matt.

I'm sharing 20 memories in honor of living in my house for 20 years. Here is #7. 

I was chatting with my neighbor Kipp last night about recounting the memories of the last twenty years in the house. I was telling him that I was feeling sad thinking about friends and relatives that have died and disappointed in myself that I haven't done more to the house or in life or whatever. He pointed out that I'm "feeling all of the feels." 

Part of the issue is that I'm not an introspective person by nature. I seem to have a decent ability to keep moving along. I wake up each day in a good mood no matter how I was feeling when I went to bed (or cried myself to sleep or whatever the case may be). 

If you've ever taken the StrenghsFinder assessment you won't be surprised to learn that my #1 strength is Positivity. Being positive all of the time is mostly a great thing. I don't spend a lot of time worrying about what might go wrong. 

Being constantly positive also has it drawbacks. I'm never sure when to let anything go, whether it be a relationship, job, lawn mower - I just know that I can make it right! It also means that I tend to remember the pleasant events more than the sad ones. 

Tonight, I'm going to share my memories of Matt Elliott. He's been in my mind a lot lately. His birthday and the five year anniversary of this death were last month. And his beloved Cubs won the World Series this week! 

I first meet Matt when we were both selling beer for a craft beer distributor twenty years ago. I soon realized that Matt was everywhere. At various times since we'd met, we'd played poker together, worked across the street from each other, sat next to each other at boxing matches, attended the same concers and tended for each other’s cats.

We took turns being across from each other at various counters and bars– sometimes me waiting on Matt, sometimes Matt waiting on me – sometimes both in the same day. Most fun were the times we were sitting on the same side of the bar. Those meetings typically weren’t planned, but you always knew that Matt was good for excellent conversation and that you were sure to have at least one belly laugh and leave with a bunch of random Indianatastic facts. If the conversation involved meat or chocolate or newspapers or books or beer, all the more better.

Matt was delightfully curmudgeonly. He was well-versed in the things that caught his fancy and opinionated in things that I didn't know you could have an opinion about. If he dug his heels in the ground, there was no budging him. I finally gave up in asking him to have decaf coffee brewed in the morning at the Newsstand Café. He didn’t let differing opinions get in the way of a good conversation or friendship. In the middle of a debate, he’d throw in a charming wink.

Matt was one of those ‘all in’ guys. He didn’t do anything halfway. We swapped cat feeding chores over the years. I would dutifully feed his cat, fetch the mail and turn on lights while he was out of town and hightail it out of his house to the next thing. 

Matt would camp out at my house while I was out of town; keeping my Felix company, enjoying sleeping on my ancient sofa, exploring my stacks of books, and the adventure of living a few blocks away for the week.

For years we worked across the street from each other at 52nd Street and College Avenue. Atlas Food Market was on the same corner. After the fixtures and contents of the Market were auctioned off, Matt realized that they hadn’t sold the wooden sign from the alley side of the building. Matt plotted rescuing the sign for months, but he felt the time was never quite right – which drove me nuts. Matt was deliberate and thoughtful about projects, a right–tool-for-the-right-job type of guy. I’m a dive in and pound-nails-in-the-wall-with-the-heels-of-my-cowboy-boots sort of woman. 

One evening, after yet another conversation about the sign, I excused myself, drove around the corner, parked next to the building, hopped in the back of my truck, and crowbar’ed the sign down. Ten minutes later I returned to report that the sign was ready to deliver to his house. It is now on the wall of Twenty Tap, across the street from where Atlas used to sit. 

Matt always dressed for the occasion, typically in a suit. This photo is from my 50th birthday party, Matt is in the middle, Chad Mills on the left and John Newton on the right - more great friends I've made since I moved into Chez Pez.

Matt was always among the last to leave my St. Valentine's Day parties. He was great at keeping the conversation going and people entertained. Throughout the years he helped push Tammy's Jeep out of the snow, hauled beer off my porch into the bathtub so it wouldn't freeze, and was all around helpful. 

Matt was a charming escort. And not just because he owned a tuxedo. I dragged him to various fancy fundraisers over the years and he could always make me feel comfortable. I tended to wig out over those events – and convince myself that I don’t belong and I’m not wearing the right dress – you get the picture. By the time Matt and I figured out who’s vehicle could actually hold a passenger (we’re both notorious messy car folks), who’s car was mechanically sound enough to get us downtown, and if we had enough cash to park the car and tip the bartender, I was a mess.   

My very favorite Matt memory comes from one of those nights. I was feeling especially tense. I’d already spent $300 on tickets, purchased a fancy dress, and was missing my Red Key shift so I wasn't making money. I was feeling particularly poor and out of place. 

There was wine on the tables, but I’m not a wine drinker – wine tends to make my face red and my mood morose – not something you want when you’re already feeling weird and out of place. Matt excused himself, walked to the bar across the street and sauntered back to the gala with a glass of my favorite whiskey. A man at the table remarked, “Wow, he must really love you.”

Matt really loved all of his friends and would go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and had exactly what they needed. Except for decaf coffee, maybe.

I did love and admire Matt. After spending time with him my heart always felt full -- from the gratitude of living in a community that allows you to meet folks like Matt, and the joy of making strong grown-up friendships.  

You are missed my friend. 

matt elliott

Matt Elliott at my 50th birthday party, May 15, 2011

Matt was happy.

Matt was at a happy point in his life, doing what he loved in the neighborhood he loved.

I’m taking great comfort in that.

Matt Elliott died on October 27.

Matt was one of those people that I knew would always be part of my life. Who knows where our individual lives would have led, but I knew without a doubt that Matt would be around.

I first meet Matt when we were selling beer for a little craft beer distributor and I soon realized that Matt was everywhere. At various times over the last sixteen years we’ve played poker together, worked across the street from each other, sat next to each other at boxing matches, attended the same shows and tended for each other’s cats.

We took turns being across from each other at various counters and bars– sometimes me waiting on Matt, sometimes Matt waiting on me – sometimes both in the same day. Most fun were the times we were sitting on the same side of the bar. Those meetings typically weren’t planned, but you always knew that Matt was good for excellent conversation and that you were sure to have at least one belly laugh and leave with a bunch of random Indiana-centric facts. If the conversation involved meat or chocolate or newspapers or books or beer, all the more better.

