Eight Hundred and Fifty

posting the pic to get a post up 

for, too many days have gone 

without one. 

the next shall follow 

soon(er) 

rather 

than

too much later. 

Happy September!! 

welcome to wednesday

Re Invent?

bklynboihood.tumblr.com

You know the problem with purging? You inevitably bump against things that spark memories; good and bad. Things that ignite debate; again, good and bad. Things that bring about a paralyzing numbness.  This, is most often bad for numbness certainly serves to impact that, "putting one foot in front of the other" method to tamping out . . shit.  

As difficult and troubling it has been both physically and emotionally, to begin was necessary and to continue, even more so. 

Thus, the project lives. 

Permission has been granted to move methodically. Or haphazardly. A quick dump. Or a more deliberate study and sort. There is no deadline. The freedom created by the structure-less structure eases the anxiety (a bit) and cures the nausea (some). 

Re-invent? At this juncture it is more about re-discovery. Or . . . recovery. 

One step: it is okay to be able to see the floor of the closet. 

Just To See Her

Remember where I was a year ago? I do, not just because I can go back and read but also because it feels like yesterday. I think because I'm in pretty much the same place, the same pain, the same state, the same . . .
Oh sure, I was taking a leap into a new opportunity and at that moment the idea of it made me feel vital. But a few months later the realization that I was trying to turn a sows ear into a silk purse settled out my body, wearing on me like kudzu.

So, I set out to clear the vines. I had to find a new job. After being sick most of December, I got busy smack dab in the midst of the worst winter ever to look and look and look. And I found one. Now, four months into that opportunity I am feeling a sense of relief. Most of my duties are familiar but there is some new information to digest and skills to acquire.

There has had to be work behind the scenes to shrink expenses, renegotiate the mortgage, get down to small ball, re-think, re-imagine the newest normal. Not all of the pieces are in place, but they are getting there. And she is still my guide.

However, like last year my birthday is not cause for raucous fanfare. I will be at work. The student will be at school. The actor will be engrossed in the next project. And that is okay. Maybe there will be a brunch on Saturday or Sunday.

Otherwise, I work, maintain, endeavor to have home projects, art projects, mind and body PROjects.occupy. Those things and the folly that is the 45 pound pooch and the two (especially the orange one) cats  will keep me rolling along.

  .  
 Officially fifty-four.

Boys At Work

They are expert and offering their expertise with every project, from art to minor patches--they are

                         THERE. HERE. EVERYWHERE.

                                 YaY!

So, Yeah.

Lazy list because I should be in bed, but I'm not--but REALLY should be down for the count. 

1. Both Buttah and Cinnamon have been sick. Nothing serious, but damn. Tired. Stressful. 

2. I don't even want to begin to tell you how many conversations (with daughter) began with the status 

   of  poop. 

3.  Commuting is . . . well, I don't have the words at present. And even if I did--bed calls. . 

4. Some purging did happen and will continue, albeit at a turtle's pace. 

5. The summer so far has been, in a word, weird. 

6. My daughter is slated to assist one of her culinary instructors with a catering gig later today. She is so             stoked.

7. I am deep in the throes of a love / have relationship with paper. All paper. 

8. But, then again, back and forth it may be, that relationship with paper is . . .ahhh..

9. Lovely. 

10. That said, paper (as in bound in books) must leave. One box is done another shall be completed by the       end of next weekend.

11. Just in time to drop off (at the high school) for THE FAIR. 

12. No, I will not be shopping at the fair this year. 

13. That would be silly. 

14. No, really. 

15. Silly.   

And Just Like That, June. . . DONE

A month full of festivals, marches, parades, forms, commuting, rain, and sun, wind, and more rain, and more rain. Along  with all manner of ups and downs, fits and starts, ins and outs, a kind of stuttering, meandering, toddler-like frankenmonster steps toward a consistent discipline.

Mostly a pass but on a few fronts, fail.

Or, if not fail then certainly room for improvement.

And improve I shall.

There are too many things in my cramped condo. Now, granted there are two other adults who live with me in this cramped condo. Thus, some of the things do not belong to me. But, I will attend to my shrinking the number of things that do belong to me and work to convince the others to shrink their things as well.

Note: the convincing is directed at daughter as son has been living smaller for a while now. In fact, it is his example I want to follow. That guy's dedication and discipline is epic.And as you might imagine it causes me some joy and pain.

