Today's list of things that truly burn my butt--

1.  Money spent on political campaigns.
2.  Length of political campaigns.
3.  Political campaigns.
4.  Adherence to political party ideology.
5.  Political party ideology.
6.  Salaries/perks of politicians who have been successful in their bid to be elected.
7.  Politicians rather than servants of the people who elect them.
8.  The concept that race or gender should matter as to whom we elect.
9.  News that isn't news but a ratings race to see who can best serialize the drama of events.
10. Cooperation and compromise as negative concepts.
11. That Indian guy who says his name is Rich Smith and tells me my computer has problems.
12. The lady who says there's nothing wrong with my credit card but she wants my money anyway.
13. The IRS who isn't really the IRS.
14. Waiting for my tickets for my free Caribbean cruise.
15. Eating what is good and gaining weight.
16. People who seem to complain about everything.
17. Choosing a place to eat in a small town.
18. Not knowing a dik dik is an African antelope.
19. Coming up with the "right" number of entries in a list diof things that burn my butt.
20. A flame about 2 1/2 feet high.

And how is your day?  Better, I hope when you remember you are loved! 

The sins of Autumn

It's Halloween week.  My beautiful bride is hosting a foursome for bridge and of course, needs a little something on which to nibble following the slam bidding.  I figure what could be more appropriate this week than pumpkin pie?  Then I figure, what could be more appropriate this season than pecan pie?  Then I figure, what the hey, why not both?  A bit extravagant for four, you say?  Then, why not both in one pie?  That's what it shall be.  In fact, it's baking in the oven right now.
The pie did not promulgate the title of this post, however.  There can be NOTHING sinful about celebrating the harvest.  HOWEVER, to make a pie, one must make a crust.  To make a crust, one must use a shortening of some kind. I'm NOT a lard lover, so my shortening of choice is Butter Flavored Crisco.  GREAT texture.  GREAT taste.  But I'm quite sure, it has its drawbacks.  As I'm cleaning up following the preparation (!), I am reminded of the tenacity of Crisco.  I run hot water over it.  It doesn't melt.  I put it in the soapy water.  It doesn't melt.  Finally, following a determined effort to scrub, rinse, soak, rinse, scrub, soap, and rinse yet again, the measuring cup and spatula are visually clean.  I run my finger around the inside of the cup.  Once more to the soap, scrub, rinse.  Finally, it goes back up on the rack to be used again.  That, to me, is just plain sinful.  If it sticks to the utensils, how long must it stay in the body?  The joy?  Why, the pie, of course!  The recipe follows.  Sin to your heart's content--repent in leisure--and know you are loved!

Pumpkin Pecan Pie(Preheat oven to 350 degrees)
Crust:
1 1/4 cup flour
1 Tbs. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup butter flavored Crisco
3 Tbs. cold vodka
In a food processor, combine the first six ingredients. Add the cold butter and the crisco and pulse until well blended. Transfer into another bowl. Add the vodka and stir until you can form a ball. Roll out on a floured surface and transfer to a 9" pie plate. Arrange so it looks the way it should look, trim where necessary, and flute the edges.
Filling:
Pumpkin layer
one egg
1 cup pumpkin
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ginger
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
dash of salt
Mix together and pour into prepared crust.
Pecan layer2 eggs, beaten
2/3 cup dark corn syrup
2 Tbs. melted butter
2/3 cup sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans

Mix together and carefully pour over pumpkin layer. Place on a baking sheet to catch the spills and bake 50 - 60 minutes until filling is set around edge. Cool completely on a wire rack.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again!

For those of you old enough to remember Rocky Horror, this was one of the hauntingly beautiful ballads...not!  But it's a fun song!  I went out just now to take a picture of the time-warp happening as we speak--

snow on mums in bright sunlight--warped is the only description--and in the process, discovered obvious remnants of Monday's choreography for Dancing With the Stars. 

Obviously, Derrick found the exact dance for someone with two left feet!  Maybe, on consideration after re-reading, time is not the only thing warped!

Happy birthday, Miss Lucy

Your impact?  Obvious.  One need only speak to your friends.  Your family.  You made people feel special.  You were real.  You were human.  You were flawed.  You live on in your friends, your family.  Literally thousands have heard of Miss Loosewheel, Miss Lucy, Grandma, Mom...and they know how you  loved us.  90 years.  Too short.  But enough to have made a significant difference.   Tonight, a glass of wine and amazing memories. 

good for another 50,000 miles or one year, whichever comes first.

