Unselfishness at Christmastime?

I saw something the other day that made me think.  It costs $0.00 to be a decent human being.  Now, to be fair to myself, I didn’t see that and think about what an awful human being I am.  With all my troubles, and even as difficult as I can be, I am not an awful human being and strive to keep my Good-o-Meter needle in the green rather than in the red.  (You may need to use your imagination there.)  With it being the holiday season you’d probably expect to see people at their best, their most giving, most charitable, most unselfish.  In fact we are at our most selfish and least charitable.  (I don’t have any scientific studies or poll results to back this up, so just pretend I know what I’m talking about.)  And if not that, we’re probably at our most exhausted.

Yes, we give to charities and kids who wouldn’t otherwise have any gifts under the tree and big scary motorcycle gang members wait in line for five days to buy out every single bicycle at the store to give to needy kids for Christmas.  We have Angel Trees and Operation Christmas Child Shoeboxes.  We feed folks who don’t have food.  We give extra money to the church or the Salvation Army bell-ringing guy.  We work hard at Christmas time to feel better about ourselves by doing for others.

At the same time, we’re making mental lists of stuff we might like to find for ourselves under the tree on Christmas morning.  We’re thinking about how this much money can stretch to buy this many gifts.  We’re worrying about what folks will think when they receive said gifts.  We’re worrying about which store has the best sale and if we can get there fast enough to get one of whatever it is before Sally Shops-a-Lot gets the last one. 

We’re putting time and energy into lights and decorations and trees and cleaning and cooking and showing off for relatives who don’t see us at any other time of the year.  We’re putting on a good face for the masses rather than admitting we’re tired, irritated, and broke, feeling thankless, stressed out, and really would be grateful to put our heads under the covers and hide until it’s all over.  We’re forcing ourselves into crowds we would otherwise avoid.  We’re pulling out the old family recipes because they’re tradition and because the only time they’re ever made is right now, at this particular time of year, but not really because we have time to make them, or even really want to, to begin with.

We all have good intentions, I think.  We all want to make the perfect spritz cookies in the shape of little green trees with the pretty mixed-color nonpareils sprinkled on top as candy ornaments.  We all want to make those mason-jars filled with a mix of ingredients with a happy little pinking-shear cut square of fabric adorning the lid with a tag of instructions tied on with a bow and all the recipient needs to do is dump it all into a bowl, add water (or milk) and bake at 350° for 20 minutes until golden brown.  We all want to hang our stockings 8.5” apart on the mantel (should we be lucky enough to have a fire place) with fancy weighted devices with hooks and add the sprigs of greenery interspersed with red and white Santas and other festive décor.  Maybe a string of lights to off-set the whole thing.  We want to add candles at different heights to our hearthstones to add depth and interest.  We want to invite friends and family over for a home-cooked meal and to sit around sipping laced eggnog or spiced tea and laugh about times past.  We all want the Norman Rockwell Christmas.

I, however, have to uncover my living room in order to put up a tree and some years haven’t even bothered with that.  We always have something for the kids, decorations-wise, but it’s festive even if it is sparse.  And they don’t seem to mind; they’re overcome with the spirit of things, as it should be.  We always have stockings.  But we have bucket-o-cluck with two sides and cookie-cutter biscuits for Christmas Eve supper on disposable plates with disposable flatware and napkins.  We keep it simple.  At the point where we come to Christmas Eve, I’ve had absolutely as much as I can possibly handle of cheery preparation and therefore we have resorted to this unsatisfying new tradition.

This year, I need to make cookies.  And candles.  Those are the two things I feel I absolutely must accomplish before the eve of Christmas is upon us.  Otherwise, I’m done.  Well, the shopping is done (bless whomever invented Amazon.com) and I praise myself a little bit for having pre-planned this year money-wise so, though I may be broke, my bank account won’t take a nosedive into the red (hopefully).  But I still have to spend time wrapping and cleaning and baking and making so I’m not quite there yet.

Oh, crud.  See what I mean?  Selfish.  The holidays make us selfish.  I. Me. Mine.

Therefore, it is with much sincerity I wish you Good Luck.  May you remain a decent, unselfish, human being…and still get it all done. 