The purging of things is metaphoric. Of course, I have other things on my plate that need attending. Of course there is the juggle between work and play; striking the delicate balance needed to attend to most, and being okay that it isn't ALL.

At least, not all at once

First up, my personal space, my bedroom generally and my personal business (and art) files specifically.

Happy Pride and HELLO JULY.

Amity is a Summer Town

 . ..and so, summer has begun. 

Summer in Chicago for many, if not most residents equals being outdoors at one festival or another. The weekends are chock full of options from one end of the city to the other.It is a grand opportunity to visit a neighborhood that is not one's normal stomping ground, to sample foods that may be outside one's comfort zone. 

A random art fair aside, outdoor festivals are not typically my cup of tea. My sensibilities are turned off by three elements inherent in these fetes: 1. crowds 2. outdoor eating 3. too many people, wearing too few articles of clothing, imbibing too many fruity spectacles delivered in a culled out pineapples.

On the positive tip though, attending festivals is an excellent way to get in s-t-e-p-s.

While not your typical festival dweller I will,  depending on the weather, other commitments, and the neighborhood, check the calendar, pencil in the possible events, and try not to talk myself out of attending at least 3 over the next 3 months. 

Summer has just begun and I've already missed more than a dozen. Don't fret there are dozens more. 

The actor embraces the festivals and would attend more if he wasn't more often than not, working. He will, though almost always make time for the Printer's Row Lit Fest (I would have gone there had it not been the same weekend as the 57th Street Art Fair) and the Blues Festival.  

A Tribune photographer captured the actor at the blues festival last weekend. Check out the gallery. And yes, he pretty much dresses this way for everything, winter or summer, rain or shine. 

I do look forward to summer in Chicago, more for the opportunities to get out on my bicycle over attending festivals. But it is grand to know that weekend IN and weekend OUT there is something I could do, somewhere I could go--have a fruity spectacle delivered in a culled out pineapple--if I truly wanted to go that route. 

Roll on Summertime. ♥ ♥ ♥

Turtle Me This

random list of facts, thoughts, and the like 

A few years ago I learned Chicago has a turtle club. Maybe more than one, but for the purposes of this note, one is all I need. The turtle club members had an open house (of sorts) which is how I had the opportunity to meet many turtles. It was a fun day. I thank my friend for bringing that memory back to my forefront. 

Have I mentioned that my daughter is a culinary student? I am her official guinea pig taster. It has been fun and interesting. 

Fun aside,  I really have to ramp up my m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t regime. Again. And continuing. 

Somewhere I read the question, "what are your biggest pet peeves?" I didn't answer there but will answer here: folks clipping their nails in public. Skeeves me right the frack out. Folks mentioned flossing in public and while that is icky, I don't have nearly as much of a  gross out reaction to that.

My brother (the younger) is moving to Georgia in two weeks. He told me two weeks ago. It is fitting. 

Seventeen. Why is seventeen stuck in my head? 

Marriage. Marriage has been banging around the gray matter of late. Mostly I've been thinking I'll  never (again) get to a point where I'll be in a marrying state of mind. I have lived alone (save for my son and daughter) since the beginning of the new millennium. I don't know IF I can live with another person in that kind of relationship and as I've never lived with a woman . . . 

It is, at the moment, a thought too huge to embrace. Still, I am enthralled that the country is inching toward equality in the marriage arena. 

Speaking of m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t, I want to take a Zumba class with the local park district. But I'm concerned that the age for the regular classes begin at 15. It's weird. They have a program called ACTIVE ADULTS for adults 50 plus. But they don't have a class for the same group, exclusively. Weirder: Zumba JR. Kids (Ages 4--6)  Zumba Kids (Age 7--11)  Zumba (Ages 15 & Up) . . You see that? What about ages 12--14? No Zumba for them. 

Some of the songs on the (new) Michael Jackson album are creepy. 

I considered growing my hair out (with designs on braids and beads or locks) and let my haircut cycle stretch from every two weeks to . . . well, now. Which wound up being about four weeks. The. HAIR. had. TO. GO!! I may revisit the idea, but have to figure out a way to survive the awkward stage where it must be combed but still too short to braid. Plus, I must be realistic; my fingers may be losing the nimbleness needed to braid well. 