Yearly, I question what the results will be.  Will the weight I have gained make a difference.  Will the extra birthday significantly increase the negative?  Will the good age gene pool from which I come find its exception in me.  You know.  All those things you can find to worry about if you so choose.  For 364 days a year, I simply don't worry.  Today, however, was that day.  And the results are in.  One ear is plugged with wax.  I have old age "marks" on my body.  Everything else passed muster.  Now it's down to worrying about the important stuff.  Where will we stay when we go hiking in Hawaii?  How will we pay for where we will stay when we go hiking in Hawaii.  But happiness is...it's okay if we hiking in Hawaii.  By then, the arm in which I got the flu shot and the arm in which I got the pneumonia shot should quit hurting!

The itch

It seems only appropriate to skip a day of blogging and then go to a Friends of the Library annual meeting where local authors express how easy it is to self-publish.  The temptation is palpable.  To see my writing in print.  To be able to say there's a book out there that has my name on it.  To Dream the Impossible Dream.  Oh wait, that's not I.  And...oh wait, that would take a great deal of discipline.  And...oh wait, that would mean harnessing the inner creative juices and focusing them in one direction.  It's not nice to tease me.  Well...maybe just a little.  I shall mull.  We'll see if I shall scratch!

And the greatest.of these is...

We've all attended enough wedding ceremonies to complete the Corinhians quotation.  And on any given day, I would happily fill in the blank.  But the fact is, love is simply not possible without the gift of time!  The time to verbally express the feeling.  The time to hold a hand.  The time to listen.  The time to cry together, laugh together, sing together, grieve together, celebrate together.  The time to work together, play together, talk together.  The time to be apart, which makes the time together so meaningful.  Time, you'll pardon the homonymic pun, is the spice of love!  Today, may you realize I gladly give you my time!

Women of a particular age

And at my age, it is best to be circumspect as to what that age is!  We are truly blessed.  In our coterie of friends, we have these super senior ladies who are part of our family.  Some are young and in their 80's.  Others, a little more mature.  Still others, lot more mature.  They are beauty, intelligence, wit, and experience rolled into an amazingly amalgam of personalities.  From each we have learned history, the impact of attitude, the outlook of gratitude, and the hope that longevity will exist for us and be as kind as it has been to them.  Some are related.  Some are card playing buddies.  Some are former colleagues.  Some are neighbors.  Some are relatives of relatives.  Each, in her own way, enriches our every day.  But I'm somewhat bewildered. There are no xy's to go with them.  What does this bode for me?

Sometimes, redundancy is a good thing.

I just posted a lengthy update on Facebook, promulgated by a posting I saw.  It immediately set my hackles on edge.  In this instantaneous society, where anything posted to Facebook to some is the absolute truth, I fear that an organization that I so firmly believe in is being misrepresented.  If you saw the post on Facebook, I'm sorry.  Go have an adult beverage (if you are an adult), contemplate life in the universe, and give generously.  If you haven't, read on McDuff!
'

Lately, I’ve noticed a document posted to Facebook that talks about effectiveness of certain charitable organizations.  It supposedly establishes the amount of each dollar contributed to a particular charity that goes to “the needy”.  I will tell you ahead of time that I have a particular bias toward one of the charities reported, and I am appalled at the information that is being misrepresented (as the document says, according to “Snopes”).  Listed negatively is The United Way.  As a former local co-chairperson and active contributor, I was extremely surprised to see the “information” provided.  I knew from my involvement that two things were true.  One percent of our funds goes to the national office.  Minimally 90% (administrative and publishing costs considered) goes directly to the 30 plus organizations funded by United Way.  Our local board hears and reads the requests of those organizations, and it is that board, not a national power, that establishes need and amount given.  Through our donations, locally we serve a diverse and deserving amalgam of organizations that touch every part of our community.  We are in the middle of our fund drive.  I would not want any misinformation to dissuade our donors.  Perhaps the best argument I can give you?  If “I saw it on Facebook” is your rationale, I would urge you to research the issue.  I did.  And I will again this year “Give until it feels good.”