TTFN

JMS

Some bullet-points on camping

I’m not particularly fond of camping.  I’ve gone camping lots of times, and it’s kind of okay, and maybe even a little bit fun the first night, but after that I’m ready to go home.  In no particular order, here are a few of the things I really dislike about camping:

• Coffee.  More accurately, the extreme shortage of decent coffee in less than copious quantities.  Some people love “cowboy coffee” – I am not one of those people.  However, when my survival (and others’) is in question, I will chew the coffee if I have to.
• Lack of a temperature-controlled environment.  I dislike being damp and sticky, as if moss is growing on my back almost as much as I dislike losing feeling in my fingers and toes.
• Spiders.  Other bugs I can usually handle.  Spiders?  Not so much.
• The underside of those picnic tables – concrete or wood, doesn’t matter.  It’s difficult to know what might be lurking there unless I look, but once I look, I regret it.  See “Spiders” above.
• Walking in the dark to find a bathroom.  Did I mention spiders already?

But on the other hand, there are several things I kind of like about camping: 

• Family time.  Uninterrupted by electronics.
• Campfires.  Everything about them.  Especially gooey marshmallows on sticks and the way my clothes smell like campfire for days afterward.
• Sleeping in a tent is sort of cool, unless it’s raining.
• Exploring.  Especially exploring through the eyes of my kiddos.  What wonders they behold.
• Hiking.  I used to hate it, but then I was either a smoker, or overweight.  Now, I am neither.  It’s difficult, and sometimes there are spiders, but I enjoy hiking a lot more now.

Here’s what I’ve learned on a recent Girl Scout “camping” trip:

• Not everyone has camping skills.  Even with as few opportunities to camp as I’ve had, I have far more camping skills than a good many people.   This isn’t a negative thing, exactly.  I guess I’ve camped out more than I thought.
• I know how to make foil pockets for cooking individual meals over a fire and also possess the ability to teach others how to make their own foil pockets.
• I don’t want to lead, but get so frustrated when witnessing others fumbling around with something that seems simple and logical to me.  Again, this isn’t a negative thing, exactly.
• Camping without my family is no fun at all.  Camping with virtual strangers is even less fun.
• Gaggling, giggling, gabbing girls.  Yikes.  Like, this is just so annoying!  Like, every time I come across a, like, gaggle of these giggling girls I want to, like, smack a couple of them into silence.  (Please, reign your troops in and get them to take a breath occasionally?)
• It is absolutely true that one strong, knowledgeable leader can make or break the entire experience.
• Camp names must be given to you by someone else; you cannot choose your own.
• Sleeping in a room with 18 girls and 6 adults is a challenge in so many ways.
• I don’t think I’m cut out for Girl Scouts.  I tried to be a Brownie Scout when I was 6.  I went to exactly two meetings and quit.  Didn’t like it then; don’t like it now.  However, I will do my very best not to color my daughter’s experience with my negativity.

TTFN
JMS

From dogs to depression and back again

Sometimes a thought runs through my head like an errant squirrel which tumbles me back through a couple of decades or more of memories which, quite frankly, are too painful to spend too much time thinking about.  It’s not that I’m denying my past; it’s more that I’m preserving my present.

For example, yesterday a friend Tweeted something about the dog down the street from her who howls every time it hears a siren.  That small comment catapulted me back to childhood and our Shetland Sheepdog, Trevor, who would howl for the same reason.  He also "sang" along to Happy Birthday whenever it was sung.  He loved to be brushed.  He did tricks.  He was as sweet as he could be.  And just thinking about him brought back all kinds of other stuff, too, so my brain said, "ENOUGH!" and shut the door soundly in the face of those memories.

When memories hit me in such a way I start feeling kind of hollow inside, like something very large is missing from me.  My heart beats faster and I can feel the cadence of it in my throat.  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  The pit of my stomach turns to acid.  My throat gets tight.  I feel like I’m having trouble breathing.  I become hypersensitive not just emotionally, but all over; I can sometimes feel my elbows.  (That sounds silly, but it’s true.)  Once these reactions start, if I let them go on I’m going to (without fail) have a little bit of a breakdown.  Said breakdown could be as small as a few stray tears squeezing themselves from the corners of my eyes to as large as a full-scale anxiety attack including walls closing in and running to the nearest open, outdoor space so I can breathe.  Therefore, if I tamp down on some of the most painful memories of the past, I have a better present. 

I guess you could call it self-preservation.

