Willowdale Words

My Best books of 2011

2011-12-31T09:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I read Shannon Hale's blog in which she lists her favorite books of 2011. I found it very enlightening, and I thought, "Wow! What a great idea! I wonder what my favorite books of 2011 are." So I pulled up goodreads.com on which I religiously track my reading and shelve it by year. In 2011 I read 224 books of all shapes and sizes. I don't think I could choose my favorites per se, but I loved these and wanted to share them with you.

Picture Books, Easy Readers, and Easy Chapter

1. A Balloon for Isabel by Deborah Underwood (P)

A charming story about a little girl porcupine who just wants a balloon at graduation the same as all of the other little animals. Adorable illustrations and a charming story. I read this book for my own enjoyment a couple of times.

2. Mr. President Goes to School by Rick Walton (P)

Mr. President becomes overwhelmed and disappointed with life in the white house so he puts on a disguise and goes back to Kindergarten. Then he uses the skills he learns there to solve his presidential dilemmas. Fabulously funny story, and it didn't hurt that it was illustrated by my all time favorite illustrator Brad Sneed.

3. Imogene's Last Stand by Candace Fleming (P)

Imogene is precocious and she wants to save the town's historical society. This book teaches history in the cutest way I have seen yet and the illustrations are marvelous. Make sure to read the end pages and cover or you may miss out on the best part of all.

4. Flat Stanley by Jeff Brown (EC)

Stanley gets squashed by a bulletin board in his sleep and uses his powers of slenderness to solve crimes and perform feats of wonder before his little brother figures out how to unsquash him. I read this aloud to my younger kids and they loved it, too.

5. Tuts Mummy Lost and Found by Judy Donnelly (ER)

Highly educational and extremely interesting, even for a 35 year old woman. The book includes illustrations and photographs. It's really, really cool.

Middle Grade and Young Adult

1. Entwined by Heather Dixon

A retelling of the twelve dancing princesses. I don't generally go in for fairy tales, but I love, love, love this book. The characters are brilliant! It actually made me laugh out loud. And I don't mean little snorts or chuckles. I'm talking full blown belly laughs. And I got my romance fix all at the same time. Read it, you will love it.

2. Forgotten by Cat Patrick

This was a new idea in a book for me, which I found refreshing. London forgets everything at the change of each day. She retains her long term memory, so she relies on notes from herself and information from a friend to get through each day. And then she falls in love...

3. The Raging Quiet by Sherryl Jordan

At a very young age, Marnie finds herself forced into a marriage to a much older and harder man. He takes her far from her home and family and then dies unexpectedly, leaving her alone in a strange place. Marnie manages to make friends with the local clergyman, and then with a wild deaf boy called Raver. The story of Marnie and Raver is beautiful and painful. I loved it.

4. As You Wish by Jackson Pearce

Viola suffers from the teenage need to be loved. Specifically by the young man, her best friend, who broke her heart. Then one day she accidentally summons a genie out of his own world to make her wishes come true. Pearce has a new (at least to me) perspective on the world of the Jinn which I found intriguing. It's the kind of love story that ends just the way you want it to.

5. Sing Me to Sleep by Angela Morrison

First let me say that I have sworn off Angela Morrison books for good. Now let me tell you why. I am the kind of reader that absorbs the characters into my heart as if they are real people. Morrison writes beautiful, poignant novels about difficult situations. They break my heart and stick to my ribs like oatmeal so that I can't shake them off. At the time I swore her off I had read pretty much every book I could find that she had written. Sing Me to Sleep is lovely and emotional. It's worth the read, but make sure you are ready for the ride.

6. The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly

Calpurnia Tate wants to break out of the mold set for women at the turn of the century.

7. The Wide Awake Princess by E.D. Baker

Another fairy tale retelling that I loved. Sleeping Beauty's little sister is immune to magic so when everyone else falls asleep she is left with the duty of saving her family's kingdom. Brilliant.

Adult

1. Moloka'i by Alan Brennert

Rachel contracts Leprosy at age seven and is sent to live at the leper colony on the island of Moloka'i without her family. This is a historical novel that made me aware of a part of history I knew nothing about. It was a marvelous read that kept my mind and emotions enthralled clear through.

