Yes, I'm working hard.

. . . why do you ask?

Glory, jest, and riddle

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,

The proper study of mankind is Man.

Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,

A being darkly wise and rudely great:

With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,

With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,

He hangs between, in doubt to act or rest;

In doubt to deem himself a God or Beast;

In doubt his mind or body to prefer;

Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;

Alike in ignorance, his reason such,

Whether he thinks too little or too much;

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;

Still by himself abused or disabused;

Created half to rise, and half to fall:

Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;

Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;

The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

(Pope, Essay on Man: Epistle II. 1733.)

Is that a sliver of light along the floor?

Love is wild for reasons, and hope though short in sight--
Might be the only thing that brings you back to life--
for a moment I thought I saw your eyelids rise--

When the cat is away . . .

. . . The mice will spin around and around in circles until they fall down--while holding pretzel rods in their little fists.

As their father, I was appropriately horrified at such barbaric behavior.

More action shots (read: blurry photos that show real! little boy! action!) HERE.

nananananananana BATMAAAAN

especially fearsome when barefoot.

huh.

Because I like cherry blossom

Sight, smell, and touch.

Wow, what a job

Professional LEGO builder???

Put me on the Star Wars team, please!

lyric wisdom

Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie.
I have loved, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
O ! 'tis imposture all ;
And as no chemic yet th' elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant pot,
If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,
So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
But get a winter-seeming summer's night.
--Donne

**

It was long after midnight
When we got to unconditional love
She said sure, my heart is boundless
But don't push my limits too far

I said if love is so transcendant
I don't understand these boundaries
She said just don't disappoint me--
You know how complex women are
I'll be around
If you don't let me down
Too far
--Rush

. . . nobody really knows, do they? . . .

(picture: "The Alchemist," Sir William Fettes Douglas)

Because I can peel oranges

Notes from the end of GSH:

High School is High School, no matter what. These were smart kids, impressive in so many ways, many of them quite mature--and yet. Though sometimes it's hard to remember that they're only 16 &17, at other times they're unmistakably HS.

The difference between student & student in a setting when everyone is bright and motivated: self-confidence.

The progression of the month: nervous => energetic => cocky => tired => crabby => giddy.

This instructor is glad he was not responsible for them outside of class.

Cute & poignant to watch summertime romances bloom.

The saddest part, other than the leave-taking, is to hear how generally frustrated these students are with their schools. Several of my students report that they have achieved in spite of considerable bureaucratic obstacles.

I was looking around the faculty row at this morning's 'graduation' ceremony, and wow: we are a gnarly, rumpled bunch.

Still, I'm glad I'm a part of the faculty of the program. I'm not sure how I merited a spot, especially as such a junior faculty member, but it's fulfilling both intellectually and financially.

(the post title is an inside joke at the expense of some of the cheerleading camp attendees)
(the image is from xkcd.com)

I couldn't take another bite, thanks

Humble pie: a little goes a long way.

bubble

The same old dilemma:

to speak my mind, or
to dissemble?

which is better?
which is more prudent?

Two in need of haircuts

Penultimate Day

New music from Wilco. I like what I've heard so far, especially Bull Black Nova.

**
I have enjoyed reading a long comment thread provoked by our senior class picture from 1992. We were on our beach trip. I look like an idiot, of course--but that's not what I care about so much. It's been fun to read people's memories of that trip. Typically for me, there were some things I just did not catch while I was on that trip. For instance: there was skinny dipping! Granted, it was girls-only, but still! I'm always somewhere else, or oblivious, when good stuff goes down. My most vivid memory is of being slugged in the jaw by a person with whom I had a "stormy" relationship. Ah, high school.

**
Speaking of high school, and all the attendant travails, GSH ends tomorrow; They have been a good group, thoughtful and hardworking. I'll admit, having a sum total of 12 students in two classes definitely makes the summer term a bit easier. Still, I prefer a room that's a bit more full. I ought to give a shout out to the Intrepid Four in my survey class; we're having a good time, and they're all on the ball (hey! that rhymes!)

**
A few notes about the Big Brother: yesterday, I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up (I'd been tipped off by our neighbor WP to ask him). His response:
"A pharmacy."
You want to be a pharmacist?
"Yes."

We went to the dentist yesterday; it was his first visit. He was nervous, but didn't want to be asked about it, didn't want to sit with either parent, didn't want to go first or second, didn't want to watch us get ours worked on, didn't want to help the hygienist (who was quite nice). What he did want to do: make sure we all knew that he wasn't going to get a shot. He repeated, "I'm not getting a shot!" about two dozen times, often with increasing volume & shrillness as his nervousness increased. When it came time, he did fine--and got a cherry slush from Sonic for the ride home.

