addendum to the previous post

I realized that many of you hadn't seen the pic in the previous post. Here are all the posts that refer to this glass plate negative project that I did before Chrismas. The posts are:
10/19/05
10/21/05
10/23/05
10/30/05
11/1/05
11/4/05
12/9/05
12/12/05

TGIF AGAIN!!!!

Remember this pic?

my grandfather, great aunts & great dogs! (1890-ish?)

After spending so much time and energy restoring and printing these prints from the glass plate negatives made by my great-grandfather I now get to show you the lens that made the earlier plates – the pre 1890 plates.

I found it and its more complex replacement (post 1890) in a box of miscellaneous junk while cleaning out dad’s basement. I honestly had little hope of restoring them to any semblance of usefulness given their disreputable state – over 80 years of soot, grime and careless handling. After several hours of dislodging the worst of the dismal accumulation and disassembling the lens hope began to emerge along with the elusive shine of 19th century brass. By the time I had the presence of mind to shoot the first photo of the neglected tube I began to believe that there was still some life in the lens after all. There were surprisingly few scratches and dings on the lens elements themselves and there are optical services that may be able to restore the surfaces – fingers crossed. Missing are the fine focus gear and knob and the aperture plates (although dad swears they exist). My hope now is to actually be able to use the lens and make my own plates.

It was a spiritual adventure to work on this piece, to handle the lens barrel and polish it the same way I’m sure my great-grandmother did – I’m sure she is smiling down on this effort. In fact, this whole project has given me some sense of what it must have been like for them laboring away in their photo studio, trying to capture those hopeful and tired faces and emerging industries of the “new” town of Bessemer. This older lens saw time in a tent the town was so new; before the shop was built – I can only imagine the hardship that must have been.

*an interesting footnote is that dad had given me a small screwdriver that belonged to Papa (my great grandfather) years ago and he just confirmed that it was the driver that he used to work on his cameras and lenses. Instinctively it was what I used to disassemble the lens.

I regret that the camera was lost, but there are similar cameras available through antique dealers or, perhaps, a replica could be found. I now wonder what new adventures this lens will have nearly a century after it was retired from service in favor of a “new fangled” Bosch & Lomb.

After the worst was over

Mostly finished!

The next project

TGIF & HAPPY WEEKEND!

Puck!

I gently fight for purchase of the covers, trying not to disturb her precious slumber I slowly pull the covers trapped beneath her leg.
It’s freezing in here.
Gaining ground I bury my shoulders beneath the promise of warmth and bury my head into the pillow, searching for the cooler spots that are too soon warm. My hands are doing a similar search under the pillow, settling only for moments.
I hear the heavy thud of a car door closing – my neighbor’s cab. He leaves it running – I hope he's not here long. Already the stench of exhaust is drifting in the open window.
I bury my nose into the pillow looking for sweeter scents and breathe deeper to flower my nostrils.
Her leg twitches, moves and searches for the refuge of the covers as well.
Drifting, drifting, motor humming in its muffled patience … a shout - loud, angry, followed by a different voice, shrill, then mixed with the first and falling into angry babble and glass shatters on the pavement as the words shatter on the night air.
My mind is engaged I realize. It was sleepy a moment ago – the motor drones on.
What were they arguing about? I wonder, as my imagination fabricates fragments of possible and improbable stories. The thump of the car door again and the cab and its sounds recede into the distance. I see the angry face of argument – hers, his, theirs. I turn my head and once again search for new coolness and fresher scents.
The covers slowly move off my shoulder and grabbing at the hem to stay the retreat I know that this will be a futile effort as her leg pushes the comfort of the heavy cloth to gather at the foot of the bed. I start to struggle to regain the stolen warmth and sat up instead, knowing that sleep will elude me this hour. I reach for my book and feel for my glasses, smearing the lens with my thumb. Tucking the book under my arm I idly clean the fouled lens with the tail of my t-shirt as I descend the stairs.
Why does this sleep elude me? I draw a bath and sit on the floor in the dark room and rub the dog’s head, a sleepy pooch that came to investigate who was up and is there food involved. My head rests on the closet door and I close my eyes as the tub fills and my mind fills with thoughts of loves at play and loves at bay – my thoughts bring me no solace.
The water is silenced and I settle into the warmth and familiarity with my eyes closed to the harsh light needed to read. I open my eyes to a snort and a sigh and see the Buffledog’s nose sticking above the rim of the tub…waiting. Drying my hands I blindly reach for Camus’s The Stranger and slide the glasses down from my hair and settle in to read a page, a chapter, maybe the book, more likely the page – the words have no form, just shapeless streaks of dark ink on crisp white paper. This too will be a futile effort I realize and put the book and the glasses away and lay back with my feet propped on the faucet wall. I trace the growing population of visible scars down my legs. I close my eyes again wishing the light control was closer to the tub and become aware of the silence in this small room, away from the street and the noise with which it endlessly assaults you.
Perhaps I slept for a while. I woke to the Buffledog snoring in the same incongruous position so I know he did sleep. I stood to the frigid air and quickly began to chase it away with the towel, feeling both warmth of the friction and the chill of the evaporation. My eyelids were drooping and my eyes looked tired as I gazed at my stubbled face in the mirror, barely recognizing this midnight horror before me. Sleep is fleeing again and I pulled my t-shirt back on and weave my way around the temporary, but very furry floor covering.
Passing the laptop by with both a grimace and a grin I open the front door to a spring night and sit on the porch railing listening to the ever constant din and pulse of the city.
The cat cries in the kitchen. I just fed her. Now what? She stops, realizing that no one is there.
Resting my back against the post I pull my knees to my chest and lodge my nose in the flesh between my kneecaps – a clean and familiar scent.