2. The Last Train to Hiroshima: The Survivors Look Back by Charles R. Pellegrino

If you should choose to read this book, make sure you get the second edition. The first edition, which I read, has some errors due to bad research. It is still worth the read. Real people, a real experience, told from all sides. (That's right, I read some non-fiction this year, people.) I would love to own this book for my own library. My favorite part came at the end when one of the victims was making a presentation in a country in Europe. A boy in the audience asked him which country dropped the atomic bombs. After a moment the man replied that he couldn't remember. Of course he would really never forget, but he had experienced true forgiveness and it no longer mattered to him.

3. Take Joy: The Writer's Guide to Loving the Craft by Jane Yolen

If I've never told you that Jane Yolen is my hero, now you know. This book was written with other writers in mind. I loved everything she said about how any why you should write.

4. The Cross Gardener by Jason F. Wright

I recently saw Wright speak at a women's event and he is shockingly funny. At least shockingly if you have read his books. Which I have. The Cross Gardener has one of those spine tingling endings that we love so much. I usually can see where a writer is going with a story, but this one broadsided me majorly. I'd recommend any of Wright's books, really. Call me, I'd be happy to lend them to you:)

5. Maid to Match by Deeanne Gist

This is a sweet, passionate, squeaky clean and well plotted romance novel. Yes, I said well plotted. I love a good, clean romance novel. But books like this one in the genre are few and far between. I will be keeping an eye on Gist in the future.

6. The Price: The True Story of a Mormon Who Defied Hitler by Karl-Heinz Schnibbe

Have you heard of Helmuth Hubener? He was a hero. He lost his life in a word based fight against Hitler. Many of us know of and love Hubener. We tend to overlook the heroism of his comrades. This book is Schnibbe's story, told from his own perspective and memory. I loved getting to know him better.

Ok! Now what were your best reads of 2011?

Mandated Service for Women

2008-07-29T09:31:00.000-07:00

Just before the War of 1812, Britain was seizing American ships and pressing American sailors into service in the Royal Navy. This aggressive act was met with hostility, embargo and, eventually, war. Today this battle is being waged again, but it is our own country men who are attempting to press the American people, both men and women, into military or civil service. While I am fundamentally opposed to mandated service, I can accept the use of a male only draft at times when our country truly has great need. In recent decades, however, many have tried to expand the selective service requirement to include women. They argue that American women now own all the same rights and privileges as American men; therefore they should shoulder the same obligation toward national service. But men and women, while certainly equivalent in capability, are fundamentally different. The special circumstances and dangers a woman faces, together with the need that we have for her here at home, should exclude her from mandated military service.
Before we can address other issues, we must first acknowledge the distinctly feminine challenges a woman must over come. Once a male body has passed through puberty, it performs basically the same functions on a day to day basis. But as we all learned in middle school health class, this is not the case for a woman. Puberty causes irreversible complications for the female body. In direct contrast with our male partners, our bodies do something different practically every day. For about three quarters of a month, little by little, the female body prepares itself to cradle life. The other twenty five percent is generally spent cleansing itself of the fruit of those preparations, except in those rare cases when the preparation proves worth the effort. In either situation, the female soldier would face an uncomfortable dilemma. Neither pregnancy nor menstruation is particularly pleasant, and both present privacy challenges.
Aside from the difficulties that every woman will inevitably face, there are serious safety concerns for a woman in our military here at home, let alone in combat. Sexual harassment of and violence toward women in the military, at the hands of their own comrades, are serious enough to warrant a special task force (dtic.mil, 2004). As a result of failed combat, a male prisoner of war may face abhorrent treatment at the hands of his captors. Many have experienced severe torture and mistreatment. Imagine if you will the added horrors that could be inflicted upon a female POW. The decision to accept that disturbing risk should rest solely on the woman herself, it should not be forced upon her, under any circumstances.
Secondly, we should consider the need we have for women in our economy. According to the department of labor website, an overwhelming majority of humanitarian career fields are dominated by women in this country. In 2007, women filled 92% of jobs in the nursing field, 81% of elementary and middle school teaching positions, 95% of childcare openings, and 91% of medical support jobs. Pressing women into service for our country could seriously upset our ability to educate our children, and care for the health and welfare of our citizens.
Most importantly, and dearest to my heart, is the toll that mandated service for females would take on the family unit. I acknowledge whole heartedly the contribution made to a family by a good and loving father, but the mother is truly the pillar of the home. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints teaches that “mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children” (Family, 1995). Mothers are universally recognized as tender care takers. In his proclamation Mother’s Day, 2002, President George W. Bush declared, “Mothers are central to the success of the American family. Their love, dedication, and wisdom touch countless lives every day in every community throughout our land. And their love and guidance of children help to develop healthy and spiritually sound families” (Bush, 2002). Abraham Lincoln once said, “All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother. I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life” (Bush, 2002). As the mother of five, I spend my life kissing ouches, scrubbing faces, and changing diapers for my little ones. I find that my older children are more independent, but they require my attention, encouragement and approval in their day to day lives. The absence of a mother, temporary or long term, is crippling to family life.
I was raised by a career military man, and later married one. I understand the sacrifice made by our military personnel and their families. Two decades before Sept 11, I was learning to take cover from terrorist attacks under my school desk, my father was out patrolling foreign borders, and my mother was home holding down the fort. She brought all of the happiness and security we had to our home. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about protecting this liberty. I respect and honor the woman that chooses to serve. I only believe it should remain a choice for her, even in times of war. Benjamin Franklin once remarked, “They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety” (Franklin, n.d.).

