Michigan…[the one lane] Superhighway

I have a theory about orange barrels that I have described before, but it is spring in Michigan…and it bears updating.

As sure as the Daffodils and Tulips peak up to bud in the spring, the orange barrels of Michigan blossom on the roadside and choke traffic to a daily grind for the entire growing season. Yes, these large orange obstacles appear every year without fail.

Having lived in this area for many years and seeing construction crews in the same places EVERY year, I have come up with a theory. The orange barrels are not put in place by the construction crews but rather they [the barrels] are mutant plants that bloom in spring and thrive on asphalt and concrete! From late March until late October (longer than the corn growing season) these plants thrive. The Michigan Department of Transportation seizes the opportunity by thinking “Well…they are blocking the roads anyway, so let’s do road work near them.” Construction becomes a bi-product of the large wild orange barrels growing unattended on the roads. The maintenance crews on the highway can be seen trimming brush and cutting grass all summer long…but they NEVER touch the orange barrels??? This leads me to believe that these strange mutant plants are poisonous as well.

Michigan has an “Adopt a Highway” program. It has never been clear to me what this is and I can’t help but as k the question at what age is it appropriate to tell a highway it has been adopted. None the less, the better idea would be to establish an “Adopt the orange barrel” program. Obviously because these plants seem to be poisonous, one would have to be careful but if half of the people stuck in traffic on a daily basis adopted a barrel AND took it home…our roads would be clear in a matter of days.

As an endnote, I have another observation about Michigan and the plight of the orange barrel epidemic. Texting while driving is idiotic, and the only people who would argue that will likely text me with a rebuttal to this post…just before they rear-end the car in front of them. HOWEVER! Michigan, or at least the urban areas will never adopt a ban on texting while driving especially between 7&9 AM, and 3&6PM because if you are commuting in urban Michigan during those times, odds are you are not moving anyway…because the orange barrels have taken over the road and therefore texting is a safe way to pass time while you make your 5 mile, 2.5 hour trek home.

As an End-Endnote...I truly hope you see the irony in the "Motor City" having transportation crippled by mutant oganisms more than any other major city in the US??? Go Figure.

I’m just saying.

Sports Anyone?

I was asked by a dear friend [who mostly wanted to get me in trouble] to compare the sport of Curling with Bowling. He posed this challenge deliberately because of my absence of interest in sports, but also because of my Canadian background. I have to be careful because I am already a black sheep among my Canadian family so I had to think about it for a while.

I decided that the safest way to play this was from the perspective of ignorance which is easy for me as I have no interest [or real knowledge] of sports in general. So I will objectively look at the sports and compare them [and other sports] at face value. Easy enough…but I can’t help myself…here goes.

I looked up some statistics about the respective sports and surprisingly there was way more information available about bowling than curling. I think part of that has to do with in the construct of social government curling is a secret requirement of the Canadian government and therefore statistics are classified. With recent events in US government and the outcries of “right” minded peoples accusing us of heading toward socialism…bowling could become a classified statistic as well.

Curling at face value is an odd abstract between bowling, darts, shuffle board…and house cleaning. Curling is a team sport. There is the lead who slides the stone [a granite stone weighing approximately 44 lbs.], the second, third and “skip”. The lead slides the stone on an ice lane to the target. The other members have brooms (thus the house cleaning analogy) to adjust the ice surface to speed up, slow down or change the direction of the stone. Based on where all of the stones land in the target area each team accumulates points and the most points win. Simple? Sure! The caveat is that curling is a popular Canadian sport played on ice…surprise! As an aside, I am guessing that the folks who use the brooms (the second and third) can sweep out a garage in no time flat!?!

Bowling on the other hand regardless of its origin is purely American. The population of registered bowlers in the state of Ohio alone equals 10% of the total population of All of Canada. It too is an odd sport, but again purely American. One takes a large round object; rolls it at other objects with the goal being to simply knock stuff over. I can’t help but think that bowling is a metaphor for so many things in our society. “When all else fails…knock it down”.

I played on a bowling league many years ago…and let me remind you I couldn’t care less about sports. I was asked by a friend to join his team because “We need a lousy player to keep our team average down, so we can kill in the playoffs." Glad to oblige…I was a lousy bowler. The team came in second place that season and we got a trophy. When it came to individual accomplishments like high game, high series, high average, etc. I got a plaque for “perfect attendance”. I still have it. To this day I believe that if I had two people with brooms guiding my ball down the alley, I would have done MUCH better.