**
More determined than ever to mind my own business, and only my own business.

**

The Blossom LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower, Whom I've watch'd six or seven days, And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise, And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, Little think'st thou, That it will freeze anon, and that I shall To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. Little think'st thou, poor heart, That labourest yet to nestle thee, And think'st by hovering here to get a part In a forbidden or forbidding tree, And hopest her stiffness by long siege to bow, Little think'st thou That thou to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake, Must with the sun and me a journey take. But thou, which lovest to be Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say, Alas ! if you must go, what's that to me? Here lies my business, and here I will stay You go to friends, whose love and means present Various content To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part ; If then your body go, what need your heart? Well then, stay here ; but know, When thou hast stay'd and done thy most, A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, Is to a woman but a kind of ghost. How shall she know my heart ; or having none, Know thee for one? Practice may make her know some other part ; But take my word, she doth not know a heart. Meet me in London, then, Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see Me fresher and more fat, by being with men, Than if I had stay'd still with her and thee. For God's sake, if you can, be you so too ; I will give you There to another friend, whom we shall find As glad to have my body as my mind.

--Donne (1633)

**
I think, if I'm honest, that I probably inhabit the 3rd or 4th celestial sphere--in the same cosmos, yes, but pretty far from The Centric Thing Itself.

What was that about storybook endings?

. . . think about it . . .

Inigo Montoya: I donna suppose you could speed things up?
Man in Black: If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do.
Inigo Montoya: I could do that. I have some rope up here, but I do not think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.
Man in Black: That does put a damper on our relationship.
Inigo Montoya: But, I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.
Man in Black: That's VERY comforting, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait.
Inigo Montoya: I hate waiting. I could give you my word as a Spaniard.
Man in Black: No good. I've known too many Spaniards.
Inigo Montoya: Isn't there any way you trust me?
Man in Black: Nothing comes to mind.
Inigo Montoya: I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.
Man in Black: Throw me the rope.

**
Westley: Can you move at all?
Buttercup: Move? You're alive. If you want I can fly.

**
Grandpa: [voiceover] Nothing gave Buttercup as much pleasure as ordering Westley around.
Buttercup: Farm boy, polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.
Westley: As you wish.
Grandpa: [voiceover] "As you wish" was all he ever said to her.
Buttercup: Farm boy, fill these with water - please.
Westley: As you wish.
Grandpa: [voiceover] That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back.
Buttercup: Farm boy... fetch me that pitcher.
[It's right over her head, so he has to stand next to her]
Westley: As you wish.
[Cut to them kissing]
The Grandson: [interrupting] Hold it, hold it. What is this? Are you trying to trick me? Where's the sports?
[suspiciously]
The Grandson: Is this a kissing book?
Grandpa: Wait, just wait.
The Grandson: Well, when does it get good?
Grandpa: Keep your shirt on, and let me read.

(picture from Dave McClellan)

Alright!

A new Miyazaki film!

"What is man?"

. . . a vessel that the slightest shaking, the slightest toss will break. A body weak and fragile."
--Seneca

from an essay by Alain de Botton:

We have tended to cast such gloomy messages aside. The modern bourgeois philosophy pins its hopes firmly on two great presumed ingredients of happiness: love and work (more specifically, a healthy bonus). But a vast unthinking cruelty lies discreetly coiled within this magnanimous assurance that everyone will discover satisfaction here. It isn’t that love and work are invariably incapable of delivering fulfillment—only that they almost never do for too long. And when an exception is misrepresented as a rule, our individual misfortunes, instead of seeming inevitable, weigh down on us like curses. In denying the natural place reserved in the human lot for longing and disaster, this philosophy denies us the possibility of collective consolation for our fractious marriages, our unexploited ambitions, and our exploded portfolios, and condemns us instead to solitary feelings of shame and persecution for having stubbornly failed to make more of ourselves.

Being human is as easy as falling off a log, but is the hardest thing any of us have to do.

furballs

Sometimes love can twist your head--
But you don't have to wish me dead today--
We can ride away--

**
This final week in Governor's School for the Humanities: we're studying essays on education from Newman, al-Ghazali, Friere, and Douglass . . . in addition to a critique of Friere that was recently published in some periodical-thingummy or another. This is the part of the term where they feel like their own experience carries some weight, and it's interesting to hear them talk about their schools. I remind them that their experience can't possibly be stranger than my own.

