Hi everyone! Good to be back. Didn’t have the heart to blog for a bit, but life goes on.
September.
I have loved September since I was a little girl. Back in the day, we didn’t start school until after Labor Day, and unlike everyone else who dreaded the end of sumer, I couldn’t wait for school to start. I was a smartypants, and school was my refuge. Home life was sometimes unpleasant, and I thrived (throve?) in school. The pre-September school-clothes shopping event put me over the moon, and I had everything laid out on my bed the night before. It is not lost on me what a total dork that makes me out to be – Proudly.
Then there’s the fact that I am a southerner. You really simply do not have an appreciation for fall if you have not withstood a southern summer. It was 106 degrees here in middle Tennessee today. It’s been a helluva summer. But it’s September, and that heat is gonna give before the end of the month – forecast says it’s the next few days. It almost always breaks before the equinox and I start looking for it on September 1. That feel in the air of the drop in humidity, cool mornings and coffee on the porch, warm, clear sunshiny days of autumn.
With that turn in the weather comes football, high school and college, some of the best memories I have. Friday nights in Fayette County, or Saturday mornings in Athens, bring on the game. Those days hold significance each for their own reasons, all of them good. The friendships, the joy of the game, the partying, the ritual…all good.
Then when I became a parent (and one of my favorite kids was born in September), September meant a new schedule, new routine, new teachers, time to learn new things. For me it was a time for my new year’s resolutions – September was always a fresh start and new year for the kids and for me.
Finally, I have decided I’m a 3-season athlete. I don’t like training in the heat, the kids are all over the map and I’m trying to follow them, and after a long 9 months of training, it’s good to take the summer off. But after that three months, my sneaks start to call, the bike’s ready to roll her tires, and the cool mornings and warm afternoons just beckon to be utilized.
So bring out the turtlenecks and start cutting the firewood. Fall’s here.
This is a post I most certainly don’t want to write.
To get the worst part out of the way, and before I get to the good stuff: we lost our Uga. The condensed story is that she became overheated on a walk yesterday, and while she and I tried to get her cooled down quickly, she never really recovered, and at 9:30 pm last night, she died in my arms.
Our family has always had golden retrievers. We’ve had Maggie, Gracie, Roscoe, Lucy, and Boo. They have always fit in with our traveling, adventuresome family beautifully, and we have loved each of them. While each of them had a distinct personality, they all conformed to the classic Golden profile of loyalty, enthusiasm, and energy.
So when Jesse finally capitulated to my whining of 25 years for a bulldog, we were in for a surprise. This little while block of tiny puppy muscle snorted, farted, and drooled her way into our hearts at first sight.
One of the distinguishing features about a bulldog is their compact, muscular build. Uga was petite for a bulldog, but she had the classic bulldog stance with her broad shoulders, narrow hips, and endearing underbite. While you could hold her in one hand when we got her, it didn’t take her long to fill out to her delicate 50 pound self. Being a 50 pound dog is not unusual, until you take into account her height, putting all of that muscle mass on 4 short, stocky legs. Watching her try to get up on to the couch was endlessly entertaining. She did great with the first two, her front legs, and didn’t have too much trouble hooking the toenail of one her back legs onto the piping of the cushion. It was that last heave up that was the funny part. We would actually alert the household that Uga was going to get on the couch, just for the entertainment value, and Jesse never failed to give ongoing commentary to encourage her along.
We have scads of pictures of Uga in her spot on the couch in her favorite position. Like every pet we’ve ever had, we had no rules for where she could sleep, and most of her day was spent high on the back of the couch, ultimately completely breaking down that particular cushion. I think she liked it there because everyone could touch her coming through the house. You just could not pass that wrinkly face and upturned belly without a little rub.
Many bulldogs struggle with their weight; in her youth Uga had not had that problem, but there is no doubt that she was a C-H-O-W-H-O-U-N-D. She could be totally relaxed on her throne, but if you opened a drawer or cabinet in the kitchen, she could be as fleet as a gazelle, and be at your feet looking up expectantly in under 5 seconds. Again, our family made a game of this, seeing how quietly we could make a kitchen sound that would still wake her. Pretty quietly. The Sit command, which we taught her to do before we would give her a treat, was her most reliable trick. And if something accidentally fell to the floor…forget about it. Even and especially the ice from the icemaker. Yum.
