merrilyuphill

Sometimes all I can really do is laugh. Usually at the worst possible times. This is one of those times.

In September we decided (read I suggested and Jon is wonderful) it was time for new, grown up furniture so we visited a “new” store and ordered two couches and two chairs. It was the 18th.

Two days before scheduled delivery I listed our sectional on marketplace and it was gone that night. AWESOME SAUCE!

Delivery day came 10/8 but only couches, no chairs. They were back-ordered so the company rescheduled them for 10/20.

Ugh. Fine. Whatever… except the night before, on October 19 they called to reschedule them for NOVEMBER 20. Boooo.

So today is the day! November 20! I’ve spent the morning nesting, making room for the chairs that would soon complete our living room. So pumped.

I received a text saying they were 10 minutes away with a tracking link. WOO HOO! The link took me to a page that had a tiny truck on a map of Brighton and a tiny footnote that said “denim couch quantity 2.”

Wait…wuuut?

😳 😂😂😂

The delivery team phoned less than a minute later so I inquired “Please, tell me you have two chairs and not two couches because my couches were delivered last month.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry ma’am, we have two couches. I’m so sorry. This happens a lot, the warehouse loaded the wrong items.” He gave me the customer service 888 number.

I am on hold now and I really have to at least try to stop laughing because they won’t take me seriously if I don’t. But it’s funny. Also I’m not a yeller, although this would be the time for volume.

Here is how my day could have gone:

Yell at Ibrahim, the delivery driver who was super courteous when he called? No. I told him not to worry that I would call the number and sort it out. I wished him a beautiful weekend and a blessed Thanksgiving. I told him to stay safe and well. He thanked me and wished me the same.

Yell at our salesman, Mike? No but I did call him because as a veteran of the furniture store that recently folded and thus a new employee of the new company, he wanted an update about delivery issues. I made it ok for us to laugh together. He said our situation makes him professionally embarrassed I didn’t even know you could make a profession out of that!

He thanked me for making him laugh and said he would discuss us with his regional manager and call me back later today. I believe he will call back because I didn’t rip his head off so calling me back won’t be unpleasant for him.

He told me that he had just walked in the door and was going to need more coffee or maybe cocaine. Because I’m super helpful, I suggested that cocaine dissolves nicely in coffee. I’ve heard.

Yell at the customer service rep? No, I’m pretty sure I’ll pass on that, too. I’m writing this while on hold, now at the 35 minute mark. Yes, it’s tedious. Yes, there are many other things I could, should, would rather be doing. I’m still not going to muck up another person’s day just because I’m inconvenienced. Nope.

Cynthia, the customer service rep who just answered, was also delightful. Embarrassed and apologetic but delightful. I could hear a small child making all kinds of noise in the background. I thought about how many calls Cynthia must take each day, in what sounds like her home. How many times a day is some stranger yelling at her?

People seldom call customer service with praise. They call her when they’re dealing with a problem with her company. She has to listen to that all day, with at least one little kid running around. God bless her. That is one heck of a load.

She definitely does not need to have me yell at her, too. I don’t care if it’s her job. She deserves kindness. Everyone does.

There is so much anger in the world and I won’t add to it. It would mess up everyone in my path. There are three people that I could have hollered at and taken my frustration out on. No. I made a decision to put out what I want to receive. Just like my mom always reminded: Do unto others…

Please don’t consider this virtue signaling and don’t gag at the “sweetness” because I can be and often am just as much of an asshole as the next person. I can be cranky, real cranky. I am quite often angry. I have bad breath when I wake up in the morning, too.

I’m tired of evil. Aren’t we all just so tired of the anger, the unkind things people are saying and doing to one another?

There is just so much evil. I pray and I pray and I pray. I have to do more. I am aware that I can’t control any of the things that are happening in the world. I can only control my own self.

I’m writing this to suggest that we ALLLL look for ways to lighten the anger load in the world. Just be effing kind. We will NEED each other more than ever very soon.

Kindness, humor and patience win. I feel like at least one little part of today is a win.

I am unplugged, well, mostly. I am not watching network news, in fact I haven’t for several years. I read what my Facebook friends post and believe me, with close to 600 connections I see ALL of the headlines. The whole spectrum. 