Yesterday's motto--Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella...and You'll Probably Drown!

It doesn't happen often...Thank God!  Yesterday, following a night of minimal sleep/rest and awakening with a throbbing headache and knot in my shoulder (for which I am currently not allowed to take Vitamin A [Advil]) I packed my bags and took a trip to Pity City.  My eye was being bothersome.  I just plain hurt, and that miraculous substance called attitude took a trip south.  Nothing was right.  My sis came to look at apartments.  A Truly Good Thing.  She probably could have found the Taj Mahal for $250.00 a month and it wouldn't have pleased me!  And guess what?  It really doesn't matter what I think.  I just hope she's happy.  Then we went to play bridge.  I could do nothing right.  By some small miracle, we ended up in the middle of the pack, but that fortune had nothing to do with my playing.  Then it was another apartment--one that I thought was going to be perfect.  So obviously it wasn't.  How disappointing.  Supper time.  By now, I had traveled to Inner Pity City, so I asked Cathy to get Chester Chicken for supper.  Good taste and a little fat are always for me mood enhancers.  We called ahead.  We ordered fresh.  When she got home, I was ready for that first hot, juicy bite of chicken breast.  It wasn't hot.  It wasn't juicy.  It was a breast, but quite obviously it had been sitting there since I was 60 (a very long time ago)!  I called.  They apologized.  Said I could come and get fresh.  Yeah, right!  By that time, I wasn't going to let anyone ruin my snit!  Finally, time for the day to end.  I ensconced myself in my chair.  I found an interesting science fiction movie to watch.  I dozed.  The haunting music awoke me.  I dozed.  The music awoke me.  I was so far gone I couldn't even figure out to change the channel.  Something about finding the remote and pushing the button.  Finally, I said a few nasty words, found my way to the couch, plumped up several pillows to keep my head up, and drifted off to sleep...for a few minutes.  Silly me, I forgot to pee before I went to the couch.  Thankfully, I had enough sense to get up and do that!  Back to the couch.  Sleep.  Real.  Honest to God.  Sleep.  The dog even cooperated, only going out once during the night.  I went back to sleep.  I awoke at 5:00.  I peed.  (Who says 64 ounces of water a day is good for you?)  I went back to sleep.  I woke up.  No headache.  No knot.  Eye still sucks, but I can see!  Thankfully, some time during the night I was evicted from Pity City.  A haunting voice in my head kept repeating...attitude...attitude...attitude.  The eye will get better.  My sis will move to town.  Chester Chicken will be good again, and thank you god, I know where the remote is.  Again, Miss Lucy was spot on.  It's okay to visit Pity City (god knows why?) but don't move in.

Bar Stools

The joy of traveling rests in three things.  First, the people with whom you travel.  Second, the place to which you travel.  And third, the things you can learn from that travel.  Having just returned from a southern swing with our neighbor, I can tell you how much we enjoyed her, how much we enjoyed the place, and thanks to both, the thing we learned.  While visiting the neighbor's son, we were enamored with the saddle back bar stools he had sitting near the breakfast area.  So much so, the neighbor thought they would look good in her kitchen.  So while we sat on them and admired them, I called the company from which they came and ordered a set for her.  They were to be delivered while we were gone.  They were.  Waiting for us.  One box.  Two stools.  Okay, one box, two stool seats, eight braces, four legs, 17 bolts (one for good luck), 17 locking washers, 17 regular washers, 17 screws, and the most entertaining little wrench thing you can imagine.  Now we have learned years ago that assembly is a two person job.  Cath reads the directions and I do as I'm told.  Sometimes.  The wrench was quickly replaced by a ratchet set (yes, I can spell it and use it).  The pieces were arranged and the excitement ensued.  After discussing which end was up, we proceeded to put the stools together.  While I finished tightening the bolts on one, Cath began assembling the other.  Voila.  Two exceptionally sturdy stools.  We checked them out under our island.  They would work!  We took them next door and they were ready to go.  We headed home to order our own set.  We got on line.  They were out!  We called.  They were out!  Sucks to be us!  We love Sally and enjoyed traveling with her.  We loved Missouri and Arkansas.  And we were retaught that not everything works out the way you want.  Three for three.

