Fluid Pudding : Page 75 of 123 : It's the old small talk!

I used to have the Demi Moore “Ghost” haircut.

And I’m all, “Whadya MEAN you don’t carry Fresh Take? The store ad says it’s on sale and I have a COUPON!!!”

Yes. That’s where I am right now. The good news? I was able to score the very last Katie’s Pencil Box dress while Jeff was seeing Radiohead in Tampa earlier this week. (He was there on business and sort of fell into the Radiohead show. (Oh, the good life. Full of fun. Seems to be the ideal…))

This week has flown, and I have fig marmalade to thank. Before last Friday, my “List of Experience with Figs” both started and ended with “1. Ate Fig Newtons with Grandpa once.” Ah, but then I received word that my church’s Adventurous Women Out Late (AWOL!) group was gathering at a tapas bar! I put on my glad rags, drove ten miles south, and enjoyed an evening full of flatbread covered in fig marmalade and Gorgonzola cheese. I returned to the restaurant on Tuesday and discovered that fig marmalade and I are capable of much more than a tipsy one night stand. Fig marmalade and I are in this love together, Al Jarreau.

A few weeks back, I listened to The Moth’s Chicago Grand Slam. My favorite story didn’t win. In fact, and I hesitate to admit this, I felt like the Chicago Grand Slam was mostly a waste of my time. (I know! Look at me trying to be all highfalutin while wearing pilled leggings and mismatched socks! If I knew any French phrases, I would type them right now! Poorly!) ((I’m still wearing the boot on my left leg. No one knows that my socks don’t match. Until now.)) (((Speaking of the boot, I saw the ortho guy a few days back. I’m in the boot for another month, AND he wants me to go swimming. (Not with him.) It’s almost like the guy can see into my soul. He knows exactly what to say to piss me off. And I KNOW that “You should go swimming.” wouldn’t piss off the average person, but here I am. Unable to swim, highly self-conscious about being seen in a swimsuit, and pissed off.)))

Back to the Chicago Grand Slam. Peter Sagal, who was the host of the show, shared a quote from Dr. Stephen Weeks at Lewis and Clark College. Dr. Weeks once said, “The best way to live your life is to choose the experience that will have the most anecdotal value.” I love that. Given the fact that in one month I have to return to the ortho guy and tell him about my swimming adventures, you would think that swimming lessons would be the obvious choice for a high anecdotal value life experience.

And that’s why I’m signing up for a pottery class. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Good, The Bad, and The Adorable

The Good News: I’ve been working on a new wrap.

It will eventually look like this. My goal is to make it look like that before October, because the color seems to lend itself well to pumpkin patches and marching band competitions. (I really miss the faded out Levi’s that somehow ended up in my suitcase after a 1990 drum corps show. They were perfectly frayed and worn out into a lovely shade of sky blue, and they’re exactly what I want to wear with this wrap. Wrap. To me, a wrap is a sandwich. This morning I used the term heavy-handed incorrectly. I need to knit less and read more. I fear that I’m no longer getting smarter.)

The Bad News: Argh. There seems to be a lot of bad news lately. My kids have decided that they no longer want to ride the bus. (I realize that doesn’t necessarily qualify as bad news. Stick with me.) The way they approached this new transportation plan with me was really quite mature and admirable (they’re not feeling very safe on the bus lately), so there was no way I could turn them down. Because I’ll now be dropping them off and picking them up, I’ll be losing a little over an hour of my day. And speaking of time, I’m finding that I’m already a bit over-extended these days. I realize that sounds so silly because I’m a freelancer! I (mostly) set my own schedule! BUT, it appears that I’ve bitten off a bit more than I can chew (Those damned cliches. Rattlesnakes, indeed.) and two of my current projects are proving to be more than I can handle, and I absolutely despise admitting defeat, but isn’t admitting defeat early on better than doing a crappy job and then running out of time? Last week I got all confused and I embarrassed myself by asking ridiculous questions when presented with the final chapter of an ongoing freelance project, and because of that I’ve been doing some hardcore evaluating of Everything That Currently Eats At My Time as well as Everything That Currently Eats At My Brain. This morning we received some horrible news about a friend’s family, and that news picked us up by the necks and slapped our faces and all we could really do was go buy some sponges (I had a coupon) and stare off into the distance and not say anything.

