garb(e) \ gärb\ noun 1. obsolete: fashion, manner 2. a: a style of apparel b: outward form : appearance
Origin: Middle French or Old Italian; Middle French garbe graceful contour, grace, from Old Italian garbo grace.
First use: 1599
garb transitive verb: to cover with or as if with clothing First use: 1846
New snow on rose hips
Already this winter is better than last. Just after Christmas we got a couple of dumps of snow, nearly two feet of powder, good enough for snowshoes. Best of all it stayed cold for a while, but then , that dreaded warming and quite a bit of the lovely snow melted, alas.
Winter is my favourite time of year. No need to have excuses to be inside listening to music, creating, designing, or escaping in a good book with a cup of tea in front of the fire. Meanwhile the necessity of dog walking means that I still get out twice a day, one early morning, before breakfast, down the road, and the other, afternoon, in the woods, up the hill. I sense that, when I’m out at this time of year, that there are not a lot of others out, braving the weather. Too bad for them; for me the feeling during the day is like late at night, tranquil, when most of the world is asleep.
Last week Murphy and I did a weekend road trip to Bonney River, New Brunswick to help my cousin with some computer things. I brought my snowshoes but I couldn’t really let Murphy off the leash because the ice on the Magaguadavic River (those who know call it the Magadavy) and the smaller Bonney River where we walked in the woods was not reliably frozen, so I trudged for miles in my big Sorel pacs.
The preferred boot for slogging through two feet of snow, rated for -40.
Murphy meticulously examining the tracks of a moose
The not quite frozen Bonney River
The Saturday of our visit was snowy all day. I had hopes that there was also snow three hours south but it turned out to not be.
Sunday warmed up enough that under the snow was boggy melt, enough that Murphy could drink the water pooling in our footsteps.
My helpful data entry gig lasted until noon on Monday, then a last lunch and we headed back as the temperatures were going down, again. Home in Maine, most of our snow was gone, the driveway a sheet of ice and so cold that my little woodstove could barely keep the temp inside above 15C. Upstairs my thermometer read 9C, inside one morning. A hot water bottle helps keep my feet warm.
The morning walks are a challenge when it is this cold. My extra long scarf wraps around my face but that means I can’t wear glasses because they steam and then ice up. I wear long fingerless gloves inside my heaviest mittens, wool socks inside my felt pac boots, full length down coat and two hats. Thus garbed, I can walk for hours if I want but my vision is a bit blurry and the two hat thing is not my best look, so I decided to make a heavier proper earflap Fair Isle hat. I found a good pattern on ravelry.com, The Juneau Fair Isle Hat, by Jenny Dolan that I used as a starting point. I liked the I-cord edge and I’ve done enough two-stranded hats and mitts that I thought I could come up with a decent, warm hat.
Meanwhile, I bought a new book at my LYS (Local Yarn Store, to non-knitters) about using up stash yarn. A Yarn Stash, is like the the loot in the secret caves of the thieves that Ali Baba followed. I have heard there are knitters who buy only enough yarn for a project at a time, use it, then get more. Weird, I say. I have yarn that I bought in the 70′s (I think that ‘s the oldest) and have accumulated enough that I could probably knit my stash for a couple of years (doing nothing else) before I needed more. But there is always something more.
My LYS is the fabulous Heavenly Socks in Belfast, Maine. It’s a dangerous place for yarn lovers. I have the same affinity for yarn stores as for fabric ones. (reference my post: A change agent, lamenting change, May, 2011). Colour, texture, possibilities. Best of all, most things you knit can be unravelled and knit again, changed, mistakes corrected. It’s a most forgiving art and my default activity when I have a problem to solve in another arena. Knit for a while and suddenly the how of constructing a pocket that works from two sides, or some other problem, becomes evident.
The stash-busting book had a tip that I wanted to try. There is a newish item in the yarn stores called a Zauberball that has long colour changes that fade into each other. Zauber means magic, and the book suggested making a magic ball from coordinating colours of yarn, creating a variegated ball that would stripe fairly regularly. I had just finished a fabulous pair of socks with yarn from Good Karma Farm so the small leftover ball was the inspiration. I don’t have lots of sock yarn so I doubled anything that was fingering weight or sport weight to match the knitting worsted weight that is most of my stash. I lined up the colours on my desk then started roughly measuring lengths and knotting them together. The beauty is that if you knit plain, all the knots will go to the back.