Uga, for her short life, went on many adventures with us. She traveled to Florida in 2009 for a race I had in Panama City. She made several trips to Atlanta when we visited family; she even went on a ski trip to Colorado. But her biggest adventure every year was on the family trip to Ragbrai, the bike ride we take each year to Iowa. We take a team of 16-20 people on a converted school bus, and she and Boo have served as team mascots the past several years. This past year, just 2 weeks ago, son Sam configured a way for Uggs to get to be out on the ride itself, instead of just confined to bus patrol. In her 2 days of riding, 6-8 hours each, she never once laid down in that basket. Too much to see, too many people to smell, too many pictures to pose for.
Jesse has a theory about this next Uga feature. (I don’t know if I’ll have any success uploading the video – if not it’s on my Facebook videos). Uga was a Wasp Warrior. Here in Tennessee in the summer, there are always wasps. We have a screened porch, the doors to which we leave open so the dogs can come and go. Often wasps fly in, buzz around a bit, and eventually fly out again. Unless. Uga the Warrior did NOT LIKE WASPS. They had no business being on the porch, and she took it as a personal affront if she found one in there. She would spot one buzzing against the screen, sit quietly watching, watching, and when it flew low enough, BAM! She went into attack mode, and we never once saw her miss. She would snatch it into her mouth, chew, sling, bite, and eat every one. Jesse says she must have been stung a time or two and her aggressive fighter instincts led her to defend the turf.
Bulldogs are pretty content to lie about the place for hours in a day, and Uga fit the profile well. However, when I would suit up to go for a run on the property – hot/cold/rainy/dark/light – she was ready to go. She would run on those short legs, enjoying the smells and textures of the farm, rolling in the horse and cow manure, wading in the ponds, chasing rabbits and turkeys, and end up back at the house, panting, tired, and, I’ll speak for her, happy.
Each member of our family loved Uga, and we grieve her far-too-early death. It gives us joy to know what a delightful life she led, and the sweet memories she leaves with us. I may not watch as many Georgia games this fall — too many shots of that Uga. I never pass a bully in town without commenting and asking for permission to rub those irresistible face folds. Daughter Glenda created a Facebook page for her years ago, and she had LOTS of friends.
This is one of those 3am posts, so for my errors and misspellings, forgive me – I can hardly see the screen.
Rest in Peace precious girl.
Thanks for reading.
That faceThe indignity of being leashed at Mellow MushroomFam portrait, 2008cuz sometimes you need a rain jacketvery typical configurationalways up for kissesThis face. This.What? Doesn't everyone's 50# bulldog sleep on a glass table?Lots of thisOn the Ragbrai busIn the princess seat
I always have intentions of blogging everyday, but every year I forget how unbelievably difficult it is to find internet access or a decent signal on my aircard. The system is so overloaded with the influx of 20,000 cyclists and their electronica – we get text messages from one another the next day.
The drive up was uneventful, considering the bus, the passengers, and the mission. We met 5 team members in 3 places near Davenport. So we were finally assembled as a team of 16 and headed across the state to Glenwood, the starting town.
The ride up gets interesting
The first morning is always so exciting — we’re like racehorses waiting for the gates to open. Everyone is in clean, new Team Fly jerseys, our bikes are cleaned and tuned and we get up at sunrise ready to roll.
most of the team starting out
The weather forecast has been for mid to high 80’s, which sounds lovely until you factor in the heat index (which, by the way friends, Rush Limbaugh says is a left wing conspiracy). We’ve had such high humidity a couple of days have been ridiculously uncomfortable. It has finally (on day 6) leveled off a bit, but it’s still toasty.
musician in a tree doing yoga?hanging around the campsite in the eveningSlacklining for cyclistsChef Dustin and our salmon feasttypical campsite shottemporary tattoossometimes it happenssome small town in Iowanot sureall of Iowa has this good of receptionBobbing for beer - not as easy as it lookstequila, especially expensive tequila, helps with the heatsweet Samanother typical campsite shotlots and lots of this
I know this blog is heavy on the pics and light on the words, but I’ll go back and fill in. Hopefully the pics tell a lot of the story. I’ll try to have more pictures on my Facebook page and on the Team Fly Facebook page.