Matt was delightfully curmudgeonly. He was well-versed in the things that caught his fancy and opinionated in almost everything. If he dug his heels in the ground, there was no budging him. I finally gave up in asking him to have decaf coffee brewed in the morning at the Newsstand Café. But he didn’t let differing opinions get in the way of a good conversation or friendship. In the middle of a debate, he’d throw in a charming wink.

Matt was one of those ‘all in’ guys. He didn’t do anything halfway. We swapped cat feeding duties at various times over the years. I would dutifully feed his cat, fetch the mail and turn on lights while he was out of town. Matt would camp out at my house while I was out of town; keeping my Felix company, enjoying sleeping on my ancient sofa, exploring my stacks of books, and the adventure of living a few blocks away for the week.

For years we worked across the street from each other and the Atlas Food Market was on the same corner. After the fixtures and contents of the Market were auctioned off, Matt realized that they hadn’t sold the wooden sign from the alley side of the building. Matt plotted rescuing the sign for months, but he felt the time was never quite right – which drove me nuts. Matt was deliberate and thoughtful about projects, a right–tool-for-the-right-job sort of guy. I’m a dive in and pound-nails-in-the-wall-with-the-heels-of-my-cowboy-boots sort of woman. One evening, after yet another conversation about the sign, I excused myself, drove around the corner, parked next to the building, hopped in the back of my truck, and crowbar’ed the sign down. Ten minutes later I returned to report that the sign was ready to deliver to his house. It is now on the wall of Twenty Tap, across the street from where Atlas used to sit. 

Matt was a charming escort. And not just because he owned a tuxedo. I drug him to various fancy fundraisers over the years and he could always make me feel comfortable. I tend to wig out over those things – and convince myself that I don’t belong and I’m not wearing the right thing – you get the picture. By the time Matt and I figured out who’s vehicle could actually hold a passenger (we’re both notorious messy car folks), who’s car was mechanically sound enough to get us downtown, and if we had enough cash to park the car and tip the bartender, I was a mess.   

My very favorite Matt memory comes from one of those nights. I was feeling especially tense. I’d already spent $300 on tickets, purchased a fancy dress, and was missing my Red Key shift. I was feeling particularly poor and out of place. There was wine on the tables, but I’m not a wine drinker – wine tends to make my face red and my mood morose – not something you want when you’re already feeling weird. Matt excused himself, found a bar across the street and walked back into the gala with a glass of my favorite whiskey. A man at the table remarked, “Wow, he must really love you.”

Matt really loved all of his friends and would go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and had exactly what they needed. Except for decaf coffee, maybe.

I did love and admire Matt. After spending time with him my heart always felt full -- from gratitude of living in a community that allows you to meet folks like Matt, and the joy of making strong grown-up friendships.  

Rest in peace, my friend. And I’m glad you were happy. Seriously. 

published!

I am a writer for a nationally published music and film magazine -- Ghettoblaster.

I hate to sound so unenthusiastic - I'm thrilled, really I am. It just feels a little anticlimactic. I was dying to talk about it earlier, but didn't want to jinx it. I wrote the four CD reviews this winter, one of them references getting stuck in the snow. They are my first CD reviews, ever. I am not good at being critical -- I'm amazed by anyone who can put themselves out there, so I hate to say anything bad about them. Nor am I good at obscure references: they sound like a cross between Jumbo the Elephant and Cindy Brady during a category 4 hurricane. Huh?

When I turned my piece in I fantasized casually walking by the music magazines at Northside Newsstand and saying, "why look, the spring issue of Ghettoblaster is in." I'd flip through the mag and say, "hey, who is this on page 42?, why it's me!" And then I'd dance around the store like a total geek.

The newsstand was the place I went to see my first column in the Broad Ripple Gazette, it was where I went to grab the NUVO with my first article. It was where I went to run my hands over the stack of NUVOs with my cover story - and made Joe take six pictures of me holding the paper proudly.

In my early days of writing, pre-wireless Internet, I'd write in the cafe side. If the shop was closed, I'd park in front and transmit my columns from the truck. In fact I started this blog late one night parked outside.

My writing success was directly tied to the newsstand. I'd produce it there and I'd get to grab the tangible product from a rack inside just days later. I can't even link to all of the times I blogged about (and from) the newsstand, but it does have its own sidebar label.

The magazine process was a little longer. I submitted the piece in January for the spring issue. Knowing it would not hit the stands before April did not stop me from walking by the spot where issue 20 was standing up proudly in it's slot surrounded by Spin and Paste and No Depression almost every single day.

Then the unimaginable happened. The big magazine distributor for Indiana went out of business. And there was not much reason to keep the newsstand open without magazines. They announced it with a sign on the door. As you can imagine I was getting phone calls and text messages right way. I contact one of the owners and offered to put a piece in my column, to let them tell the story in their own words. Something I would have appreciated with the coffeehouse closed (This post ties the relationship of the coffeehouse and newsstand together).

I was stunned when M. said "No!" I pointed out that I could read the sign from the sidewalk, so it was public knowledge. In an exchange of heated texts he asked me not to write about it. Ultimately I respected that, even though every other publication and several bloggers (Kirsten wrote a beautiful tribute) did. After I backed off and examined my feelings (something I'm not good at doing), I realized that I considered the newsstand a continuation of the CATH era. One more thing to let go of.

The newsstand closed the first week in March. The News Cafe continues to flourish and has expanded in to the extra space. You can still buy newspapers, candy and smokes there. Just not magazines.

I combed bookstores and the only other newsstand in the city I knew of for the latest copy of Ghettoblaster, but with the distributor gone, no one else had it either. I finally subscribed to the magazine - after ten years of buying all of my magazines at the newsstand, subscribing to something seemed like a foreign idea.

The day it arrived in the mail seemed anti-climatic.


And I'll admit to being a little nervous. What if I sounded like an idiot? I looked at the Photo magazine (a Christmas gift from a friend) and left the Ghettoblaster in the envelope until the next day.

When I finally read it I was happy with the blurbs - and thanks to my dear brother-in-law, Ron for editing them. I listened to the CDs in lots of situations; work, in the truck and at home. I think I did a good job, managing to say nice stuff even if I didn't love the music. The rating system was hard for me, but I know that everyone can't go home with a trophy. I loved Horse Feathers and gave them the highest rating. The other three were good, but not gold star worthy.

I showed it to mom and we made fun of some of the naughty band names. It felt more real when Tammy and Cara read the magazine when we were out one night.

