Chickens

I grew up smack dab in the middle of a mid-sized city, but was fortunate to have a surrogate-grandfather that saw to it that my brothers and I were exposed to the more agrarian side of life. My mom is from northern Wyoming- full-on cattle country; and my dad (who is from the same city as I) had allusions of cowboydom- so they encouraged this pastoral peek. We spent weekends on "the farm" riding horses, planting acre-gardens, and all those lovely things one does on a farm. But one summer, my dad and "Grandpa," as we lovingly called him, hatched a scheming plan to raise chickens. I won't delve too deeply into the details, suffice to say that "a few" chickens was actually 80, mutant-Cornish hens that topped the scales at 10 pounds when they finally broke through the bottom of the pen and ran amok in our backyard (which is quite large). It is one of my fondest memories. Plucking chickens is not a skill that most "city girls" can add to their c.v. I, however, was fortunate to get the chance.


But now that we are making a move to our own farm, I am thinking chickens again. Not 80, and not freakishly large Cornish hens either... No, I am thinking nothing but haute couture will do. I am looking at the fancy chickens!


I want beautiful, rainbow colored eggs, for chickens so plumed and coiffed they look like they just walked a Paris runway. Chickens like this one.......
Isn't she beautiful?
Mind you, our chickens will not be eaten.
They will be for egg-ing only.
I am looking at: Easter Eggers; Ameraucana (though these are apparently difficult to find); Andalusian; Wyandotte;a Leghorn or two(for the cartoon association); a white chicken of some sort (for the W.C. Williams poem The Red Wheelbarrow).
Yeah...chickens.
You will be very lucky if you live close to us and come to visit.
:)

Fainting goats or Watusi cattle?

"Pack up the yaks, and fold up the yurt, honey- we're moving again!" Oh, that we were mongols and it was that easy... But no. At latest count, there are 35 boxes of books alone. Sigh. How so you weed through books? We thought we had weeded through and condensed down to "only the essential" books. But 35 boxes seems excessive.

Nevertheless, I am excited about the move. Here is a picture of our new home to be....(nevermind the silver torpedo...it's a propane tank- soon to be painted like a submarine).

It's a little farm house located in a fertile river valley. It's got a huge chicken coop lots of space for a garden and pasture for animals.

I have for several years, felt a compulsion to run off and be a cheese maker. Now, there is very much that potential. I have been researching cheese making for some time. It all started when I saw a beautiful photo of a happy-milk cow on a Stoneyfield Farms Yogurt ad. Something about her sweet soft face and long eyelashes spoke to me.

I don't know if there are wheels of Brie coming in your Holiday baskets next year(though pepper jelly is likely!), but there is the potential.

We went to the feed store to buy cat food for our colony, and we also bought a salt lick (to attract deer), and two copies of the magazine Hobby Farm. It may be my new favorite magazine. I have been ordering gardening catalogs, and thinking in terms of rubber boots, bushel baskets, and gardening gloves. I am very excited about moving. After five months, of undeserved-landlord paranoia, and no money to splurge on the most minute of items, any break would be welcome, but I think that this move, will be one that we take to well, and settle into.

49 Days

It's been 49 days since my friend Barbie died. In Buddhist tradition, 49 days is the intermittent time (or Bardo) between incarnations. I think it is extremely auspicious that today is the 49th day, because of the rebirth associations of Christmas. Aside from Bodhi Day, I can't think of a more auspicious day.

It is traditional to burn an image of the dead as a symbolic gesture. I walked off and forgot the picture I had set on my shrine, but my wonderful husband took care of it for me.

As I sit and write this, I started feeling sad. I teared up. I feel that sorrowful attachment that we feel when someone we love dies. But that is the nature of suffering, and craving.
"I will never see her again; so I am sad."

But when I clicked the upload for her photo, I felt this immense sense of happiness.
I am happy for her. Because she was such a good person, and brought so much to those that knew her. I know that there is something better for her, becasue that is the nature of karma. She deserves a better life.

Because those people that should have been there for her, and set good examples for her, failed her. I won't point fingers and say nasty things, because that would be wrong, and ultimately, they have lost a beautiful bright spot in their lives, and I know they recognise this. It is a shame that she died, but I know, she is going to have a better life.



May Barbie Goodman have happiness and the causes of happiness.