10,000 steps (at least) a day. Twice in the last seven days. The goal for the next seven, twice that. 

June Re-Boot

Memorial Day heralds in the unofficial start to summer.

I can't buy into such folly. It is still offically spring and still

officially . . . well, not 100%.

That said,  daughter and I spent a lovely afternoon at a very cool art fair


in the very cool Chicago neighborhood of Hyde Park. So enthused were we, she very easily convinced me

to purchase  a piece for her. She's very proud of her first original (outside of mine, of course) piece of

artwork.

The first full week of June has been lackluster, at best--change and designs on summertime, aside. I am

erasing the downs and embrasing the ups from the first week and entering week two with sunshine on

my shoulders; metaphorically speaking as the forecast for the next few days is temperatues in the mid-

sixties, mostly cloudy with slightly higher than 50% chance of rain.

Officially, it is still spring.

a new dawn

good morning. 

a confession to make: 

feeling awful, doing nothing 

BUT 

confident 

that 

a 

change 

is 

afoot. 

sunshine does wonders for 

a body 

and by body 

i mean 

knees. 

not to mention 

doing wonders for 

a mind.  

MoMents

Melody and I were rolling along Pleasant Avenue a week ago Saturday; the thought twisting through my head was how laborious the trip to the library was vs. the return trip home. Nice and easy gliding. Almost.

It was mid-day and sunny. People were out and about. Having moved away from the downtown area, the people were fewer and further between.

To our right, a mature woman in a color coordinated outfit hat included, acknowledged our presence with a nod, wave, and  a full on smile. Dimple included.

And I was done. I steered Melody to the curb, took several deep breaths trying (unsuccessfully) to stave off the waterworks. A motorist pulled along aside me, asked if I was okay. I nodded in the affirmative to get her to move along. Snapped from the absorption of the moment, Melody and I roll the rest of the way home.

And there have been many (perhaps, too many) moments like that over the previous couple of weeks, especially the last few days.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been seventy-four.

She will be very much on my mind while I maneuver the day, sharing a meal with the kids, remembering the better times.

Peace.

On the Eve of the Day

 Decidedly in, I wish I'd made plans to go out. There was a Dyke Delicious event. Some friends I haven't seen in quite a while had planned to attend.

But I didn't. In I stayed. Afraid I would present as too gloomy.

Much like last year. I went hoping the event would shake me out of the gloom.

But it didn't. Too new. Too raw.

And so, decidedly in. Both son and daughter are working and the early day hope was for art to happen.

But, such has not been the case. All day the simplest task turned into a major production, leading to a mountain of frustration, culminating in my yelling at a customer service rep, telling him to fuck the fuck off. Fuck, fucking idiot.

(Remember way back when? see no. 81)

I am feeling queasy but I'm pretty sure it is the bad beer, not the f-u-c-k word.

Dammit. I should have gone out. I should have pushed through, made the extra effort.

But I didn't. Here I sit, decidedly in, having had my fill of bad beer and decent vodka, about to shower away a tear-streaked face, and trying not to dwell on her birth date near the end of this month.

Here I sit, raw with a realization that I while I am a mother celebrated by her own son and daughter (thank you both for your kindness and thoughtfulness) the overwhelming identity is that of a daughter without a mother to celebrate . . .

            in the flesh.

Too new. Too raw. Still. . . .  so, no celebration in the traditional sense; no feast, no fuss.

But an honor . . a must.

So, here's to you, to us, to them.

Skoal.

Oh, By the Way

As luck, fate, and/or serendipitous brio might have it, last week was full of wind, rain, cold . . . drear. And so, the plan to pedal at least 30 minutes every other day or so was thwarted. So, no Melody until very late Saturday afternoon.

Early evening, actually.

Melody and I cruised the the second nearest park. Once there we rode the perimeter of the park four or five times, took the scenic route home.If if had to guess, I'd say we logged about 5 miles. It was slow going and a bit challenging what with the high winds and lack of movement throughout the week.

But as is in her nature, Melody supported me well.

Hopefully the coming week will yield better weather conditions.

In other news:

1. I'm angling for the opportunity to visit new business, BFF Bikes soon.

2. The actor just wrapped a show. And has begun another.  And just as he closes that one, the next one will     be about ready to boot. 