**
I have been given the challenge: next time I'm at the lake (hoping there is a next time sometime this summer), I am to ski. It's been a while--I hope I remember, and I hope my body is able to withstand high-speed collisions with the water like it used to. Oh, and I decided it's time to give up my decade-old pairs of swim trunks (one actually dating to college) and get something a bit more, er, updated. Really--I looked pitiful. I'm also getting one of those silly "rashguard" shirts with SPF 750 or something built in; maybe that will cut down on the goop I have to put on. Maybe.

**
We finished our selections from Paradise Lost in my other class last week . . . one student informed me that I could very well be a theology professor. I thanked him for his confidence in me, and inwardly guffawed at myself. Still, I think they got a lot out of it. Students don't often get the opportunity to think seriously about theology, casuistry, or any of the other assorted -ologies, and in many cases they relish the chance even if they don't necessarily belong to a church. This week: King Lear, then Donne & Jonson & Marvell.

**
I have been following, albeit from a distance, the travails of Hayumbone, the Buzzard, and their families this past couple of weeks. And I'll tell you: I want them on my side when life takes a lead pipe to my knee. The Buzzard did a veritable Augean Stable of work, at considerable cost to himself (in every way). I may sometime hear the whole story with my own ears, but this again reminds me how fortunate I was to cross paths with him & Hayumbone when I did. It hasn't been the same since we've been apart, y'all. If you don't believe me, just ask my doctor.

**
I've had a hard time thinking clearly all day. Unfortunately, can't blame it on the drugs anymore!

**
Still jaded, skeptical, misbelieving, cynical . . . but maybe that will change one day.

**
I missed my boys today.

For this Day of Paternal Observance

also, pictures from yesterday's lake expedition available here (many thanks to VS, BS, CS and HS for hosting us & driving the boats).

A thought experiment

Do it like the Danes: don't expect too much.

"As soon as I remembered the good ole Danes—with their hours of darkness and their 50% taxes, their purported presupposition that everything will go wrong and constant delight that it doesn’t—I laughed."

Two Roads Diverged

I
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
   That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
   Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
   Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
II
What else should he be set for, with his staff?
   What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
   All travellers who might find him posted there, 
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
   For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,
III
If at his counsel I should turn aside
   Into that ominous tract which, all agree
   Hides the Dark Tower.  Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried
   So much as gladness that some end might be.
(from Browning, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came," 1855)

It seems that there are two paths that lie before me--each this morning equally lie in the muggy shade. On the one hand is the path of the persona that has served me so well and kept me out of trouble. On the other hand is the path of openness and vulnerability that could crack me open; indeed, my experience has been that brokenness is the only outcome. If one might look at the past 18 months as a process of learning which path to take, I have to say that I've progressed exactly zero--except that now I know what each path costs. Either way, it's grievous.

You want solutions? You want resolution? You want perspective?

Good luck, god bless.

Adam Agonistes

From a beautiful passage of Paradise Lost--a part I don't often get to teach. Adam speaks to Raphael, the sociable spirit:

Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought
My story to the sum of earthly bliss
Which I enjoy, and must confess to find
In all things else delight indeed, but such
As, use or not, works in the mind no change,
Nor vehement desire-these delicacies
I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers,
Walks, and the melody of birds: but here,
Far otherwise, transported I behold,
Transported touch; here passion first I felt,
Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else
Superior and unmoved, here only weak
Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance.
Or Nature failed in me, and left some part
Not proof enough such object to sustain,
Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps
More than enough-at least on her bestowed
Too much of ornament, in outward show
Elaborate, of inward less exact.
For well I understand in the prime end
Of Nature her the inferior, in the mind
And inward faculties, which most excel;
In outward also her resembling less
His image who made both, and less expressing
The character of that dominion given
O'er other creatures. Yet when I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems
And in herself complete, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.
All higher Knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded; Wisdom in discourse with her
Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shews;
Authority and Reason on her wait,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally; and, to consum'mate all,
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat
Build in her loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard angelic placed.
(8. 521-559)

And thus is our fate.

Oft turning others' leaves

Reason, in faith thou art well served, that still
Wouldst brabling be with sense and love in me--

**
With what sharp checks I in myself am shent,
When into Reason's audit I do go,
And by just counts myself a bankrout know
Of all those goods, which heaven to me hath lent--

**
Fie, school of Patience, fie, your lesson is
Far far too long to learn it without book:
What, a whole week without one piece of look,
And think I should not your large precepts miss?

**
What may words say, or what may words not say,
Where truth it selfe must speake like flatterie?
Within what bounds can one his liking stay,
Where Nature doth with infinite agree?
What Nestors counsell can my flames alay,
Since Reason selfe doth blow the cole in me?