For now, I’ll end this blog at about the halfway point of the ride and do a followup post when I can get internet again.
We are having a blast, as we always do on this magnificent bike ride. We are enjoying each other and all of our new friends in spite of the atrocious heat.
What a grand 6 days. Yes, I know the festival is only 4, but as a volunteer we go in 2 days early, so that adds an extra 2 days of fun. And sun. And sweat. And portapotties.
So here’s the deal. When you volunteer to work at Bonnaroo, you commit to working roughly three 6-hour shifts. In return, you get a free general admission ticket, early entrance and camping in the highly exclusive volunteer campground, 3 meal tokens plus a little box lunch during your shift. At $275 a ticket, you can do the math on the hourly rate. The jobs are various – picking up trash, working the toll booth, parking golf carts, manning information booths. I’ll tell you about mine in a bit.
First I want to write about the festival. This was Bonnaroo’s 10th year. I remember when my oldest, as a teenager, asked me if he could go the first year. I didn’t let him – he was 15 and I didn’t think he was ready for that. I’d probably still say the same thing. I had that reaffirmed this year: my camping neighbors just happened to be moms of teenagers, one of whose daughter attended. I just don’t think Bonnaroo works as well for high-schoolers. They are still in the phase where they are terribly concerned about their appearance and peer conformity and not so much about the creativity of the music and the joy of the shared experience. This doesn’t apply to everyone in high school, I realize, but to a great many it does.
So the lineup, as always, was fab. There are 173 acts total. There’s one main stage – if you google aerial pics of Bonnaroo, it’s easy to spot. Then there are secondary stages, cleverly named Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent, among others. It’s a real trick trying to get to every act you want to see, and only 4 days to do it. Although Centeroo is open 24 hours, the acts mostly run from noon to about 2 am.
There are the standard festival vendors – deep fried crap on sticks, greasy pizza, funnel cake, and the hippie fare too – falafel, vegetarian rice dishes, pasta. No event is complete without the overpriced beer, but there’s also a Brooer’s Fest Tent where you can get specialty beers for about the same $6 as the Millers and Buds.
The biggest challenge this year wasn’t even the heat, which was oppressive. It was the dust. 80,000 pairs of feet over the same 700 acres can destroy grass in a hurry, especially when it’s been dry to begin with. Golf cart drivers wore bandanas, and in the end, just about everyone had to cover nose and mouth to get around. We’ve had wet Bonnaroos where it was as muddy as this year’s was dusty, so take your pic.
Tent camping explains itself, along with the portapotties that go with it. Pooping at Bonnaroo was a topic of conversation at every campsite. There’s no trick to it – just get over it. I wish I had had 1000 GoGirls, my handy-dandy girl tool that allows me to pee standing up – I could have sold them all. The tents become unbearably hot by about 8 in the morning, so plan on moving outside to finish your sleeping in.
One of the joys of the community camping is the sharing of food and drink. I go the easy route with cheese, nuts, olives, jerky, fruit – not gonna cook at Bonnaroo. Plus, those are easy things to share with your campmates. It helps if you have everything prepared – chopped and put into serving-sized bags – you want to limit the time spent digging around in the cooler, melting your ice. But I know folks who eat gourmet at Bonnaroo – I’m too hot and too lazy.
This year’s top shows: Mumford. Buffalo Springfield. Eminem. Amos Lee. Khalifa. (This is my very scientific survey consisting of my opinion and that of my campmates.) Honestly, the dust kept me from shows in the worst areas of it. The pasture in front of the main stage has retained its cool, green grass. That has a lot of appeal in 97 degree heat.
Now for my volunteer shift. The first one was a 12-hour long haul 10pm til 10am in the VIP tent camping check-in. That was fun because I’d never been in VIP and it was interesting to see (and I used their flush-toilets several times). My second shift was the doozy. It was Saturday 10-4 in…wait for it….Total Access. Oh yes. You and up to 7 of your closest friends can participate too, IF you come up with a measly $25,000. That gets you VIP limo ride from the Nville airport, delivery to the door of your rockstar motorhome inside the secret, hidden, shaded campground that is Total Access, food from the 5-star, airconditioned, white linen restaurant in your campground, access to every show backstage, golf cart rides to ANYWHERE at Roo, all the food you can eat and liquor you can drink. Blew what little of what was left of my mind on day 4. Seriously. Google it.