3. Buttah has an eye infection. He's been on meds for a couple of days now and is improving.

4. A friend sent me some art supplies.They are happily integrated and will be in use very soon. Thank         you so very much!

5. THIS is one creepy commercial.

6. I submitted a sample (the first third of the last post) to this site, thanks to a friend's FB posting.
    The result: Stephen King.

I must really get to bed now. I hope everyone has a kick-ass Monday (and beyond).

♥ ♥ ♥

Dear Melody,

As you know, the sun decided to make an appearance early this morning, kicking the early weather predictions in the teeth. I believe you had some hand in this event. How? I don't know, but that is what I believe. You wanted and perhaps needed the morning to unfold as it did as much (if not more) and I.

And unfold it did . . . temperature, sun, all the elements doing its part to present to us the ideal conditions for the inaugural run of the season.

Two cups of coffee, a bowl of cereal later I was ready. And there you were, readied days before in preparation, waiting patiently, confidently.
More confident than I, truth be told. Even though the run was nothing too complicated. Nothing too twisted. Nothing too involved. A small errand, an easy jaunt a bit over two miles, round trip.

Easy. Peasy.

Well, as it turns out not quite so easy and I have no idea what peasy means, if it even is a word, but it was nowhere to be found in the jaunt either. My knees crackled, my breaths shortened, and my back protested, but onward I pedaled, your shiny confidence urging me on.

Still, I must confess, my mind spun with alternatives for the return trip while securing you to the corral after the first leg. But, after I emerged from the post office, the parcel I'd gone to pick up safely packed in the bag, secured to my back, I noticed the wind velocity had lessened, the sun shone brighter, the traffic had eased.

Again, I know all that was your doing. You're a mighty force, my lovely blue machine.

So, thank you for being the strong one; for easing me up that slight incline, for steering me toward the softer, less pot-holed roads, for not mocking my ever so inelegant wheezing, the deafening noise of the crackling knees. Thank you for holding fast to our near snail's pace even as I ever so briefly, entertained of idea of being offended by the jogger in the pink fluorescent top out running us.

We made it back to the homestead, much as we left; you confident and me, achy but happy. You are parked in your usual place--anxious to weave your magic for the next clear day--for our next opportunity to be as one, again and again and again.

I am so grateful to have gotten this inaugural run under our collective belts, so happy it went as well as it did.

And so again, thank you for being there for me and being ready to go on the whims on the wind and the knees.

You are so lovely, my might blue machine.

Love,

Deborah
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥  

Obese

Jillian Michaels said, "let's face it, you're obese!" I wasn't offended. I invited her opinion. I'd voluntarily gone to her website, filled out the questionnaire, and invited her to opine on my status and perhaps advice as to what I should might be less . .  (didn't / don't consider myself obese, but . . . ) less large.

Disclosure: I've never watched "The Biggest Loser".  I know of it due to it's (and by association, her) popularity and the show and / or contestants showing up in mainstream media from time to time; most recently, the criticism of a victor's extreme weight loss. I didn't really consider that I'd become a member of the BL bandwagon, I was just curious as to what her program would offer me for free and if that were anything different from what I could get elsewhere.

It wasn't.

The basic message was take in less, burn more: calories. 

Intellectually, I know this. Emotionally, I get it. As most of us know, it is much easier said than done.

I've been up and down this road these last few years. Most recently, I admit, more down and up

However, been there, done that, must do it again. Re-booting the campaign. I must. I not only huff and puff about the way I look, but huff and puff about the way I feel. I don't like the huffing and puffing.

So, with no thanks or offense to Jillian and her crew's program,  I will get back to what has worked in the past, tweaking to allow for my advanced age and other . . . advancements. Thankfully, time has come to get outside, get Melody out from under the stairs and on the road.  Adjustment to my diet began in earnest last week with further adjustments on tap for this week and beyond.

The loss won't be epic. It won't be quick. It certainly won't be easy. But, I will have measurable success.My emotional and physical health depends on some measure of success.

Goal set. Clock begun. Wheels turning.And a weigh we  go.

Inside Out

Spasmodic. If I had to ascribe one word to 1978 spasmodic comes the closest. During the first half I was seventeen and finishing my first year of college and during the second, eighteen and beginning the second (and ultimately, to date, my last) year of college. This work was produced in the midst of that. Which half? I don't remember, doesn't really matter because it was all .. . spasmodic.