I’m afraid I’m not doing very well at a number of things, and it’s a bit of a concern and I believe I need to step back and think about this and figure out where my mind is. (I went to college with the wife of Black Francis.) One of my biggest fears is that I’ll become mundane and unmarketable. I’m starting to smell both of those things, and it’s bumming me out. Normally when I put on my self-doubting hat (every few years), I start singing songs about quitting Fluid Pudding. I now know better than that. (I also know that avocados all smooshed up and mixed with diced apples equals a delicious lunch. The only thing that makes it MORE delicious is making a wrap out of it. Wrap! Look what I’ve done! Full circle. Closure. And, scene.)

Scout’s birthday was last week. We celebrated by buying her a sweater and allowing the groomer to remove all of the matted fur.

She’s not happy. She’s also not allowed in the dishwasher. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Taking it to the mattresses… with wood! (It’s not what you think, Gutterhead.)

After four and a half days of NOT being in school, the kids are now back in school. Like Jeff, the girls allow their bodies to shut down on holiday weekends. It’s almost as if they store up the germs and release them the second they step off of the bus onto the edge of a long weekend. I checked the calendar, and Meredith was sick all through the Presidents’ Day weekend last year. This year she and Harper were both sick. Every time Jeff takes a mini-vacation from work, he ends up sprawled out on the bed listening to me yell things like, “You should call work and TELL THEM TO SWITCH THIS FROM VACATION TO SICK BECAUSE THIS IS *NO* VACATION!!!” (I’m a joy to be around when people are ailing.)

Here I sit with a looming deadline, a butter toffee coffee (that’s what I said) in my hand, and an ear bent toward the door so I can listen for the mattress man. About a week ago, Jeff and I spent an hour walking around a large room filled with beds. We lied down. We stood up and walked to the next bed. We suddenly felt the need to lie down again. The other customers in the store were also lying down and standing up and walking a few steps only to become exhausted once more. I started laughing The Laugh of No Sound and singing the opening theme from Koyaanisqatsi as we all napped, arose, took a few steps, and napped again.

(Meredith eventually killed the joy by asking, “What if someone in this room has lice?” With that, our bed hopping came to a screeching halt.)

In the mattress store, I learned that I enjoy sleeping on a firm bed. A VERY firm bed. Jeff learned to appreciate the adage from that old cross-stitch sampler that states, “If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” We put in our order for an Honorable Firm, and here I sit. Waiting for the delivery. I have a three hour window and a sweet potato in the oven.

Wait a second. I have huge news! Do you remember when we moved into this house (nine years ago) and I said something like, “The house is good, except for the pink carpeting in the family room and hallway. The pink carpeting has to go.” Every six months or so (for the past NINE YEARS) I have harumphed onto the couch and complained that the pink carpeting is so disgusting and I really wish we could DO something about it. (It’s easy for me to sit on the couch and complain about how things need to be done. Don’t get me started.) The pink carpeting has prevented me from inviting people over. The pink carpeting tells me I’m a terrible mother. The pink carpeting does not allow me to lose weight at the rate I desire. The pink carpeting steals socks. The pink carpeting sucks joy. The pink carpeting does not share my political beliefs. The pink carpeting listens to Celine Dion.

For the past nine years (!!!) we have lived not knowing what was under the pink carpeting. We suspected wood, but we also suspected urine or blood stains. (Why else would someone cover wood with pink carpeting?!) On Saturday morning, Jeff went to the hardware store and purchased a few utility knives.

A few minutes later, we saw this:

Wood! AND, it’s not ugly! In fact, it’s lovely! Jeff spent the entire day cutting and ripping and waiting to unveil a huge blood/urine stain, but there was no blood or urine to be found! (If you start your day anticipating an unpleasant discovery of blood/urine and no blood/urine is to be discovered? THAT is a good day. A *crazy* good day! I’m now planning on beginning ALL of my days with the anticipation of unpleasant blood/urine. If it happens, it’s no surprise. If it doesn’t? Hallelujah chorus!)