Chasing His Dreams

2008-06-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

I married Gene Murphy on October 14, 1994. Seven months later, in late May of 1995, I crossed the stage in our town’s college auditorium and received my high school diploma. Rather than contemplating plans for my first grown-up summer that day, I was dreaming of joining my sailor sweetheart on the west coast, a home with a white picket fence, and lots and lots of babies. It took four years, but eventually my first of five boys arrived. Eddie was long and skinny, with blue eyes and orange-red peach fuzz which gave off the impression that his head was actually glowing. In the early days of motherhood, I suffered a great deal of anxiety directly related to the state of Eddie’s diaper. It did not take many years before I stopped worrying about diaper rash and began to worry about his future. Fretting over his future naturally led to concern for his education, which in turn led to concern over mine. I determined that my education, or lack thereof, would reflect on the kind of life my son would lead. There are some things that an educated mother can more easily gift her children than her uneducated counterpart.

Little boys are curious creatures. They have to know the ‘why’ of everything. Why can’t I have a pet penguin? Why do I have to wear a tie to church? Why do Rolly-Polly bugs curl up like that? And so on. These are examples of the kinds of questions that my boys typically ask when they are very small. Often times we simply need to say something like “penguins are wild”, or “you look spiffy” in response to these. But then they grow older. The questions become more complicated. Three word answers no longer suffice. They want to know about the genetic make up of worms, or perhaps they need to find as many synonyms for the word cold as they can. There is no room in my head to store that kind of information. By knowing how to find the answers to these questions, I eliminate the need. It is my wish to unlock mysteries for my children and broaden their horizons. And in so doing, teach them to find the answers for themselves.

Teaching is most easily accomplished by doing. I remember well when my mom went back to college. I was thirteen years old. All my life, she had been waiting for me when I arrived home from school. Most of the time, there was a homemade treat waiting for me which I would gobble up before disappearing for the remainder of the day. I took for granted that my mother’s sole purpose in life was to welcome me home with a hug and kiss, fill my belly, and then good naturedly wave good-bye as I departed into my childhood Neverland. She would, of course, wait anxiously for my return, all the while pondering on which pleasures she should next bestow upon me. I was proud of my mother. Needless to say, college was a rude awakening for me. Mother was no longer found in the dining room after school, but in the basement surrounded by monumental piles of various educational materials. The tempting treats of yesterday were no more. Those days were gone, replaced with long days of whispered conversations and peanut butter sandwiches. I learned something very important about my mother during those years. You see, like me, she loved being a mother. The loss of Neverland, and its accompanying sweetness, was a greater sacrifice for her than it was for me. I watched her make that sacrifice and struggle through her days. When the day finally came that my beloved mother put on her black graduation gown and cap, I drove with her to the ceremony and watched as she received her degree. I was proud of my mother.