Four Seasons in One Day

Four seasons in one day
Lying in the depths of your imagination
Worlds above and worlds below
The sun shines on the black clouds
Hanging over the domain
Even when you're feeling warm
The temperature could drop away
Like four seasons in one day

Smiling as the shit comes down
You can tell a man from what he has to say
Everything gets turned around
And I will risk my neck again
You can take me where you will
Up the creek and through the mill
Like all the things you can't explain
Four seasons in one day

Blood dries up
Like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day

It doesn't pay to make predictions
Sleeping on an unmade bed
Finding out wherever there is comfort
There is pain
Only one step away
Like four seasons in one day

Blood dries up
Like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day

(Crowded House)

(sometimes it's hard to keep up!)

Just a picture I really like

. . . but I'm not sure why. Is it the beginning of a story? The end?

It's a sleight of hand

I'll bet you won't catch me, catch me if you can.

(Harrod & Funck)

Vegetable Lasagna

One of the things we were most excited about when we moved into an actual house with an acutal yard is that we could grow our own vegetables--or at least some tomatoes & peppers (both of which I love). Each summer has been an adventure; we didn't want to tear up a whole section of yard, and till, etc., etc., so we made use of a sunny spot in an existing planting bed (I'd say flowerbed, but there aren't all that many flowers). Our results have been spotty. A couple of years ago it looked okay:



















Last year was a disaster (didn't even try to take pictures).

Enter a book that was recommended to us: Lasagna Gardening. The theory is that you make the soil yourself by layering various kinds of organic material on top of a thick mat of wet newspaper. The newspaper kills the underlying turf, and the layers break down to form a rich, black soil.

It works. It works almost too well. We've got a jungle on our hands, despite our clear lack of knowledge about what we're doing. All we've done is make the planting bed and plant the seedlings, and keep the bugs under control:















We're doing triple this space next spring, assuming we can keep this 'success' going.

Little Red

One year ago.

Less barbaric back then!

In their presence

On the coming of evening, I return to my house and enter my study; and at the door I take off the day's clothing, covered with mud and dust, and put on garments regal and courtly; and reclothed appropriately, I enter the ancient courts of ancient men, where, received by them with affection, I feed on that food which only is mine and which I was born for, where I am not ashamed to speak with them and to ask them the reason for their actions; and they in their kindness answer me; and for four hours of time I do not feel boredom, I forget every trouble, I do not dread poverty, I am not frightened by death; entirly I give myself over to them.

(Machiavelli, from a letter to Fransesco Vettori, 10 December 1513)

I taught Plato and Milton today.

Full of Compliments

J took a look at Uncle B last Sunday and said, "heeeey, you look good!"

J took a break from his "rest time" yesterday to throw open a window and yell to me: "you did a good job mowing the grass, Daddy!"

J took a look at me just now (I'm dressed for church) and said, "you look good, Daddy!"

He's many things, but one of my favorites is that he's such a good-natured kid. Shy, but good-natured.

My Weekend with the Boys, Vol. 2

Well, we've made it to lunchtime on Saturday, and here's the report.

Pictures available here, though without my scintillating commentary. You will note that they document a vicious and unprovoked attack on me by my youngest and my eldest, as well as an impromptu swim, as well as Little Red's adventures with a spoon.

Also worth noting: I have said the following:

"Little Red, take that ladybug out of your mouth."
"Little Red, we don't eat clover."
"Little Red, that's a daylily, not food!"
"Big Brother, don't let him get in the swi--okay, help him get up out of the water."
"Big Brother, please come into the garage before you take all your clothes off."

Everything is under control

I promise.

A taxonomy

There are multiple varieties of pain, and it seems like yesterday was a time to experience several of them, at least second-hand--if not more closely.

My dearest friends are experiencing a nightmare, as someone they dearly love is suffering from an extreme manic episode. These kinds of episodes can be extremely destructive. They cannot do a thing to help from where they are, other than send messages of love and support. And of course I can't do anything but do the same.

I just found out that someone I know pretty well is divorcing his wife (a decision I think is mutual, from what I can tell--but I'm not asking).

I received an email from a good friend I recently re-connected with, someone who has been a true support and a good kind of challenge for me. But our communication has to more or less cease now--for various personal reasons on her end. She was clearly disturbed by it. I'm disappointed that it's come to this, but I'd never want to be a problem.

I read this at Sippican Cottage yesterday:

You can't win if you don't play, someone once said. A loser, most likely. A spectator, even more likely; the pinnacle of losers. What would they know about it?