You might look at this floor and think that it needs refinishing or resomethinging. I look at this floor and suddenly the Ugh! of the past nine years has been lifted! No more Celine Dion! The pounds are rolling off! I’m a good mother who provides complete pairs of socks! I’m a bleeding heart liberal with a wooden floor! (Gasp!)

Nothing but happy songs today at The Pudding House.

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Finishing Touches

The parties? They are over. The first graders hated the dreamcatchers, and that was sort of a bummer because the principal dropped by during the craft portion of their party. In other words, the principal got there just in time to see seventeen first graders on the verge of tears during what is supposed to be a happy-faced celebration of love and candy. (I’m just warming them up for the Love Sucks parties they’ll surely attend in college. Those were the greatest. And the worst.)

From what I hear, all but one of the third graders had a great time at their party. The one in question was a puker. Apparently, he had been sick all day, and the ice cream took him over the edge. I’m now done with parties. I’m done with parties! (Picture me doing a really difficult to watch dance with my hands in the air!)

Speaking of the principal (two paragraphs up), because the school reached (and exceeded) their goal for the Jump Rope for Heart event, the principal allowed the students to tape him to the wall.

(I could never ask permission to publish his photo at Fluid Pudding (imagine the awkward explanations: um, it’s a personal website where I talk about our family but I try not to exploit the girls and I never mention the school by name and sometimes I knit or something), so I daisyfied him. It’s much easier that way.)

You’ll be pleased to know (I tend to assume a lot, don’t I?) that Meredith and Harper were the top fundraising students for the American Heart Association. Thank you so much for your donations. (Confession: If you were to divide their total amount in half, it equaled the amount of the second place student. In other words, I went home feeling a bit weird that it wasn’t announced as a three way tie. (Meredith and Harper looked to be the only sibling team.) I didn’t want to appear all manipulative and scheming, SO I made another quick donation. I know. I’m always swimming in guilt and assumptions. It’s part of my charm? Question mark?) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Six elbow lengths of yarn per catcher of dreams…

Tomorrow is the Valentine’s Day party at school. It is my final party as a double head room parent, and for that, I am ecstatic.

The first graders will be playing Tape the Lips on the Teacher. They’ll be eating ice cream cups with sprinkles, drinking something liquid that I’ll figure out in the morning, and making floral wire heart dreamcatchers. An estimation jar full of M&M’s will be available if time permits.

The third graders will be playing cupid by shooting Q-tips through a straw into a bucket. They’ll be eating ice cream cups and popcorn, drinking Hi-C that an awesome mom dropped off this afternoon, and making floral wire heart dreamcatchers. Estimation jar? Of course.

The girls and I are especially proud of their Valentines.

(Thank God for Pinterest.)

Let’s see. What else? The doctor found a third stress fracture in my leg last week, so I now have crutches that I’m not using because I suck at them. I’ve been told to stay off of my leg, but I haven’t been in a position where I *can* stay off of my leg. In other words, I’m failing Recovery, but doing a really awesome job eating entirely too many Caramel Hershey Kisses. Because of this, I’m actually going to attend a Weight Watchers meeting on Wednesday. “Enough is enough,” say the red rings around my hips that have formed because all of my waistbands are entirely too tight. Enough is enough.

(I had a bone density test today. I undid my pants and watched my bones appear on my technician’s computer monitor. It was magical. Results? Pending.)

Last night I learned that I would rather sleep ON a mattress than IN a mattress. I’m learning so much about myself.

It’s doing this in our back yard right now.

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Dirty Old Men, The Fort Lauderdale Edition

My ortho guy (because I have an ortho guy) has office walls bedecked with signed jerseys. Marshall Faulk is on the wall. Wayne Gretzky is on the wall. Even Kris Humphries is on the wall. I might not recognize all of the names on the shadow-boxed jerseys, but I *am* pretty sure that none of them represent slightly overweight housewives in their 40s. (Oh, man. Did you see that? It was not my intention to get all crankypants in Sentence Five. I was going to wait until at LEAST Sentence Eleven.)

This morning I went to see the ortho guy so we could figure out if I still need the boot on my left foot. I signed in at 9:00. My appointment was at 9:15. I was taken back to an examination room at 9:45. The doctor came in at 10:08.

Doctor: So, what’s going on?