Getting their stamp of approval means a lot. The fact that we could be silly made it all the more fun.

And, not to jinx it, but I'm doing twice as many reviews and maybe a feature story or two for the next issue. Maybe.

super bowl

I'm sitting at the Northside Newsstand watching the game, actually watching the commercials --truth be told, writing my column and goofing around with the built-in camera in my MacBook. I kind of forgot about the camera until the Aretha hat appeared on one of the few Photo Booth pictures that I had.

Okay, back to multi-slacking.

new year expectations

Lets not call them resolutions - that sounds so harsh. How about this - expectations.

Financial stability.

I spend a boatload of money last year.

Some of it on pleasure - Ireland, Austin and concerts.

Some of it necessary - new bathroom floor, waterproofing the basement.

Some of it unexpected - property taxes, truck repairs.

A big chunk of it went on to a credit card. After The Incident people asked if the bad guys were able to use my credit card. Truth is, they couldn't have gotten very far. I'm committing to paying cash as much as possible. And saving up if I need to purchase something. I felt downright naked with out my camera. I picked up extra shifts at the Red Key, more writing gigs at NUVO and sold some clothes at the resale shop to buy a new camera. I'm the proud owner of a Canon Rebel XS. Not that I have any idea of how to use it. I'm back to taking accidental vs. deliberate photos of my feet.

Continuing to shop locally.

I've been shopping locally even before it was cool. I know that money spent in my community stays in my community and employs my friends and neighbors. I bought the camera here. Not only did I get to hold the camera and make a hands-on decision, but they threw in another lens. And I know they're available for help. I ran in the other day with the camera to ask a question and got an immediate answer.

Get my junk under control.

I did lots of work last year. Cleaned out the basement and the storage space. I've been going through clothes and taking them to the consignment place. Who needs a dozen sparkly skirts? I've been giving away furniture and other household things. I'm coming to grips with the fact that I live in a 750 square foot living space. The trip to Ireland helped me put things in to perspective. I don't need a separate place to write. I sit on the sofa most of the time anyway. I was able to ditch the desk and a filing cabinet. I still have lots to do -- get the CDs under control and figure out a better plan for the stack of books on the floor (notice I didn't say I'd get rid of the books). I've been pleased with my progress so far. I'll never be a minimalist, but it is nice to be able to move with out the fear of knocking stuff over.

Maintain the weight loss.

I don't measure or weigh my portions, from years in the foodservice industry I have a pretty good eye for weights and measures, but I do record absolutely everything I eat or drink. Some times it is painful to record. Last week's bat capture and release incident at Tammy's led to a stop at the Red Key on the way home. And to this on-line entry: Two whiskeys and two bags of Cheez-its. I've learned that I made really bad decisions when I drink -- potato chips and fast food drive-thru visits.

I look forward to walking and riding my bike again.

Leaving work earlier.

I was in the horrible habit of working way too late. My work day is so crazy and full of interruptions that I'd gotten in the habit of staying a few extra hours a night to catch up on paperwork and phone calls. After The Incident I started leaving work on time -- and it was revolutionary! I have time to work in the house, read, visit friends, eat soup at the Newsstand and go out to dinner. And I'm more productive during the work day (and I've learned to shut my office door if I need to).

Not scheduling my day so tightly.

I now have downtime and can be spontaneous. Time to help my friend, Liz with her bookstore move - which has been great fun. Time to go to MCL for dinner, time to sit on my ass and read. Time to recycle and keep the house clean. Time to just be me.

Social life.

And when I say social life I mean dating. I've put up a lot of barriers to dating in the last couple of years. I was using my weight as an excuse, I was still too emotionally tied to AVS and plain old just not ready. So world, here I am....it is a new year.

drama in the 'hood.

I was a victim of armed robbery tonight.

The more-than-good news: I'm fine.

The news-news: I went to the Northside Newsstands Festivus party tonight. I considered walking the four blocks from my house to the party, but decided that the sidewalks were too treacherous. I almost parked on a side street, but decided that it would be safer to park on College Avenue, a well traveled street. As I was walking toward the Jazz Kitchen two men walked toward me. Being ever so polite, I moved over and walked on the grass so they could pass. No dice. One man batted at my purse and the other showed me his gun. I very nicely handed over my bag. The part that really frosted me was that they both called me a bitch....really? You're taking all of my favorite things and calling me names. Whatever, asshats.

The I-know-I-am-loved-news: It took me a few minutes to walk/slide/freak-out my way to the Jazz Kitchen but I knew once I got there I'd be taken care of. I whispered the situation in to the ear of Frank, the doorman. You know how I hate to cause a scene...I'd debated whether to call 911 or the non-emergency number as I was walking, but Frank very rightly called 911. I stood in the lobby as I was waiting for the patrol car and made small talk with people passing by. The weather was awful and the police were super busy. The policewoman finally arrived and we realized that it was too loud to talk in the entryway. So I got to sit in the back of a squad car, in front of the Jazz Kitchen. By the time I got done giving my statement a crowd of friends had gathered on the deck waiting in the rain for me. It was like walking in to a big group hug. I just wish someone had gotten a photo of me getting out of the police car.

Dave Allee (owner of the Jazz Kitchen) let me use is office, phone and computer to call in credit cards and de-activate my phone (it was bad enough the jerks had my beloved iPhone, I'll be damned if I'll let them use it). Newsstand Joe sat with me while I made the calls, Tammy, Cara and Novella were there for hugs and support. Hostel John had my spare set of keys. Broad-shouldered Hugh drove me to get the keys, made sure no one was in my house and drove me back to my car. And Tammy and the twins were kind enough to let me sleep at their house.

[I wrote the above the night it happened]

Now that I've had time to sort it out, I realized that I'm just good old-fashioned pissed off. I'm mad for the neighborhood -- it was on College Avenue, between two of my favorite places - the Red Key and the Newsstand. I'm mad because I love to walk at night. I'm mad that they were black and that people ask and that I've had to say it a hundred times. I cannot imagine how hard it must be to be a young urban black man. I'm mad that people are giving me a hard time for walking alone at night (it was around 9:00). I'm mad that I've totally overeaten the last two days and feel like crap.