 To take the whole sports comparison thing further…let’s look at golf. The first time I ever played golf on a real course was at a country club in rural Ontario. When you think of “Country Clubs”, you think Oakland Hills, Augusta, Pebble Beach, etc. No…this was in rural Ontario. The vision of pristine courses surrounded by upscale homes or pristine vistas of the ocean side coast…no…this course was flanked on three sides by corn fields! Talk about your deep rough! I will say that I played golf for another 15 years after that day, but put my clubs away 6 years ago for reasons I’ll explain another time and haven’t even dusted them off since then.

 You have to imagine the game of golf in a remote rural area of Canada. There was livestock grazing on every fairway, on the ninth tee, you had to traverse a grain silo to get to the fairway, and there were goalies on every green guarding the cup…okay, I lied.

I had NO experience with golf other than a single trip to a driving range with my cousin, and Putt-Putt as a teenager. My cousin arranged a foursome for a round of golf that included me?!? When we arrived at the club, Ken introduced me to his two friends. One of them said, “Nice to meet you…what’s your handicap?” I looked puzzled and responded “Pardon me?” He repeated, “Golf! What’s your handicap?” I replied”Oh…golf…me…I’m my handicap!”

We teed off at the first hole. I was last which was probably a good idea. I stood at the tee, remembering all the crap my cousin told me to remember before I struck the ball. Shoulders square, eyes on the ball, relaxed grip, left elbow straight, rotate on your left foot…pick up a gallon of milk on the way home, hit the ball! I teed off. I shanked the ball which went airborne at a 90 degree angle from me landing on the 18th (yes 18th) green about 2 feet from the hole. I looked at the ground, my tee, my club, my cousin and then the ball sitting 2 feet from the 18th cup. What the heck! I grabbed my putter, walked over to the 18th green and tapped my ball in. I looked up and called to my cousin, and I knew I didn't want to go through that 17 more times that day. I said, “I’ll drive the cart…you golf!” When we got back to the clubhouse several hours later, there was a blackboard posting the day’s scores. My cousin walked up to the board and posted my score as a new course record at “70 under par”.

And lastly, let’s take a look at football. US football…4 downs, 100 yards…Canadian football, 3 downs, 105 yards? I think that Canada’s conversion to the metric system screwed up their game! In either case, I also think it would be far more interesting if in either country football were played on ice :).

As an endnote, curling, bowling and golf all originated in Scotland...along with looting and pillaging...which are no longer sanctioned sports.


I’m just saying!

Remembrance…

Spring is a bittersweet season for me. It is a season when Mariann would herself blossom with excitement at the prospect of getting into the garden and creating the new season’s masterpiece. Her gardens were showplaces of beauty and love. I was always so proud of her and of her work but especially when strangers would invite themselves into our yard just to gaze at what she had created. For Mariann’s part, they were always welcome and it inspired her to do more each season. It is a bittersweet season indeed and I want to post some poetry to remember Marrian and her beautiful work.



The first poem was written one month after Marrian’s passing.


Garden Song
Only just now

have I taken the time to sit outside

on an uncommonly cool night

to take in the breeze

and listen to the orchestra of crickets
filling the air with cheerful cadence

I can see the garden

the plants take on an iridescence

in the moonlight

I can count the flowers

I miss the gardener

the crickets sing on

This next piece came from the deep place in a soul where reality and acceptance come to light. I understood how to remember Mariann and let go as well.


WHEN LIFE LETS GO
In the darkness of night
as the moon travels bright, against the sky
we cast off what we cannot stand
reminding ourselves of what we can
all things that are like diamonds
shining brightly in our hands

I drag my thoughts around
like a flat wheeled wagon on the ground,
and the spirit takes it in
her eyes speak of heart breaks
and double takes, and hours on the road
in driving rain

The willows are dancing in the wind
to a sad and lilting song, and
wishing to hear other voices
in other rooms
telling us of life come and gone
dream and dream on

The spirit takes it in

calm, a place set within

her smile is advice, a space as light as air

a whisp, a breeze, senses to compare

warm and inviting

blowing by to show us, what we can feel

A stroll down to the garden

brings vignetted views of memories present

the hollyhocks and shastas

form her face in careful labor

bringing life

and life lets go, autumn fare

I hurt less for the loss
than for the absence
and even foot prints leave shadows
a space filled with emptiness
when life lets go
love hangs on

Golden Finches is a short piece, in the moment and after spending time tending Mariann;s garden.