I made a BIG magic ball. First, to try it out, I knit a scarf I saw on Ravelry, Wingspan Scarf. Of course, my yarn is thicker than most so mine is a bit like a long collar. Because it is garter stitch the knots show everywhere but I sewed a shell button on every knot, used big shell buttons so that it can be buttoned up and beaded the pointy ends. I also did the yo, lace-ish version; helps with the buttons.
Angora, mohair, alpaca, and a bit of acrylic chenille in olive, purple, taupe and gold.
It’s kinda old man, 1940′s colours but I like it.
Then Hat or another pair of mitts? I went for the hat so I could stop the two hat madness. I knit the hat in 2.5 days, using my magic ball and natural worsted from Briggs and Little in NB. I started with the ear flaps and figured my gauge from them, calculated how many stitches to add and unlike the pattern, I moved the earflaps back a bit. I also made the earflaps longer because they didn’t seem long enough by themselves, so now they are super long. Because of my stitch count I used a 16 stitch repeat pattern that was 15 rows for the main pattern but it was getting too deep so I started decreasing with the pattern, lost six more stitches in the plain rows then did regular decreases with a tree pattern. Someday I’ll make a plain hat (Hunh!) I finished the top with a flower, purple with green mohair leaves. the flaps and a head band are lined with purple stretch velvet. I paired purple mohair with a purple worsted for the cord edge and made a loop and button closing at the points of the earflaps. The flaps are too long to have ties. And I think flaps always look cooler, loose.
Somehow I have once again channeled my inner Mongol horde ancestry with my take on the ancient warrior of the steppes hat.
I used the timer on my new camera for the first time today. What a revelation! It has a face recognition feature.
Modelling my Mongol Warrior, Fair Isle Hat
The countdown to snap doesn’t start until you look at the camera. How amazing is that? No more rushing to get in the pic . I wanted to take a picture of the back and had to look at the camera before I turned around. The only hard part is figuring out where to stand so that I am in the frame. Murphy participated as well because he was jonesing for his second afternoon walk and wanted to make sure I did not forget.
Hey, Supreme Leader, remember that patrol thing we do every day? You walk your loop and I occasionally surprise you on the trail, remember? Then there’s cookies……. isn’t that NOW?
So now I have a super warm hat and scarf that is sort of matching, and still enough magic ball to do another…… and that didn’t even dent the stash, so much for stash-busting. Still I put the idea to good use and learned more about my camera. Now to stash bust my fabric…… that might take a decade!
Closeup of a Tsimshian totem pole
Summer of ‘o5 I was going around in circles leading tours around the Canadian Rockies. My preferred route was one called The Totem Circle. Like many it started in Vancouver, stopped in The Okanagan (in this case, Vernon with a visit to The O’Keefe Ranch) then on to Banff and Jasper. From there the real fun started. Instead of going directly back to the coast we drove north to Prince George and then boarded the Skeena train to Prince Rupert. The journey is magical, progressing to the coastal rainforest, emerald green, dark with mystery. After two nights in Prince Rupert the tour continued on the Queen of the North (may she rest in peace, sunk offshore the following March) for a fifteen (PLUS!!!) hour steam to Port Hardy on Vancouver Island. A driver buddy was heard to say once , ‘ Hey! Those seagulls are passing us!’ From Port Hardy, a day’s drive to Victoria for a two night stay, and then return to Vancouver.
One trip I was two days behind my BFF Carmen and I arrived in Vernon to be told that one of her clients from the UK had left a bear behind (not a bare behind!) and would I take him along because we would catch up to the peeps in question when we finished in Vancouver.
Carmen and myself on the boat to Pike Island (off Prince Rupert), one of the rare times we actually had a two bus move. Merriment ensues, naturally.
The bear, Jules, rode on the dash during our circle. I was traveling with one of my all-time favourite drivers, JR, a calm, caring Hawaiian guy who was a joy to hang out with.
The deal with the return of the bear was that the couple would meet our bus as we arrived at the downtown Vancouver hotel. We arrived, dropped the pax who were staying on and in the flurry of good-byes never thought of the bear until we were well on the way to the airport. I reported in and got the address in the UK so I could post the bear. Well, the way my summer was going, the only day I had some time was in Banff and I was never there when the post office was open, so Jules, the bear, rode around with me and JR three times. Then, between tours, I flew to San Diego to sort out my mother’s confusion from conflicting medication (that’s a rant about the deplorable health-lack-of-care system in the US and for another time) and finally after another trip I was home for a couple of days in Cumberland.