I'm mad that my camera is gone --I feel really naked without it. I'm mad that the notebook that I've kept notes for every show I've seen in for 2008 is gone. I'm mad that my press pass is gone. I'm mad that my Jesus key chain that was also a flashlight is gone (you never know when you'll need Jesus to light your way) and my Hatch Show Prints key chain is gone. I'm mad that all of my make-up is gone (not that I wear a lot, but it was all in there). Not to mention cash and credit and gift cards and other crap. I'm mad that I have to get another driver's license. I'm mad that my cash is gone. I'm mad that I'm achy and sore (between adrenaline and the one block walk of running/sliding to get help I really goofed up my neck and back). I'm mad that Christmas notes I'd written to friends are gone. I'm mad that I had to change my locks. I'm mad that I don't feel comfortable in my own house. And most of all, I'm mad that I'm mad.

But all in all, it's okay - I'm thankful that my dad could hand me cash and a credit card so I could replace the phone and have some walking around money. I'm thankful that I have such caring friends and family. I'm thankful that I have a warm and cozy and mostly safe neighborhood to live in. I'm thankful for living in a neighborhood that people know my name. I'm thankful to have a good job that I love.

But I'm still pissed. And a little afraid.

There were some funny moments. Me stepping out of the squad car in my sparkly skirt was one. Before the police arrived and the news spread Dave Allee came out and teasingly asked if I had any ID. I flipped him off, I don't know who was more shocked -- him or me. When I came back in from making the report Dave asked if I needed anything. I said: whiskey and a nice boy to make-out with by the dumpster later. All night, people who didn't know what happened were telling me how beautiful I looked - apparently I wear wide-eyed flushed-faced fear well.

For the record: the whiskey appeared, but alas, no boy.

weekend

I had two days off - in a row. How fancy is that?

It was a fun weekend. The Tonic Gallery opened on Friday. Hundreds of people visited the show and my friend Scott played beautiful guitar music.


The art will be up for a silent auction November 21. Only one piece sold at the special $500 "buy it now" price - the bench that Dad made!

Saturday night was the Christamore House Guild Gala. I love the Christamore House and the Guild does wonderful work. I'm a bit of a Guild anomaly. I'm the only single woman out of 75 active members. And I'm guessing that I'm the only one that had to get her waitressing shift covered!

[I just looked at this photo a little closer - to make sure there was nothing embarrassing in the shot, and noticed my demonic cat peering through the window!]

I had fun and my friend Kipp was a champ. Only about a dozen people asked if he was my husband. My favorite moment: The social reporter of the Indianapolis Star looked at us and said: Nora, you're not a Guild person - at all. Kipp, what are you doing here? I guess I should be flattered that she knows my name...

Today was a real treat. I slept in- I do feel bad about missing church. I didn't drive at all. I walked to the newsstand for soup and puttered around the house.

Is this how people spend their weekends?

wow.

I had a Tonic Ball meeting (November 21, mark your calender) at the Northside Newsstand. I moved up to the counter to enjoy some delicious tomato and artichoke soup and conversation with one of those bad boys, the kind your friends tell you to stay away from. You know the type; long beard, leather jacket, no discernible source of income, hoop earrings, keeps a protective eye on you in the bars late at night and has a motorcycle parked out front....

Anyway, I snapped out of it, finished the conversation about early 1980s punk rock bands and headed home. When I fished my keys out of my purse I checked my iPhone.

Holy Crap!

Three missed calls and a text message from Tammy.

The Tammy who is pregnant with twins. The Tammy who asked me to be with her for the birth. The Tammy who is counting on my to get her to the hospital. The Tammy who is due in the beginning of December, seven weeks away. The Tammy who told me that twins usually come early, probably around Thanksgiving (I was convinced that it would be Tonic Ball day).

The Tammy who's water had just broken. The Tammy who was driving herself to the hospital because she couldn't reach me. That Tammy.

I raced home and did my best bumbling sitcom father routine. I tripped flying in to the house, shucking off my dress as I went. I pulled on jeans and a top. I fed the cat, grabbed my tooth brush, a book, a big cozy scarf, my camera and my computer and raced out the door. I saw that I'd missed another call from Tammy - could I please print out the phone list she'd mailed everyone last week? I raced back in to the house walked in circles, raced back out to get the computer and back in to print the list. As I was locking the door I looked down to see that I'd put my top on inside out. I whipped my top off walking down the driveway and juggling my computer and turned it right side out. I stopped at the Red Key to cash a check- I don't know what I thought I'd need money for, but you never know.

By the time I got to the hospital they'd given Tammy a shot of steroids to help mature the babies lungs. The doctor on-call came to check her. As it turned out she lived right down the street from Tammy and just a few blocks from me. We joked that we could have all stayed in the neighborhood. They moved her to a room and started an I.V. designed to stop labor.

No luck.

Within an hour Tammy's contractions were two minutes apart. Apparently there was a queue for the Delivery OR. In the meantime the neonatal pediatrician came in a told Tammy all kinds of scary things about premature babies. Tammy did a great job, but I wanted to scream "Dude! The train has left the station. Can't we just cross that bridge when we come to it?"

I finally asked Tammy if she'd decided what to name the babies. Our group of friends have been calling them Corn Dog and Tatar Tot, but I assumed that was not her final decision.

They whisked Tammy to the OR and gave me a bundle of paper-ish clothes to put on while they got Tammy ready. I used the time wisely, zipped on the white jumpsuit, put on the cap and mask and took selftimed photos of me trying to do my best Elvis sneer. By the time I was allowed in the room the drape was already up and I was given instructions not to look and to let the anesthesiologist know if I started feeling woozy. Ummm, okay.

The room was full. A team of doctors for each baby and the team doing whatever they were doing to Tammy (I didn't peek, not at first anyway). She was a champ! I'm good in crisis situations, but I'm not so good at the comforting stuff. I was saying helpful things like, "hey the anesthesiologist is wearing a Purdue cap, you know he's got to be smart" and "wow, who thought the day would end like this?" and "if you hurry, we can make last call at the Red Key." I think it was soon apparent to the doctors and nurses that the twins did not have two mommies.

Baby Boy (5.4) was born at 11:46 and Baby Girl (5.3) at 11:47. I decided that the best sound in the world must be hearing a baby cry for the first time. They let me step around the curtain and peek at the babies and snap a few photos.

Evan and Katherine are beautiful, just beautiful. And I was honored to be there for the first minutes of thier lives.

woo hoo!

It's here! In all of its sleek-just-out-of-the-box-glory.

I look pretty darn happy!*

Here are the two computers getting ready for the transfer of information. I think it involves magic.