And really, most days I get along just fine.  But when I feel the emotions ratcheting up again, and I find that things (memories, feelings, those errant squirrel thoughts) are cropping up more and more often, I typically find it better for not only myself, but for those around me, to go back on an antidepressant.  It’s been a while now since I the last time I took such medication on any kind of regular basis, but I’m thinking it’s probably a good idea to start down that road again.  Of researching someone to talk to and possibly getting myself headed back toward emotional well-being.  I know I’m stronger, and really, I think I’m mostly doing OK, but the signs are there.  I know if I let things go it will just get worse and it will be harder to find my center again.

I must say here that I know there are people out there who are completely and totally against any kind of help in this regard.  They are against the therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists; against the mood-boosting medications which guard against depression (mild to severe).  In my opinion these tend to be the same folks who are against medications in general, really.  I am not one of them.  I believe in getting the help you need, however that may look.  I believe that you can live a happy and productive life, but I also believe that sometimes you may need a little extra help to get you there.  And that’s OK.

TTFN
JMS

Diet is a four-letter word

I read somewhere (I think it was in an old Reader’s Digest and I don’t recall who originally said it) “The hardest thing about being on a diet is shutting up about it.”  Boy, is that ever true!  (Although, personally I prefer to call being on a diet “Counting Calories” because the word “diet” is a four-letter word.)  I read somewhere else (I know it was in a Nora Robert’s book, to give credit where credit is due) where the main female character was implementing a lifestyle change instead of dieting.  Which is true, too.  So, though I might really want to sit here and tell you, my dear readers, all about my diet, I won’t.  I will, however, share a few thoughts on this experience.

Let me just say that really, a diet IS a lifestyle change.  I’ve dieted before, and even had a modicum of success, but I never thought of it as a lifestyle change and I believe that’s why I always failed.  I’m not succeeding now, exactly, but I’m doing a heck of a lot better than I have before and I believe it’s because I changed how I thought about dieting, rather than just concerning myself with what I eat or how much I exercise.

Also, I know myself a little bit better now.  For example:

• I know that I am not a breakfast eater and never really have been.  I know that if I eat breakfast, I’m hungrier earlier than I might be if I just skipped breakfast all together.  (And to all those people who have chastised me for not eating breakfast saying it’s the most important meal of the day I say, “quitchabitchin’ at me!”)
• I know that if there is bread or crackers or biscuits or toast or English muffins or bagels or muffins or anything of that nature hanging around, easily accessible, that I will eat it.  I can’t help myself.  (And yes, I know it seems like that goes against the whole I don’t eat breakfast thing I mentioned above, but I promise it doesn’t.)
• I know that I feel much better if I don’t eat sugary things. 
• I know that red meat is hard for me to digest and makes me feel somewhat ill. 
• I know that I am not a huge fan of “rabbit food” and therefore, even though I’m trying very hard to be good, sometimes a salad will just not cut it and I must eat something more substantial. 
• I know that I like to snack.
• I know that I’m always hungry around midnight.
• I know that if I tell myself I can’t have something, then that’s all I’m going to want.  So if I tell myself it’s OK to have it – just a little bit – then I can satisfy the craving and still be successful.
• I know that I will always eat pizza.
• I know that I must not love chocolate as much as I thought I did because I can easily resist it.
• I know that black coffee does not count and I can have as much as I want.  (DO NOT shatter that illusion with any facts and figures.  Coffee + Jen = Human.)

Now that I’ve really thought about these things, and I understand myself a bit better, I have more keys to success.  I also have a new, fun tool that I didn't have before called an iPhone and a nifty little app called Lose It!  It’s got all kinds of helpful features and has really focused me more on my long-term goal than on the immediate what-I-can’t -have-today.

I’m walking more.  I like walking.  It doesn’t hurt me.  I really wish I had a treadmill so I didn’t have an excuse not to walk when the weather isn’t cooperating (too hot, too cold, too wet…).  I don’t like elliptical machines.  I am unable to run without serious protesting from both knees and lungs.  (Hey – asthmatic here!  Give a girl a break!)

But really – I guess I have implemented a lifestyle change.  I’m 17 hard-won pounds down now.  I have 27 more pounds to kill in order to reach my goal.  Hey – actually – that’s the first time I’ve really seen that in writing.  27 pounds doesn’t seem like such a major undertaking anymore!  How cool is that?

