there with the most beautiful spots I've ever seen.
Me and my son Sam, my friend Bob Nydegger, and his brother Fred took this hike yesterday. It's not far out of Kanab, Utah, right on the Utah/Arizona border. It was chilly and windy, but the chill, wind, and the snow the previous day meant we had this very popular little trip in paradise all to ourselves. I've taken many hikes in our red rock country and lived in it for a month with nothing but an army blanket when I was in college. This ranks right up there with the most beautiful spots I've ever seen.
Monday, February 02, 2009
These little monsters have the run of the house this week (except when confined to "the cage"). Oh sure, they look cute and innocent enough when the camera is focused on them. Cristie and I have watched parts of Cinderella, Finding Nemo and Nanny McPhee this morning and you know, they're not bad. Not bad at all.
Monday, January 26, 2009
You're looking at the front and back of a Hamilton 992b railroad watch. It was made in the 1950's and some consider these watches to be the finest ever made in America. This model was introduced in 1940 and was in production until the 1960's.This was my dad's watch, one of his prized possessions. He always looked up to my mothers father. Grandpa Ed was a Mason and carried a Hamilton pocket watch. My grandfather worked for the railroad and used a pocket watch like many railroad men did. My dad became a Mason in 1955 and to honor his new membership, my mother bought him his own railway special.
The watch is now one of my prize possessions. I told my dad years ago that I would like to have it after he was gone and he gave it to me sometime after that. I don't typically carry it, but I do wind it once or twice a week to keep it in good running condition. Occasionally I take the back off and admire the movement and listen to the precision tick that I used to hear much better when I was a child.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I heard a lady interviewed on the radio last week who had queried famous chefs from all over the world asking them what their last meal would consist of. She wrote a book listing what each chef's ideal last supper would be. They ranged from the most elaborate to the very simple.
I've read about those condemned to death who, just before they're executed are granted their request for a last meal. If I were in those circumstances I can't imagine wanting anything at all to eat. I can picture being served my last meal in a sterile room with glaring florescent lights buzzing overhead. No thanks.
But let's say you knew you were checking out of this life, not sick, with full capacity to enjoy one final dinner. What would yours be like? What would you eat? Where would you be? Who would you dine with?
My last supper might go like this:
I'd of course have my sweetheart with me, all my kids and grandkids old enough to enjoy a night out. We'd be in a small adobe style restaurant in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It would be in October, maybe the first or second week where it's still nice outside, but the evenings come with enough chill for a nice mesquite wood fire. We'd all be seated together outside with a view of the city below and the mountains above us.
Our appetizer would be deep fried oysters from the Blue Bell Inn in Blue Bell, PA, complete with their sauce. My entree would be a marbled prime, aged rib eye steak from the TPC Restaurant at the golf course in Scottsdale. The steak would be medium, charred on the outside and juicy on the inside. Garlic mashed potatoes from Flemings on the side with good sourdough bread from Pierre's in Salt Lake.
Dessert would simply be a fresh batch of my grandmothers chocolate chip cookies, made with love.
How about you?
I've read about those condemned to death who, just before they're executed are granted their request for a last meal. If I were in those circumstances I can't imagine wanting anything at all to eat. I can picture being served my last meal in a sterile room with glaring florescent lights buzzing overhead. No thanks.
But let's say you knew you were checking out of this life, not sick, with full capacity to enjoy one final dinner. What would yours be like? What would you eat? Where would you be? Who would you dine with?
My last supper might go like this:
I'd of course have my sweetheart with me, all my kids and grandkids old enough to enjoy a night out. We'd be in a small adobe style restaurant in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It would be in October, maybe the first or second week where it's still nice outside, but the evenings come with enough chill for a nice mesquite wood fire. We'd all be seated together outside with a view of the city below and the mountains above us.
Our appetizer would be deep fried oysters from the Blue Bell Inn in Blue Bell, PA, complete with their sauce. My entree would be a marbled prime, aged rib eye steak from the TPC Restaurant at the golf course in Scottsdale. The steak would be medium, charred on the outside and juicy on the inside. Garlic mashed potatoes from Flemings on the side with good sourdough bread from Pierre's in Salt Lake.
Dessert would simply be a fresh batch of my grandmothers chocolate chip cookies, made with love.
How about you?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Happy New Year. Happy January. I wrote this poem several years ago about the first month of the year:
January, why do I hold you in contempt at your birth?
Why do I shudder at the thought of you?
You. With your silent shroud so serene,
tiny stars in the sunlit air, your breath so pure, so quiet.
Your black dressing gown conceals radiant skin.
We gather against your dreariness.
And find fellowship.
You whisper in your harsh infancy, not a babble.
And as you grow, will we not rejoice you have taken root?
Will we not hail you in your youth?
There will be time for salutation, then for brilliant, hasty farewells.
Child, I do not tremble.
I do not look past you to meadows and butterflies.
You have no nectar.
Tell me your secrets.
January, why do I hold you in contempt at your birth?
Why do I shudder at the thought of you?
You. With your silent shroud so serene,
tiny stars in the sunlit air, your breath so pure, so quiet.
Your black dressing gown conceals radiant skin.
We gather against your dreariness.
And find fellowship.
You whisper in your harsh infancy, not a babble.
And as you grow, will we not rejoice you have taken root?
Will we not hail you in your youth?
There will be time for salutation, then for brilliant, hasty farewells.
Child, I do not tremble.
I do not look past you to meadows and butterflies.
You have no nectar.
Tell me your secrets.
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