Alas, the iBook had to break my heart one more time.
There is something terribly wrong with the disc drive. I tried to put the disc in and met some serious resistance. I tried a blank disc just in case. Good thing- it ripped through the disc. Ugggh. So, the new computer is set up and the old information is still on the iBook.

I do feel like I owe the iBook a bit of a send off. It was my first-ever new-to-me computer and my first laptop. It launched the Buzzing Around Town column for the Broad Ripple Gazette and started my freelance gigs for NUVO. The computer allowed me to do Second Helpings work at home and keep my life organized. I discovered social networking, blogging and the power of Google. I hauled that laptop all around the country and Ireland. Many nights I fell asleep with it at my side. It became a bit of a security blanket for me.

I’ve come a long way since I unboxed that computer over two years ago. For the first six months you could find me parked out side of the Newsstand or the Hostel at night, grabbing the wireless signal that wafted through the windows. I’ve become a better writer (practice, practice, practice) and a better photographer. I’ll remember the iBook fondly, just like my first record player, first car and my first apartment. But I can’t wait to explore the MacBook.

*Check out the Morrow Kennels red cup on my desk. And the beautiful housewarming butter dish gift from Susan near the blue paper. I have a bee collection on top of my monitor, the one on the edge made by me, with pipe cleaners. Over my bulletin board there are Polaroid snapshots of me with people in costume - a New York Apple, Boomer from the Pacers, Santa Otis and Santa Greg. On my bulletin board there is the clipping of Mr. Krudy's obituary and a photo of Mr. Herr. There is a 4-H sticker and a copy of the first piece I wrote for NUVO and a copy of the first check I got for writing. The yellow notebook paper is suggestions that my nonprofit hero, Robert Egger gave me for the next Tonic Ball.

Hows that for a little slice of my life?

game day (holiday party #27)

Dean and Shannon used to play board games at CATH Inc on Sundays and I'd occasionally joined in. We managed to have 'game day' earlier this year and wanted to squeeze in another one before the end of the year. Some of my favorite people were around the table at the newsstand. 

Cara and Tad

We played Apples to Apples, "the hilarious game of comparisons." I played the game on Christmas Day with a group that ranged in age from 8-80 and took things literally. This group of writers -comic (Dean for this morning show), song (Tad and Cara), business and otherwise (Tammy), short-story (Shannon) and music (moi) and fun people (Sarah) had a much more raucous time. 

Tad and Shannon

I think we were all hopped up on coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches. The card labeled "black hole" turned in to a laughing-so-hard-you-can't-breathe joke. 

Shannon and Sarah

Sarah

Sarah, Dean, Tammy, Cara and Tad

It was a fun, wholesome (except maybe for that black hole card) alcohol-free way to spend Sunday afternoon. 

northside newsstand festivus celebration (holiday party #20)

Northside Newsstand is my coffeehouse, lunch counter, magazine shop, gossip stop and neighborhood touchstone. The coffeehouse I used to manage (CATH Inc) was across the street. The corner has lots of other great businesses - Sam's Gyro's, Army Navy Surplus Store, Moe and Johnny's Bar, The Piano Merchant, Hit City Recording, Yat's and the Jazz Kitchen.

The partners in the Newsstand take advantage of Festivus Day to throw their annual holiday bash at the Jazz Kitchen. There is always great mix of neighborhood people and I have a blast. I also love seeing people in their party clothes.

The weather was very cold and windy so I bundled up for the walk down. It was great to see all of the Christmas lights along the way. I was a little nervous - I'd gotten up enough courage to call a boy and invited him to join me. He said he'd love to, which meant that I immediately got all blotchy and queasy. Walking gave me a chance to calm down, or a least to be able to blame my pink face on the weather.

I'm not a good judge of crowds but I'm guessing there were hundreds of people there. There was a great spread of food, but I didn't eat much. I'm allergic to shellfish and if I cannot see what I'm eating or identify it for sure I don't eat it. I don't think that keeling over in the middle of the party would impress a maybe-date. Luckily I am not allergic to whiskey.

The decor of the Newsstand focuses on globes and maps. The window is filled with globes and each table has map under glass and a globe. There was a ceramic gnome tucked among the globes in the window. I noticed at some point this year the gnome was gone, but I didn't ever ask anyone what happened to it. This fall photographs of the gnome in a hospital bed appeared at the newsstand, saying that he would be returned soon. Who sent them was a mystery.
Last week a friend admitted to me that her daughter had broken the gnome. She panicked, put the broken gnome in the diaper bag and fled. She snapped the photographs and plotted how she could sneak the gnome back to the window. She got the idea to dress up as a gnome to return the original gnome at the Festivus party.

As you know, I love a theme - and tend to take things overboard. I found a great stuffed recordable gnome at Posh Petals. Jamie's boyfriend recorded a "see you later" message on the gnome and left at the Jazz Kitchen before the party. Jamie came dressed as the gnome and almost pulled the secret off - the gift bag she returned the ceramic gnome had a gift tag attached that said "to Jamie."

DJ Rusty provided the music for the evening.

I wish I could/felt comfortable dancing because the dance floor was full of folks.

There was also a set from the musician turned comedian that I dated when I was 21. So, there I am sitting next to Band Practice Boy and feeling uncomfortable while Mr. Rockabilly Comic is doing his thing about um, sex. BPB leaned over and asked if I knew the comedian - "errr, yeah, I met him years ago...hey, can I buy you a whiskey?"

The rest of the evening was spent laughing and chatting with BPB and friends.

I ran in to a guy who plays in the band I went to see Friday night- I didn't write about Friday, because it didn't really fit in to the holiday celebration theme, but I was happy to be able to ask him some band history for my Gazette column.

christmas cocktails (holiday party #11)

It has been strangely quiet on the party front. I took a self-imposed timeout last week. I skipped a couple of social opportunities and the weather last weekend caused a party to be cancelled. I made myself stay home Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights to whip my house in to shape and wrap up some writing that was due. I'd gotten in to the horrible habit of setting my alarm for 4:30 in the morning to finish a piece that was due that day. And the house was so unorganized that I'm not sure that I would have opened my front door to company -- Mr. Right would have to stand on the porch.

The house is spic and span (at least to my liberal standards), lights are strung across the front of the house, stockings are hung (me and the cat) and there are vases of yummy smelling pine branches in every room.