Jules apparently always went traveling with his peeps but he only had a simple kerchief to wear. Fashion maven that I am, I couldn’t send him home with nothing to show for his travels so I made him a vest with a matching beret, helped him write an essay about his summer and sent him off in the care of Canada Post. Here is his essay:
My Summer Holiday
By Jules
My summer holiday got off to a rocky start when I was left behind in Vernon. Abandoned, and, I thought, forgotten, I found myself in a dark place with other things that had been left behind.
But two days later, my situation improved greatly. I was paroled by a voluble tour director named Lynn and a lovely calm and kindly driver named JR who promptly let me have the best seat in the house, right on the dash where I could see EVERYTHING! And what sights! Bears, moose, elk(of course) and the most lovely mountains. I heard stories that were really quite hard to believe and laughed more than I had done in ages.
When we got back to Vancouver I was told that I would be met by my forgetful family, but no-one appeared so I continued my journeying with JR as he went around and around. I learned some Aussie slang (‘struth! and g’day!) and witnessed the Rockies in all manner of demeanors.
Then Lynn and I flew to San Diego for a break in-between tours. What a difference. I’m not used to such heat but it was fun to see a new place. Before long we were back in the Canadian Rockies and the weather had changed yet again. How wonderful to see them in the bright sunshine. But as it warmed up there were fewer wildlife sightings and the only bear to be seen at times was moi! (Practicing my French a bit, since Canada IS bi-lingual.)
Lynn was incredibly busy, what with three tours nearly back-to-back and the only days off in-between needed to help her aging mother in San Diego. I was a big help there. I kept the cat entertained when they went to the Dr’s office. It was only after more than forty days straight that I finally got to meet Lynn’s big dog Jasper and for all my patience and forBEARance, she made me a new outfit, perfect for the coming Fall season.
Jules’ extended stay in Canada allowed him to score a new outfit.
That is my big Canadian Summer Adventure. I’m hoping to meet more great folks the next time I get to go someplace. But just now I really want to take a long nap.
So, finally, off Jules went, home to his English family. Several weeks later I go a package in the mail. In it was a thank you from Jules for his fabulous Canadian Rockies Adventure, explaining how happy his family was that he had arrived home at last. With the note was a lovely, tiny silver pill box inlaid with shell with the suggestion that I might be needing some kind of medication by the end of the tour season, a reasonable assumption considering the people one meets on the road. The pill box is still a prized possession and it is perfect for my tiny thyroid pills.
All of this is because I was uploading photos for my Duchess Designs Facebook page and the one of the bear wanted to be included which got me thinking about the story and looking for pictures to add to that. So one thing leads to another . I wonder sometimes if the couple who bring Jules on their holidays ever speak about his Big Canadian Adventure. I’m thinking, maybe.
The green movement has too few visionary leaders and too few women leaders and too few leaders under the age of 40. Tragically, this week it lost one leader who stood out in all three categories.
On Dec. 26, Rebecca Tarbotton, executive director of the Rainforest Action Network, died while vacationing along the west coast of Mexico, north of Puerto Vallarta.
Posted in Uncategorized
I adopted Mozart from the local SPCA shelter in Comox, six years ago to liven up the sedentary life of my aging, physically failing yet mentally sound Saint Bernard-cross buddy, Jasper. My idea was that with the addition of a cat to the house Jasper would have a focus other than me, busy in my studio. I pictured him thinking, ‘What’s that cat doing now?!?’ and, ‘He wants my bone!!!!!!’ allowing me some respite from the role of dog entertainer.
I grew up with cats but hadn’t really had my own cat companion since before I started working on the road. The last time I’d lived with cats I had some allergic reactions, probably because they were indoor only cats and the accumulated dander was overwhelming. Since my cancer dance I don’t have the pollen allergies that I used to have, courtesy of strengthening my immune system, but, to be certain, I spent two hours, picking up cats and purposefully rubbing my eyes to see if I would be bothered by cat dander. The Comox Valley SPCA had over two hundred cats in a couple of rooms, some in cages, some with access to an outdoor area and others hanging around the main desk. Their facility has ramps and platforms designed for cat happiness, but really they would all be happiest with a real home of their own to manage and guard. Have a look on Petfinder.com sometime to see how many abandoned animals are out there. It’s a shame and I’m here to say that adopting an older animal can be so rewarding. They are already trained and so grateful to be sprung from that concentration camp, however well-designed.