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumber'd here……

……as I'm an honest Puck,

If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,

We……………

……… the Puck a liar call:

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.

I wish I could remember all the words. What year was that? Jeeze I was drunk…remembering an inebriated moment of younger days, crouching on a low wall outside a downtown hotel delivering Puck’s soliloquy, first to my date and companions and foisting the (probably inadequate) performance on the passers-by. Did I get laid? Oh yes! Wonder what… sirens pierce the air. I hate the sirens of this urban wasteland – trouble, always it is trouble. Then another and another – the racket is awful! I pull my knees tighter to my chest and curse the din, but in the same cadence as Puck - If we sirens have offended…………..as I am an honest Fuck…….. I don’t have the cells to finish and the cool air is creeping up my shirt. Puck unfolds and unlatches the door.
The Buffledog is sleeping soundly on the living room floor. I grab a hearth blanket and sit with my back against the couch listening to the sirens in the distance. The dog shifts and puts his head in my lap and sighs. The sirens fade to nothing. I hear the heavy thud of a car door closing – my neighbor’s cab. I close my eyes.
I do not like the din of the city – there is no room for silence.

Out of the frying pan...

...and into the ether! Well, it's lighter fare anyway! Happy Wednesday - it is trash day after all!

Malediction

There are words that can enter the mind from some unknown source and reside there, waiting for attention – waiting. “Malediction” (the calling down of a curse) - I wish I knew from whence it came and it would be easier to understand its significance, but I don’t and that makes this unformed thought and its associated feelings all the more troubling. It’s one thing to hear or read a word or phrase and have it careen off the gray cells for a while; however, they don’t portend some impending doom usually. This has been bouncing around for days and I'm hoping that by writing it out it will lose some of its power. I hope this is nothing … shit!

TULIPS baby!

And Spring! Hope everyone had a great weekend!

This continues to blow me away every year - the tulips fields in the Skagit Valley. Everywhere you look there is a sea of color - a feast for tired winter eyes! Happy Monday all!

Transformation...

...and the emergence of Spring. There are still some things to be completed, but here are a few shots of the yard as it stands now. The flagstone is almost completed in the sitting area and there are plantings and rock placements still needed around the maple and the extended beds - that will all happen this weekend since the hostas are peeking through the mulch so we know where not to dig.

So, from around the yard...

TGIF & HAPPY EASTER

Gretchen's guest HNT

...although she didn't seem ecstatic about it, she agreed since I was too busy!

So, from Gretchen, HAPPY HNT!

Seems our guest has fallen in with good company for this weeks HNT

check out her friends Musey, Flybabe, Simply Satisfied, Laine and Melanie

who have similar feelings on the week past.