Me: Well, I want to mention just a few things before we figure out if I need the boot any longer. First, blah, blah, blah, my insurance won’t cover a bone density test because the code isn’t covered under the correct umbrella.

Doctor: That’s just silly. Blah, blah, blah, this code, this code, or this code.

Me: Excellent. And another thing, I had blood taken to check my Vitamin D levels, and I’m low, so I’m now taking 50,000 units once a week for a month, and then I’ll go to 2,000 units daily until I die. Parentheses I didn’t know if you cared about that or not End Parentheses. Suddenly, rickets isn’t as funny as it was in elementary school.

Doctor: Okay. Let’s get a look at the leg.

Me: Ouch. Quit it. Ouch. Quit it. Ouch. Quit it. And while you’re poking me, I was wondering how my right leg x-ray looked, because I’m starting to get that weird shooting pain over there, and I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m walking crooked with the boot or not.

Doctor: Let me go out and take a look at the x-ray.

At this point, the doctor left the room, closed the door behind him, and was immediately approached by a wild and crazy and loud-talking colleague.

Colleague: Hey! What are you doing the weekend of March 15th?

Doctor (who was supposedly checking my x-rays and checking my x-rays): I don’t know! Why?

Colleague: Because I’m scheduling a mid-life crisis! We’re going down to Fort Lauderdale! I don’t have anything planned yet. Right now we’re just trying to figure out if we’re taking the spouses or not.

Doctor (still checking my x-rays, I presume): Well, I can answer that for you! Not!!! HA HA HA HA!!!!

Colleague: I’m with you, Bro!

They continued to talk (and possibly high five and/or kiss) for nearly ten minutes. And I thought that was funny because at this point the doctor had spent no more than five minutes talking to me and ten minutes talking to and/or making out with his friend. (I really can’t blame him. I would have much rather been chatting it up with one of my friends than touching the leg of someone who had no intention of offering up some rad game tickets and/or an awesome shot at Spring Break infidelity.) I finished a chapter in my book just in time for him to walk back into the room.

Doctor: No fracture in the right leg. I’m concerned about your left knee, though. Keep wearing the boot for two more weeks, and I’m going to send you downstairs for an MRI. If there’s no fracture, we’ll talk about platelet injections in both your ankle and your knee. I’ll call you and schedule it after I look at the MRI.

He then started to leave the room.

Me: Oh! Wait. While we’re talking about scheduling, who do *I* call to schedule *MY* mid-life crisis?

(Yes! I said that! I rarely have such a short lag time between Leaving the Scene and What I Should Have Said, so I went with it!)

Doctor (appearing a bit embarrassed): Ha! Erm. Yeah! Go ahead and schedule that. I hear Europe is nice this time of year!

Me: Actually, I hear DITCHING the SPOUSE and heading to FORT LAUDERDALE is also pretty tempting! Am I RIGHT?!

Doctor: Nervous laughter. Nervous, nervous laughter. I’ll take a look at the MRI and will call you in a few days.

I left the office feeling Parker Poseyesque plus a little humiliated plus a little rushed, because I had less than an hour to grab a Vanity Fair before my MRI.

The Parker Poseyness has worn off. I’m still feeling slightly humiliated (I’m not sure why), but that’s nothing that bean tostadas can’t fix. Also, I mostly recommend the latest Vanity Fair.

Happy Waitangi Day to my friends in New Zealand. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Our Canine Petty Tyrant

Scout, our Yorkshire Terrier/Shih Tzu daughter, was adopted last May when she was approximately ten weeks old. Scout was adorable and tiny—a lot like Joey’s girlfriend in Season Five of Friends—which was exactly what we were looking for in a puppy. (No. I did not KNOW that Joey’s tiny girlfriend was from Season Five. I looked it up. I was a fan, but with a lowercase f.)

Evidence of Scout’s adorable sass:

A few months after we brought Scout into our house, it occurred to me that the girls were going to return to school soon, and how on earth would I get freelance work done with a cute sassy dog pulling on my shoes? (And my HEART! Because wook at the widdle pahpee!!!)

Anyway. In August, we fell in love with another puppy named Scout, and to avoid confusion we renamed him Henry and paid the fee that enabled us to call him our son/brother.

