Play It Cool

Hello World, And so here I am, back safe and sound from Vacation Land, and glad of it, I can tell you that. It seemed to be somewhat odd times out in the old backwoods this time around, although not all bad, just different. I always say, after you've been going the same place over 50 years or so, you would think that all of the kinks would be pretty well ironed out by now, but that is all too often not the case. It all started innocently enough, as these things so often do, when we arrived at the campground on Saturday morning, and they assured us at the Registration Building that both of our campsites were unoccupied, so even though it was officially too early to check in, we hurried right on over there to set up our tents and assorted whatnot. (And believe me, when it comes to whatnot, we have the widest assortment in the whole darned place, and that's not just a bunch of campfire girls, by golly.) Not so fast! When we got to C-17, we couldn't help but notice a fully tricked-out motorcycle under a tree, not looking at all abandoned, but complete with helmets, clothing and supplies, as if just waiting for someone to come on back and lay claim to it. We're not pushy people by nature, so we were hesitant to start setting up our campsites around it, but we had a lot to do and were in a hurry to get going. We decided to set up everything that would be away from the bike, and buy some time before the erstwhile owner might come back and get out of our way - which is basically what happened after what seemed like hours, until the nice young couple returned for their belongings and went on their merry way. It was right after that we spotted a chipmunk gathering peanuts under our very noses, which is the first time in many years that we've actually had chipmunks right at our site, so that was another surprise visitor that we had no reason to expect. In contrast, this year was notable for its resurgence of chipmunks, but also a general lack of squirrels (last year it was the black squirrels that grabbed everyone's attention) and the blue jays, crows and grackles, compared to previous years when they were so prevalent. This should have been enough indication that we were not in for the "same old, same old" that we might have originally supposed, not by any means. After tossing up the two tents, we called it quits, and hurried to the beach for some well-deserved fun in the sand and surf, and a hearty lunch to restore our flagging spirits. Once again, not so fast! In a stupefying turn of events, that borders on the outrageous, we discovered that there is still no concession stand open at the beach, after 3 years of the nefarious boardwalk renovation project, which first snatched the yummy cheese fries from our grasp, and left us with nothing but our memories. This was a low blow indeed, and especially unforeseen, since when we left last year, it appeared that they were just on the brink of re-opening then. Apparently the ogres in the state government decided to hurl a few more roadblocks in their way, so that even the original owner of the franchise finally threw in the towel and sold the business to another company, rather than losing any more money waiting for an approval that might never come. The new owners opened up the gift shop with a table to sell small packages of snacks, and a little freezer for ice cream, but it certainly didn't measure up to what we hoped to be enjoying at the time, not by a long shot. As much as I love Wildwood beach, it frankly doesn't have enough in the way of amenities to make up for the lack of a concession stand, and especially after a long day of driving and setting up two campsites, that's for sure. It's true the water was lovely, and the beckoning sand a welcome respite for a trying day, but I don't mind saying that our appetites were downright appalled at this culinary calamity. Following in this "different is not necessarily better" trend, we found when we went to check into our motel later that not only had they raised their rates considerably, thanks not, but they assigned us a room on the second floor, when I specifically requested a ground-floor room when I made the reservation, and once again, thanks so much not. At this point, it was with some trepidation that we approached our dinner destination of Denny's in Centereach, but luckily it turned out to be the special treat that we have come to know and love in our travels, and did not disappoint. After what seemed like a long day full of ups and downs, this was a relief, and not one that we were taking for granted, I can assure you. The motel was quiet and comfortable as usual, and the benefits of having a soft bed, electricity, and shower cannot be over-stated as far as I'm concerned. But speaking of showers, here again, we came across another of those unwelcome surprises that seemed to be dogging our heels, and that was my-very-first-ever-in-my-entire-life tick, which I discovered in the shower and clinging to my bare skin with all its miniature might. Anyone who's ever tangled with these tiny rascals can attest that once they grab on to something, it's almost a lost cause to try and shake them loose, as Bill and I realized after adopting a variety of approaches to the problem without success. We were finally able to wrench it free from my body, and could only shake our heads in wonder at this new and strange occurrence after literally decades of never seeing one before. It didn't seem