Like my parents before me and their parents before them, I want a better life for my children than I have. Education opens the flood gates of opportunity. If I neglect my education, they are very likely to neglect theirs. If they know that I have gained an education, I have worked hard to make it a good education, and it has indeed influenced my life, my words will then have meaning. Each generation builds upon the last.

Unlike most of my classmates, I have no intention of joining the work force after I graduate. I have children to raise, and it is their season. So why attempt to juggle the demands of a large family, the responsibilities of a marriage and the work involved with school? Because my years of strong influence over my children are numbered. Like me, they have dreams. I want them to live those dreams. I have chosen to follow my heart, so that they will see me do it. I am pursuing my dreams now so that Eddie and his brothers will get it into their heads to do the same. While I am doing it at a fast trot, I pray that for them it will be a full on sprint.

Evan

2008-04-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

I find it fascinating how different siblings can be. Born of the same parents and raised in the same home, and yet polar opposites in personality and habit. Such is the case in my family. Each of my sons is very definitely his own person. My oldest son, Eddie is almost ten. He is creative, active and generous. His first word was "WOW!", and he has pretty much lived his life by that motto. Scotty is my second, and he’s eight now. Scott has the strongest personality I have ever had the joy of knowing. There is no force on earth that can stop that boy once his mind is made. Jesse is three and a half. Recently I was told by a middle-aged mother that she wanted to marry him. Oh, yeah. He’s cute, but he’s trouble. Ross is still pretty little, but he has an impressive will and a fierce temper.
In counting, you may have noticed that I omitted number three. I assure you, this was not accidental. He is the topic of today’s soap box presentation. I have briefly described each of my other children. Now let me introduce Evan. Evan just turned six. You’ve seen the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade, right? You know those giant balloons that have to be grounded by about a hundred people to keep them from floating away? That’s the best way to describe my Evan. I tell you this to help you better understand my predicament.
One day about a year ago, Evan came down stairs and announced that he was going to get a penguin for a pet. Knowing that his little heart is a tender one, I wanted to be very careful not to hurt his precious feelings. My initial argument against his plan was that Kansas is not a cold enough place for penguins to live. He responded that we could fill the bath tub with ice and they could live there. We went back and forth for weeks. Every time I came up with a brilliant thought that I was sure would dissuade him, he answered back with what seemed to him to be a very rational solution. I was mortified. I had no idea how I was going to get out of the whole penguin thing, and even less idea how I had gotten so far into it to begin with.
It all came to a head one night some weeks later. At our house, Daddy does the tucking in. It gives him a chance to have a little alone time with the kids, and also to make absolutely certain that they are too wound up to sleep. And so it happened that I was downstairs enjoying some quiet when I heard Evan going off. I phrase it thus because he sounds roughly like a tornado siren when it isn’t being drowned out by a storm. Anyway, down he ran, his little face doused in tears. When I asked him what was the matter he managed to sob the words, "Daddy said penguins are wild!" I was speechless. Weeks I had spent trying to gently let my boy down, and Daddy had done it in one word: wild.
Obviously, Evan and I understood the word "wild" differently. The denotative meaning of the word wild is: living in a state of nature, not tamed (dictionary.com). Evan’s connotation of the word meant: "I can’t have one as a pet." We were communicating in completely different ways. If I had only known exactly what to say, and what it would have meant to my sweet Evan, weeks of stress and fruitless hoping could have been avoided. Besides that, I learned one other valuable thing. When he came up with the idea of our whole family riding inside a whale to get to Disneyland, I referred him directly to his father.

2007-05-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

My goal was to visit my Grandma and Grandpa. My plan was to hold a fund raising garage sale. As I was pondering on this, another idea came to me. As is my habit, I immediately acted upon this idea. I emailed all of my friends and family and asked them to save anything that they no longer loved for my sale. I felt very clever. Then I prayed.

I should have learned by now that when you ask the Lord for something, you need to be prepared to accept the consequences. In this case that meant dealing with a two car garage packed to the hilt with boxes, beds, bags and other unloved items. Before all was said and done, it was spilling over into nearly every room on the main floor of my house and even into my back yard.