Shes leaving...again

Oh, get your mind outta the alleyway. My youngest I mean. She’s moving out for the second time in our short life together. She found her a job right here in the neighborhood and now has found a wonderful little studio apartment right on the “Ave” which makes her a very happy girl…well, that and the fact that she also has a steady relationship.

The youngest, “Saucy Free”, was transitioning here with us after a six year relationship fell to ashes. Since she had been living in Canada during that time and for several years before that (she’s a dual citizen) she had to re-establish herself back into the states and that was interesting for someone who’s self-admitted Achilles’ heel is paperwork and documentation. It has been both wrenching and entertaining to watch the process, but now she’s back on her own (mostly).

Actually this second leave taking has been far superior to the first. The previous leaving was while she was still in late teen angry stage and could think of nothing more than “escape” and left an acidic taste in our mouth. This time, however, is on the heels of a very good year together and she’s more grateful than anything else that she had this reprieve – she’s also much older and truly wiser.

An odd but interesting side note is she and her man took care of all the moving chores, not letting us help; which took a few minutes to settle into. I realized that this was a watershed moment, of not feeling like I had to be in the middle of this operation and could sit on the sideline and watch with both pride and relief as they struggled, fought, cussed and laughed their way to the truck with beds and other awkwardness.

So, she’s 10 blocks away, we still have a built-in dog/house sitter and all is right in the universe………………………today!

HAPPY HUMP DAY!

My word cloud

I snagged this from Flybabe. You can get your own using this link

Short reprieve

Did I mention rain? Yeah, I thought I did!

A small window opened up yesterday afternoon and the “gumbo” that is the front yard dried just enough rake, grade and roll without the roller turning into a “mud ball”. Taking advantage of this dry window the work dragged on into the night and the work lamps came out; which now squarely puts me into the nucking futz category in the neighborhood. Several neighbors stopped by and played sidewalk supervisor – I wonder if they knew that “talking” right then probably wasn’t a good idea? Do ya think they could read that on my face? 11:30 came and I’d had enough; besides dinner was long since cold. Maybe the rains will hold off again this morning; at least until I can finish.

The photos don’t really portray how dark it really was (tripods and Photoshop are wonderful tools), but these were taken right at dusk.

HAPPY MONDAY ALL!

...and the rains came!

Have I ever mentioned here how much I dislike rain, working in the rain, being interrupted by the rain? Have I mentioned that? I didn’t think so!

Well, yesterday got off to a slow, sore start with a threatening sky. There was enough definition in the cloud cover to not pose an immediate threat and we began to rake out the clumps of grass, roots and rock. The next couple of hours we spent raking, hacking, beating, cutting, cussing, sifting and winnowing; all the while keeping a wary eye on the growing gloom and descending skies. Sifting the last pile of debris I realized that my boots weighed a ton and that sinking but sure knowledge set in that the mists were upon the endeavor and were here to stay. There would be no rolling the yard and therefore no laying of sod.

We looked up in utter horror to witness fully the effects of rain and newly tilled soil had on a use-to-be clean Buffledog – MUDDOG – MUDBUFFLE – MUDBALL – all heading for the front door and the freshly vacuumed carpet beyond! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

So we watched and we waited for the rains to abate. We watched some more, we waited some more and we grumbled, we growled, we warmed ourselves with too much coffee and we grumbled some more and decided that we could place mulch in the interim. The day wasn’t a complete loss, but it was sure a divergence from the plan.

The rains continue this morning!

Have I ever mentioned here how much I dislike rain, working in the rain, being interrupted by the rain? Have I mentioned that? I didn’t think so!

Progress

I offer my apologies in advance to all the mates, ex mates and mates to be for the following post.

Well Friday was another dry day here in the Great Northwet and my play time was over. A little gas, a little oil, grease the gearbox and pull the cord. Idle…idle…idle – hmmm…couple of hours and this’ll be done. WTF was I thinking????

I HAVE MET THEE, DEVIL AND THY NAME IS YARDMAN!

We mercifully forget these instruments of torture from season to season. Hard, compacted alluvial soil made for 7 hours of dancing with this devil and I was only pleased after sinking into the hot tub for another hour. Today will be the rake out, roll and placement of the sod; while re-sculpturing some beds and prepping the little seating area for the flagstone (save that fun for Sunday). As you can see I had help…………………………….hahahahahaha!