At some point during 1978 I moved out of the rat, roach infested house my mom rented from "Mother" Allen, the meanest woman I'd met to that point. I was gone for several weeks before telling my mother where I'd moved--since she was powerless against my brothers and their enemies and I couldn't afford to have any of them them find me, harass me.

Talking about this time is still very difficult for me and I can't go further except to say, the ups and downs had ups and down . . . spasmodic. The Ups usually had to do with art; completing assignments, preparing to show and compete at fairs, thinking about which discipline to focus my efforts toward applying for admission to the respective department.

The piece shown above is one of the the very few pieces I have from that time, I sold or gave away nearly everything I created. This piece was resting in my portfolio. A few years ago, showing my daughter my work, I tok it out. My mother saw it, liked it, and offered to have it framed. One thing or another kept that from happening. I photographed it only a few days ago as I've just decided to get rid of it or alter it in some way.

Or not. I may put it back in the portfolio for a time, but either way, it has to get back out of sight, out of mind. For while it has been out in the open for some time now, I don't feel like I've really seen it, it has just sort of . . been. But, in recent days it seemed to be making noise, speaking to me, conjuring memories, good, bad, ugly, and . . . spasmodic.

Aprilair

               imagine

                these 

               pieces           

          together, like a page

               please 

A is for April. Air. Art. Apple. Anticipatory. Anxiety. Aggressive. Abalone. Affect. Aphrasia.

All those things and more. But now, it is about art. Contemplating art. Producing Art. Sharing Art. Going to see art. Contemplate. Rinse. And. Repeat. 

The above is my contribution to the Women's Circle Traveling Journal. An amazing undertaking of a blog pal  and a bunch of her artistic pals. I am awed to be in their company. I can hardly wait to see the finished journal. 

                                                                           

Additonally, the manada journey prompts continue to dance in my head. And at some point in these days of April they shall dance unto the page. 'Tis the plan, anyway. 

At last, there is seeing art. I haven't made time for going out to see art in a long, long time. The reasons are as plentiful as the opportunities missed and are not germane to the conversation. Point is, I'm thinking and planning. And even inviting. My cousin accepted my invite to the Hyde Park Art Center next weekend but has since cancelled. 

Anyway.

Attend. 

 . . . try. 

Art is in the April air in any case. 

It Began. It ContinUes.

sellf portrait 

Eight years and eight hundred and thirty one posts ago Middle Girl came into being; the companion piece for the journey of my life.

In the eight years of Middle Girl I saw my son graduate from college and  begin his career. He earned his first paycheck as an actor during his freshman year and has since, devoted his day-to-day to the pursuit of acting and related endeavors. His shift from treating acting as a career rather than a hobby changed him in ways that continue to manifest.

In the eight years of Middle Girl I saw my daughter become even more resolute in her pursuit of that which will make her happiest. She has worn a few educational and occupational hats in these eight years and is in the midst of more changes at this very moment. No matter where her life was, where it is, or where it is going, my daughter's core remains intact. She is a passionate young woman who works hard. She hasn't always made the best choices but continues to make the best of the choices made.

In the eight years of Middle Girl I have revealed my lesbianism to my son and daughter, community of bloggers and eventually, my mother. That revelation and the subsequent journey led me to the two women who at some point possessed my heart. While both relationships and the emotional holds are long gone both women remain close to my heart,  for the experiences they provided and what I learned about myself through those experiences and their respective gifts.

In the eight years of Middle Girl a career ended, another began and that, abandoned for a different style of opportunity. Each event taking a piece of me away but adding a component in its place. No matter what I'm doing to keep the lights on I remain committed to the goal: Work Hard. Do Good. Be Incredible. The current opportunity will allow time and space for community. And that was a major impetus for making the change.

Within the eight years of Middle Girl my dad died. And a few months later, my mom died. Long separated, to have lost them both within months, of the same disease, brought them together for me in a way the decades couldn't manage. My dad and I had been mostly estranged until the year prior to his death. We made our peace even as we didn't see eye-to-eye on the Yahweh, Jehovah, what-have-you front.