More on Friday nights activities later, Saturday brought snow and working (as hard as I tried I could not turn shoveling and waitressing in to a party). Sunday brought more snow, a party cancellation and more shoveling. I do love living where I do. I managed not to drive Saturday or Sunday. I walked to the Newsstand Cafe both days (ummm, soup) and could walk to work Saturday evening.

Friday night I went to a comedy club with Kristi and her impossibly beautiful friend Jeannie. I'll admit to some trepidation. If asked I'd swear that I'm not a fan of comedy clubs. As it turned out I laughed harder and longer than I have in a long time.

We saw Donnie Baker and his band the Pork Pistols. We all have a Donnie Baker as a cousin or neighbor (especially you, Jamie Dawn). I also love the interaction he has with his band. One of Donnie's "things" is that "I'll tell you right to your face." Of course, you get the idea that his character is all talk. Donnie was talking about Kristi and said he's "say it right to her face." It was fun when she yelled "I AM here, Donnie." The show was really funny and they all did a great job. We stayed for the second set and on the way home (it really was on the way home) I stopped at the Red Key. AVS is in town and it was fun to catch up with him.

Monday night Kristi invited LuAnn and I to her house for a glass of wine (or a beer in my case) to meet her children and catch up. When I walked through the door I was greeted with cheers and cartwheels from these beautiful girls.

What a warm welcome! The girls showed me how to make a virtual house for Webkins and were charming and delightful.

I gave LuAnn these classy bee slippers and a bee tee shirt. Kristi travels a lot so I gave her a travel candle, cozy socks and a cool moisturizer stick. LuAnn gave us each an amazing old-fashioned looking mirrored frame, note paper and a candle. Kristi gave makeup brushes (I used them this morning in the car on the way to work...at stoplights only, I swear) and a Budda Board. It is a watercolor pad and stand. You paint the board and as the water evaporates so does the design, based on the Zen concept of living in the moment. I'm already having great fun with it.

Kristi has to be at work very early in the morning, so I always think that will force me to be sensible also. No such luck. The three of us made a sort-of plan to go see our favorite band, Soul Bus. Kristi decided that it was too late for her to go out, but her mom came instead.

You think that hanging out with someones mom would get you home early - again, no such luck, I walked in the door after midnight. The Morrow Kennels cup full of diet Pepsi got me through the 8:00 am Finance Committee meeting.

red key ceiling fund bake sale (holiday party #8)

My plan was to spend the morning writing - my Gazette column is due along with three pieces for NUVO and making a batch of toffee.
The best laid plans...
It turned in to a fun afternoon. Mom and Dad happened to be in the neighborhood dropping off a chair. I walked down to the upholstery place to meet them. We moved on to the newsstand for lunch. I really enjoyed introducing Mom and Dad to my friends and neighbors.
My best-friend-since-first-grade Annie Herr Mitchell (no one can call her Annie but me, okay?) and her husband Jerry called from my front porch. I thought I'd be home at 1:00, and clearly was not. Ann and her friends had very generously shopped for five teenagers that are in a program at the Christamore House and they were dropping the goods off at my house. Ann and Jerry joined us for lunch.
The five of us had fun laughing and telling family stories. Jerry and I had our heads together playing with my iPhone, I see one in his future.
After lunch Mom and Dad and I walked down to the Red Key for the annual bake sale. In lieu of the toffee that did not get made I took a newsstand gift certificate. The bake sale benefits the Ceiling Fund of the Red Key. The money collected on the ceiling and from other events all year are donated to the Children's Bureau. Russel has collected money for first the Pleasant Run Children's Home then the CB for the last few years. Last year the Red Key donated $9000. to the CB.
The Bake Sale is coordinated by the wonderful Maureen Webb Cox. This year's sale raised almost $1000. It is a fun time to be at the Key. You buy a ticket and when your name is called you get to chose something from the table stacked with goodies.
What a great afternoon! I didn't even mind returning to work a few minutes later.

Here is Moe and Dollie tallying up the donations.

24 hours in the life of nora

midnight-6:00 am - blissfully sleeping.

6:00-7:00 - I started laundry, read emails, listened to the news (a man was run over on the train tracks that run behind the Second Helpings building -- I worry about the homeless folks that sleep back there) and caught up on blogs.

I read the always-hilarious Crabby Dad's post about bathroom troubles, and thought "Amen, brother!" A disproportionate part of my job is spent dealing with the bathrooms at work. Plunging is my main activity. No one hesitates to tell me if there is the slightest whiff of trouble in there. Now, if one of the coolers is down or there are sparks flying they forget to mention it until I'm ready to walk out the door. This has lead to many an evening of Nora and an earning-overtime repair man bonding. I've written lots of articles and blog posts at my desk while Roy the repairman is in the cooler.

7:00-7:30 - Let the cat, who has been meowing at the window for ten minutes, in. I fed him and took a shower. Wore pants, socks and shoes for the first time in months. I'm the queen of skirts and dansko Mary-Jane's. As I laced up my shoes, I looked at my biker boots longingly -- they are much more comfortable.

7:30-8:00 - Stopped at Posh Petals and left them a goody bag of treats and a thank you note for the flowers they sent me two weeks ago at their back door. Drove to work, thinking that world peace starts with turn signal use. Listened to my my friends on the Bob and Tom show on the radio.

8:00 - walked through the back door to be greeted by one of our employees that is good at pointing out the problems, I keep telling her she needs to spend equal time coming up with solutions.

K: Guess what Nora?
N: You won the lottery?
K: No, what do you hate hear first thing in the morning?
N: There is a problem in the bathroom?
K: [laughing] Yes!

I slowly opened the bathroom room, looking down. Yep, water in the floor - and it was clear, a good sign. I heard creaking and looked up. Four of the ceiling tiles looked like over-filled water balloons. I decided the best thing to do would be to break them up and get the inevitable over with. I looked in my office to find something to poke the tiles with and spied a cane belonging to one of our volunteers, perfect but probably not a good idea - especially if I was caught. Like every good not-for-profit director I keep a mic stand behind my door next to a picture of Joey Ramone. I used the mic stand to poke at the ceiling. There was a resounding crash and I was soon covered in bits of ceiling tile and water.