When the day of the sale finally came, we found ourselves up to our necks. We had 17 long tables set up and an unbelievable number of things yet to be unearthed. We prayed. Then we waited. People came and went, without purchasing a thing. We were getting very nervous. Surely in all of these things they could find something they wanted? But as the day grew later, we found that we had no reason to fear. My sister kept whispering the words "If you have it, they will come." My mother kept counting out money. I kept refilling tables. It was a lot of work. Toward lunch time, my dad and his band stopped in. We danced, talked with the many neighbors who came to visit us and ate hot dogs and drank lemonade.

I was just starting to relax and have a good time when an unnerving sight caught my eye. It was my five year old son, painstakingly dragging a cardboard box across the grass toward me. Anybody who knows Evan at all knows that this is not a good thing. This particular box I knew to be occupied by a donated race track. The kind with lots of little pieces and far too many items to step on. When finally he reached me, he looked hopefully up into my eyes. I couldn't help wondering what his plan was. After a few seconds of silence, he opened his little fist to expose a handful of shiny rocks. That moment created the kind of emotion in me that always makes me want to laugh out loud. And not just a little laugh. A great big belly laugh. The kind that makes you cry and your abs hurt for days. I was overcome by a mixture of pride, hilarity and heart break. Here was my sweet little boy trying his best to barter for something that he really wanted. I took him aside and explained that the rocks were very lovely, but just not the kind of currency we were looking for. He was crushed. I felt horrible for him. So we came to an agreement. I would put the toy aside for him in exchange for slave labor. He quickly agreed. I thought the situation was handled. I soon found that I was wrong. It wasn't that my son had learned the value of a little work. And it wasn't that he had learned something about money. No, sir. When I wasn't paying attention, he learned that you can still buy brownies from mema with pretty rocks.

Would my ONE FRIEND friend please step forward!

2007-02-21T08:11:00.000-08:00

I have often been heard to say over the years that I really didn't have many friends. Just a few months ago, while watching my sweet son struggle with the problems of childhood, it came to me. You don't need many friends. You really just need a "One Friend." A true, honest and sincere friend. The kind of friend that you would lay down your life for. A person that is always there through challenges and growth, through pain and joy, through failure and accomplishment. The kind that you pine for when life takes you down seperate paths. The kind of person whose life you can change and who can help you become more than you ever hoped to be. Put this way, friendship looked like a much different adventure. I realized that I had been blessed with an abundance of "One friends." And so have you. I would bet my life on it.

As life has gone by, I have known many, many people who I cared for. A few have met my criteria for One Friends. The first was Megan when I was 10. We met just after my family arrived in Schweinfurt, Germany on a three year tour of duty. An unlikely friendship to say the least, she was my closest friend for more than five years. We were both restationed to different areas of the United States in 1989. After a few years we lost contact. I have never been able to locate her again. It is a regret that I carry with me where ever I go, and that I have vowed to never relive.

Next were Gen and Melissa in high school. Vicky just as I was growing up. Heather in San Diego. She saved me from utter despair more than once. Brigitte in Kansas City, who saw me through eyes that no one else could. All of these women were known and loved in my past. Each of them holds a firm place in my heart today.

I have had the pleasure in my new home of meeting yet another One Friend. I'm amazed at how quickly I have come to love her. I probably don't even know her that well , but I feel as though I always have. She is the one that has led me back to my dream and encouraged me to jump in. She has liked me just because. She has helped dig the skeletons out of my closet and allowed me to move on. She has loved me and mourned with me through the hardest times of my life. She has become a permanent fixture in my heart. She is a blond, a brunette, and a silver haired beauty . She has blue eyes, or green, or brown. She is tall. She is short. She is boisterous and quiet. She is silly and serious. She is fun and games. She puts her nose to the grind stone. She laughs and cries. She serves, in her own unique way. She is beautiful. She has touched my life, and I love her for it.

"And it came to pass...that the soul

of Jonathan was knit (tied) with

the soul of David, and Jonathan

loved him as his own soul."

1 Samuel 18:1

Valentine's Day, or not?

2007-02-14T06:50:00.000-08:00

Today is a day that many people spend thinking about the romantic love in their lives, or the lack there of. They spend a small fortune on perishable items, many of which are used up and forgotten, or gifted to people whose presence in their lives will be short lived. They eat chocolate, dine in expensive restaurants and try to out do their lovers best efforts.