so wonderful in the following days, when more of them were revealed clinging to me stoutly, and although our technique improved for removing them, it did nothing to improve our appreciation of them, which was already on the negative side of the scale to start with, believe me. Luckily they all turned out to be (mostly) harmless dog ticks and not deer ticks, so there was no danger of disease or anything, but it in no way increased the happiness quotient of my vacation, which was quickly losing much of its appeal by the minute. I seem to recall the rest of the week in a blur of bug spray all over everything, which was a kind of smelly nuisance that I wasn't prepared for, but at least it kept the creepy-crawlies at bay, so that was good enough for me. The week was on the cool side the whole time (with a few thunderstorms tossed in for good measure, thanks not) with overnight temperatures that were positively chilly, hovering around 60 degrees - which is a whole lot colder in a tent than it seems out in the civilized world, I can tell you that. I learned my lesson years ago once when there was a cold snap, and I slept in every single piece of clothing I had brought with me, so now I routinely pack a warm jacket, fuzzy socks, and comforter, just in case. I was glad of it this time around, and although I admit I slept in the car during the worst of the thunderstorms, I didn't resort to going back to the motel, which has happened in previous years. Some other differences with previous trips, besides the chipmunks' triumphant return, I noticed there were no vending machines, which may have been removed when the concession ownership changed hands, and would have been a big inconvenience if I wanted a cold drink in a hurry. Even though my schedule stayed the same as usual, I saw no deer the whole week, when these were ordinarily so much in evidence as to be commonplace on any given day. I finally spotted a few blue jays and grackles, but not a single crow, and it took until the last day to see a hawk - although a bigger surprise was finding cardinals in the park, which has never happened before in all the years that I've been going there. Also notable by their absence was any sign of raccoons, and while I suspect that they were still out there somewhere, I saw no evidence of them, which is so highly unusual as to be unheard of in those environs. Even more peculiar, I never set eyes on one single solitary campsite that I would have identified as being occupied by spies, that mainstay of my camping experiences lately, and the park seemed chockfull of happy normal families, and not the lunatics and hooligans that I have come to expect, especially immediately surrounding my own site. Overall, it was all these little oddities that made this vacation stand out from what I consider the mundane routine of the same old romp in the woods every year. Bill came back out on Saturday to help break down the campsites, and managed to find one more tick - although this one was on the spare tent and not actually attached to anyone, so it was well on its way to winning my coveted "Tick of the Year Award," if only there was such a thing, of which there most assuredly would not be, I can guarantee you that. Taking down the spare tent also revealed a tiny brown frog, while the regular tent sported a small snake underneath, which were two other unexpected interlopers at the campground that I had never come across before. We went back to the beach for the last time, but the conditions were less than ideal, and it was not the glorious send-off that we had hoped for. After that, we stopped at Denny's again along the way, which made it all worthwhile, and had a blissfully uneventful trip home. I would have to say that it was not the world's worst vacation by any means, but still did manage to fall well short of perfection in many areas. Our friends at the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation & Historic Preservation made the mistake of sending me a survey asking how my vacation was - and don't think I didn't just go right ahead and tell them in no uncertain terms - so now they probably wished they hadn't, I shouldn't wonder. They were probably less than thrilled with my dreaded "Ogres of the Year Award," but let's face it, it was the best I could do under the circumstances. Elle

Get Up And Go

Hello World, Well, you certainly know that the first week in July is well and truly behind us, when the limited edition 2015 calendars start to arrive in the mail, thanks not, as ours did this week from our friends at the World Wildlife Fund. The cover photo features a huddle of fuzzy penguins on icy ground in front of a snowbank, so you can imagine how appropriate that felt in 90-degree temperatures with wilting humidity, not to mention, 5 months ahead of schedule, for heaven's sake. Of course, I'm never surprised anymore when the Back-To-School merchandise starts cropping up in stores, just about as soon as schools close in June, but I'll admit that even I wasn't expecting calendars at this point, and I've long since resigned myself to seasonal creep in all of its many permutations and combinations, I dare say. So please be aware that the days are numbered for our old buddy, 2014, and the impatient spirit of 2015 is already knocking at the door, as it were, tapping its foot and pointing to its watch. Frankly, if this was a TV show where 2014 had just been given round-the-clock Police protection, I'd be seriously