Sure, I post or repost everything that makes me laugh out loud because I feel that if I crave laughter then, certainly, everyone must. I want to be the person who injects her friends’ news feeds with silliness and laughter. I don’t mind being perceived as a meme spreading bubble head. I know there is more to me.

The YouTube channels I follow include a few exorcists. Yes, exorcists, every bit as badass as the ones in movies but also saintly and extremely insightful. You see, I believe (and my exorcists concur) that everything we are seeing in our current events isn’t entirely caused by humans. 

Yes. Amy believes demons are real and active. You should, too, but it isn’t for me to convince you, it is my job only to open your eyes to “what if?” You can and will figure it out. I know, it’s “out there” at best and downright terrifying otherwise.

So I have a wild idea: What if we could ALL work toward resolution? I propose that it matters not for whom you cast your vote. It also matters not for whom your friends or enemies voted. Liberating, isn’t it?

Voting was the small part of your responsibility. The REAL responsibility, which we all bear now, is to pray. <cliche alert> PRAY like your life depends on it because it really does. 

What if we all prayed together for God to immobilize the demons? This would mean that we don’t pray for our own party or candidate. We don’t pray for what WE think will be the best outcome. What if we all pray for what God wants? What if we all pray that demons are unable to do their thing, which is sow fear, unrest, distrust, anger, depression, anxiety, division, oppression and all of the other awful things in that vein. 

If you have read this far then first, thank you, and second, well, buckle up because I’m just going to put it ALL out there now.  There is power in our unified prayer but we cannot do this alone. We need Heavenly help. 

All of my life I could refuse my mom nothing. She cooperated with God to bring me into this world and she cared for me. I always tried to do whatever she asked and I desperately wanted to please her, soothe her heart, make her happy, whenever I could. I held nothing back from my mom. If anyone dare say anything against my mom I would (and did) fight them. I would like to think that most people give their moms that kind of sway over their lives. 

So think, for a minute, how Jesus must feel about His mom. He loves her and wants us all to love her. He places her above all other humans. He lets her do things that nobody else would or could do. He listens to her. In the Bible, at the wedding at Cana, he tells us to “do whatever she tells you.” and at his death he gives her to us “behold your mother.” She is the help we need. 

We need the protection of a mother. Demons fear her so if you want something protected, give it to His mother. No demon dare go after what she holds in her hands or in her heart. 

Let’s ALL ask that she hold our country in her hands, take us into her heart, love us all, PROTECT us! Sort us out! Keep us safe. 

Demons will claim to have dominion over our country but they don’t. WE DO. This is OUR sovereign nation. Only we can and should give our nation to her, place it in her care. We can’t keep it safe alone, we need supernatural assistance. What if we asked her to watch over and protect our whole country and our election proceedings, that God’s will be done here instead of our own? What if we just give it ALLLLLL to her? 

Would you find that secure? I sure would. I do. 

Here is what might be the hard part: Can you live with an outcome in which your “guy” doesn’t get in? Would you find yourself able to be introspective enough to consider that you could abide with whatever outcome God intends? Would you be able to proceed with your life peacefully, knowing that you voted, then you prayed hard and let God decide the outcome?

Wouldn’t you prefer to live in a country that is as God wants it to be? 

I would be thrilled to live in a society God has planned for me. I will most likely have to wait for Heaven for that. While still here, it would be more than wonderful to not see distrust and fighting everywhere I look.

For many months after losing my dad I found it very hard to pray. In the wake of the unrest that led up to and has now followed the election I find I am praying again. My full time job is now praying for our family, our state, our country, our world. Please find the time and the generosity and a few minutes every day to do the same. 

Here is the thing, though, and it causes me anguish to write this, based on how we, as a nation, have behaved regarding those pesky 10 commandments over the past many years, what we deserve may be anything but peaceful. 

We are not to fear, though. When one surrenders one’s life, all of it, then one is given everything needed to endure. 

So… Pray. Pray harder. Be kind. Have peace. God wants to give you His peace. Get right with God, you will need His help in the days to come. I also suggest “go to confession!” and that will be another post entirely.

One year plus two weeks ago after your breakfast, you dressed in the Halloween t-shirt I had given you on your birthday then you had Karen text me your photo. Although Halloween was never your thing, you knew how much I enjoyed it and you indulged me.