You see, you can't even play if you won't lose. That's the world. You have to steel yourself beforehand, understand that the game is fixed, and you're born to lose. That's the cover charge to even get on the pitch.

This is life, where the bitter is always hard by the sweet. There's more to say, of course--but when is there not? Lord have mercy on us all.

W A I T

In my GSH class there's a young man who wears a wristwatch without a movement or face. Under the crystal is a single word written in bold letters on a white background:

W A I T

There's a story there--wonder what it is?

My Weekend with the Boys, Vol. 1

The Spouse is heading to Nashville for a couple of days. I'm staying with the boys and the cats. We're already having an adventure: this morning, after their run, the brood came to visit me in my office (as usual). After devouring animal crackers, Little Red was evidently still hungry, so he went behind my chair and rummaged in my lunch sack until he found an apple. When I turned around, here's what I saw.

We may soon be calling him Little Red The Goat. He's never even held an apple before!

Perlas ng silanganan

This article by Michael Yon (who always does great reporting) is fascinating.

This is a complex war. As for the complexity of the human terrain, the Philippines is the “Afghanistan of the Sea.” There are great differences, of course. The Republic of the Philippines is a functioning democracy with a professional military and it’s not bordering Pakistan and Iran, yet the human terrain here is far more complex than that of Iraq or even Afghanistan. Physical terrain shapes human terrain. Afghanistan has deserts, mountains and valleys, while this place has the sea, thousands of islands, and mountains and valleys. Physical barriers create separate languages and cultures.

And it grips my heart with homesickness.

#87, another rediscovery

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

(Shakespeare, 1609)

(and no, this isn't some secret message, for those of you who think that every time I stick a poem on here I'm trying to broadcast some double-secret communique. I just happen to like the elegaic tone of the poem)

(/grouchiness)

Gesundheit!

I may be at the point where I can declare that I'm approaching a recovery. Witness: I'm exercising again, and even gaining a little of that 30 pounds back (I'm hoping to keep the gains more moderate--160 seems like a good number). More importantly, I'm doing multiple kinds of exercising, and it seems to be doing some good both balance and strength-wise.

Other good news: my pants fit better now. The ones that aren't too big, that is.

More importantly, the lingering effects of the most recent bout with depression (and the drug regimen for its treatment) seem to be fading. Folks tell me that I have more energy, that I seem more 'present' than I have in months. I.e., I feel good. Things aren't perfect, but I feel good.

Here's to health, for now.

White

I miscalculated when I started this riding habit . . . I bought blue stuff, blue being my default for just about anything (just ask my students). A bit of time has passed, however--and now I want white.

White helmet:









White gloves:









White jersey:












White shoes:









White bar tape:










Totally ridiculous, I know. I really would like the jersey & helmet, though. Worry not, however--I'm not going to go as far as this:

Things that are awesome, Vol. 7

Sitting in the stands at a basketball or minor-league baseball game.

"Whaaaat??" you may ask--"aren't you this rabid football fan?"

Yes, yes I am. But to me there are few things more fun than going to a baseball or basketball game and watching it live. I will allow, however, that my demeanor is very different depending on which event I am at.

Baseball: you've got your hot dogs (a ballpark is the best place for a hot dog), peanuts, sodee pops, beer (if that's your beverage of choice), sunshine, and the organ music, and the leisurely pace of the pitcher's windup, the batter's glove & shirt & bat routine. The outfield is green, green. The infield is a nice red-brown, and the baselines are eye-popping white. You take in the ads on the outfield fences, the antics of the mascot, the musical flourishes that each batter chooses as his signature. And between innings: the dog racing the bases. The kid racing the mascot. The two kids racing each other in the "let's get dressed in too-big baseball gear" race. The "shoot beanie babies into a huge pair of pants" game. The mascot racing a go-cart around the warning track. And in the midst of all this, you can choose to pay attention to an athletic contest! But the point is relaxation.

Basketball: it's a fast, intimate game when you see it live. TV makes it dead--makes the court seem too big. When you go, you have to stand up and pay close attention to every possession, the way game momentum changes on a steal & breakaway. In cases like this, you are likely to find me standing on my feet, shouting at the top of my lungs, beating my hat on the nearest hard object when a "3" doesn't fall, and generally being more hyper than you'd think possible. And when played well as a team sport (usually at the hs and college level), it can be a beautiful thing to see. And yes, I'm a Tar Heel, so I've got my biases--for instance, which color blue is the best.

Argh!

. . . refresh . . .
. . . refresh . . .
. . . refresh . . .