concerned right about now. Speaking of things that are right on time, the Round Hill Highland Games came off without a hitch on Saturday, and we were there as usual to cheer them on, at the beautiful Cranbury Park in Norwalk once again. Although we didn't arrive any earlier than we usually do, we were invited to park on site for the first time in years, rather than an off-site location in a nearby corporate office compound, which was much more convenient than having to take the shuttle bus service back and forth in previous years. We found out later that we missed the opening ceremonies, since they moved them from noon to 9:00 AM for some reason, and although we weren't disappointed to take a pass on the usual boring speeches and proclamations, it was a shame to miss the parade of bagpipe bands and clans, evoking all the pomp and pageantry of days gone by, alas. In fact, I said to Bill later, I'm not sure that I actually heard "Scotland the Brave" played at any time at all, and usually by the time you're ready to leave, you've long since had your fill of that particular Scottish standard, as it seems like at least every other band plays it on parade, and often 2 or 3 in a row. It seemed like there were fewer vendor tents than usual, but anyone who knows us can attest that would never slow us down, and we still snapped up some souvenirs in spite of the limited selection. One unexpected item that presented itself was the surprising Tango orange soda, with its explosive dynamite graphics, and a not-so-subtle warning to "handle with care." (Their motto: "We win taste contests. Not beauty contests.") It was actually not as bad as might have been feared, for what I would consider suspect foreign soda, and you can't beat that name, by golly. Also new this year, they apparently moved all of the events around from wherever they had been previously, so even old-timers like ourselves were left wandering around, dazed and confused, and wondering where the heck everything had gotten to. The highland dancing competition was being held on the patio of the Gallaher mansion instead of the pavilion, the heavy-weight sports (the shot-put, tossing the caber, etc) were in the corner of the main field, rather than down in the gully as usual, the country dance lessons were out in the open on the berm rather than inside the entertainment tent, and our old friends at Mac Talla Mor, the Celtic fusion band, were spreading their musical magic in the pavilion instead of in a tent by themselves way out on the outskirts of the forest. Whew! It was a lot to keep track of, and for everybody else who was there drinking beer, it must have been like a bad episode of "The Twilight Zone," and they were just waiting for the late and lamented Rod Serling to show up and intone ominously: "These people don't know it ..... " But anyway, all in all it was a beautiful day, with plenty of sunshine, and not too hot with no humidity, as well as a refreshing breeze, and all the pipes and drums that anyone could ever hope for in one place, believe me. After a day of ethnic pleasures, Denny's in Danbury is always a special treat, and we hurried there for our usual favorites, which did not disappoint. I might as well say right now, that I'm happy to claim Scottish roots in our family ancestry, but if there's no Denny's in Scotland, you can be sure that I'm not going, and that's not just a load of thistles, my wee bonnie. And while we're on the subject of going places, I can tell you that Bill's Neon, once you reach a speed of 15 miles per hour just leaving the neighborhood, the car automatically locks all of the doors, with you securely inside, and no chance of any hazards befalling you along your merry way. Last week, when I was helping our friends relocate from one side of Greenwich to the other, I noticed that her SUV automatically locks all of the doors as soon as you shift into Drive, before the car actually starts moving at all. Meanwhile, my Aveo (which alert readers may recall automatically sets the alarm on you when you don't even want it to, thanks not) has no such provisions built in, or even one that you can turn on by yourself, which seems oddly out of step with the current mind-set in automotive engineering. In fact, it doesn't even seem to have the child safety features for the rear doors or windows that are standard equipment on most modern cars nowadays, which like child-proof packaging, is really only an obstacle to the adults who can't figure out how to circumvent it. Heck, if you're barreling down the highway at 80 miles an hour, and want to throw open the back door, Chevrolet couldn't care less, and no self-appointed automatic door locks are going to stand in your way, by golly. It dawns on me that it's no wonder GM is having all of these recalls lately for safety issues, I dare say. Speaking of safety issues, I had occasion to use a vending machine recently, which suited my purposes admirably, since I had a box full of loose change, which I preferred to put into a machine, rather than foisting it all on some poor over-burdened cashier, if I could avoid it. I must say that the vending machine worked perfectly, and I had no quarrel with its operation in selecting and dispensing the correct item that I was after. Alert readers may recall the aforementioned box full of loose change, which I was still holding in one hand, so I used my other arm to prop open the door to retrieve my purchase, and saw nothing wrong with