The eye has it

By now, dear readers, we have established...I AM a wuss!  Freaky things freak me out.  Like blinding flashes of light out of the corner of my eye.  Like a floater the size of Mississippi apparently resting  comfortably right in front of my line of vision.  Like a veil of little polka dots precluding visual acuity.  The onset of said excitement?  Of course.  The first day of our vacation to Arkansas.  Here's where the kudo's begin.  It was a weekend.  Once I had panicked significantly, I called my eye doc to see what I should do.  I got a recording saying I should leave a message.  I did.  They called back.  They suggested that I should not be overly concerned--this type of thing apparently is somewhat normal.  Not for me.  To ease my mind, they suggested I should try to see an ophthalmologist on Monday.  In Arkansas?  Well, I started calling on Sunday and finally reached the clinic Monday morning.  Come in, they said.  They would work me in.  I went in.  I didn't wait long.  They worked me in.  The optometrist who did the initial screening was a wonderful lady who professionally observed my condition and suggested an eye doc look at it.  She did.  She said it was a result of the number of birthdays I have had, and it would eventually go away. Make a follow up appointment in 4 to 6 weeks.  I felt so much better.  As the week progressed, I thought I saw improvement.  But toward the end of the week, either my brain or my nerves kicked in and I decided I wanted my own eye doc to look at it.  I called for an appointment.  None was to be had.  We decided to take a chance, so we drove all day Thursday so I could be at the clinic Friday morning.  They worked me in.  My eye doc explained to me what was happening in terms even I could understand.  He eased my mind.  Wait.  I shall wait.  Until then, I shall see the world through one good eye and one eye that makes so many unique shapes!  This, too, shall pass.  I will once again see through two eyes.  The world will not end.  And I will celebrate "normalcy"!  Perhaps, what I need is a patch...and a parrot!  Arrrrrgh!  I will definitely celebrate the kindness of the professionals who managed to "work me in"!  Attitude?  Gratitude!

It simply had to happen. Crystal Bridges Art Museum. See thoughts 1-7!

Deep thought #7

If you have made it through the first six, congratulations!  You deserve a medal!  Being the cognizant type you are, you probably noticed an inherent theme.  Surprisingly, the discovery is not that deep.  The theme, on the other hand...
Poets, scholars, and fools have for years attempted to define the concept.  Some think it to be a many splendored thing.  Some think it is a red, red rose.  Some think it to cause fools to rush in.  At times I have been a scholar.  At time I have been a poet.  Most times, I have been a fool". I 'm still not going to try to define it.  Instead, I will propose a mathematical answer to the question of what is it?  Love is the only thing that increases the value of the giver and the receiver.  And I give you mine.  Deep, huh?

Deep thought #6

Tina Turner

"Do I love you, my oh my

River deep--mountain high"

Deep thought #5

Discovering Life's Deeper Meaning and Purpose
A self help book.

Book on it...you are loved!

Deep thought #4

Hell's Canyon

Do I love you?  Hell's yes!

Deep thought #3

The Mariana Trench.

Let me be Pacific...you are loved!

Deep thought #2

Lake Baikal.

Russian to tell you you are loved!

Seven days...seven deep thoughts.

Well.

I hope you are well.  I know you are loved!

In a perfect world,

I would be sveldt, built, and urbane.  I'm not.  I'm not.  And I'm not.
Gas would stay at one reasonable price for more than a week.  It doesn't.
Clothes would wash and dry themselves, fold or hang as necessary, and put themselves away.  They don't.
Chester's Fried Chicken wouldn't have salt.  It does.
People would drive with their lights on all the time.  They don't.
Hackers wouldn't mess up computers.  They do.
People who don't know me wouldn't have my phone number.  They do!
Gravity would be my friend.  It isn't.
In this absolutely imperfect world, I have a wife who not only loves me, she tolerates me.  I have food to eat, a house in which to live, a family that loves me unconditionally, friends that make the universe so much more interesting and entertaining, Dancing With the Stars, and the sure and perfect knowledge that imperfection is amazing!