Henry is a Shih Tzu/Beagle/Brussels Griffon mix. It was estimated that he would top out at twenty pounds, and that was on the edge of Too Big, as we live in a teeny tiny house. (I sometimes have to walk outside just to change my mind! HA HA HA! I’m mostly kidding!) BUT, who could say no to that sweet little face? Not me!!!

Although the first few weeks were spent biting and growling and figuring out who was going to be the boss, it didn’t take long for Scout to realize that she loves her brother.

AND, here we are. Five months later. Scout is now weighing in at a whopping eighteen pounds, and Henry (who I assume is still growing?) weighs 38 pounds! 38 pounds! (Our chat style with Henry has gone from “Who’s a sweet little boy?” to “Henry! Who’s a big boy?! YOU are a BIG BOY!!!”)

Henry has been sleeping in the same crate since the day we got him. It’s entirely too small. Sure, he can duck down and go inside and (barely, just barely) turn around, but I’ve noticed that the nights are growing shorter because he gets uncomfortable all folded up. Also, he spends a LOT of time stretching out when he exits the crate in the morning.

This is becoming a long story, which really wasn’t my intention. Yesterday I was all, “Let me bring you down by singing a song about cancer.” Today? My dogs! Let me tell you about my dogs and what size they are! Oh! It gets better! My kids are participating in the American Heart Association’s Jump Rope For Heart Program. If you want to donate to their personal page, you can go here! They will love you for it! (They tend to not get excited about fundraisers. This one is different. They love this one.)

Back to my story, and let’s pick up the pace! Last week I found a big dog crate online! Free shipping! Thirty dollars off the manufacturer’s suggested retail price! I ordered it for Henry, and it arrived today!

As you can see, Henry was VERY excited about the new crate!

He went in. He came out. He went in again. He came out again. Scout sensed Henry’s excitement and decided to get in on it.

Henry politely asked Scout to cease and desist.

So she killed him.

Seriously. Look at her face!

Jeff’s boss once referred to a particular work situation as a goat rodeo.
I want to have “Goat Rodeo” stenciled on our family room wall. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Cancer and Coding and Sloths and Pizza

As you know, I’m reading a book about cancer cells (and the woman who owned them). These cells have become a bit of an obsession for me—so much that I actually e-mailed my favorite scientist to ask if he has worked with them. (Go back to his website later this week. He’s going to update it! I promise! It’s worth a revisit!) One thing led to another, and he suggested that I queue The Emperor of All Maladies and suddenly I’m reading about cancer on my Nook and I’m reading about cancer on different scientific websites and then I’m reading about cancer on personal blogs and realizing that two people I’ve never met in real life but I feel like I know, along with one person I knew quite a few years back (along with parents of people I know and children of people I know and actual family members of mine) are in or were in different stages of several different types of cancer. And I hate that, because there’s not a whole lot I can do about it, and I like to feel as if I’m In Control.

(I *am* wearing a pink Chuck Taylor Re-Issue today on my right foot (and a pink jacket on my upper half!), but it’s not like I’m actively trying to make people aware of breast cancer. Until right now: Check yourselves, people. And for God’s sake, go get a mammogram. Seriously.)

As Sir said, “It’s important to note that people who don’t get some form of cancer at some point in their lives are the anomalies, not the other way around.”

Also, “Everything is basically conspiring against us, including, unfairly, ourselves. This is because cancer is basically you. It’s your genome that’s mutated, but the 99% of your genes that aren’t mutated are still working normally. It’s that 1% that can be a butt kicker because cancerous mutations often result in molecules that disregulate the cell’s life cycle (cells are supposed to die on a regular basis; cancer cells don’t die). Cancer cells find ways to not die and evolve rapidly to allow it to escape your immune system or chemotherapy or anything else that tries to control it. Perpetually dividing cells aggregate in certain areas and voila! Tumors. Cancer learns and grows and figures things out. It’s like a second grader. ”

It’s like a second grader. The worst possible second grader ever. I remember that kid from when *I* was in second grade. I remember that kid from Meredith’s class last year! I’m already thinking ahead to next year when Harper will be in the second grade. I already have a few names in mind! (I’m terrible. I know.)

Anyway. I’m not sure where I’m going with this other than: Cancer. It’s in my head. Figuratively.