this plan up to that point. But when I had it in my grasp and removed my hand, all at once the door slammed shut with such force that it pinched my forearm in the hinge, and I can tell you that I certainly saw stars, as they say, and nearly jumped out of my skin - that is, except for the section that was still clamped in the hinge of the vending machine, holding on for dear life like the jaws of some prehistoric predator, whose enormous teeth survive in the fossil record to this very day. I thought I showed remarkable restraint in not screaming out in anguished torrents, which is exactly how I felt, but immediately dropped the box of change, and used my free hand to push the door open again and pull out my poor throbbing arm from its steely grip. I was glad to see that it wasn't bleeding, on top of everything else, but had already turned an ugly black and dark red splotchy bruise, and not waiting until later to hurt, was already sore right on the spot, and probably only going to get worse. I hurried home and put ice on it, which really helped, and I was continually reminded of the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln, when asked how he felt after suffering an injury: "It hurts too much to laugh, and I'm too big to cry." Of course, they didn't have vending machines in Honest Abe's day, but I'm sure he would have sympathized with my predicament, especially the part where I emancipated my arm from the contraption's clutches, no doubt. Overall, this transaction got high marks for efficiency, but still managed to fail the first test of hospitality services, which is not to injure the customer, presumably. I probably should have noticed sooner that the vending machine was made by General Motors. Elle

Wild Card

Hello World, Happy Independence Day! I certainly hope that your holiday is shaping up to be a red white and blue lollapalooza, just jam-packed with all manner of rootin'-tootin', brass-plated, double-barreled treats for youngsters and oldsters alike, and everything in between, by jingo. Along the east coast, the hurricane season got off to an early start, thanks not, rather than waiting until September like it's supposed to (apparently the hurricanes don't read the instruction manual, like the meteorologists do) with the result that the weather for the occasion was woefully inappropriate for any event that might have been expected to include parades, barbecues, swimming, picnics, fairs, concerts, historical re-enactments or fireworks - and let's face it, what's July 4th without plenty of rockets red glare, after all? In fact, this year is the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Baltimore, where the British bombardment of the ramparts inspired Francis Scott Key to write his stirring "Defence of Fort McHenry" poem which was later set to music that would become our star-spangled banner, and that's not just a lot of Yankee Doodle Dandy, believe me. And speaking of Old Glory, it must be said that The Flag Brigade did their level best to fly the colors for the nation's special day on Friday, upstairs and downstairs as usual, but thanks to the aforementioned tropical storm Arthur, and his unwelcome arrival 3 months ahead of schedule, the day was a wash-out and the beleaguered Flag Brigade had to step lively to yank the flags out of their moorings just ahead of the raindrops, and bring them back inside safe and dry. So the 200th anniversary of the flag's theme song turned out not to be the flag-waving bonanza that might have been hoped for, and more's the pity, I'm sure. Also at this time of year (and unlike Arthur, not only welcome but right on schedule) we have the most lovely sunny yellow flowers in our back yard, against the fence and waving in the breeze like happy little sunbeams. We can count on these to pop open every year, in spite of being neglected in an over-grown area of the south 40, as it were, where lesser plants would have long since been choked out by rampaging weeds of every description - and some that so defy description, that I am convinced their origins must lie in some far distant galaxy, where they have been specially developed for their unflinching tenacity and noxious habits. But our jaunty yellow flowers persist in the face of these obstacles, and although they look dainty and soft, they're obviously made of sterner stuff, standing the test of time against tremendous challenges on all sides. I'd be delighted to recommend them very highly to anyone - that is to say, if I could only remember what they are, alas. I almost distantly recall that one of our old neighbors gave them to us when we were first married over 30 years ago, and in my admittedly hazy recollection, she described them as "Texas sunbonnets," which I accepted at face value, and no reason to doubt it. However, nowadays even a cursory Internet search reveals that there is no such thing as Texas sunbonnets, so that tosses this theory right out the window, and my hopelessly faulty memory right along with it. Decades ago at a family gathering, I pointed them out to my sister (the horticultural expert from the nature center) as coreopsis, and she clutched at her heart with a stricken look, as if I had just flagrantly misused "lay" and "lie" in front of The Grammar Police with impunity. Someone else tried to convince me they were vinca, but I already know what that looks like, and I wasn't falling for a whopper like that one. I'm pretty sure that I did research them at