I needed a cat that was not afraid of giant dogs and I specifically wanted a cat that was not too needy and able to go outside. They had a couple of suggestions and then said that they could test any cat with the dogs to see if it would be ok so I was left to my own devices to find a cat that caught my attention.
It was toward the end of the day and no cat had seemed like the one. As I was standing in the office area, someone said,’ What about Mozart? He’s always trying to get in with the dogs.’ He was right there, waiting for the door to the dog kennel to open so he could go through. I picked him up and he hung out in my arms without complaint until I put him down and he sauntered away. His story was that he’d come from a family with lots of other animals and he didn’t seem happy there ( I think he was spraying, maybe hadn’t been altered) so they had surrendered him. He fit my criteria: fairly independent, beautiful, likes dogs and six years old, so mature. I said that he’d do and arranged to pick him up in four days so I could equip myself with cat stuff: bowl, litter box, cat door to the basement where the box would be, scratching pad and food.
The ornamental cat
I returned in four days, said I’d come for Mozart (he’d been there nearly eight months) and they said ,’ He’s in the big room sleeping on one of the platforms.’ I went in and looked around. Lots of black and white cats and some long-haired but I spied him on a platform far above my head. I said, ‘Hey!’ and he looked down at me. Then I said, ’Want to come with me?’ and I could see him give it moment’s thought and then he came down and sauntered over. I picked him up and carried him to the carrier they sold me and brought him home.
He emerged from the carrier and began to take command of the territory. Jasper followed him, looming over until Mozart turned and snarled and a fight ensued. I broke it up and chastised both of them and they settled down for a bit.
Jasper thinking, I KNOW he wants my bone!
Mozart was amazing from the start. I showed him what I’d set up for him, his food on the landing where Jasper couldn’t reach, a scratching pad in my hallway/office, the cat door to the basement where the cat box was and he checked it all out with the ingrained aplomb of a collected cat and proceeded to do his best to hang out with Jasper and drive him crazy.
They say a new cat should be kept indoors for a couple of weeks but Mozart was insistent and three days after his arrival I let him out and alerted my fabulous neighbours that he was out and about. From then he would come on all the walks around the neighbourhood with me and Jasper. I think it was a funny sight, me in the front, Jasper farther back, sniffing at everything, and Mozart bringing up the rear, checking out everything that Jasper did. That first week I noticed Mozart on a fence post beside the house so I went to my bedroom window that was over the shed roof of the kitchen and called him. He jumped to the roof and came over, looked in to check it out, and after that I kept the window open and he came and went whenever he wanted.
Meanwhile, Jasper started carrying his bone everywhere around the house, convinced that Mozart would steal it otherwise, and if I had any trouble getting him to eat I only had to call Mozart over and he would dutifully give a sniff of the dog food and Jasper would hurry over and begin to eat. ‘What’s that cat doing now?’ was the main curiosity consuming Jasper that spring. My idea worked.
You shall not pass! Mozart bars the way, on Jasper’s last day. This still makes me sad.
Mozart was very adaptable to my requirements as well. He could sleep on the bed but only at the foot of the bed where my feet would not be and he accepted that. I’m also not a big fan of cats on my lap so he adopted the pile of cushions I used as a footstool for his hang out in the living room. Jasper would come along and loom and pant loudly until Mozart woke up and left in a huff, revenge for the ‘I want your bone’ stare that drove Jasper crazy.
By summer’s end, Mozart had helped Jasper enjoy the last months of his life and I sold the house. Mid-September began our two week journey east with all my essentials packed in my Suburban with a litter box for Mozart way in the back and an overlarge carrier for his comfort and a net barrier strung up behind the front seats so He couldn’t get to the front and get in my way. Originally I thought to give him the run of the back when I was driving but he spent the entire time pushing at the barrier for a weak point so he was relegated to the carrier when I drove and I let him lose in the truck when I stopped for any length of time.