May she be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.


May she never be separated from bliss.


May she remain in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger.





This is a restatement of the Four Immeasurables for my friend.
Namaste. my friend.

Meet Henry.

He's the newest member of our feline family. We found him at the bridges in the below post. He took to our son, like a duck on a June bug. He was one of at least five other cats; the others were not as friendly and eager to go home with us (thankfully). He seems to have been waiting for us to bring our son to him. He loves our little guy, and vice versa. It's so great when you find an animal that seems to be yours by fate. That kind of connection is rare and precious. It doesn't hurt that he is so frickin cute.

Bridge over the River Grand

I got a new toy. My school district gave every teacher a 7000.00 stipend to spend on technology in the classroom. I have purchased a wonderfully interactive classroom, that will make my classes very much more fun. But I had some left over, and we had an option to purchase a video camera or digital camera. I chose the latter. In college, I loved photography. I took classes, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I have missed it over the years. I am pleased to get a new camera. I'll be posting lots of pictures. Very fun.

We live in the oldest town in our state. It is full of history. There is a replica fort in town and it sits very near these bridges.

This is the sun setting over the river bottom. If you were to hop in a canoe at these bridges, you could float all the way to Paris.

Freedom

When we moved into our "dream home" back in August, we had such hopes. It truly is a beautiful home. But, it has not been that which we had hoped. First, when the landlord left, in addition to leaving a room full of his shit and bits scattered throughout the house, he abandoned; one dog, two horses, and two cats.
The land the house is on, is owned by his father, who continues to ranch all the land around our little "dream" home. The father has been responsible for feeding and watering the horses and for the dog, who has lived in our chicken coop for the three months we've lived here. The cats were on the verge of death when we moved in. Skinny, and greasy.One had what we thought was a horrific abscess that would surly be her undoing, that actually proved to be the process of losing of an eye. She is fat and sassy, as is her sister- albeit she is a bit wary on her newly-blind side.
Regarding the dog, one could ask, why haven't we tried to make the dog part of our family? Well, we did. She is a pit bull, and as near as I can tell, she has spent her whole life in the coop. We let her out once, and that was enough for us to realize we could not let her out again. So in the coop she sits. It is tragic.

One of the horses, Freckles, has been out with the cows in a huge field. The other, Freckle's daughter- whom we've been calling Clover, was locked in a smaller pasture, alone. Although the father did make sure she had water and hay, she got nothing else. No interaction. No grooming. No hoof care. She is a full on wild horse. If she had been plucked off the plane and placed in the pen, she would be no less wild. We have spent many,many hours trying to connect with her. Coaxing her to trust us. There have been small connections, but trust comes slowly in horses. Last week, she was relegated to a teeny 20x20 section of the pen. This was during all the horrid weather we had last week; and a sort of mud-shit soup was churned under her anxious hooves. She was furios, and terrified. She kicked and stomped at us. As the snow fell, we took her a warm mixture of brown rice and applesauce, and she licked it from the trough, after she'd tried to kick us. I went out to check on her the next morning, and she was lying down, in the one dry corner of the pen. We were beginning to get anxious ourselves. It woould be too easy for her to slip and break a leg in that muck, and she was getting more freaked out by it. It is not easy to live in such close proximity to this and not be able to help. We took her feed, and tried to talk to her, this only added to her anger, and she ultimately lashed out at us. It was horrible.

Then, the next morning...... ......she was free.

She had finally been let out into the pasture with her mother and the cows. She was afraid at first, and kept to herself out under a large juniper. But, afer only a few days, she seems so much happier.

All of this happened about the same time we were making the decision to move. Our "landlord" as you might hae guessed by now, is not a terribly considerate person. Though the house is beautiful. It is too expensive, and we just can't live with his baggage anymore. So, in the next few weeks, we'll be moving. To another farm. This one owned by friends. The house is small, but it has a great deal of potential. We wren't worried about Clover anymore. She looks better, and seems so much more eager to be near people. The cats will be fine, because they are coming with us. I'll call ASPCA about the dog as soon as we get moved.

What to call my spouse

My spouse and I are currently trying to find news ways to reference each other in our writing. We've simultaneously come to the conclusion that "husband" and "wife" are just too.....blah.
So he has begun calling me his "woman." They are just sooooooo...Victorian.