some point, actually coming up with the definitive answer, based on petal count and leaf shape, and I want them to be some variety of primrose, but I really can't remember anymore. Now, I'm sure we've all long since seen enough horror movies to realize that intelligent plants can create more problems than they solve, heaven knows, but it would save a lot of time and trouble if you could just ask them what they are, and be done with it. For now, I'm just calling them Arthur. In other semi-local news, a friend of Bill's recently went through the process of buying a new house, and subsequently relocating from one side of Greenwich to the other (and for the longitudinally literate among us, I would hypothesize that the town's motto would be: "We're not mean, just mean time.") and with the added complication that they needed to clear out the rented house they were already living in by the end of June, or be forced to pay another whole month in rent, which they were obviously hoping to avoid. So they were understandably grateful for any and all help from their friends, Romans, and countrymen, lending their ears, and not to mention, also their strong hands, legs and backs, plus blood, sweat and tears to the efforts. Bill and I were glad to pitch in, separately and together, not that we have a lot of experience with moving, but hey, we can carry boxes with the best of them, and then some. There are two young boys in the family, and while they didn't have a lot in the way of clothes, they had so many stuffed animals that it looked like an explosion at FAO Schwartz, and more Matchbox cars, Happy Meal trinkets, and video game cartridges than you could shake a stick at, and don't think I didn't try. I said to Bill later that if there was some kind of award for picking up loose Pokemon trading cards, I would probably be right up there in the running for it, because I must have picked up 10,000 of them from the floor, the back of the closet, dresser drawers, boxes of books, backpacks, pencil cases, sleeping bags, and yes, even under the furniture cushions. There was so much Spiderman paraphernalia in every imaginable incarnation, that I half expected to turn around and find Peter Parker himself standing behind me in the room - but I wasn't terribly worried about it, because after all that time, my Spidey-sense would have really been tingling, believe me. And speaking of fun and games, while I was checking around for games that I could play on my phone, I stumbled across this curious tidbit from our friends at OnlineGamesZone.com: ======================================== You must find these objects and if you find one, click on it to earn pints ======================================== Now, I'll admit that I'm no expert on computer games, and I don't even play one on TV, as they say. But it's been my experience when it comes to these games, that usually players earn coins or tokens, as a reward for their gaming success, and frankly, the only thing I can think of commonly reckoned in pints is beer - which I don't mind saying, adds a whole new dimension to the idea of playing online games, and not necessarily for the better, by golly. Personally, I'm already so bad at computer games that I certainly don't need any more of a disadvantage, that's for sure, so beer is absolutely not the incentive that I might be looking for, and as a competitive edge, I can't see it having the desired effect at all. On the other hand, if they ever come up with a way to get chocolate out of computer games, that might be all the motivation it would take, and I could turn into a game wizard overnight. I call it "Candy Crush." Say, wait a minute ..... Elle

Seven Up

Hello World, Happy Ramadan! I admit that I am not a Muslim, and I really have no idea what the occasion entails, but I have the feeling that it is not actually a joyous celebration like Easter or Mardi Gras, but rather more one of those wailing and gnashing of teeth types of religious observances full of repentance and self-reflection, such as Yom Kippur, where people go to great and sacrificial lengths to make themselves miserable, with the goal of trying to improve themselves in the eyes of their supreme being, whomsoever that might be, as it were. Personally, I've always found myself much more improved with chocolate, and plenty of it, and not by making myself miserable, but they say it takes all kinds, and I have no reason to doubt it. Anyway, you're probably not supposed to wish them a happy time of it, by no means, so if you happen across anyone suffering for the duration, please go right ahead and wish them a very Rotten Ramadan for me. Now that we find ourselves on the very brink of July, the warmer temperatures have brought out the garden hot shots, that didn't dare show their faces any earlier, when it was still chilly and dank in these parts, in spite of the calendar. All of our astilbe have taken off like gang-busters in a variety of colors, while the multitudinous day lilies are a veritable riot of hues across the spectrum, and galloping along the driveway like a runaway freight train. We even have what seems to be some sort of dwarf canna in a pinkish red, and while I personally have never heard of dwarf canna, there's no denying that it's right there before our eyes, and welcome nonetheless, however unheralded it might be. (The dinosaurs and I can tell you that it's practically impossible to get good heralds nowadays, heaven knows, and our last two - Gerald Herald and Harold Herald - have obviously fallen down on the job to an alarming extent.) In spite of the excessive heat and wilting humidity, it must be said that our cold weather hold-overs, like pansies and petunias, are still hanging in there to the best of their abilities - although if we don't get better cooperation with a lot more consistency in the rainfall department, I'm afraid that I won't be saying that much longer, and even the heralds won't be able to help much at that point. At one point last week after dinner, I decided to settle in and take a peek at the Miss Marple Mysteries on NetFlix, just to while away some time and take a chance on something different for a change. It seemed interesting enough, and well done, as these British period pieces usually are, and I found myself getting caught up in the age-old mystery of who-dun-it, not to mention, how and why besides. Although I was doing my best to give it my rapt attention throughout, I must have nodded off briefly - probably during a tiresome exposition about how the footman's daughter had run off with the earl's fourth cousin (twice removed) and bound for Australia on a tramp steamer under disreputable circumstances. When I came around with a start, I couldn't help but notice that nobody in the show seemed familiar anymore, and I found myself blurting out: "What the heck is going on here? That major is supposed to be a colonel, the Swedish governess is supposed to be an Irish housekeeper, and the last time I looked, that modest village chapel was a hulking Gothic cathedral." Sure enough, I had evidently fallen asleep long enough for the episode that I had been watching to wrap itself up completely (neatly, no doubt) and for good or bad, one of the features of NetFlix is that unless you tell it otherwise, it just goes ahead and starts the following episode right after that, ready or not. So that explained why nothing seemed to be as I left it, and I was then stuck with two different episodes that I had only seen parts of, so neither of them made any sense whatsoever, and I don't mind saying, in spite of the estimable Miss Marple's most rigorous efforts to the contrary. I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help to Scotland Yard at this rate, although I can't say that I cared for the looks of that Swedish governess all that much, and that's not just the crumpets talking, believe me. In other entertainment news, I must have decided that I was feeling way too competent lately, so I went scouting about for some games that I could play on my phone, most likely with the usual result that they would make me feel like a hopeless booby in no time, thanks not. I admit that I was pleasantly surprised to discover a treasure trove of 7 different games in one combo-pak from our friends at pogo.com - and all for the incredible rock-bottom bargain-basement price of zip, zero, zilch, absolutely free and no strings attached. I snapped it up at once, and downloaded it with no trouble at all, which is not something that I take for granted in this age of digital miracles, where it seems that the only thing you can count on is that you can't count on anything. The assortment includes their own versions of many recognizable games, such as Mah Jong Safari, Phlinx (this is a target game like Zuma Blitz, the frog shooting game, which is to say that you don't shoot frogs, the frog is the shooter that you aim at colored objects in groups of 3 or more), the balloon-bursting Poppit, Solitaire World Class, Sweet Tooth 2 (a candy-matching game), Turbo 21 (blackjack), and my personal favorite, Word Whomp with its goofy gophers that I first played probably 10 years ago online at the pogo web site. Here they present you with a single jumbled word, and you have 2 minutes to make as many words as you can from it, of 3-letters and up to 6-letters, until time runs out - which is not as easy as it sounds, and has the added distraction of the gophers' animated antics and hilarious sound effects to bring your concentration level down to a whole new low, that you never would have believed possible previously. In just a matter of minutes, it can easily make anyone feel like an illiterate imbecile who not only has no grasp of the English language, but a 3-headed polka dot space alien from some far distant galaxy where they don't have any language to start with. You can play this as many times as you like, because the puzzles don't repeat, but I find that the more times I play, the worse I get at it, as counter-intuitive as that might seem - and a rather disconcerting commentary on my last two poor addled brain cells, I dare say. On the other hand, that's taking into account that the game routinely comes up with some pretty questionable words on its own, that I never would have thought of in a million years, like EFT, ROC, PEEN, MOT, NERO, POSY, OBIS, CALK, ENS, PETIG, ERG, AWN, LAC, KENO, SIM, EMS, SEC and OPE, for example. So for anyone with way too much time on their hands, and feeling overly complacent, please feel free to go right ahead and check it out, and they'll be more than happy to take you down a peg or two. I'd love to join you, but the heralds just showed up to announce a 3-headed polka dot space alien, who said his EFT was out of PEEN, and he needed to MOT some more OBIS in his PETIG, or else the ERG would AWN into the KENO, and the SIM and SEC would LAC out of the OPE, and we all know what that's like, heaven help us. Elle