I bought a harness and leash for him but that I only used a couple of times. Five minutes was all he could handle and then he would freak and do his best Houdini and nearly wriggle out of the harness. We visited on our way to the east coast and in Point Roberts, WA and Hardwick, VT he managed to sneak out the door when no one was looking. He came right back though; amazing, for a cat that he realized that the truck was home, until we landed in Maine and he realized that life, in his mind, just got really good. All I had to do was show Mozart the cat door in the pantry and he was good to go, exploring the neighbourhood.
A month later I got him a dog, Murphy, since we were both missing Jasper so much. At first I thought I’d made a mistake. Murphy tried to chase the cats whenever they were in the house (there’s a female, feral cat here too) and he was on a short leash until Mozart decided he’d take back his territory and refused to run anymore. Now they are buds, but Mozart is definitely the boss. If Mozart decides he wants Murphy’s food, Murphy stands back and waits until the cat is done.
Murphy in one of his bunkers and Mozart on the wellhouse. Sometimes Murphy makes tiny bunkers for the cat.
They stand guard together on the driveway and supervise the chores.
Mozart usually attends the morning walk down the road. Until a couple of years ago he came on the longer walks in the woods as well. Now he just meets us on the way back down the hill. He still visits our neighbour regularly to check his traps ( she is a big time feeder of birds so the prey animals abound at her house.)
As cats go, Mozart is ok. Ann spoils him, lets him on her lap all the time and lets him sleep anywhere on the bed, but he knows that he can’t do that with me and we get along. He’s 13 years old now and still going strong and I think he complies with my demands because he’s grateful that I rescued him and got him his very own dog, twice.
I put a shelf outside my window for Mozart. He jumps up there and bangs on the screen when he wants in, but like Murphy he waits until I ask as well.
Good luck will rub off when I shake hands with you…..
Yesterday I played chimney sweep with haphazard success. Ann is paying for a professional but I figured with my much shorter, straight pipe, I could easily do it myself. Delete easily, and accuracy is achieved.
First, I swept the roof the day before. Strangely enough, when leaves are on the ground you rake, when they are on the roof, you sweep. Later in the winter, if we are lucky enough to have substantial snow, I will rake the roof with a roof rake (more like a scraper).
Then I removed the cap and discovered that the smallest brush Ann has is way too big. Called the hardware store and learned that a polyester bristle brush is required for my metal pipe anyway. The next two things I learned were that stovepipe is categorized by it’s inside diameter (even though carpenters would go by the outside diameter) AND, it’s a very good idea to measure the inside diameter before driving to Belfast. Twice. The first time I was handed the wrong box ( metal bristles).
I decided that the pipe wasn’t really bad but I did have the pipe pushed out of my stove, so I figured I would vacuum behind the damper. Alas, I had incorrectly installed the hepa filter in the shop vac and as I was sucking out dried chunks of creosote the vac was spewing clouds of soot behind me. I quickly turned on the ceiling fan and put another in a window to suck out anything not on a surface and exited to avoid potential black lung disease.
I vacuumed a bit (with the house vac) but realized that washing was required. Luckily I’d not installed my newly cleaned carpet yet. Now I have a very clean floor.
Meanwhile, I figured that my first dryer repair was faulty due to my poor crimping skills. I fixed the wire that had come loose, shorting out the element, and replaced the blown thermal fuse. I got two rounds of dryer action before failure. I guess I should have clued in that the element seemed too hot and glowy. I must say, the life of a handywoman is fraught with unexpectedness and challenge.
There is good news. Having my computer in to be repaired allowed the discovery that my hard drive was failing, discovered before everything was lost. I have multiple backups, so no real worries. That said, I’m writing this on my iPod so pictures are limited to what is on the device.
So, fixing things that are broken. I think I’m glad I didn’t tackle the computer, although I may try, next time…… And, not broken and worth mentioning, the tide has turned, and Maine voted slightly more to the liberal (inclusive, collaborative, accepting) and approved marriage for all.
Or blow me a kiss and that’s good luck too.
Posted in geek, handywoman, home, Mackbook Pro
There’s a song on continuous loop in my head: everything is broken. Well, not EVERYTHING, but enough that I’m thinking the universe is sending me a message.