I have toyed with calling him my "man" but that seems too closely resembling "da man" and just doesn't work for me.

I absolutely abhor the use of "my old lady" and "my old man." Those literally raise my hackles when I hear others us them. In fact, I've told mi espouse that I would hit him if he ever uses the fem version before I actually am old. Which resulted in a argument of when that was. I said 80 he said 40 so we compromised, he can't say it until I'm 72. I'll never us it unless I want to pick a fight.

I thought about calling him "my pimp" but that leaves too much room for misinterpretation.
So, I'm on a quest! Again, I'll keep you posted.

Birdy Buffet

We have a great bay-window in our living room, outside of which is a fantastic (huge) juniper tree. The lowest branches are about even with the top of the window, but the structure of the tree is such that the branches droop down, creating a nice overhang.

My man and I are patio-ornithologists. That means we love birds. We feed them; and watch them; we know how to identify according to beak and posture; know a fair amount of calls, and have mastered a few of those; but we aren't so nerdy that we participate in any official birding activities.....yet.

So underneath this pergola, we have hung a great deal of birdfeeders; along with windchimes and other hangy bits. It's nice.

Since the weather has turned cold, we've had quite an influx of visitors.

Most signifigantly:I was finally able to see one of my most desired birding finds...

Last weekend, we had a flock of Cedar Waxwings, that chose our junipers as a stop over to wherever this elusive species was headed next. I have wanted to see one of these for years! I remember as a child, that my parents got to see a flock while we were visiting family in Wyoming. Of course I've seen pictures, but seeing these incredibly beautiful birds in person is something all together magnificent. I was on the phone with my mom, and when I saw one, I started her with my "HOLY CRAP! It's a Cedar Waxwing!" She was as excited as I.

Just as fleetling as they arrived, they were gone. We haven't seen them since.

We also have some teeny birds we are still trying to identify. We believe they are kinglets, though we aren't quite sure if they are ruby or golden crowned. They are TINY!!! About hummingbird sized (golf ball sized for you non-birders). I'll keep you posted when we figure out which they be.

We also have both varieties of Nuthatch (a fave of my honey) Whitebreasted (to the right); and Red Breasted (left). One of the peculiarities of this species of bird is their predilection to hop down a tree beak first (note this in both images). This is not the norm for birds. Nuthatches hunt for bugs in the summer by zipping up and down the the tree trunk, flipping the proverbial bird to gravity (pun intended). But in the winter, they light on a feeder, grab a seed, fly to the trunk of a tree, wedge the seed into the bark and proceed to extract the seed from the shell. Its funny to watch.

They are very cute.

Other regulars: Titmice; Chickadees; Goldfinches; Cardinals; Robins (unusual to see Robins "eat" in trees); Mockingbirds; Carolina Wrens; Winter Wrens (I believe); and one Bluejay (so far).

But one species of visitor has affected me almost as must as the Waxwings....

I have begun to fall madly in love with the Dark eyed Junco, or "Snowbird." These are not unusual or rare species. They aren't overtly flashy, or acrobatic. But they are extraordinarily sweet to look at. A hallmark of the juncos is their light pink beak. This stands in stark contrast to their dusky head and shoulders, and their white belly and tail. They are just dang cute. They like to "just hang out" too. Some birds get neurotic and grab a seed and flee. But the Snowbirds just like to hang out, and eat slowly. Probably why their name has become synonymous with those who winter in Florida.

I cannot blog about birds without mentioning our most recent addition to the family; Willie Nelson, our new pet canary. He's so dang cute and full of personality. We received him from a teacher colleague of mine that had to get rid of him. We love him very much already.

Birding is a great past time. If you don't do it already, I highly recommend it. I birded before I edited for that famous bird journal; and who knows, we may be participating in a Christmas count in the upcoming years....

I've been brainwashed!!!

I have recently become aware that, as a child, my parents went to great pains to brainwash me. A childhood of the same routine drilled into my head, has resulted in a behavior that I conclude MUST be a result of classical conditioning.
I cannot brush my teeth without, afterward, having to pee.
BADLY!
It is pathalogical. I have begun running my own experiments, to determine what the specific trigger is. If it is the toothpaste, the actual brushing, "the stance."
I performed my first experiment a few nights ago, and this gave me very conclusive evidence confirming my suspiscion...I went through my routine. Brusha-brusha-brusha; race to the loo to pee. Then, I went back to brush again; and guess what? Had to pee. Only this time, I had already peed, so nada in the bladda.