One year plus one week ago we shared your last ever champagne. You always loved wine, especially bubbles. Like father, like daughter, I guess. It was a Wednesday, our final Dad and Amy Day. We’d had 17 months of Wednesday dates after Mom died and I am so very grateful for every single one of them. I knew our time was slipping away faster every day and I greedily wanted every moment with you that I could have. I slept over that night.

One year plus six days ago I awoke very early. I sat in a corner of your room praying, the nightlight helped me keep watch of your breaths. I prayed, I watched and I cried. During the third decade of my second Rosary you woke up and saw me. You sat up, swinging your legs over the edge and said “Oh, Honey, don’t cry, I’m not dying.” Then you made this goofy face and added “well, ok, I guess I am… but not today.” Pause. Grin. “…I hope.” Then you laughed and I did, too. You patted the spot next to you and I came to sit. You kissed my hand then held both of mine in yours. We left not a single loving word unsaid. We were, as you had always said, “simpatico.”

One year plus five days ago I packed up to go home, you promised you would be there when I returned the next day. You always kept your promises so I slept like a log in my own home that night.

One year plus four days ago your kids and grandkids visited, everyone thrilled with how alert and funny you were. Jon and I arrived in the early evening and you were still in party mode but after a short time everything about you changed, it was as though you had been unplugged. You rode your stair chair up and walked to the bathroom, needing so much assistance. You were then too spent to walk so you rode on the seat of your walker to your room, Karen gently pushing you down the hall from behind. She and I helped you stand, Karen behind, me in front of you. I wrapped my arms around you to lift and I instantly understood that this would be our last hug. I held on to you for dear life; we pivoted you from the walker to your bed. You would not rise again.

Over the next very blurry days all of your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren visited, we loved, we prayed and we lifted each other.

One year plus two days ago you smiled at me for the last time. Ever the creeper, I was once again watching you sleep. You opened your eyes and I forced myself to grin because I didn’t want you to see that my heart was mid-shatter. You met my grin with such a sweet smile.

One year ago today you journeyed toward Home. I am and will always be immensely grateful for the privilege of being present.

You and Mom had shown such a noble acceptance of God’s will during your final years, acceptance of all the suffering and loss that had penetrated your life. You had taught us all how to live well a Catholic life and now also how to suffer bravely and die well, close to God.

Not a day passes that I don’t miss you both, in fact seldom an hour passes that you don’t cross my mind. I pray that your souls are together in Heaven and have faith that just as God has promised I will see you again.

Sometimes I get the feeling of mentally wearing a bike helmet, strapped into a window seat on the struggle bus. Lately it kinda feels like the bus is on fire, careening over a cliff, bumping and banging on every rock, shrub and boulder all the way down toward what looks like a happy little river but will most likely turn into Niagara Falls when we round the first happy little bend.

Ok, that might be just a little dramatic. A slightly more realistic depiction would be a cushy motor coach on a Sunday drive in a light rain. I’m probably still wearing the helmet and licking the window, super confused about how to get the cold rain from outside the bus to refresh me because life can REALLY dehydrate you.

In either scenario I’d be pleased to find an eject button or rip-cord to pull, for to be doing the stopping and the disembarking but nope. I keep looking, though.

I think I’m currently in my third month tryna read Henri Nouwen’s emotionally and spiritually dense A Cry For Mercy but it is probably more like six months. I’m usually all about a difficult read and often have a stack of four or five books that I’m reading simultaneously. Usually I choose non-fiction, the nerdier and more obscure the better. I usually prefer spiritual works and science, always knitting God and science in my head and heart because that’s how life makes the most sense to me. I usually devour a good book, especially thin books like this. Usually. Yet here I am on page 82 of 145. For months, people.

MONTHS TRAPPED IN A TINY BOOK.

Somebody send help.

And wine.

Good wine.

I’ve decided being stuck in Nouwen isn’t a reflection on my ability to read and comprehend. I think I’m stuck because this book is jam packed with truths. Truths God wants me to know about life in general and truths about my own life. Who knows, perhaps truths He wants you to know about your life, too. The hard thing about truth is that it isn’t always what we want it to be, it is what is.

Some days I read an incredibly personal passage, slam the book closed and look around for hidden cameras. “I’m not reading THAT for a while because it knows too much.”

Anyhooo… as the title says… enter the Old Friend.