TTFN
JMS

I'm a recovering Facebook addict

Hello.  My name is Jennifer and I have been Facebook free for almost two full months (since January 17^th) and, though I would very much like to say I don’t miss it, I must admit that I do.  Miss it.  Often.  Frequently. (“’Orphan’ as in a person with no parents or ‘often’ frequently?” Bonus points anyone?)

I miss so very many people!  I miss being able to keep in touch with family out of state.  I miss being able to use more than 140 characters.  I miss the enjoyment it brought me, seeing other peoples’ pictures, sharing in their joys, their sorrows.  Cheering people on, or up.

I don’t miss the politics, the nastiness, the speed at which rumors spread (so & so is dead!  Oh, my gosh!) only to find out through the smallest amount of sleuthing that said rumor is a hoax.  I don’t miss people “friending” me who I don't know from Adam.  I don’t miss all the inappropriate things, comments, pictures, and hey-look-at-me-selfies.  I don’t miss people (for whatever reason: religion, personal beliefs, sexual orientation, skin color) being persecuted or verbally bashed or simply hated.  What have we become? 

I want to feel like I still have friends, even if I don’t see them every day.  Because I’m interested in what interests them.  What makes them happy.

This whole giving up Facebook thing is much harder than I thought it would be. 

And yet…

Sometimes – for extended stretches – I don’t think about it at all.  So I ask myself, often and frequently, “Would I go back?”  It’s not like a drug addiction, right?  Or an alcohol addiction.  Those unfortunate addictions are not even in the same ballpark…are they?  It’s not like giving up cigarettes, either.  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  Still want one almost every day.

So, would I go back?  Maybe.  Someday.  If “they” banned politics and mean people and selfishness and toxicity and narcissism and inequality and hate.  Those are the reasons I left. 

And yeah, like I said, I miss parts of it.  I miss those I love, or like an awful lot, or even am vaguely interested in.  But I don’t miss the rest.  Come see me on Twitter, OK?  It’s not my drug of choice, but it’s a non-narcotic form of Social Media that I can handle.  Mostly.  (Twitter: @jshell73 #offonatangent)

TTFN

JMS

It's practically a requirement

One of the things I love about being a mom is getting to spend one on one time with my kids.  They spend a lot of time together, and for the most part, they get along pretty well - with a few pushy-shovey-he-said-she-said-that’s-mine-no-it’s-mine thrown in for good measure.  Because really, what would parenthood be without those special and important parts of a parent’s resume: peacekeeper, disciplinarian, human lie detector, etc.?  You get the drift.  But when they’re together, they’re always in some kind of competition with one another; for my time, for hubby’s time, for the stuff (whatever that stuff may be).

I mentioned several (ok a dozen or so) posts ago that one of my new favorite things is the kids sweetly competing for hugs from me in the mornings before I leave. The hug from boy-child, who relinquishes me to his sister so girl-child can hug me, but then he scoots around us so he can get behind her for yet another hug from me, then she follows the pattern, and so on and so forth until I have to say, “Ok guys, I’ve really got to go!  Love you!” and scoot out the door.  This truly could go on forever, but I love it.

However, when there is an opportunity for me to spend quality one on one time with one or the other of my kiddos, I do my best to jump on it.  They each know that I love them and care about what they have to say, and this alone time is an opportunity for me to prove it.  Not with stuff but with time.

Tonight, Hubby took girl-child to Girl Scouts.  So boy-child and I went to Firehouse Subs and had a mutually agreeable dinner together and the conversation spanned from school, to standardized testing, to Minecraft, to the new-fangled drink machine the restaurant has, The Weather Channel, weather in general, and opinions about many other topics.  My son has an amazing capacity to understand things far beyond his 11 years; he is so wise.  Then we hit the local thrift store, just to see what they had, and as we wandered, we searched for various things that might interest us – just because.  He wanted to get a Beanie Baby for his sister.  Then we found a t-shirt that says, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” on it and he said, “MOM! Don’t you think [girl-child] would loooo-oooove that?”  So we got that, too.  He’s a sweet kid and thinks of his little sister even without a parent prompting him.