I’ve taken pics of Bonnaroo before, and didn’t do a very good job of it this year, but there’s scads of pics of the festival on the interwebs. It was a helluva festival – always is. It’s pretty high on the grunge factor, but worth it when you’re lying there on a quilt, listening to the jam with your friends.
Bonnaroo 2012. I’m there. Now to find that $25,000…..
Every convention has its socializing element. Every convention gives its attendees free time to talk and discuss and argue and laugh. When the convention is an atheist convention, when its attendees are inherently thinkers and talkers, and have a deep appreciation of the joy and value of each moment, the socializing element should not be minimized.
Hence you have day 2 being recapped on day 3. It was my intention to post at the end of each day, but the day didn’t end, again, until the wee morning hours, so here we go.
Jamila Bey
What a breath of fresh air to begin the morning’s session with Jamila Bey. Jamila (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgdfHVwK884) gave us her experience of atheism in the African-American community (I know, Jamila, there is no ONE African-American experience!) with passion and clarity. The social importance of the religious network in anyone’s life is not to be minimized; in the African-American woman’s life, it’s almost paramount. Jamila seems to be made entirely of self-confidence and humor, but she has faced her share of resistance and criticism from the people she loves the most.
Jamila’s talk was followed by a diversity panel that was enlightening and informative. The atheist movement by its nature is broad and inclusive, so when we have a diversity panel, we have a diversity panel! It was interesting to hear perspective from other ethnicities and cultures.
We heard from comedian Paul Provenza, reading from his book “Satiristas”, and from Troy Conrad again, who was a scream. Irreverent, thought-provoking, and interactive, both of these guys are worth Youtubing.
We heard from Professor Hector Avalos, who is a Religious Studies professor at Iowa State University. If you’ve seen the movie “Expelled” by Ben Stein, you’ll be familiar with his subject.
Finally, on Saturday we heard from two psychiatrists with the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science. They shared with us the physiological and psychological effects of religious thinking and freethought.
Sunday started with JT Eberhard from the Secular Student Alliance giving us a report of student organizations and their phenomenal, exponential growth. JT is such a voice for inspiration and motivation in the movement, and it’s my hope to have him visit the MTSU campus when we get the SSA going there.
Next was Lawrence Krauss, a quantum physicist who gave us little talk about Richard Feynman and his work. We heard also from Matt Dillahunty, who hosts the podcast for the Austin Community of Atheists. I got to join him for a meal or two, and found a little connection – his fiance is the former leader of the secular group at ETSU, and we chatted a bit about the student group there.
Finally, after an international symposium regarding the atheist movement, we listened to a military panel tell about the environment in the services for atheists. I will leave to your imagination what their responses were.
Military Freethinkers
There’s a basic outline of what we did – I’ll try to blog in more detail about specific speeches and conversations I had with other attendees. Tonight’s agenda includes more debate and beer, not necessarily in that order.
Coming to you live from Maple Street in Johnson City, TN —
This is Amy’s spring break week from ETSU, but in a effort to complete the funding for her upcoming adventure to Thailand, she is working through the week. I took advantage of her time off from school to get in a quick visit, which includes 2 visits on the to and fro with Glenda!
Glenda in UT Print Shop
We had a great couple of days together, revolving as it usually does around food, wine, and talk. She’s working at a sushi restaurant, so lucky me, I hung around the sushi bar while she waited tables — entertaining myself with watching her while eating miso soup, salad with ginger dressing, 2 rolls of sushi and Sapporo. The next day we ran errands, shopped for groceries (a college tradition when a parent’s in town), and went to a great pizza place called Scratch. High-funk, BYOB, brick-oven place that features a menu option called: Trust. We went with our own choice because she wanted me to taste certain things; next time we’ll put ourselves in the hands of the be-dreaded crew and go with the Trust option. I also got to hang at the Acoustic Coffeehouse, another high-funk place one and half blocks (read: walking distance) from Amy’s darling house apartment. She’s got more company coming in for the weekend, so I’m grabbing a shower and hitting the road for Knoxville where Glenda is about to begin her spring break.
Amy, Phil, and Trip at Acoustic
This past weekend Aden got to spend the weekend and we did the usual: throwing rocks in the pond for about an hour, playing 400 games of UNO (it rained a LOT), and coloring.