Also in my head? ICD-9 codes. Apparently, my insurance will not cover my bone density test because “827.0 Fracture” is not an approved code. Interestingly enough, “V69.0 Lack of physical exercise” IS approved. If sloth is what I have to go for in order to have 80% of this test covered, then sloth is what it is.

Speaking of sloth, please watch this:

We’re now off to basketball practice, and Jeff returns from San Diego in eight hours.

It’s pizza night. Take care of yourself. Dear Lord. I think this is the most depressing entry I’ve ever put up at Fluid Pudding. Jeff returns from San Diego in eight hours!!! Insert smiley emoticon here with a big sigh of relief over her head! (She’s eating pizza! With raw mushrooms on top!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

With a #2 Pencil to Fill in the Spaces

My Vibe: I’m still sort of cranky, sort of feeling the post-holiday whatevers, but totally excited about the link a friend sent to me on how to make hummus out of sweet potatoes. Stay tuned. Hummus is about to get very interesting at my house.

Turning Pages: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a great choice to fit that First Book of 2012 category. I’m about a third of the way in (I read only at night, and I tend to fall asleep with the spunk of a narcoleptic), but I’m loving it. Quantum mechanically speaking, I really do believe that another me is out there being all scientific with test tubes and discoveries. Meanwhile, the me that you know will continue reading about test tubes and discoveries while choosing the best possible dog treats for puppies with sensitive digestive systems. (You can never go wrong if you remember the following: Anti-Corn! Pro-Salmon!) A friend of mine is finishing up with The Hunger Games. I have a feeling I’ll be diving in very soon.

Although it’s Tiresome, My Left Leg: After studying my MRI, the doctor discovered that I have two stress fractures and a banged up peroneal tendon that may be a candidate for a platelet injection. By the way, peroneal and perineal are two very different things, and this particular doctor wants nothing to do with matters of my perineum. Onward! I will most likely be sporting the boot for more than two weeks. This simply means that I have an immediate need for a few more pairs of cheap leggings.

Enough about my leg already. I’m drinking hot apple cider right now. Did you know that? Also, if you’re keeping track of my K-Cup situation, please know that Breakfast Blend has been eliminated from Meredith’s organizational pyramid strategy known as Last K-Cup Standing.

Football: (What? What?!) We’ve been invited to a Super Bowl party. The last Super Bowl party to which we were invited occurred nine years ago. That party was held at a ridiculously swanky loft in the city, and because I was the only person in attendance who was 1. Over 30, and 2. Pregnant, I immediately felt awkward and crabby. After sitting on a stool nervously shoveling large amounts of fancy bean dip into my face and watching a few people actually toying with the idea of DANCING (at a SUPER BOWL PARTY), my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I quickly found Jeff and asked him to take me home. He did. He then returned to the party, and I sat on our couch drinking decaf hot tea and reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and NOT watching the football game and NOT dancing. And everyone was happy.

What I Had For Lunch: Rice with grilled mango, pineapple, and mushrooms.

Thank you for all of your comments and e-mails. I’ve been terrible lately with responding to messages. Let’s start fresh right now, shall we? (I currently have 959 messages in my Inbox. I haven’t touched 42 of them. Have you ever just deleted everything? How does that feel?) Sweet potato hummus! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Der Stiefel!

Yesterday morning I drove about ten miles south to meet a sports medicine orthopedic guy about my ankle.

He took an x-ray of both legs (posterior tibial stress fracture in the left, nothing in the right!) and an MRI of my left ankle (results pending!). He also told me that I might need to think about cross-training as I work toward the 5K gig.

Me: Does that have anything to do with swimming? Because I can’t swim.

Doctor: No. I’m talking about the treadmill and perhaps a stationary bike.

Me: Would you like me to ride a horse? I’ve never ridden one!

Doctor: No horses.

Me: How about snowboarding?!

Doctor: The MRI technician said she can work you in right now. You’ll need to go downstairs to check in.

Me: Shall I contact the United States Curling Association for membership information?

Doctor: Here. Wear this for two weeks.

Apparently, stress fractures are fairly common for those who begin moving after spending years enjoying what was mostly a sedentary lifestyle. (No worries. The doctor is convinced that I’ll be able to run again before the end of March.) Thus it is, and so it goes.