Now we’re home, the laundry is tumbling, teeth have been brushed and we’re hanging out together talking about a game on his tablet called “Hay Day” – which is kind of like FarmVille, but not.  And he has been touting the virtues of becoming a landscape architect “because it’s so satisfying to arrange things on [his] farm so they are pleasing to the eye.”  I’m quoting; that actually came out of his mouth.

Anyway – I really enjoy hanging out with my kids.  When boy-child goes to Scouts with Hubby, I hang out with girl-child and that can mean anything from cooking a simple meal together, to just throwing together a snack plate (covering all the nutritional bases, of course) and curling up in bed together to watch a Disney movie.  We talk about all kinds of stuff too, just different stuff.

I guess that I’m kind of lucky that I actually enjoy my kiddos.  I know there are lots of parents out there who think of their kids as accessories, or worse, a burden.  I feel sorry for those parents.  They have absolutely no idea what they’re missing.

TTFN

JMS

Age and Eccentricity

I shall dye my hair some obnoxious color, give it a tight perm and start wearing rhinestone-studded spectacles.  Or maybe allow my hair to go fully gray, and grow it out long enough to wear in a thick braid down my back.

I shall wear flowing, bohemian skirts and weigh my neck down with lots of necklaces – at least one of which must have huge hunks of raw turquoise.

I shall turn the storage building in the back yard into my personal workshop where I shall make beauty products from natural ingredients, beaded jewelry and handmade greeting cards.

I shall keep bees, collect their raw honey and sell beautiful, golden jars of the stuff at a roadside stand.

I shall read Jack Kerouac, write haunting poetry, stay inside on a Thursday simply because it’s Thursday.

I shall have a cat and never name it because cats don’t come when they’re called so it doesn't really matter if they have a name.

I shall have a basset hound and name him Arthur.

I shall become comfortable using a typewriter instead of a computer and foster several false starts at writing the great American novel – or at least a book of passable poetry, thoughts and observations.

I shall live in an old Victorian home where the peeling wallpaper only adds to its charm.

I shall have a personal library and walk into it every day simply to inhale deeply and breathe in the scent of the volumes I've collected.

I shall turn my home into a bed and breakfast, fill the guest rooms with antiques and local artwork and the bathrooms with my homemade beauty products.

I shall kneel in the garden caring not one whit about the dirt on my knees or under my fingernails and wear a large, floppy hat to combat the sun and wrinkles.

I shall send my children baskets filled with love and my grandchildren shall receive pieces of ribbon and buttons and other leavings and findings with instructions to make something beautiful for me to hang on my refrigerator.

I shall help my husband tie his neckties when he deems the occasion fit to wear one and, with pleasure, listen to him sing to himself when he doesn't think anyone else is listening.

I shall smile secretly to myself at some half-remembered dream.

I shall feed the birds all year long and rise early to catch worms.

I shall paint my toenails simply because it makes me happy and then wear boots so no one can see what color I've chosen; it shall be my little secret.

All these things I shall do because I shall have no qualms at showing my age or eccentricity – though perhaps I shall begin today so my new penchant for flowing skirts and dirty fingernails doesn't come as a surprise to anyone tomorrow.

First, I must win the lottery.

***

NOTE: All this brings to mind Jenny Joseph’s poem, Warning.  I didn't realize it until after I’d written everything above how similar they are in some respects – but as a matter of note, I, in no way, intend to copy or reproduce her work or her style.  My style is my own, and so is my work.  I simply note here the similarities.

TTFN

JMS

Chemically-induced symptoms and miracles from Heaven

I’m 100% positive that you don’t want to hear about my sinus issues and the mass quantities of goo currently being held prisoner inside my head.  (File that under Things that make you go EEEW!)

I’m definitely not going to share with you anything about…  Well, actually, I’m not even going to mention that.  (Feel free to let your imagination run wild.  I might be messing with you…but you’ll never know!)

I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear about my current struggles with calorie counting and the evil cravings that plague me when I awake after midnight and decide a snack sounds like a fabulous idea.  My will-power and I are in a constant state of war right now.  Or, that my decision to not eat after 7 p.m. is almost like my decision to give up soda altogether; annoyingly difficult but ultimately not impossible.

Actually, maybe you do want to hear about the whole giving-up-soda-altogether thing.  More to the point, I’ve decided that’s what I want to talk about.  So, since this is my blog, I think I shall continue.