Very early in our homeschool career we studied the masters and were particularly fascinated with vanGogh. His adept use of rich, bold colors and his terse yet fluid strokes engage like few other artists. I also have always loved how his own red beard appears in many of his paintings because Vince and I share a super power of injecting ourself into our work and seeing life through a “me” monocle.

I thought I had seen all his work and yet today right there on page 82 mention is made of vanGogh’s The Raising of Lazarus, with the bright sun representing God, in whose light all become new.

Um, excuse me? His raising of what now? We missed one. Maybe we didn’t really miss it but it was a divine plan that I not truly encounter it until today when I really needed a good resurrection.

Must. Know. More.

In the words of my brilliant brother-in-law: “Consult the Googles!”

I found the image and then whoosh down a rabbit hole I went finally landing on this webpage, a meditation written for the 5th Sunday of Lent 2011.

Ummmm, yeah, so yesterday was the 5th Sunday of Lent.

A “coincidence” like this is just too much to keep to myself.

Happy Monday, my loves ❤️

What is God calling you to that is outside your comfort zone but may just set you free?

Imma write.

Guess whose crazy red poodle can read. You already know, don’t you? Ya, ours.

For six years (her entire life) it has been a struggle to get her to eat. She has always been several pounds under the breed standard. Visitors often comment on how skinny she is, especially when compared to our two <ahem> meatier dogs. She has earned the nickname Bird Bones because she is built more like a baby bird than a majestic standard poodle.  I often worried that perhaps she was Penny-rexic.

I’ve tried so very many bowls: pet bowls from pet stores, pretty ceramic bowls from human stores, paper plates and even metal bowls but she would only eat when the planets aligned and/or the humans humiliated themselves and even then it was a crap shoot.

We have tried numerous ways to get her to eat: sprinkled parm over the food, sprinkled “magic” dust (just rubbing empty fingers over her bowl), stirred plain yogurt in, mixed in bits of  leftover human food, which she picks out leaving the kibble behind, and I’ve made “gravy” by adding water to whatever pan I cooked the human dinner and mixed that in.

On more occasions than I care to divulge I’ve even tried blowing kisses into her food. Yes, a loud “mmm-wah” with accompanying theatrical gesture and overdramatic blowing. Desperate times call for desperate measures. She may eat a little then just backs away.

Sometimes she would eat if a human would sit rightnext to her and pretend to eat, too.

If we did get her to eat it was a tenuous situation. We have been known to loudly whisper “she’s eating nobody move” and every human in the room will freeze in place lest we disturbed the balance of her universe and she stop eating.

Close the dishwasher, fridge or a cupboard door? Pop a cork on a bottle of wine? Speak too loudly? Dare to cough, sneeze, burp, fart or laugh? Peace out, it’s over, baby, she’s done.

The struggle is more than real.

I bought some new dog bowls at TJ Maxx last week and since using them HRH  GOBBLES up every last nugget – instantly. How are these bowls different? They have words on them which she has read and taken to heart, I’m certain. I guess she needed aesthetically pleasing, clearly labeled bowls.

“DOG live, love, bark”

I’m thankful they don’t say “eat” because if she read that she probably wouldn’t.

Growing up in the 1970’s my parents had a beautiful nativity set which was set up in our mantle every year. It was accentuated by a beautiful sky behind it made by my mom. It was deep navy blue and she had placed lights and angels all over it with a large star. It was so beautiful over our fireplace and as a kid I would often sit and look at it while thinking about all that Jesus meant to me.

Fast forward to last year when my two youngest kids and I were dragging my parents’ decorations from their attic to help them prepare for Christmas. My mom had decided to purge some old decorations and handed me a sandwich baggie filled with the little angels from our childhood nativity. She said “You can throw those out.” I gasped and said “Throw out the angels?” She laughed at my horror and said “You can have them.” So I took them home in the little baggie.

This year when we were decorating our house (by “we” I mean my youngest daughter, Kolbe, because I was sick in bed.) Kolbe asked me what to do with the angels. I certainly could never throw them away but also, what should I do with a baggie full of tiny angels from the seventies? I told her about the beautiful sky my mom created for our nativity scene and how much they meant to me. I could not possibly part with them this year and then I put them completely out of my mind.