HAPPY WEEKEND ALL!!!!

Getting out!

It felt funny, getting up for reasons other than a continuation of the next project around the house – I heard all those raspberries! Honestly, it felt funny and familiar all at the same time – contemplating the commute while taking the traffic and all of it’s contingencies into mind. Once underway toward Portland yesterday morning I found that same familiarity as I was driving deeper into the valley and it’s morning traffic and I realized with the utmost certainty that I DON’T MISS THAT FUCKING COMMUTE!!!!! What sick deity came up with this grand scheme anyway? The gods are nutz and we are their feces! Everyone was driving, and I used the term loosely, but nobody was behind the wheel. If they weren’t talking on the phone they were singing (or screaming into a hands free set – it’s hard to tell these days) – books and papers being read – make-up being applied – kids to be handled – or a look so vacant that it put black holes to shame. I think it was the latter that frightened me the most and yet that is the way of the world today. I don’t miss it and hope like hell that I don’t have to re-engage in this daily ritual of pain and suffering.

Once past my use-to-be normal exit, to which I gave a hearty one-fingered salute, I settled into the rest of the trip with the Buffledog softly snoring in the background. I was looking forward to hooking up with a former boss and his wife, a short demo/seminar session on Canon camera applications and meeting Vicky and her boss’s Bufflegirl, Gen. Vicky was my 4th commenter when I started Damp Dog in February ’05. We’d been talking about getting together since and things just never jelled. Her site’s been pretty quiet of late, juggling new relationships and other life necessities and it was gratifying to see her pop back on the screen again – stop in and say hi! It was great meeting up with a fellow blogger - someone you feel like you know – that you’ve been talking to for a year. To be able to put a face and voice with the words that had become so familiar – and her pics do not do her justice at all folks! It was unfortunate that the Gen, her boss’s Bernese was in doggy day care, but that gave Taylor a lot more attention. It was fun to walk into an attorney’s office with the Buffledog – little pleasures you know! In a moment of humorous shock he went for what I thought was a water bowl and dropped his face right into Gen’s food bowl and ate as if I hadn’t fed him in a month! They were most gracious despite this vicious food attack – I know for certain what the Buffledog’s priorities are now! What a great office to work in though - an office with dogs!

If one wants to meet people, try sitting at a side walk café table with a Bernese Mountain Dog – you’ll meet half the population before the end of the meal. He was a perfect gentleman throughout though (well except for the momentary manners lapse with the food) and enjoyed all the attention – from street waifs to tourist. I am always amazed as the interest that he generates. It did, however, make conversation difficult but fun none-the-less. Good time, good food, good beer and good company. Too bad we had other commitments; I just learned they broke out a bottle of 18 year old McCallans at Vic’s office yesterday afternoon in celebration of winning a case – DAMN!

All in all it was good to get out, away from the routine and to be reminded of life outside the confines of my neighborhood. I still don't miss the commute!

IT'S PLAYTIME!!! WOOHOO!!!

Double duty Thursday

It’s warm and I’m all infrared – SPRING has sprung here for sure!



…and look what arrived today!

To play or not to play, that is NOT the question!

Sod for this arrives Friday and the lumber for the new front steps!

And the best news after this entire domestic god shit!??? You guys get to listen to me bitch and whine next week!!! HA!

Meanwhile the Buffledog and I are road trippin’ to Portland Thursday! Buffledog finally gets to meet the Bufflegirl, hoist a scotch with Vic and … oh yeah … some business too …mutter…mutter….mutter…

Empty Wednesday

Fire's burning, nobody home!

Lost in Translation

I’ve discovered my profile was incorrect and therefore have decided to put things to rights … right over the edge that is!

I don’t remember where I found this but I just love this little utility. It takes whatever you’ve written and translates it back and forth through 5 different languages and English with the net result at the end. The link is here for some entertaining time suck. It’s no wonder we all don’t get along!

So here is my “new” profile through all five iterations – whaddaya think?