The only answer is my parents. Countless nights, of "Brush your teeth and go to the bathroom" have brought about this aberrant behavior.

For my next experiment, I plan to pee first, then try to brush and see if there is still the urge. We shall see....

Embrace your inner dork! Or at least the inner logophile..

Being a fledg-linguist, and an English teacher, I LOVE words. LOVE THEM!

My kids at school are always asking "why you gotta use them big werds, Ms.E." "Because I've invested a lot of money on big words little Johny, and by god, I'm gonna use 'em! Besides this is ENGLISH. You should learn the big words too."

I stop sort of the word a day, phenom though. I am simply not disciplined enough to turn the pages and get the new word every day. Once I had a great Far Side desk calendar. I totally forgot about it, and ended up reading it all one afternoon, tearing out the pages I really liked, and throwing the whole thing away because another year had come and gone. <sigh>

Tonight, as I flopped into bed, and greeted it as I always do (Hello, bed.) I started singing one of my favorite mal-lyric-ed song.

"I'm a lay-ze fr-aw-og! "I'm a lay-ze fr-aw-og!" a play on The Sex Pistols I'm a lazy sod. I love that one. It just makes me almost giddy. The more I sung about being "a lazy frog" the more I thoguht I just had to get up and blog. SO up off the bed (bye bed, see you soon), and to the oh-so-slow computer. You know it's for real if you brave the dial up to write at 10:00 when you should be sleepin!
Words. I can't help it, I'm a double Gemini.
Sorry I digressed. Mal-lyrics...
They are the most fun.
My brother, had a friend that used to think that The Eagles song Life in the fast lane was saying "...mice in the bat plane..." Now, of course, I'm locked into listening to, and singing it thusly.

Another way I like to torture my husband... Is to sing Purple Haze like this...
dwoon, dwoon, DWANG,dwoon, (or something like this. I always phonetic-out the guitar) dwoon, DWANG,dwoon, dwoon, DWANG, DWO-DWO.
Purple haze...all in my brain. ....(I won't include all the lyrics, this is the only important part)..
'Scuse me while I kiss this guy.." dwooo-wooow-wwooooow.....
After which, I kiss my husband. It's dorky, I know it. I embrassed my inner dork years ago.

So tell me... What lyrics do you goof up, either intentionally, or unintentionally. I'd like to know. For now, I'm off to bed.


By the way...here is a great vocab test. I scored 9/10...not bad. I was looking for what someone who loves words is called......there is a clue to one of the questions on this very page....

Hot damn! Aren't we a literary family.....

Little J- has been sick today. It started last night, he woudln't eat dinner, and when we put him to bed becasue he was totally exhasuted, he said his head hurt and he didn't feel good. We chalked it up to exhaustion. However, last night he was up puking most of the night. This evening is much better; no headache, no stomach trouble..


In case you didn't know, he is learning to play the guitar-and is quite good. He LOVES to play The Ramones.
He was even a Ramone for Halloween.


As a result of stomach blues, he started writing a song...


Something crawling in my brain

Something is wrong

Something feels wierd

It feels like something is crawling inside my brain

What the heck?!

I feel wierd.

What the heck is going on in my brain?

This is wierd.

I feel sick.

Oh my god,

I feel wierd.


He says he is "going to make it bigger..." I'll keep you posted.

Because he won't tell you....

My husband is a wonderful writer.
I love it when he writes, and I urge him to do so when he dosen't.
Sometimes harsh and difficult to read, it is alwasy honest. I love that.
He just finished a month of entries at 100 Words.
I completed a month in June, and I can assure you, it gets daunting. I'm proud of himl and happy to share....
my Evil Jungle Prince

I have an awesome -albeit wierd- cat...

His name is Magick. See! Here he is.....

Magick is getting up there in age. He is 13, which equals something like 90 for humans. But you would never know this by him. He is spry, wiry and a complete and total jerk. Hence his more affectionate name...Jerkyboy.

In addition to the above, he is tremendously smart. Door opening- smart.