Personally, I like to spend today kicked back, enjoying a death by chocolate brownie, a glass of skim milk and a good book. It's one of four days a year that I may cry for no good reason. I will spend it celebrating the presence of someone in my life who I love very much, and who changed it very dramatically. But it won't be my darling Gene. It won't be my best girlfriends. Or even my mom and dad. No, today I will reward myself for accomplishing a feat I never would have thought possible. Seven years ago today, I delivered a nine pound, twelve and a half ounce, twenty two and half inch baby boy. And I hardly broke a sweat.

That's right, girls. It was a breeze. (Just in case you feel the need to throw flowers at my feet, I like carnations.) Scotty was my second born. He out weighed my eldest by more than two pounds and was more than an inch longer. He also had a head full of dark brown hair, which has now been replaced by a handsome orange-ish red that matches well every hair color in the family save one--mine. He's also a fairly small child. About average height and weight. Deceptively thin, he looks like a wimp but is remarkably strong.

Right from the start he was a pistol. We called him "Cranky Wayne" when he was newborn. When my boys were tiny, I often propped them up in their carseat, unbuckled, but at my feet, while I took care of household tasks. One day when he was about two months old, I had done just that while I washed the dishes. It only took him a few minutes to scoot his bottom down far enough to get out of that seat and flip it over on top of himself. He began walking at eight months, but even before that he would scoot around (he never crawled) holding paperback novels that he retrieved from my book collection and trying to get me to read them to him. He spoke in complete sentences before his first birthday. At about age four he decided he wanted to learn how to read. So he figured it out on his own. He started Kindergarten reading fairly well for a child his age. At the beginning of first grade we had to fight, alongside his really awesome teacher, for him to have access to library books that were even ALMOST a challenge. He blew away the placement testing. Now, about half way through the school year, he is approaching his third grade brother. And Eddie reads well into the Middle School Range.

I guess I sound like I have a problem with humility. I think that is entirely possible when it comes to my four boys. But don't let me misguide you. Scotty has given me more writing material than I would care to discuss. And it is seriously not funny. At least not right away. A little story to illustrate.

When Scotty was about eighteen months old, we lived in a tiny little duplex. It had a basement which housed the washer and dryer, but the steps down to it were shared with the next door neighbor. Doing laundry was a real production, what with running up and down and hauling things one direction or another. One fine summer day while I was trying to do said laundry, Scotty decided that he was thirsty. Actually, to be more specific, he was thirsty for juice. I tried to reason with the child, I didn't have any juice just then. At least none that didn't resemble an ice brick. So I quickly filled his cup with milk and ran downstairs to change the laundry. When I returned, Scotty was standing in the kitchen looking mutinous.
"Where is your cup?" I asked him.

"Shoos!" He replied.

"Where is your cup?" I asked again.

"Shoos!"

This conversation continued for quite some time. Finally I gave up. (Any smart mother would have thrown in the towel shortly after spotting the little dear, wearing only a diaper, with his arms crossed over his chest and a very amusing glower on his face. But not me! I like to have my way, too.) I began searching the house. I checked the fridge, the toy box, the basket under the stroller, even the toilet. Finally I returned to the kitchen. Scotty stood just where I had left him, arms crossed and glower in place.

"Where is your cup?"

"Shoos!"

Yikes! It was time to change the laundry again. As I walked toward the door I spotted it. Lying all alone at the bottom of the trash can. We compromised. I washed the cup and filled it with kool-aid. And he never tried to dispose of his cup in exactly that way again.

I can laugh about this now. It even almost seems cute. I can only hope that in a few years I will be able to look back at his current antics and laugh. The truth of the matter is that I love this child far beyond reason. I suppose that is true for most of us. Children have a way of being loved, often in spite of themselves. Scotty is sometimes one of these cases. And sometimes not.

Tonight, while you are out with your sweetheart being wined and dined, don't look for me and my family. We'll be at home, eating Shepard's Pie and Red Velvet cupcakes and honoring a young man we adore. And maybe, when the lights are out and the sound of soft breathing fills my little rural home, you can find me in my bed. Thinking of all the times that have been, and all that will be. Feeling his adulthood pressing in on me like a wieght. And letting the tears roll down my face unchecked.

Thank God for you, Scotty.