Original English Text:Seamus Location:Seattle, Washington, United States a whacked out, burned out ex-corporate slave & artistic wannabe, too young to vote with certainty, too old to vote without passion, too pissed off to care some days, sometimes rat-race dropout, sick of wet weather poster child for seasonal affective disorder, dilettante of the first order with ambitions of the third order and ideals of some dingus order - just an average "one of us" who's quite comfortable in my unmitigated hatred of the current administration - AND - someday I'll tell you how I really feel!
Translated to French:
Translated back to English:Seamus Location:Seattle, of Washington, the United States beatenoutside, roasts the Slavic & ex-with corporation; the artisticwannabe, too young the voice with certainty, too old the voice withoutpassion, too pissed except function to worry a few days, sometimes thereference of rat-race, patient of wet survive the child of poster forthe seasonal emotional disorder, the dilettante of the first commandwith ambitions of the third command and the ideals of a certaincommand of dingus - just an average "one of the us" who hascompletely comfortable in my not mitigated hatred of currentmanagement - AND - one day I will say to you that I really smellmyself!
Translated to German:
Translated back to English:Seamus Location:Seattle, of Washington, the United States, which areoutside struck, roast the Slavic ex along & Korporation; theartistic wannabe, to young the voice with security, to old the voicewithout the inclination, also pissed excluded function, around itselfsome days, the reference to sometimes ensure from the rat running,patient of wet survive the child of the poster for the emotionalseasonal disturbance, the Dilettanten of the first instruction withambition of the third instruction and the ideals of a certaininstruction of dingus - an even average "one of us" who hascompletely comfortable in my not weakened hate of the currentmanagement - AND - one day, legend I to you that I really smellmyself!
Translated to Italian:
Translated back to English:Seamus Location:Seattle, of Washington, joined Declares, that they areimpressive external part, braces the former Slavic along &Korporation; the wannabe artistic, to the young people the voice withemergency, to old the voice without the inclination, equally hasorinato excluded function, around if it determines days to you, thereference to times to assess itself from the operation of the rape,bathed patient of survives the child of The Manifest for thedispersion ages them impressionabile, the Dilettanten of the firstinstruction with ambition of the third instruction and the ideals ofsure instruction of dingus - a "one even medium of us" whohas completely comfortable in my aversion not weakened of the runningmanagement - and - a day, legend to you that really I feel the odoreof!
Translated to Portuguese:
Translated back to English:Seamus Location:Seattle, of Washington, joined declares, this isexternal part impressive, braces the previous Slavic to the long oneof & Korporation; wannabe artistic, to the new peoples voice withemergency, the old a voice without the inclination, has the excludedfunction ingualmente orinato, around if to determine it days, thereference to the times to evaluate of the operation of the breaking,patient bathed of the child of the manifesto for the dispersionsurvives ages impressionabile, the Dilettanten of the firstinstruction with ambition of the third instruction and ideals of thecertain instruction of dingus - "one exactly medium of us"who has full comfortable in mine aversion not weakened of themanagement running - and - one day, legend you who really I feel odoreof!
Translated to Spanish:
Translated back to English:Seamus Location:Seattle, of Washington, united declares, this isimpressive external part, supports the previous Slavic the length of& Korporation; wannabe artistic, to the new voice with emergency,old of people a voice without the inclination, has the orinatoexcluded from ingualmente from the function, around if to determine itthe days, the reference to the times to evaluate of the operation tobreak itself, patient bathed of the boy of the manifesto for thedispersion survives the ages impressionabile, the Dilettanten of thefirst instruction with the ambition of the third instruction andideals of the certain instruction of dingus - average of "oneexactly of us" who has completely comfortable in the aversion ofthe mine nondebilitated of the operation of the management - and - aday, legend you of whom really I feel odore!

Overheard

We crouched behind the sofa, my brother and I, listening to the rambling conversation between my uncle Jack and dad. We were already supposed to be in bed and knew this was a fatal trespass should we be discovered, but it didn’t deter my curiosity and my older brother was not going to be left out and therefore bested by his gnat of a younger sibling. It was a very rare occasion that we even saw Uncle Jack and even rarer to see him sans family, but this was a side visit while he was on a business trip and we got to experience the “unfettered Jack”.

My brother, bigger by a couple of years, was cramped in our hiding space and was apparently bored with the conversation that revolved around new highway construction between Houston and Atlanta and the ridiculous politics of the bible belt, so my sibling left the spy business to me with “orders” to tell him everything! Piss on that bro, you leave, you lose! I needed the room anyway.

