Galumphing Back

OK. I'm back. It's my birthday, and I'm not in hospital.

Miracles do happen.

This past week has been a real slice. I was already scheduled to have my external fixator removed on Tuesday morning. Monday, my visiting nurse came to change the dressings for the last time, and what do we find? A broken pin, protruding from a very infected looking pin site. I e-mailed pictures to my surgeon, who decided I needed the ER ...NOW.

                                                                  Yes, I know. Nasty.

NOW doesn't happen all that fast around here. Luckily, Gary was available to drive me, but first he had to get dressed, come to Monroe from Asbury Park, and then chauffeur me to Langhorne PA. In the middle of it all, we had lunch. Sal's makes a mean sandwich and, what the hell, we can't have an emergency on an empty stomach.

Eventually, we got under way. Knowing me and my OCD, Gary launched into a calm explanation of “Why the 'check engine' light is on in the car”. (He's been using the Taurus while I and his Miata are both laid up). After six years of marriage, and twenty years of annulled bliss, the boy has learned how to keep Kat from pulling an ultimate freak-out: “I checked the owner's manual and it says it's perfectively safe to drive. I will take it to your cousin for evaluation tomorrow, but we will not be breaking down on the road...but I knew you would notice the light on the dashboard.” Good lad; well done...except I didn't notice the light on the dash, being preoccupied with thoughts of loosing my leg. Now I had twin thoughts to keep me occupied; my leg's falling off and my car's blowing up. Oh joy, oh rapture.

Once at hospital, the ER was expecting me, and I was assigned a slot right away. IV antibiotics were prescribed with much cursing and gnashing of teeth by the nursing staff. I'm famous at Aria Health for being a “hard stick”. (Humm...I've heard that term applied to me in other circumstances...) and they had to go on a viable vein hunt before treatment could begin. Gary left for home while I waited for a room. The cafe had closed, and so I was sent to 1 South with a turkey sandwich and a carton of cranberry juice.

I was given a private room. I will always have a private room. Somewhere in my past, I had a weird bacteria – now dormant - and so I will be forever isolated with a “STOP! Must wear gloves and gown!” sign outside the door, to scare the “normals”. (And a few un-normals. My sister wandered into my room, one evening, sat down and said “Should we go back outside and get gowns?” Yes, Diane. Do that. I'll curl in a ball now, and hold my breath, until you return wearing a thin blue garbage bag. You'll be fine). So many staff members came to see me on a daily bases that my three rubbish bins looked like smurf burial grounds.

                                                  Fare thee well, oh smurfs of Langhorne

Surgery took place Tuesday morning. My new friend came to pre-op to wish me well, and tell me he knew I'd be just fine. Unfortunately we had no time to talk because I had an OR nurse probing my other arm for a more viable vein. Drat!

The operation went well. The cage was removed, and it was learned that all my bones did not fuse (See? I KNEW I hurt something when I had that shower accident) but the joints are stiff and stable. My friend came the next day with a bone stimulator, which I am to use for 3 hours each day. There is a 100% guarantee of successful fusion, if used properly. He brought his partner with him. Again, no time to talk. (Gerrrrr...)

                                                                     from this.....

                                                                 to this...finally

I found out that I have a low iron count, and a slightly elevated kidney number...things to follow up when I can get out to see my primary doctor. On the happy side, I've lost between 60-65 lbs and my A1C has gone from 13.3 in November, to 5.3. So, who's sitting home eating ice cream and blowing their diet now, siblings? Huh? Sure. Go on. Hide your faces in shame for doubting me. (So what does the oldest sister ask me? “Did you use your credit card to buy anything this week?” Yeah, absolutely. I asked for a medical supply catalog and got myself five wooden legs, a handicapped toilet and a set of rubber sheets. I mean, really? You HAD to ask that? Hello! H O S P I T A L!!)

There is no possible way to rest in a hospital. I had a neighbor in the next room. She was a senior citizen who had fallen, broken her arm and leg, and was in the early stages of senility. She had the unfortunate voice of a smoker on helium, but enough lung power to be heard throughout the ward. She continued most nights with a litany very familiar to me from the rehab centers in which I had been earlier confined. “Help me, help me, somebody help me, let me die, let me die, hello? Anybody out there? Help me, help me...” One night it was so loud, I had no chance at sleep. Being awake, and pumped full of saline, I also had to use the commode. I rang for my nurse – a nice, Irish lad – and asked him, “So, what's the story on the manic munchin next door?”

He simply stared at me.
“Yes, I know. I'm totally going to Hell. But are you listening to her? She sounds like there's a crisis at the lollipop guild!”
The man started to laugh and his hands were shaking. “I have to go in there next. How am I going to look at her and not laugh?”
“Oh, just laugh. Two seconds later and she won't remember a thing.”

The commode was another issue. It had a chamber pot with a handle. When it was emptied and replaced, it had to be placed just so, or the handle could pinch your thigh between itself and the lid. It did just that to me – twice. Skin was broken. I felt it my duty to warn future users that the thing had tasted blood, and will seek blood again, so I posted a sign of my own – on the lid.

I placed another sign beneath, reading “pottius carnivora” alerting all to the fact that here sits a flesh eating thunder mug.

The nurses were amused, even if my poor thigh wasn't.

I was finally fetched back to my little co-op Friday afternoon. I took the weekend to catch up on much needed sleep. Today, my oldest friend came, treated me for pizza, took me for a ride that didn't terminate at a hospital or doctor's office, and gifted me with a few much needed articles of clothing, now that I've lost weight. Tomorrow evening is the family birthday supper. Yum. My brother-in-law makes a mean chicken marsala.

In other news, for the Sherlockians among us, July 7^th is Sherlock appreciation day. Please see below.