Flashing on Miss Lucy

They're working in the kitchen--painting, fixing the ceiling--all the things we worked for all our lives to pay someone else to do!  As a result, the fudge making has shifted to the kitchen in the basement.  Everything upstairs is available downstairs in terms of equipment.  I was somewhat limited to flavors of fudge by the fact that almost all the flavorings reside in a cupboard upstairs.  So we have female chocolate, Butterfinger, almond, and blueberry(!).  Totally acceptable.  But I just poured the last batch in the pan and tried to find a place to set the kettle to be washed.  No surprise, there was no cupboard space.  You see, Miss Lucy believed that if a spoon, a pot, a utensil could be used while cooking, it SHOULD be used while cooking.  I have yet to meet someone who could outdo the number of items used to prepare a meal.  I could have gotten her compassion.  I could have gotten her wit.  I definitely got her tremors.  And even more definitely, based on observation, I got her cooking preparation skills.  Holy crap.  I didn't know I had that many pots, pans, measuring devices, spoons, spatulas and assorted paraphernalia.  I do!  And I'm sitting over here typing this rather than cleaning them up.  Come to think of it, I could have also inherited her need to clean, but alas, the gene pool ran dry there!

In case you didn't know...

it is now possible to make an appointment to renew your driver's license!  In my quest to find the location of our Department of Public Safety site, the lovely young lady at the toll free number asked if I would like to do so.  I said yes.  Unfortunately, I didn't ask her where I should go for said appointment...the reason I had called in the first place!  So this morning, I had to call and tell her that I appreciated the appointment, but wanted to give her a chance I don't offer everyone.  Would she tell me where to go?  She giggled.  Then she told me it was at the intersection of highway 212 and 21st St. SW.  I go to the intersection of highway 212 and 21st St. SW.  I see the Department of Corrections.  I immediately think the jig is up.  Then I see several other state departments.  Except the Department of Public Safety.  I search every sign.  I walk around to the front of the building.  I search every entrance.  Finally, the Department of Labor beckoned me welcome, so I went in and gave the delightful lady behind the desk the same opportunity I gave to the lovely young thing from the Department of Public Safety.  The same giggle--well, this time more of a chortle.  Her directions?  Go out the door.  Turn right.  Come to the corner of the building.  Turn right.  Pass under the overhang.  Head toward the Department of Corrections.  (Again, my jig is nervous).  Just prior to the Department of Corrections there is an alcove.  Turn right.  The door to the Department of Public Safety is in the alcove, facing north.  Of course it was.  North.  To the wall immediately behind it.  Hidden from view.  On my way out, I discover a sign on the wall that directs one to the alcove mystery, but it, too, is somewhat obstructed from view.  Jubilant that I left home early, I enter the office and notice 8 people waiting for their chance to renew their inalienable right to drive.  I was greeted at the door with "Here to renew?"  "Did you bring your two pieces of mail?"  "Fill out the form on the table."  "The pens are the little things with flowers sticking to them."  I filled out the form.  I returned it to the gentleman at the desk.  He did something to it, took my mail, made copies, and said, "You have an appointment, right?"  "Yup!" says I, not wanting to appear overly proper.  "Take a seat.  We'll call your name," says the gentleman name caller.  Hmmmmm.  I could have sworn he gave the two people in line ahead of me numbers and I heard someone call out 79, but who am I to argue with the man?  I take my seat.  I get involved in a pretty intense discussion of fraud prevention with the seven remaining people waiting to renew.  Then, like the voice of an angel, I hear, "Bill Zubke.  Please come to the desk."  I go to the desk.  It was 2:00 pm.  My appointed time.  I sign my name.  I pay my money.  I read the first line of the eye chart.  At 2:06, I walked out the door, license still hot from printing, waving to the seven people still waiting.  I hurry out to the car, get in, and speed away, afraid the seven may be in hot pursuit.  If I remember, I'll call for an appointment in six years!

The flag is lit.

It's a grand old flag.  I love to display it.  There's something about its emblematic quality that speaks to me.  I'm sure it has to do with my upbringing.  W.A. was a veteran of WW II.  He taught me to stand as the flag passed by.  If for no other reason than to honor those who traded their lives for my freedoms.  To this day, I remove my hat, place my hand over my heart and remember.  Then, there was Don Norlin.  He was my elementary music teacher.  He taught us to stand rigidly at attention when the national anthem was presented with all our focus given to the flag.  Not a chorus of that majestic song has been performed that my heart hasn't stirred.  And of course, there are the hymns of national pride.  God Bless America.  This Land is Your Land.  America.  They call us together.  So it seems only natural to have the stars and stripes displayed for all to see.  As you drive by, do me a favor?  Think of W.A. and all the men and women that make that drive possible.