The scotch was flowing pretty freely and the speech was getting slurred, broken and animated. I had learned early on that to listen, really listen, was the way to unlock the secrets of the adult world. So there I lay, squashed between the walls and the sofa back and learned a few things about both my dad and my uncle and the world, different from mine, that they lived in. It was all poetry in the mind of a young boy.

I learned that they both could cuss! Strings of expletives that were fueled by alcohol and laughter and raised them both to the level of gods then and real now! This was one of the few times that I’d heard my dad participate in peppery conversation and now understand the dichotomy that was his life – the saintly, church going pillar of the community that confused us with his flashes of anger and lectures and the worldly, almost cinematic version of someone we neither knew nor understood . I have long since forgotten much of the conversation, but the thing that stands out most was learning, I mean really grokking, their involvement in the war. Dad was a B-17 pilot and wing leader for a bomber group based in England and my uncle was in the infantry in the European theater as well. Prior to this I only understood that dad flew planes, but had not really connected the dots with the war that had come and gone before I was even a twinkle in the eye. Dad never really talked about the war in detail, only in the broadest of terms and never referencing any of the ugliness that he witnessed. This conversation revealed a different person than the one I knew as “dad”.

The most memorable of the tales was the horrifying description of bringing a very crippled air craft back to base and a wheels-up landing. The horrors of listening to his bombardier’s screams over the noise of the aircraft after the nose of the aircraft took a direct hit. Another was his association with the late Joe Kennedy and his last mission – an experimental mission. The most shocking of the tales was a surprise attack while on the ground at a Russian base in Kiev where the loss of both equipment and personnel was simply staggering. The list is much longer, but that is what I retained from that night in my pillowed bunker.

It has only been in recent years that he has actually begun to talk about those experiences again in detail; whereas before there were only vague and general references. The thing that I didn’t understand then that I do now is that there was no talk of “daring do” and “heroic efforts”, but it was about those that had a job and did it – often at their peril. I also understand the silence during the years following the war and how cathartic it must be now to spew forth on such horrific days – hopefully with some detachment.

I had two dads, the one that I both feared and respected and the other that I met that night during his tipsy ruminations and again much later in life – real and raw!

Sometimes...

“Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they are there to make our most absurd dreams come true.” From The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon

This line from the book stuck and I’ve pondered its implication repeatedly. We want to have our happiness come from within; to have that satisfaction of being all unto ourselves and self-sustaining. I think there are some more capable of this than others, but in the end I believe we are social creatures, not designed to live alone. I do believe that we need time alone, time to just regroup and recharge. Frankly there have been times when I wanted this and no interaction with others. I honestly believed for a time that I would be better off as a hermit, but over time I saw that wasn’t true.

I was watching the Buffledog from my perch here at the table, thinking about how he interacts with us and how very similar it was to the behavior we aspire to as humans. He contentedly lies on his bed on the porch, snoozing, woofing at the occasional passerby, chewing on the latest relic from his bone stash or simply watching the world as it goes about its passage. Every so often he’ll look up and turn his head toward the window just to make sure that I’m still here and lays his head back on his paws after he confirms my presence. After his time alone has come to a close he’s ready to rejoin the household melee and announces that he’s ready to come back in, and assuming there is a compliant human to let him back into the domicile, he moves the requisite 4 or 5 feet to his inside bed next to my chair here at the computer and will try his best to put some part of his body on my foot – a head or a paw. It all seems like the natural order of things.

So as humans we do the same – time alone and then re-engaging with others. The line from the book though gives voice to another bit of humanness and that is expectation. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we place all of our happiness eggs in just one other person’s basket instead of being content with their company, with their engagement? The logic of this seems so clear when viewed out of the moment and yet we fail time and time again in this regard, placing an unreasonable demand on the other person. The odds in finding someone to provide it all without recompense are, in themselves, absurd.

So balance – the word of the hour – seems to be in order. That balance of self-engagement/self-entertainment and our interaction with others - to bring something to the table and take something away - the ebb and flow of ideas, of smiles, of conversation, of love and commitment and of challenges. To also look up occasionally from our silent reverie to confirm another’s presence and perhaps rest our head or hand on some part of them in connection and communion.

Easy said and hard in its practice.

Happy weekend all!