But more than that, I fully believe e is psychic.

I say he is psychic, because whenever I am not feeling well, or sad, or pissed off, he will come out of nowhere just to annoy the hell out of me. He has some sort of uncanny ability to tell when I am about to get up and do something. Most everytime I nees to get up to visit the W.C. or throw a load of laundry in; here he comes, stomping on me with his sharp little pointy feet. He is very heavy and he knows how to displace all his weight onto a single foot that he likes to grind in between ribs.

He is half standard black kitty and half Tonkinese; and one night Big J had a dream in which he (J) learned Magick's secret name.... It was something like Hung Sung Lai... Which is interesting, because it was VERY Vietnamese-like, and as it turns out, Tonkinese cats are from Vietnam. BigJ didn't know that Mag is Tonkinese.

Possibly the most bizarre evidence...Back when I was in college, I lived in this dumpy little house in Tahlequah, America that had an awesome, huge bathtub. I used to LOVE to take baths there (Mag loves to hang out with me while I bath, pervy yes, but wait it gets worse...). So I was taking a bath, I had my head under the water, and I had the distinct sensation that a man walked into the bathroom. So distinct that I can still see him in my mind. Well of course, I immediately sat straight up, scared shitless, but there was no man there. However, Magick was sitting exactly where this man had been standing. Spooky eh?

I love my kitty. He is, despite beging difficult to live with a great critter to share space with. I just wanted to share.

Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia....

Earlier I posted a blog about some pizza that I was cooking.
But I've decided to be a revisionist.....
I did not cook pizza this evening, nor will I ever cook pizza.
And if I had, I would not have made the whole wheat crust. Somethings need further processing...

I love this world!!

Fun (albeit nerdy) game... I scored 113.
The map is a bit too small, but it's still fun.

Know your world?

Courtesy PiP

Catharsis -OR- Fight Club for women.....

....sound like a hair loss commercial..But no, it's not. As I sit on my asian inspired futon, nursing a spazzing shoulder, high on soma, and peer over the top of my laptop at Fight Club; I wonder to myself, "Self, why are there no Fight Club-girly movies? " The closest I can think of is La Femme Nikita, and possibly even Thelma and Louise but those are both nearing the two decade mark. Really, where are the strong woman movies that aren't souped up gooey-soft porn? I want a movie where a woman can kick ass, and still be a woman. I suppose it is contrary to social norms. I dunno, maybe I'm just out of the loop. If you've suggestions, let me know.

I got up in everyone's hostile little faces....Yes these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I, am enlightened.

Pain. Life is pain. Maybe it is Barb's death; maybe it is an innate melancholy streak. I dunno, but something is sitting with me, nagging me like an old fishmonger’s wife; and I have to think that ignoring the existence of pain, doesn’t make it go away. Rather, it sticks it in a corner to fester. I recently had a similar discussion with some of my students. "Ms. E, does it hurt to get a tattoo or..pierced.." to which I always reply, "Anytime, you take something sharp and jab it into your skin repeatedly, it hurts. Anyone who tells you it doesn’t is lying. But the pain is relative." Then I have to explain what I mean by "relative" -they are just 9th graders after all. More importantly, to me, getting a tattoo has always been a metaphor for life. There is all this pain and blood, and anxiety, but the end result is something beautiful.

We simply cannot live without pain. It is the proverbial yin to our shiny, happy yang.

About mid-to-late Fight Club Pitt’s character, subjects Norton’s character to a chemical burn from lye. While he is holding on to Norton’s hand he gives the following discourse:

Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing…this is your pain…deal with it don’t put it away and wait til it’s dead…what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment…this the greatest moment of your life and you’re off somewhere missing it…our father were our models for god…if our fathers fail, what does that tell you about god? You have to consider the possibility that god does not like you, he never wanted you, in all probability, he hates you….first you have to give up…you have to know, not fear that someday you’re gonna die…It’s only after we’ve lost everything, that we’re free to do anything.

Now, I am by no means advocating the blind anarchy of the movie, however, I do believe that there is something that resonates within me, from that soliloquy. While we are living our lives in the “high times”-all is well, the bills are paid, there’s food in the fridge and you just got back from vacation with the family- we are living in a sort of happy induced stupor. It is true that we “don’t know what we got till it’s gone.” The recognition comes during those not so happy daze. The good friend commits suicide, a foreclosure, you lose your job, your love, a child. Loss and pain bring relativity to the equation.