Life is good
To complete the generational bookends, between visits with Aden and the girls, I got to visit with my parents as they made a pass through Middle Tennessee on their way to a motorhome caravan to Civil War sites (my dad is the historian for the group). This is their first trip with their new, upgraded RV (5 feet longer and one slide out more than the old one).
The new Maxwell rigsweet mommycrabby, grumpy old grandpa
Here it is again. Gayle’s writing another post about the kids. We, your readers, get it: your kids are great, gifted, talented, open-minded, smart, funny, blahblahblah. Too bad, says I, you gotta read it again!
My kids are grown and out of the house. They are in various stages of their educations, in different regions of the world and country, and I occasionally get the opportunity to go visit them in their worlds. This weekend was one of those times.
Sons Ben and Sam are in Beaver Creek, Colorado. Ben has been in Colorado for 7 years, and in Beaver Creek for 4. He’s a server at a restaurant in the Village, a backcountry powder skier, and student at Colorado Mountain College. Sam graduated from UT in December and immediately came out to work for the resort for the season. They both have, one each, a hand-me-down camper van from their Grandpa, although Ben also has an apartment. Ben’s is a 1985 VW Vanagon, and Sam’s is a 1990 Airstream B-van. They are named, respectively, Gertie and Aunt Bea.
gear-prep ritualpre-ski music
My little trip out here started with a 2:30am alarm on Friday, for a 5:30 flight to Atlanta, and another leg to Eagle/Vail airport. The boys, and Ben’s girl Kirsten, architecture graduate student at UC Denver and in town for the weekend as well, picked me up at the airport in Aunt Bea. After a delayed Christmas gift exchange, we headed out for an evening of food and fun.
Ben and Kirstenobligatory food porn
Sam’s resort job is being a sleigh host for Beano’s restaurant on the slope. The only way to reach the restaurant is by skis or CAT. After the lifts close at 4, the CAT/sleigh combo begins taking customers up from the village to the restaurant, a 15-minute outdoor ride. Sam, in his duster and cowboy hat, loads visitors on the sleigh, tucks warm blankets around them, and entertains them on the short, cold ride up the hill. Last night I got to be one of the guests. I also got to see first-hand why Sam is the Employee of the Month, first rookie to ever be selected to that title, according to the restaurant manager.
Very very cold ride up the slopecowboy sleigh host
Sam started playing banjo in October. 2010. His sisters and I gave him a guitar for his birthday in September, and he immediately added the banjo to his repertoire. Being the recent UT alum, as I mentioned, the first song he picked up? Absolutely. Rocky Top. He has an affinity for bluegrass, and he is really enjoying his new pasttime.
On the sled on the way up he played 8 More Miles to Louisville and Rocky Top. He also introduced Ben and me to his load of about 20 sled guests, and told them my turning-50-Ironman milestone. As we waited in the restaurant in front of the beautiful stone fireplace, I spoke with what felt like was every one of those 20 guests as they told me how enjoyable Sam made that very cold ride up the mountain.
Beano's restaurant (you have to ride the sleigh up to know why that name)
The next day both boys were off work and the 4 of us spent the day on the slopes at Beaver Creek. As much as I enjoy skiing, I have never really taken to it like the rest of my family has. Maybe it’s because I only ski about 4 days a year, maybe it’s because I don’t push myself to get better since I do so much of that in my other training. Whatever the reason, each year my resident instructor, Ben, has to give me remedial lessons in the fundamentals. Each year he does it with such patience and good humor and makes me so proud he’s my son. He and Sam and Kirsten also had to give up a day in the backcountry skiing in the out-of-bounds area in the deep powder.
Kirsten and Ben and meKirsten and me, post-slope
So, here it is Sunday night and I have 2 more days with my boys. Ben’s working tomorrow, but Sam and I will go out and do something. I cooked a giant mom meal tonight of pork roast, scalloped potatoes, baked sweet potatoes, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, yeast rolls, and apple crisp. (That’s after last night’s banana pudding). I love taking care of the guys and just marinating in their boyness. I am so proud of the men they are becoming, and I love their aggressive spirit of adventure. I know I say that each time I blog about one of the kids, but it’s always at the forefront of what I love about them!
Thanks for reading, and especially thanks for letting me ramble on about my kids!