Lately the restroom has become my nemesis. I love the wall colors at Second Helpings. The bathroom was trimmed in a deep eggplant and the walls were dark mossy green. I always found it to be a nice oasis of calm, even when I was plunging. Our new CEO wanted the restroom to be cheerier and I admit to having a bad attitude about it, and was not very helpful with coordinating the painting or colors. A group of volunteers came to paint the bathroom walls this weekend and did a horrible job. The yellow-ish color is not enough to cover the dark paint. And the high school kids slopped paint everywhere. So now the walls look like a manila folder threw-up on them. So now the restroom has a crappy paint job, is covered in ceiling tile bits and water. All this is missing is the locusts.

8:30 - I called our handyman to see what he thought. The wet tiles followed the water line that goes to the water heater and a re-circulating motor (don't ask why the water heater is in the ceiling or why there is a circulating pump that constantly moves the water so it never gets quite hot enough --I didn't design it, I just have to deal with it), so I guessed it was a plumbing problem but I wanted to make sure. I decided not to go to the off-site Harvest committee meeting (dang). I mopped, picked up ceiling tile bits and made signs for bathroom doors -- Caution wet floors...and ceiling. Yes, Chicken Little the sky is falling.

9:00 - Checked on my phone messages and new emails. Helped get a group of nursing students started in the kitchen [yes, guys --student nurses, you can be jealous]. I realized that Dad was not here (he's a regular Wednesday volunteer), his friend Dale said that Dad "got a better offer.

Hummm, wonder what that means.

9:30 - Dennis (volunteer handyman) came in, crawled up in to the ceiling to and confirmed it was a plumbing problem (there are also HVAC units up there, the last leak was caused by a birds nest that was clogging a drain line).

10:00 - Called plumber to explain problem. Said they'd have someone get back to me. I started this post while I'm waiting for them to call. Worked on setting up interviews for an open staff position. BM, owner of the cane and one of our volunteers sat in my office talking about his new teeth, cat, people on the bus and insisted on showing me the sore on his nether regions. I applied antibiotic ointment (and thought of Jamie Dawn's Butt Paste) and called his mother. BM is my age with some clear mental handicaps and he was an alcoholic that drank every thing he could get his hands on including rubbing alcohol. I have taken BM under my wing and find little jobs for him to do, but sometimes it gets to be a bit much.

10:30 - Still waiting on the call, so I figured I'd help it along by leaving my office for a bit. Mopped a little more, checked to make sure all of the food made it out the door (2900 meals!) and chatted with volunteers. BH another volunteer stopped in my office. BH has made it clear that he's smitten with me. He even came in to the Red Key Saturday. Too bad he's 68 and married. As usual BH pinned me between my desk and chair. I'm getting pretty good at swiveling to avoid the big wet kiss he tries to plant on my lips. I automatically grabbed a tissue to wipe it off my cheek and told him once again "that I didn't want to be his queen."

11:00 - Our founder and chairman emeritus of the board stopped in. She's one of the few people that I'm intimated by. So, of course I'm holding a mop when I see her. The plumber called and he'd be there within the hour. I returned phone calls and email messages and worked on employee files. Today is payday (yippee) so I signed paychecks. I unjammed the printer and reminded everyone that it was not a cube steak -- don't pound on it. Another one of our volunteers with a disability spent time in my office telling me about his job at Camp Atterbury and every detail of what he does (which I've heard every Wednesday for six months). I also spent time explaining who Chicken Little is to several of our culinary students. I was reminded of a statistic that just blows me away. Middle class kids get read to at least 1000 hours before they go to school. Low income kids only average 25 hours. No wonder there is such a disparity in reading skills.

noon - The students called us for lunch. I'd just gotten my food when the door bell rang. I seem to be the only one who can hear it at lunch time. A woman was at the door donating grocery bags and 5 pounds of rice. I filled out the paperwork (what is the value of grocery bags...that we don't really need?). I sat back down to time to hear the door bell again and meet the plumber. Dennis and the plumber climbed up to the ceiling. I stood on the ladder, head in the ceiling to talk to them. They told me it was safer up there than on the ladder, but my fear of heights would not let me make the leap to the little room. They would have to build stairs to get me down. While I'm on the ladder (and being grateful for my choice of pants) BM and another two other volunteers with mental disabilities were circling the ladder and bumping in to it, thinking I was talking to them, not the plumber. The plumber confirmed the problem (bad fitting) and we also talked about some other issues. I liked that he talked to me and showed me what was happening, even thought I refused to step off the ladder. He needed to order a part and schedule a time when we can turn the water off for a chunk of time.

12:45 - I sat down to my cold meal

1:00 - Plunging time again! Checked emails, returned phone calls and looked through resumes for kitchen manager opening. Made handouts for the culinary class I'm teaching about line cooking tomorrow. Printed out directions and details for the talks I'm giving starting at 5:45 tomorrow.

2:00 - Met with director of volunteers to map plans for next week when she is gone and check on the status of the 80 volunteers we need for a big event next Friday. I took a potty break and was looking up at the ceiling as I um, tinkled. Something fell and I assumed it was a chunk of tile. EKKKKK! It was a freaking bug...wait bugs...they must have been enjoying the warm damp dark space. I was stomping my feet trying to squash them and started laughing out loud. I realized that must have been what Senator Craig was doing when he was tapping his foot. He was squashing bugs! I drug ladder in to bathroom and sprayed an unnecessary amount of bug spray in there, killing bugs and a few more of my brain cells.

3:00 - Talked to plumber to try to figure out when we could turn the water off to the building to repair the leak. Looked at more resumes and typed minutes from a committee meeting.

3:30 - Headed to retirement reception for one of our board members. Arrived during the speech phase of the party. I spied my friend CC, who writes for Indianapolis Monthly. CC and I caught up on local news and gossip. I ate a big piece of cake (it would have been rude not too, really) and mingled.

4:30 - Answered two cell phone calls from the United Way staff person that is in charge of the account that I'm speaking to the the morning. The main gate will be locked, and I was thrilled to know where I was to go. Returned a call from my dear friend Ann and caught up on godson Ben and her family.

5:00 - Home, and at a decent hour - for once. I puttered around the yard for a bit. I tossed some summer plants in to the compost pile and plunked mums in to their pots. I drug my living room rug out to the clothes line and pounded on it with a stick. Went back inside coughing and sneezing to take an antihistamine. I'm like the boy in the bubble, its a wonder that I survived my farm kid childhood.

6:00 - Make a delicious dinner of mac and cheese and did dishes and more laundry. Thought about bringing fall/winter clothes up from basement and putting away spring/summer clothes (my new house only has one closet) and ignored that thought.