Coca-Cola vs. Diet Coke

In the not so distant past, I was totally addicted to Coca-Cola; the full-strength, full-sugar, full-calorie version.  I drank that stuff like it was going out of style.  Then, though the details surrounding my decision to change escape me, I decided that switching to Diet Coke was a good idea.  At first it was gross; bitter and not as sweet as regular Coke and I remember thinking I might gag if I had to drink it regularly.  However, I figured I was making an excellent decision regarding my health so I pushed through my initial disgust of the diet stuff and eventually realized that it was the most wonderful beverage ever to be put on this great round ball on which we live.  (AHEM! Can we say brainwashed...?)  Coffee was the only thing, in my most humble of opinions, which could ever top a good, ice-cold, Diet Coke…but I digress.  (Wait, digression is practically required here.  That is why my blog is aptly named …Off on a Tangent.)  But after a while, I realized that my weight started creeping up, and up, and up.  Also, I felt awful; always tired, a lot of aches and pains I’d never had before, grouchy more often than I cared to admit.  I never attributed these symptoms to my Diet Coke intake.

Then Lent came around

One year I decided I would give up caffeine for Lent.  So, there went my Diet Coke intake for at least forty days.  I switched to things like Sprite and ginger ale…and my coffee went bye-bye, too.  (At least in the caffeinated way, but really, what’s the point of decaffeinated coffee?)  In hindsight, this probably wasn’t the most awesome idea I’d ever had because almost as soon as my caffeine intake dwindled, I acquired a daily headache and felt even more miserable than I already did.  Sometimes those headaches were full-blown migraines which, due to my allergy to ibuprofen and NSAIDs in general, were usually only manageable through Tylenol, dark rooms, and sleep.  But again, I digress.  Suffice-it-to-say, those 40 days were probably the most miserable 40 days of my life – and not just my life, but the lives of Hubby and kiddos, too.  I’m positive they were as miserable as I was, but only because they were subjected to living with the monster that I’d become.

I’m probably misremembering some of these details, but you get the picture.

The next year when Lent rolled around again I decided that giving up the caffeine all together was a very bad idea for Jen (that’s me), so I modified my intent to simply give up sodas.  I need to say here that part of the reason I like sodas to begin with is the bubbles.  So, even though giving up sodas wasn’t that awful, I missed the fizz.  My headaches went away (mostly) and I don’t recall being as achy or tired.  Even this didn’t clue me in.

And then, a miracle happened

One day about five or six months ago, while spending the afternoon with friends, I was offered an ice cold Perrier and *BAM* my life changed.  My world expanded, light from the very heavens focused on the clear liquid I was holding in my hand and a choir of angels sang, “HALLELUJAH!”  ♫♪♪♫

It really wasn’t the Perrier, per se.  It was my sudden realization that I could still have an ice-cold fizzy beverage without all the other stuff.  No more calories.  No more fake sugar.  No more chemicals that were doing who-knew-what to my body.  No more sodium for goodness sake!  That simple glass of Perrier changed my decisions like nothing else ever had before.

Now, I know that not all fizzy water is sodium-free.  I really do realize this.  But for the most part, if I stick to Perrier the mineral content is low enough to make the sodium content so negligible as to not even rate on the Nutritional Facts label.  

One thing I understood somewhat quickly was that it is difficult to order "soda water" at restaurants.  Wait staff tend to look at me like I'm from the moon.  I usually have to explain that it's the little button near the Sprite that says, "SODA."

But…what does it all mean?

Simply this – I no longer drink soda.  Period.  Ok, I’ll cop to an occasional ginger ale if my tummy feels off, but for the most part soda and I have parted ways.

Also, it means that all those nasty chemicals I was putting into my body multiple times a day are being flushed out.  I am only noticing now, five or six months later, that I really do feel better.  I still get headaches, but usually because I was lax in my search for a hot, caffeinated beverage (I mean coffee, people…coffee!) and yes, I know that the lack of caffeine is the catalyst for my headaches but at this point, they’re so much more rare than they were that I’ll deal with it.  I’m nicer (mostly) and less achy (though I’m getting old, so stuff just hurts that never hurt before) and feel all around like a human my age probably should.

Now, if they could just come up with something that would make my asthma go away entirely, that would be awesome, too.  But I’ll take what I can get.

TTFN
JMS