But the recipe sounded so promising

I've had my successes in the kitchen.  I've had epic failures.  I've tried unusual ingredients with usual approaches.  I've tried unusual ingredients with unusual approaches.  But when it comes to Brussels sprouts, I have never been disappointed.  Correction.  I had never been disappointed.  Consider:  pickled Brussels sprouts--an amazing zing and fantastic texture.  Broiled Brussels sprouts--great color and mixture of Balsamic vinegar and bacon.  But tonight?  Tonight was to be the pièce de résistance.  Tonight, it was baked whole Brussels sprouts tossed with garlic, olive oil, bacon grease, and white balsamic vinegar, finished with bacon and Parmesan cheese.  OMG.  My mouth watered as I prepared them.  I salivated as I added the bacon.  I almost moaned aloud when I sprinkled on the Parmesan.  I took my first bite.  It was my last bite!  The only conclusion I can come to is the Brussels sprouts probably should not have sat in the refrigerator for two weeks before I used them?  Go figure.  Rarely has the garbage disposal eaten so well!  Alas and alack.  Sometimes promises just aren't fulfilling!  I think I'll have a piece of fudge!

Harvest

Webster--Definition #5  "the result or consequence of any act, process, or event"

Tonight, the Arrow Education Foundation is holding the Harvest Festival--a fund raiser for the Foundation.  The purpose of the foundation is to help educators initiate exemplary learning practices into their classrooms.  I can think of no better use for my money.  Don't get me wrong.  I am a strong supporter of such things as the United Way, the Codington County Animal Shelter, Bramble Park Zoo, and our religious affiliation.  Each in its own way makes the world a better place.  But teaching children?  Could/Should there be a higher priority?  Need a doctor?  Creatively capture a child's curiosity.  Need a lawyer?  Creatively capture a child's ability to solve problems.  Need entertainment?  Creatively capture a budding instrumentalist, vocalist, or performer.  Each of these captures begins with a motivated, inspired, involved teacher.  They can work miracles.  But if I can increase the number of miracles performed by augmenting the meager budgets with which they have to work...if I can give them an extra tool to procure the interest...if I can give them support to learn/teach new things...where is the drawback there?  If the result or consequence of that act is one more excited learner, the process...the event...will be a success.  After all, do we not reap that which we sow?

Sometimes, it's just good

Our walkway is being built!  This is good.  I was somewhat sure that we wouldn't have the right number of pavers, so when the workmen asked me to go get more, I apprehensively jumped in the pickup and, remembering that my usual route was under construction, took the alternate route.  This is good When I pulled into the Menards parking lot, there was a spot right in front of the door.  This is good. Apprehension was mounting.  What if they didn't have any pavers left.  It was, after all, October.  I grabbed a cart, narrowly avoiding hitting another shopper who decided the absolute middle of the aisle was a good place to unexpectedly stop for some unforeseen reason.  This is good.  Back to the paver section.  Eureka.  There were pavers left.  This is good.  I started loading the 75 (I was right--not NEARLY enough) and along comes a young strapping lad and asks if he can help me get loaded.  I agreed, realizing in time he meant the pavers, and between the two of us, we get them into the pickup.  This is good.  I head for home.  I hit EVERY light at exactly the right time!  This is good.  There are now enough pavers.  This is good. 
It's all about the little things that make life...G...REAT!

Sibling excitement--the movie

Following the tragic loss of her husband, my sis has decided to make Watertown her home!  While 50 years ago that news would have met with mixed reviews, as we have aged (well, she has matured and I have aged!) we have formed an amazingly strong bond.  For me, it's totally based on respect.  She has done amazing things--quietly--effectively--and has no idea of how well-thought of she is.  She is irreverent, grammatical, and self effacing.  I get the first two.
At this age, she gets to start over.  Perhaps the "gets" is a little strong.  But attitude is everything.  And mine has been buoyed since learning she's moving here.  WA would approve.  Miss Lucy would approve.  And
Cath and I give it two thumbs up!