7:15 - Back out the door and headed back downtown. Hey, wasn't I at this stoplight 12 hours ago? My friend Jeff invited me to the Ryan Adams and the Cardinals show. Thoughtful and generous Jeff also dropped off the latest Ryan Adams CD, two Halloween PEZ and a parking pass. I'd been listening to the CD between plunging and stuff. I loved whipping right up to the Murat and parking. The show was supposed to start at 8:00. I wandered around the beautiful lobby for a while, didn't see Jeff (he was at dinner with the woman he's been dating) and headed to my seat at 7:50. Center main stage, cool. Row A, seat 13. I kept walking and walking toward the stage. Ran in to a usher who asked to see my ticket. She looked at it and pointed for me to keep walking. Row A actually meant row A. Not row A, followed by ZZ, YY, XX, WW....And seat 13 was right smack in the middle. I plopped my happy little ass in the seat and looked around. The theatre was still pretty empty. I checked out the stage. A pedal steel -- woo hoo! From the way the stage was set up I guessed that there was not opening band. A couple sat down next to me. I couldn't believe it...my dear cousin Sarah and her husband John! By 8:15 our row was full of the cool kids. Ryan and the band finally came out at at 9:00 and he apologized for being late, pointing out the time difference and saying that he should have asked Flavor Flav what time it was. He was contrite and funny, so like most boys with guitars I forgave him.
He played a great 45 minute set and was charming with his fumbling with his earpiece (new technology for him) and talking about our downtown mall and the FFA kids in town. As much as I loved being just 10 feet from him and wished I had my camera, the sound was a little weird. We were so close that the the speakers were behind us. No monitors on stage made a difference also. The fifteen minute break turned in to 45. The long break was okay, I got to chat with Jeff, Sarah and John and loads of other folks. Sarah's birthday was earlier this week and I was telling her that I remembered holding her when she was born - I was 12.
The show started again at 10:30. Ryan is clearly brilliant musician and I've loved his music since his days Whiskeytown, the band that turned me in to an alt-country fan. The first couple of songs after the break were what I love about him. Clever, melodic and full off goodness. From there the band played amazingly, and turned every song in to a jam - reminiscent of The Grateful Dead. Which is exactly the kind of thing that makes, well, my skin crawl. I don't know whether I don't have enough attention span or I'm just not sophisticated enough to get it. Either way my mind was wandering. I shifted my "band crush" from the pedal steel player to the bass player. When I started counting seats I knew it was trouble - if I turn to math, that is a bad sign. I scooted out of my seat at midnight.

12:20 - Home and setting my alarm for 5:00, I'm giving at 4 talks starting at 5:45 to a group of trash haulers. 'night.

happy anniversary to me....

Today is my one year anniversary of blogging.

I've come a long way baby, from the days of sitting in my truck in front of the newsstand to grab their wireless connection.

In the spirit of my commitment to blogging every day this month and connecting it to numbers, here are fifteen updates about posts and events this last year.

1. One of my first posts recounted my recent dating history. I'm happy to report that I'm still having awkward encounters with men and that they continue to move out-of-state at an alarming rate.

2. Remember the missing screws to this dish rack that I purchased on this trip? I found them - in Tekamah. They were in my suitcase the whole time --they'd been to Phoenix and Sanibel and lived under my bed for six months. Too bad I found them too late to save the Ronald McDonald glass.

3. Construction still has not started on the grocery store that is to be built on the CATH coffeehouse site. Every Sunday for three months I've stood in the exact same spot and taken a progress photograph. If there is ever something to see besides a porta-potty, I'll post it.

4. I have not written much about my PEZ collection, the namesake of this blog. The collection toured two libraries this year. It married two of my favorite things -- PEZ and the public library.

5. A Friday night dinner with Jerry led to a trip to Nebraska to visit Cliff and Marilyn and their family. That trip is one of the best things that I've done this year. I don't think that I've ever properly thanked Jerry for sponsoring me for the trip. Thank you Jerry.

6. I got promoted in March. I can't believe that was six months ago. I still think the job is a perfect fit for me. I keep waiting for a slow week to catch up on filing and correspondence. Heck, I'd be happy for a week without plunging a toilet. That said, I love every second of it and cannot imagine doing anything else.

7. Music continues to be a tremendous part of my life. Over the weekend I saw 13 bands. You can read my Broad Ripple Gazette columns here and my NUVO work here.

8. In May I posted the first of many photographs of my feet. Most of the pictures have been snapped by accident and some on purpose. I'm finding them to be a fun remembrance of where I've been. And what the floor looked like.

9. I turned 46 this year. I still don't know how that happened. I swear I'm still 28. Except when I look in the mirror.

10. Something very traumatic happened to me in June. I only had to wait until August for relief. Thanks Cliff, and I suspect that Ralph helped the process along.

11. I bought this camera and it truly has changed things for me. Not only do I take pictures of my shoes and my chocolate covered self, but several music photographs have been published. Here and here are two of my favorites.

12. A lot of my friends have moved out of state this year. Besides the boys that I seem to drive out of town, Maura, Amy and Otis have all hit the road. I'm thrilled for the opportunities that they have, but I miss them.

13. I bought the house I've been living in for 12 years! I couldn't be any happier about it. It has a great back yard, is full of books and usually a little messy. I'm working on the whole air conditioning thing.

14. In looking at the sidebar of labels I see that they number one thing (30 times) that I've blogged about is family, followed by crabbiness in a close second place (25 posts). Coincidence?

15. I am looking forward to meeting even more of you at Blogstock '08.

If anyone told me a year ago that I'd be visiting Cliff in Nebraska, buying socks from Crabby Dad's kid, anxiously waiting for photographs from Ralph's daughter's wedding, tracking Kim down in at a concert, re-connecting with a girl that I knew from my Sunday School days through a writer in Canada, taking a road trip with Jerry, talking Def Leppard with a Michigan mom, meeting Loner at her dad's funeral, learning and experiencing Jamie Dawn's word hitonious, looking forward to Rachel's Sunday church signs, watching Scott teach a class at Second Helpings, sending a little milk money to Spilt Milk, worrying about Granny Annie's chickens and corresponding with the most wonderful Naomi, I'd have called them crazy.

Thanks also to you regular non-blogging readers: David, Maureen, Nancy, Susan and Brenda. You guys are the ones who make me the most nervous.