This morning as my kids were passing out all the gifts from under our tree I was handed a wrapped box which said “To: Mom, From: Kolbe” and all my kids said “That will be the last present anyone opens because nobody wants their present to follow that one.” And they warned me that I would cry. Kids are mean, anticipating my crying. Who do they think they are?

I was determined that I would NOT cry. I would be an ice princess with zero emotions. I was expecting some sort of photo project with images of my babies, now all adults. NO. No crying.

After waiting what seemed like FORFREAKINGEVER for all my peeps to finish opening all their gifts from Jon and I and from each other and then opening all the gifts for me from each person, I was left with the one box that was declared “the last gift.” I was hungry, brunch was almost done, my champagne was good and cold, waiting for me on the patio steps and I was ready to be tear-free and show my kids that I have a heart of stone. LET’S DO THIS.

I opened that box and when the first layer of tissue was removed I could not believe my eyes, nor could I stop the river of tears. My Kolbe had taken each of these tiny 70’s angels and attached them to a string of lights which she then wrapped around a wreath covered in deep navy blue tulle ribbon. Absolute perfection.

I wept like there was no tomorrow.

After drying my face, we all agreed that nobody should ever buy anybody another gift EVER because this was THE gift. My childhood joined to my adulthood, and on a Christmas on which I couldn’t be with my parents, well, it just brought so much comfort. AND JOY.

I know Christmas isn’t about stuff. I know this. It is about God becoming a tiny baby who would grow to sacrifice His entire self for all of us. It is the story of the Incarnation and the story of our salvation. It is the proof that each of us is loved more than we could ever imagine by our God who would have come to save us even if there was only ever one human to save. It is the fulfillment of a promise and the completion of a covenant between God and man. It is real love, an all encompassing, overwhelming, powerful love that withstands everything and anything. It is the remembrance of an event now rich with traditions which further serve to bring us closer to the God who created us from nothing yet longs for us to love Him.

For me, today, it is a reminder that I am part of something that can never die, not just the family from which I came but also the family I helped create. It is about a sense of belonging and a knowledge that God loves me, always has and always will.

Each of us is loved, more than we know. I wish I could just convince everyone everywhere. God IS love and each of us is His favorite ever.

All this sprang from an inspired, loving gift of 70’s angels on a wreath. Maybe not a miracle, per se, but an amazing inspiration.

Today my family celebrated a pretty big event, the sixty-fifth anniversary of my parents’ wedding.  Technically, their anniversary was August 19th but it has been a really rough year and we moved it to a time when they were both well. It was a small gathering, compared to the size of our family, but it was full of love nonetheless.

My daughter, the one I call my “Apple Ninja”, scanned several of my parents’ photos, starting with their wedding photos, She set it to some Anne Murray music and voila!, tear invoking images of their/our collective life.  It has been a good life, make no mistake. A REALLY good life.

Several people at the party asked me and/or my Ninja to provide them with a copy of the slide show.  For now we have this video for you to watch and for the family who couldn’t make it and the friends who are interested in seeing little Amy… and aren’t we all curious as to her beginnings?

Aaaaaand there it is… one of my super powers, perhaps my strongest… making it all about me.  My other super power is turning food into poop but alas, that is another post for another day.

Please enjoy this glimpse into the gift that is my family.  They are the best.

I go to Eucharistic Adoration every Saturday morning from 1 – 2 AM.  I do not do this because I am holy.  I do this because I am most definitely NOT holy.  Holiness or the lack thereof has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  I’m merely explaining the setting for my story.

For the last several weeks I have encountered nature on the way to my car after adoration.  I’m just going to put this out there:  Nature?  I am not a fan.  On two occasions a tiny snake slithered across the sidewalk in front of me.  Several times I have encountered a tiny frog frantically hopping across the sidewalk.  Tiny frog chased by tiny snake?  Quite possible.  I don’t know, maybe it was a toad.  Whatever it is, it is always super fast and ALWAYS scares the snot out of me.

Last week I quite loudly asked it “What the heck? What are you doing?  It’s 2 o’clock in the morning!”

I thought about it on my suddenly brisk hobble up a very long hill to my car and decided that the little guy was just being completely obedient to God. That frog is just “doing him” and nothing more.  He didn’t set an alarm for 1:58 so he could jump out and scare that one lady on her way to her car and give her a mini heart attack.  He probably didn’t even notice me.  He was just being a frog, in fact the very best frog he could be.  Animals have it easier than we do because animals have no free will. (Although my poodle, whom my kids call the worst dog ever, sometimes makes me wonder.  Alas, that is another post for another time.)  Animals do exactly what God created them to do. They obey Him perfectly.