Golden Finches

Golden Finches flocking
disguised among the lavender and balm
feasting upon seeds to replant
in flight and transient

Notice now the new flowers
or stretch to see the birds
in migratory flight
lives changed, displaced
roots reborn
renewed with excitement


Please enjoy.

I happen to LOVE this Editorial!

I don't like to be political on this blog, but I saw this posted on Bren Tierney's Blog "Cosmic Naval Lint" and I believe it is a brilliant editorial, and I thank Bren for posting it.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Does This State of Denial Make Me Look Fat?

Lindsay Lohan is suing an online stock trading company for 100 MILLION dollars because they portrayed her in a disparaging way apparently as a promiscuous milk addicted toddler. Now, I must admit that I know about Lindsay because of this story and the unavoidable tabloid accounts of her previous bad behavior. I cannot remember a single show or movie that she has been in. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a book of work…I just don’t have a clue what it is. In fairness to Lindsay I did a little background to substantiate her claim. As far as I can tell, none of her arrests and/or problems had anything to do with her wearing diapers, spending the night with a seemingly type-A infant day trader, or having a lactose dependency.

A man on the west coast (where else?) was suing the manufacturer of deodorant because as he claimed…when he started using the deodorant, it made him become a sex addict. The story did not elaborate whether it was through absorption or sensory reaction. The caveat to this story after research was that this gentleman is not shall we say…attractive. I must be careful here because if the all-star stud team were being picked, I would be the water boy, but this fellow was not pretty and by his own admission had poor social skills. The suit was compounded by the fact that because he couldn’t attract women to satisfy his addition he developed carpal tunnel syndrome from pleasuring himself in private…yuk! To my way of thinking, the settlement would have been…if in fact the deodorant made people sex addicts, that he be given a lifetime supply to hand out as gifts to the women he wished…to conquer…and perhaps some Dale Carnage classes.

My son owns a bar in Chicago. He has done a very good job of building the business, hosting events and growing a loyal following. In a conversation with him tonight, asking him how things were going…he lit up! “Geeze Dad, I can’t believe it. I spend as much time being a therapist to the staff as I do running the Dang bar!” At age 27, Justin (with only a couple of exceptions) is the junior among his staff by 15 years. “I get calls, emails, and texts all hours of the night and day over things that seem like 4 year olds arguing in the back seat on a long trip. ‘Dad…Joe’s looking at me! Dad…Mary touched my stuff!’. I’m supposed to go on a vacation this week.” We talked for a while and Justin, whom I love dearly and I know, will think it through said, “I had a conference call with all of them and said ‘Do not call me, do not text me, do not email me! If you have a problem, Google Dr. Phil and book and appearance on his show. If the bar is on fire make me the third call AFTER the fire department and the insurance company!” My son will take his vacation to a warm beach in Jamaica, and he will likely make the first call to see how things are going.

As a husband I know that on occasion you will be asked questions that there is no possible right answer for. Try as you might…it won’t happen. Mariann was a small person. She was 5”4” tall and at her heaviest could swim in a size 4. That didn’t stop her from asking me from time to time “Does this dress make me look fat?”. I hated that question! Finally in self defense when confronted with having to answer that question again I replied “Honey…does my ass make these jeans look small?”

I’m just saying

Don’t Laugh! Well Okay…Go Ahead. My Relationship with Murphy’s Law

I have been a klutz all of my life. If flailing and prat falling were sports, I would have conquered Vancouver! The axiom “It’s like riding a bicycle” brings nightmarish memories to mind. My first bicycle had training wheels on front and back tires, and I had a roll bar. My parents would call the neighbors when I went out for a ride begging them to take the small children inside…both for their own safety and to spare them witnessing a traumatic event. The odd thing is that I have been an artist and a woodworker all of my life and I have never injured myself (seriously) in those pursuits. Perhaps I am a klutz-savant…hmmmm.