Where I differ from what Pitt-Tyler is waxing on about is the idea that god hates you. As a Buddhist, I don’t see god in the same way. Buddhists view each individual as having the same innate godliness inside. Everyone is endowed with the same Buddha-nature. We are God. So, I do suppose that if you hate yourself, then, you do hate God, and in turn God hates you.

Now, on to the recognition of death. I had a high Lama say one time that Buddhist practice is all preparation fro the acceptance that you and everything you love, will die. It is all one prelude to the final swan song.

At the near-end of Fight Club Pitt’s-Tyler holds a gun to the back of the “human sacrifice-Raymond’s” head and tells him that he is going to die. Pitt-Tyler asks what Raymond wanted to be. Raymond manages to spit out “veterinarian.” Pitt-Tyler asks why Raymond has not achieved that goal, and Raymond answers “too much school.” To which Pitt-Tyler retorts “.. would you rather die behind a convenience store?” He then takes Raymond’s driver’s license, and threatens that if he is not “on his way to become a vet within six weeks, [Tyler] will kill him.” Then Tyler lets him go. Pitt-Tyler’s response is that “imagine how he feels….tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Tessell’s life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you or I have ever tasted.”

Seems bleak when typed out, but the reality of it is, that we DO have moments of peace and beauty. The key to learn to recognize those and feel them as viscerally and as profoundly as we feel the despondency. All those clichés, became cliché for a reason. It really is darkest before the dawn.

Odd synhronicity

I wrote the following the night before my frined died from a prolonged overdose. The night before and the day that she died, I had the most inexplicable sense of despair. Though occasionally victim to depression, I am not one who often allows the heaviness to overcome me, but on Tuesday, November 6, I felt such anguish. I had no idea what was happeing with my friend.
I can only assume that some sort of bond was being broken. Barbie and I lived together off and on for a years, back in our college days. We were on the same plane on so many levels. Succinct.
We were close during our pagan days, we looked into past lives together, read cards, cast birth charts, and spent time tinkering in areas that on occasion backfired. But I have to assume that my last-Tuesday, her last Tuesday, was a release of some past connection we had
During my sorrowful Tuesday. I had two voices that came to me. Outside me. Stopped my tears with two words. Calmed and reassured me, and let me know that I would be all right.
Eat.

Sleep.

The two things I did, as I heard" them, is a soothing internal voice. When I woke up, I felt better.
Here is what I wrote Monday night, before going to bed.

Begin anew, all over again
Cry sad tears
soft tears
hurt tears

Where is the vigor of yesterday?
Oh yeah, today happened.
"Your eyes are getting sleepy."
The ultimate drug
- sleep.
We're all addicted.
Can't get enough.
Gonna go get a fix.


My friend. I wish your journey into your next life is a smooth one. I hope that all your suffering is eased. All the joy you brought to those around you- you did bring joy- will surf you on into another incarnation where you can see how loved you really are.
Namaste Barb.

Barbie

Two days is a long time to die-

lying on your bedroom floor.

Waiting.

Were you waiting?

Two days is a lot to miss.

Two sunrises.

Two sunsets.

Forty-eight hours of anything.

There was a comet on the horizon-

Did you know that?

I was only a few hours away and you didn't call!

Two days is a long time to die.

What were you thinking?

Were you thinking?

In those daze of your death-

was is all anger and pain?

Or did you remember some of the other?

Is he really worth our loss?

Two days is a long time to die-

But a lifetime is a lot longer to live without a friend.

What can you say in 100 words......

You can search for me under Geneva Monsoon.

Ah...The old Double Gemini....

Ok. So consistency is not my strong suit. I don't write every day. I know I should. It's good practice. A good writer is an active writer...blah..blah.. blah... I'll make no grandiose plans of maintaining the daily upkeep. I am on another daily writing project, but I'll post that later after I've completed more of it. Point is. I'm not deleting the blog. That is good. I'm proud of what I've done. I've deleted some psots. But not all. There are some on another that I'd like to integrate, but I don't think I will right now. Think of this as me, checkin in so to speak. I can always write more later.
Sarvo mangalam!