My mom has always been, will always be, in my bones. We were together every day of her life, right until the very end. And while we had our disagreements and skirmishes over the years, she loved me like no one else has nor ever will. She was fierce in her devotion to me (and my brothers) despite often disagreeing with our respective approaches to our lives and loves. She worked to impart the benefit of her experiences and tried to give us what she felt we missed not having our dad in our lives.

And in spite of being a dyed-in-the-wool christian she gave me space to release the atheism I'd internalized for years. She, unlike my dad, didn't try to (re-recruit) me. She didn't totally understand since I was raised christian and she remained concerned for my soul, but she didn't haarangue me. About that, anyway.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

In the eight years of Middle Girl I made some lovely connections beyond the ladies previously noted; In the beginning of my blogging days there was a community of lesbian bloggers who welcomed me with open arms. And while most have stopped blogging, a few remain friends. Thanks to blogging I continue to meet inspirational, wonderful, entertaining, and engaging women.

Each year brought its own set of challenges, none more than last. The losses, the forced changes, the emotional and physical toll, the . . . everything was just so damn hard. And while I worked to work, keep an upbeat attitude, keep on with the business of "keeping on" it was so. damn. hard. and remains so, though, not quite as . . .

sharp.

In part, thanks to Middle Girl and what producing this space requires of me.

Thank you to all those who have visited in the past, who continue to visit, and to those who will visit down the road...for Middle Girl will continue. For another eight years? Remains to be seen. But for now, and the foreseeable future, I am embracing this companion on this journey of a life.

March. Women.

The month of March is designated women's history month in the same vein as February is for black history. As my friend Elizabeth (who was HERE a couple of weeks ago-wheeeeee!!) noted, "you get two back-to-back." To which I replied, . . . well, I forget the words as there was wine and beer, talk and laugh, and very much glee. But the sentiment was, YaY.

So, the month the March is designated women's history month and for each day, I've noted some woman of note who has touched me in some way throughout my own history. To date they are:

March 1st:  "And while I don’t expect you to save the world I do think it’s not asking too much for you to love those with whom you sleep, share the happiness of those whom you call friend, engage those among you who are visionary and remove from your life those who offer you depression, despair and disrespect." - Nikki Giovanni

March 2nd: "Never be afraid to sit and think." ~ Lorraine Hansberry

March 3rd: Anna Julia Cooper  March 4th Jessie Little Doe Baird March 5th: Leslie I. Hill 

March 6th: Anna Devere Smith  March 7th: Julie Murphy March 8th: Kim Ransom 
March 8th was also International Women's Day!!

March 9th: Toni Stone March 10th: Aretha Franklin: March 11th Lisa Taylor 

March 12th: Eleanor Taylor Bland  March 13th: Althea Gibson March 14th: Juanita Moore  

March 15th: Mahalia Jackson March 16th: Dr. M. Joycelyn Elders March 17th: Veronica O. Davis

March 18th: Sylvia Woods  March 19th: Wanda Sykes March 20th Diahanne Carroll 

March 21st: Debbie Allen March 22nd: Grace F. Edwards March 23rd: Marian Anderson

The mention of these women in particular is not to slight any others. I laud them (us) all in whatever endeavor(s) they (we) pursue; for they (we) all are worthy of note. Every day of every month. Women. March.

In addition reveling in the stories of women, a visit from my dear friend Elizabeth which included a journey of downtown Chicago, parts of the IL leg of historic Route 66, and my (surprisingly VERY IRISH) heritage, the other minutes of the month have been about 1. getting a new job and getting acclimated to all that THAT entails. 2. tending to a cousin who is tending to a mother-in-law who had a stroke AND a husband who had a stroke and heart surgery. 3. tending to my daughter who had her heart broken and the stress that brings not to mention her work and school stresses. 4. working to focus myself on health (mind and body) and one stated goal: the ever elusive weight loss. 5.thinking about longer, warmer days and the return of bicycle riding season. Melody has been patient.

I'm still also working to complete the January Mandala journey. I did participate in the Women's Circle Traveling Journal, sending the journal on to the next link in the chain. I'll show the art produced for that in another post.

Yes, there is the last days of March to march through and I am happy for them. But, I am looking forward to April toward getting more involved with the new job, learning more terms and procedures. I am also looking forward to April toward focusing on A-R-T and hopefully, getting my cousin out of her house for some kind of recreation and down time. And of course, riding--rolling, rolling, rolling on.