It started out as an annoying itch. That itch in your nose that you can’t get rid of, and causes sneezing fits occasionally that eventually make your nostrils raw, your eyes water, and your face to turn red. It became a cold. No problem, it seemed mild. Give it three days and we’re all set.

In the past twenty years I have only taken 2 sick days. On day 5 of the cold, I had no choice but to take the day off (day 2 in twenty years) because I could not think straight or sit upright for more than 5 minutes. I figured if I got lots of sleep and plenty of liquids; tea and juice I’d be fine in the morning. On day seven I developed laryngitis, and the coughing started hurting my ribs.

I went to the medicine cabinet and found 4 boxes of bandages [there is a good explanation], an eye patch [trust me], 2 tubes of Zinc ointment, a bottle of aspirin that had expired two years ago, and a small bottle of travel shampoo and a pack of used shaving blades [strategically left behind to remind me to buy more] …not helpful. The CVS [drug store] was open late and I really needed to get something to minimize the symptoms. I don’t take medication except as a last resort…I had to go. I pulled on a frayed sweatshirt with my t-shirt hanging out under it, nylon sweat pants, a fleece overcoat that had an elbow missing; I pulled my boots over my pant legs and wore an old baseball cap. It had been snowing pretty hard all day and the roads were pretty gooey, but the drug store was just a mile away, and I needed to go. The only thing that was missing to complete the fashion ensemble I chose was me pushing a shopping cart containing all of my worldly possessions. I wasn't auditioning for Runway for goodness sakes, I was shopping for cold remedies.

Because I couldn’t talk I made a list of all of the symptoms and the question “What do I take for this?” I arrived at the drug store, stuffed up and obviously [to everyone but me] a bit of a mess. I didn’t notice right away, but eventually I saw that other people in the store moved away from me as I walked down the aisles looking for relief. Eventually I wound up at the pharmacy counter to beg for help. I had my hands in my coat pockets and grabbed the note to hand to the pharmacist. All he saw was a very scary man with his hands in his pockets handing over a note. Security showed up and surrounded me saying “Step away from the counter sir!” I pointed at the note and my throat…and put my hands in the air.

Well, we got that sorted out and they [pretty much every employee at the drug store] asked me to either dress up a bit or send someone else to get medication…okay…geeze?!? I averted being arrested for poor wardrobe taste and apparently being generally scary and headed for home. It was dark and all of the lights were off in the house. All I wanted to do was take some medication, get to bed and get some sleep. The first thing I found out in a house that I have lived in for 20 years…on my way to the bathroom to take meds was…the shin is a device for finding furniture in the dark. Oh yes…I got an egg on my shin bumping into a coffee table—overshooting the bathroom.

I took the meds, got undressed and crawled into bed. My 2 dogs were in bed with me. I had barley fallen into a dozing state when the “boys” decided they needed to go out. In a mild stooper I got up to put on my slippers and fell against the headboard of the bed which sent me falling to the carpeting which found me face down and kneeling…head buried in the carpet. I blacked out for a second. When I came to my forehead felt cold and wet. I wiped it and went to the bathroom only to discover a very large [bleeding] rug burn on my forehead. It looked like a very big red eyebrow. I had to laugh. I have 4 packages of bandages and 2 tubes of zinc ointment…ha, ha, I am prepared! I let the boys out and got back to bed.

Day 14 I still had a raspy voice but I was feeling better. Not one to stay down and not one to waste time with anything I could accomplish in fewer steps, I was doing laundry and decided I could get 2 loads up the stairs at once. At the 3rd step from the top I sneezed so hard it made me dizzy. I lost my balance and fell backwards down the steps, laundry falling everywhere. As I lay at the bottom of the stairs with linens, underwear and t-shirts covering me…I thought “I should go see Dr. S” I had a bruise from my right arm pit to my waist that strangly resembled a sillouette of Winston Churchill?!?

Day 15 I showed up at my Dr.’s office. I explained what had transpired and he examined me. I love my Dr. He is a good person and knows me well. He responded “You have a bronchial infection and I am going to prescribe a couple of things to help. Are you crazy? You should see me sooner!” I replied, “Stick to the diagnosis, I’m not going to pay you for editorial I can get for free from my mother!”

Day 30 I am feeling better and I will live to fight another day. What I have learned is that a combination of being stubborn, being a klutz, and being sick can create the “perfect storm ”for Murphy’s Law to wreak havoc on otherwise normal daily life.