This week as I was walking from my car to the chapel I was completely lost in thought.  I had a super crap week, which culminated in a super-duper crap Friday and I was intent on spending my whole hour complaining about it. I was making my list of things to cry over and planning how I would unload all of it as soon as the adorers before me closed the door.

I did not see the frog.

That is, I did not see the frog until I opened the door and he leapt, arms flailing, into the adoration chapel  like they were giving free flies to the first 50 customers.

It gets better and by “better” I mean more embarrassing. The husband and wife who adore immediately before my shift were sitting on a pew, quietly praying when I shrieked “OH! FROG!”

In unison they turned to me and said “What?”

“Frog!”

It jumped into their view and the man was up and after it instantly. It crossed that chapel and disappeared in under two seconds.  The man was crawling around under a pew, I handed him my phone to use as a flashlight to no avail.  The man looked under everything but no frog.  The couple chuckled then left.

My perfect plan to moan, wail and gnash my teeth was ruined.  I looked at Jesus and said “OK, this week?  This week broke my heart but you already know that, don’t you?  You were there.  I don’t have to tell you.  You know.  You know how confused and sad and worried I am about all of my loved ones and what seems like really, really unfair suffering. You know about my anxious, sleepless nights because I talk to you during them. I didn’t want to even come here tonight, except to tell you off but now I have a frog to worry about, too, so I’m not going to unload.

<Audible Sigh>  Sometimes it feels like I have to do everything around here.

Yes, that little frog had interrupted my regularly scheduled broadcast.

I was back to my frog spirituality thoughts from last week:  free will, obedience and fallen human nature.  After a few minutes the frog came barreling, out of nowhere, right at me, moving so fast that it looked as though he was waving his arms, about to hug me, shouting “Amy! Yay! There you are!  I thought you were lost!”

I just knew I had to take care of him.  Armed with a kleenex and last week’s church bulletin, I tried to gently persuade him to go outside. I chased him for another 10 minutes until he disappeared again.

UGH! FROG! WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP YOU?  WHY MUST I BEG??  YOU SHOULD JUST DO WHAT I THINK YOU SHOULD DO THEN YOU WILL BE SAFE AND HAPPY AGAIN.  THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.

Light bulb over my head much?

Here is what I learned from spending one hour with the Blessed Sacrament.  And, um, a frog.

Just because I think I know what to do does not mean the frog has the same plan.  He has to be who he is and I have to accept that.  I can’t make him jump out the door, even though I believe that is what will be best.  I could have kept chasing and forced him outside but then I’m not doing what I was put in that chapel to do, which is to pray for all my loved ones for an hour.  If I spent my time making him do things my way then not only is he not “doing him” but I am also not “doing me.”  I must pray. My loved ones need prayer.

Accepting that the frog is a frog and just letting him be him most likely means that he will die a premature death.  I have to accept that, too.  What better place for him to die?  I know that if I was going to die I would want to be near Jesus.  We should all want to be close to God when our time comes.  I think it is safe to say that most frogs do not get to die in the physical presence of Christ.

Accepting is a really hard thing to master.  I’m not there.  If I can get there, to that accepting place, I think I will be happier and much less anxious.  I will be closer to God and hopefully closer to those I love.  I think that accepting is a higher form of love.  It is unconditional love.  It is “love the sinner, hate the sin” kind of love.  It is almost a form of blindness, blindness to perceivable faults of others.

I want that love.  Don’t we all want that love?  To get it we have to give it.

Fear, anger, judgment, jealousy… all of it… it has to go.  Where in my heart will I store all this love if those things are in there?  I want to love, accept and just “be” with those who need me, just let them be them, sit beside them and love them.  Serve them, when the opportunity arises but always and only from love, never from “Hey, you know what I think you should do?”

I’ve said it eleventy billion times and I will say it at least once more, Miss Swan:  Love wins.

I did leave a note for future adorers, telling them that the frog is in the chapel somewhere.

Thanks for the inspiration, little frog.  I wish I could have saved you.  I guess I had to save me.