I am not a social animal, but I’ve gotten to go to three parties in the last 5 days.
First, on Saturday afternoon, with both my college girls home, we went to a get-together at friends Amy and Cary’s house. They are the parents of Sarge, a Wiemaraner, and Barley, a standard poodle puppy. Amy and Cary are homebrewers, and I will tell you they had the absolute BEST homebrew I’ve ever tasted. It’s their winter blend and I was so impressed! The company was terrific and the food was delicious.
host Cary, and friends Joey and Karissa (and baby Judah)feast and friendstwins
We hated to leave early, but we had the opportunity to go to B.B. King’s Jazz Club in Nashville with the Moss family to celebrate Robert’s 21st birthday. The whole family was there, plus some, AND the future Baby Boy Moss!
Lee and SuzyKhaki and LauraThe girls trying the "fishbowl"
A good time was had by all – the girls even got Big Jesse out on the dance floor! Happy Day Bobby – we miss you and love you.
Then tonight, I got to go to John Potts’ birthday celebration at Maple Street Grill. He hit the big 27, and Emily pulled together a little group of besties for food, drink, and laughs. My girl Steen was my date (and the other token oldie) and we had such a good time!
Send me the pic from your phone, Suzie, and I'll switch it with this one - it's the only one I took with you in it!Beautiful childrenEm and Mere
So three parties in five days. Good friends and good times, and I am so grateful for everyone. I love my eclectic bunch of funny, warm, sweet friends!
Ahhhh, now I don’t have to think about it again til next January.
Today was the 9th annual Murfreesboro Polar Bear Plunge. Amy and I started doing this when she was in middle school, and except for last year, when we were in Colorado with the family for Christmas, we haven’t missed a Plunge.
We have had a narrow range of weather, typical for Middle Tennessee, but I do believe today was a first. It was about 28 degrees, snowing, and windy. Water temp was about 38 degrees, I heard, but that’s about normal.
as cold as it looks
It’s kind of a love-hate thing we have with this event. Never have we ever regretted having done it, but it’s awfully hard to get out of a warm bed on a cold, blowy, snowy morning to put on a swimsuit knowing you’re going to plunge into icy waters!
The plunge itself is a feeling like no other. In the early years, there were 25 or so jumpers; I bet this year there were upwards of 300-400. After some festivities in the gym, we go en masse out to the pool and line the perimeter. Murfreesboro has redone the outdoor pool, so there was a lot more perimeter this year, and we had to re-establish our “leaping spot”. We absolutely had to jump into the deep end, because if immersion is the goal, and it is, there is almost NO possibility of my dunking my head under in an additional motion after having jumped in. It’s full immersion or nothing, as far as I see it. My friend Bernie Steen called this event Mass Baptism, so I guess the debate could rage on parallel to the religious world about sprinkling or immersion.
This plunge, like others I’m assuming, begins its countdown after everyone is assembled around the pool, and they make it a quick one, because we’re all out there in a minimum of clothing. At the number 10, I quickly take off my sweat pants, the hoodie comes off at about 7, shoes at 4, then 3, 2, 1, big breath…
Amy describes it as jumping into needles. I describe it as jumping into acid. Every skin cell you own goes into instant shock, and even if your head was not under water you could not breathe. I Googled an explanation of the physiological response you have in cold water, and found that these pretty obvious things happen:
you have immediate constriction of blood vessels in your extremities, forcing blood volume into your core, raising your blood pressure
your body reacts with a shot of adrenaline as it puts you into “fight or flight” mode to take care of you
you can become disorientated immediately because of the instant change in environment to all of your senses
Over the years I have tried to focus specifically on the moments following the leap, because invariably I cannot remember getting out of the pool. This year I have a little stronger memory of it. My friend Michael thinks that the cold air temperature made the water feel less drastic – he was already numb by the time we hit the water – maybe he’s right.
pre-jump
I need to say a final word about our support posse: Megan and Emily did a valiant job of TRYING to Plunge. They dressed in costume, they got to the gym on time, they registered and even had on their registration bracelets, but they just couldn’t bring themselves to hurl their tender bodies into the soup. However, they did a fabulous job of cheering us on and even digitally recording our leap, AND they made a commitment to try again next year – you just can’t ask for more than that!
Happy. Healthy. Heathen. 