Do as I say…not as I do!

I’m just saying.

A Son is Born

I was asked recently to write about a memorable experience in my teen years. I have foggy memories of my teen years for a variety of reasons, but I do have profound and fond memories of other times in my life…not the least of which is the birth of my son Justin. I remember it today, as though it just happened and it was truly a life altering experience. Justin’s mother decided early on that this was going to be a drug-free natural childbirth and we went to Lamaze classes and practiced all of the techniques faithfully and regularly. I was a professional product photographer at the time and knew I was going to document in every detail, the birth of my child.

It was a Monday morning. The sunrise streamed shallow across the living room to the kitchen table where I sat soaking in the morning sun and the front page of the daily news before jumping into the daily routine of getting ready for work.

There I was, minding my own business and Justin’s mother came out of the bathroom standing at my feet. Her look was pensive and a bit dazed. “My water broke!”

I heard “water” and I heard “break”…no association. I thought “Oh crap, I don’t have time to fix plumbing this morning!”. Deep in that thought I did not respond to Justin’s mother. She repeated “My WATER BROKE!” It registered. I thought” Oh crap…call the hospital, call the Doctor, call work, pack the car…no wait…load film in the camera, get my close-up lenses, check the batteries in my flashes…no wait, call the hospital, call the Doctor…don’t forget the light meter…” What I said was, “I’ll pack the car, you call the Doctor, and we’ll get out of here…how are you?” Distilled, her answer essentially was that she was in a hurry to get to the hospital.

Under normal conditions the trip to the hospital was a 35 minute drive. With the encouragement of painful cries from the passenger side, it took 18 minutes. There was a sense of urgency by everyone except the hospital administrator who checked her in…funny thing, painful screams in a hospital lobby can expedite things. We wound up in a staging room where a Doctor examined Justin’s mother and said “You are not dilated enough…it will be a while…get up and walk it off.”

We walked the halls of the ward for several hours and stopped in for updates occasionally. I could not relate to the pain that she must be experiencing, and had my own idea of what it felt like…wrong. A good friend of mine who was about to give birth to number 3 put it into perspective for me years later. I teased her that I had a high pain tolerance, and could take childbirth. She replied “Okay, push an 8 pound ham out of your butt, and then we can talk about pain together.” I have been humble ever since…and I really don’t like ham.

Well, time came to head for the delivery room. I got dressed in scrubs and loaded film in my camera, checked lighting, took meter readings and I was all set. When I showed up in the delivery room equipped with 2 flashes and a very large camera, the Doctor commented “I’ll give you a boy for that camera.” I replied,”You’ll give me a boy…or you won’t get paid!”

I captured every moment of Justin’s birth on film…the negatives are securely in the hands of his mother, and will never see the light of day again. The first push, his head popping out, birth, cutting the cord, cleaning him off and getting Justin ready for the birthing ward, it’s all on film.

I did take time between photos to coach Justin’s mother on breathing, staying calm and concentrating and she did a phenomenal job!

I was SO geeked when it was all over that I walked out into the hall of the maternity ward with my camera and yelled “OKAY, WHO’S NEXT?”

It was truly an amazing experience!

My parents came to the hospital for the birth. My father and I were talking in the hallway when an aid brought Justin by in his cart, headed for the nursery. She [the aid] stopped to let us have a look, and Justin barely 4 hours old lifted his head to have a look around. We both looked on in amazement, and my father looked at me and said “You’re going to have your hands full!”

Justin is grown now and an entrepreneur living in Chicago. An amazing young man with an amazing beginning. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

I’m just saying.

Those Were the Days...

On April 26, 2010 my niece BA will turn 18. BA is a bright, talented young woman who is wiser then her years. She posed the question (in light of her landmark birthday) “What is the most memorable event in your teen years?” I was a very busy and complex teenager (screwed up and deep in studies)…and although I do have some fond memories, they were strange non the less. I only wish better memories and more fun to teenagers everywhere. BA…this post may not be exactly what you are looking for, but enjoy it just the same.

I was a teenager in the 1960’s…nuff said. Paul Kantner once said, “If you remember the 60s, you probably weren’t there.” As many others my age, I was a product of the times. The war in Vietnam had escalated to unimaginable levels and public opinion was squarely against it. Youth across the nation took the brunt of political abuse and were chastized for protesting and not knowing our proper place.