It all started with my dryer. I know I take heat (!Pun!) for using one but it’s a useful tool for sewing. I have to pre-wash and shrink fabric all the time and that needs a dryer. Besides, towels are softer and jersey clothes have more spring (life) when dried. So when the dryer stopped drying(no heat) I borrowed an ohm/volt meter from a friend, diagnosed and fixed the problem.
Several loads worked well but now the machine doesn’t go on but the element heats. I had to unplug to turn it off. So I’ll have to pull the back off again and hope it’s not the motor.
Then, as part of he next stage of the organizing of the studio saga, I decided to buy a table for cutting out. To make room I rearranged some furniture and decided to put the rest of my music on my Macbook Pro, and the cd shelf unit will be more studio storage.
While moving some of he cd’s, I accidentally knocked out the express card that linked my backup drive and my Time Machine drive. I plugged back in, was warned the backup needed repair, but I was unable to reformat or repartition because it wouldn’t unmount. The Time Machine drive did one update then the computer couldn’t see it no matter what I did.
Then my computer lost contact with my local network. I backed up with another hd then I figured out that I still had internet because I could access from my iPod.
Fortunate that I have an iPod to do some research and fortunate that there is now a great Mac dude in Belfast. I brought him my MBP and both external drives. My guess is I need a new airport card, one drive is trash and the other might be ok.
I’s very disconcerting to be without my computer. It has forced me to figure out other ways to do what I want. Hence this post. I discovered a WordPress app and I’m giving it a test drive. So far not so bad. I’m limited with the images I have on this iPod. What a lack of foresight on my part. Typing with two thumbs is tedious but i don’t think my spelling is too much worse than my usual dyslexic all-the-letters-there-but-not-in-order method. Thimbing maked a lot of adjacwnt mistakes. See?
So the bonus is that I figured out how to blog from my iPod. It’s not as easy and missing some of the features I’m used to. Still, it’s a cheap if tiny alternative to a backup computer or even a tablet. I’m rethinking my backup strategy and researching the options. And I can stream tiny Netfix. How cool is that?
So tomorrow I’ll figure out the dryer so I can return the borrowed meter. Sometime I’ll head for the town hall to cast my vote. I’m wishing that there could be serious voter/ election reform (i like the Australian way: everyone has to vote, it’s a holiday and they vote preferences ), and I’m hoping that this time Maine votes to allow everyone to marry. In my perfect, dream world everyone would vote for the good of the planet first which would put the Green platform foremost. Remember the amphibians!
Posted in geek, Mackbook Pro
A very cool experiment in global community storytelling will come to an end with this year. I happened on the3six5 haphazardly, the way many gems are discovered on the internet and had my chance to participate, yesterday, 1 November 2012. This is my post:
“From Earth” I’ll say, when asked. I favour The North, coastal, temperate; mountains too. Many places feel home-like and being a traveler, I can be comfortable most anywhere, but today I can say, that I live in the spooky forest.
Leaves have mostly fallen, just a few oak and beech leaves rattle sharply in the slightest wind. There is more light now in my studio, even on a cloudy day, and the angle of the sunlight creates long, dramatic sunsets through my west window.
The Day of the Dead is today, an apt beginning to a sepulchral month leading to the longest night. I ought to be skulking around a long-forgotten graveyard but settle for a walk up the hill with the dog, attired in blaze orange, the signal that we are noncombatants in the deer war. I feel like a pumpkin with legs but he looks like a buff crossing guard, ready to enforce his law.
Dreary, gloomy, melancholic, dismal, dark and somber; words to describe November in my neck of the woods. So I wonder why do I love this month more than any other? Why am I so happy to be here in this spooky forest, so murky and overcast? Maybe because November is a month of the margins; like March, my other favourite, it’s about transitions and change. Winter is near, evident in the rime on the dead wildflowers and the longer slanting shadows cast by the sun. Soon there will be a hint of ice in the wind and one day soon, the first magical flakes of snow will drift down.
Transitions and margins are interesting, not easy; but easy wasn’t on the wish list. Fun, challenging, thought-provoking and varied, rather, and that I have in full measure. November signals winter, a time that has for many years been my time off from work, time to play with design, time to create; abundance in a time of austerity. This margin, I am in transition, learning to work where I live for a change. So, as I haunt this spooky forest, I imagine marketing strategy and I play, mirthful contrast to the stark, exterior world.
Posted in Uncategorized