I didn’t hang out with anyone in High School. Perhaps it sounds snobby (too bad), but I found their interests short sighted and boring. The crowd I hung out with was between 5 and 15 years older than me. This made my parents VERY nervous. I didn’t care. The people I hung out with were smart, established and I learned a great deal from them.

One summer day, my friends told me that they were going to a peaceful sit-in at the University of Michigan campus, and they wanted me to go with them. I said, “Cool…sure!” When we arrived, there were thousands of people of all ages and walks of life gathered to protest the war. It was an amazing event. People gathered for a common cause, talking, visiting, and generally sitting in solidarity against a very unpopular situation.

What I did not see was violence, yelling, rhetorical blathering, or vandalism. I am sure that there were a percentage of the participants who were there for drugs, alcohol, or just getting laid, but I didn’t see it. We spent the day on campus without incident and I hitched a ride home.

Here’s the rub…

I was supposed to be back by 10PM, but arrived a few minutes after 11. My father was waiting at the door and let’s just say…he wasn’t happy.

Dad: “Where were you?!”

Me: “Out with friends.”

“What were you doing?”

“Well…uh…just sitting around talking all day.”

“You’re supposed to be home by 10! You’re GROUNDED!”

“What? Come on Dad! Okay Dad, listen. The truth is I was in Ann Arbor protesting Vietnam.”

"What does that have to do with your curfew? You’re grounded. One week…school, home, homework…that's all you get. ONE WEEK. Why didn’t you call?”.

“I didn’t have money for a call!” (No cell phones back then).

“What if you had been arrested?”

Bad timing…”I would have gotten 1 free phone call…I promise it would have been to you?!?”

Dad: “YOU”RE GROUNDED!!!”

I will say that during the next 3 years I participated in several protests in many places across the country and although I was never arrested for protesting, I did have the dubious honor of having been grounded…yes grounded for protesting a war.

I’m just saying.

So…Who Really Won the Olympics?

I don’t really like to editorialize…it’s not the purpose of this blog…but…

Who won the Olympics?
1. Canada! For hosting a great event in a beautiful setting and being gracious to all.
2. Canada for stepping up when the weather didn’t cooperate
3. Canada for stepping up when the weather over-cooperated
4. Canada for winning the most Gold Medals
5. Canada for winning the hockey finals!
6. Canada for being humble and grateful for the opportunity
7. Canada for understanding that this was an international event and all involved deserved credit for its success
8. Every single person who helped create, run, manage and participate in a global event that was timely and memorable

Who Lost the Olympics – Georgia in the loss of a promising athlete before the games began and NBC Broadcast for a bias, boring and shameful broadcast of an international event that they narcissistically claimed dominant glory over for the US…Shame on You!

Facts:

1. The US tied for third with Norway in Gold medals after Canada and Germany. The US did come in second and third more than any other nation, but truth be told, nowhere but the Olympics would second and third even be remembered much less rewarded. Who lost (second place) the World Series in 1929…for that matter who won it?
2. Canada won the most Gold with 14 medals
3. Canada won the gold in HOCKEY…as they should…they invented the damn sport for crying out loud.
4. In the NHL, Canada comprises 51% of the players in the sport…which has 30 teams in 25 states or provinces in North America. The US comprises 16% of the NHL playing population.
5. The two founding members of the NHL (as a professional hockey organization) are Montreal and Toronto (Charter members in 1917)
6. Detroit was next in 1921, Boston in 1924, New York (Rangers) in 1925 and finally Chicago in 1926.

The truth is that the Olympics are an international event and although we should feel national pride for our victories, we should also consider that every athlete who participates is among the best in the world and even if they come in dead last, they are still among the best in the world.

I listened to the pathetic US broadcast of events where in one case – a shoe in for gold wiped out, and the shoe-in for silver came in 16th and yet, we listened to interviews with them and didn’t find out the winners (gold, silver or bronze) until the next day…shameful!

To me, the Olympics is not about the US dominating (Thank you NBC for the misguided accolades) but more about the world coming together in friendly competition and showing off the best of what we have to offer, and sharing the joy and celebration of the event as a whole.

Thanks for the idea Vince!

I’m just saying!