And here, also, is the PR on Para-X on October 6^th.

That's it for now. Thanks to everyone who kept me on their pray and meditation lists. So far, you've gotten the ear of god/goddess. You have my gratitude.

Turning A Corner

It's been a while since my last entry. I can't say it's because I'm so busy... I'm home bound for a while. How busy can I be? I think I was drained by the financial pressures. Plus, I had to complete a Social Security form comparing what I use to do with what I can do now.

That's when the defecation hit the cooling unit.

Everything landed on me like a juggler missing a mark – fire batons, Indian clubs, electric saws and hackey sacks (figuratively) rained from the heavens in the form of financial crises, potential amputation, loss of employment, sibling tension (my brother yelled at me. First time in my life. I was heart broken), cabin fever and loneliness.

It got better. My old house sold two weeks ago. (I drove by last week, and they had dug up all my bushes and flowers. A word of advice: if you leave a place, never look back). So far, I've paid off my mortgage, my medical bills, and a good portion of my credit cards. I will soon be broke, but debt free.

My aman cara, Claude, will be moving into the village by the end of the month. That will be fantastic. 

The past few months has given me a lot of time to think about who I really am, what is real about myself and what I just assumed. I've come to realize that I am not as dominant a personality as I once thought. When it comes to the Craft or teaching, I am an alpha female. In relationships, I depend a lot on the strength of others for soothing and comfort. I was raised not to expect that. My mother would frequently tell me as a child, “Keep being who you are and no one will love you.” I guess that's why it's a constant shock and emotional roller coaster when people actually do. It's harder, still, to trust those emotions in others, but the process has now begun.

Also, Claude has reminded me recently that you have to have faith and state clearly your needs – work with the Divine within you and in the universe at large. It's been successful in both big and small things. One hospital's tests showed osteomyelitis and a foot abscess. By the time I got to Aria Health, all the tests were negative. There was no blood clot, the infection I later developed in my foot cleared up in three days. Time after time, when I relied on the power of God/Goddess , the answers came.

And, just recently, someone who whom I thought I had an immediate bound finally called. I had asked to have clarity regarding his interest. (I'm rusty at romance, but I could have sworn he was flirting with me. At least I now know I wasn't delusional!)

Talk about an incentive to keep loosing weight and get my health issues handled. The most comforting thing is this: he has seen me at my worse: tacky hospital gown, unkempt hair, no make-up, feeling like a bloated, crippled tick... and the man was still interested. Obviously he was attracted to more than a “pretty face”. (I am internally laughing my arse off right now.) No matter what happens, it will be nice to have another friend.

So, when the stress and the problems and the challenges weld up, I've learned to hold on tight, ask for help if truly needed, and do the best I can, day by day. Listen to the still, small voice of creation and believe in love. Perhaps soon, I can get back to my Circle.

                                                                       Er---umm....

                                                              Yeah - more like that....

My external fixator comes off on the 26^th of June. Fingers crossed the bones have fused.

In the mean time, my Sherlock novel, “Journeys End”, is being read by trusted friends and editors to catch obvious mistakes, obscure references, continuity problems and the like. While that is in the works, I still owe Fate Magazine 2 pieces, and will be working on yet another one for Circle Magazine. I need to stay busy. I even promised to do a lecture at Para-X this year. It's being advertised in Weird New Jersey, and will feature a Victorian séance in the evening. I'll be posting more on that as the date draws near.

Oh! And speaking of things Sherlock - Season 2 is available on DVD.  It includes the minutes shaved off the Masterpiece Theater version.  For those of you who took an interest in Undershaw, Arthur Conan Doyle's home, it HAS been saved from being made into housing units.  Now if we could only get the money together to restore it!

Keep the prayers and good thoughts coming, dear folks. Every little bit helps!

One More Time, With Feeling...

Well, I'm back. I've been back for a few weeks, but things were so hectic I couldn't blog. In fact, I could even think about blogging.

Life has remained crazy. I am still in my external fixator. I was doing very well until this past Tuesday. My aide was helping me into the shower when my left foot slipped, and the fixator smashed down onto the shower floor. Pin sites were bleeding, one snapped, and a pain went up the back of my ankle. It still hurts. Cross fingers and say a prayer, everyone, that I didn't break anything internally. If I did, it's the end of the line for my left leg.

We are still pending the sale of my house in North Brunswick. Turns out my roof was growing penicillin. How nice. I had my own drug supply and didn't know it. We had to have it remediated for a nice little sum. Yikes! Now, the house is clean – no oil tanks, no mold, no evil spirits. Please, somebody, buy the damn house!

My doctor told me that I could not chase after or take care of Rufus. My little fuzzy boy is now living with his groomer. She said that, when I'm back on my feet and feeling better, he will be returned, but I'm not sure that would be fair to him or Debbie's family. The little bugger grows on you, ya know? But - Gods – how I miss him!

While I was in and out of hospitals and re-hab for 4 months, I wrote a Sherlock novel called “Journeys End”. I always wanted to do this, and can't really believe I actually pulled it off. My friend, Ellen, co-developed the plot, so she'll also have her name on the cover. One of my doctors in PA recommended an agent (his girlfriend, of all people) so I will start the hunt for representation there. Right now, I'm doing the first typing, then we have to edit.

After that, it's back to “Myth Spelling” and my articles due for Fate Magazine. In the meantime, my article “Whipping Up Wards” is appearing in the Spring issue of Circle Magazine, under the regular feature section.

So, as much as I'm just sitting around with my foot elevated, trying to sort through moving boxes, I still have a few things to keep my mind busy.

Finally, the best news of all: Sherlock Season 2 starts on PBS this Sunday. Yes, the boys are back, and friends are gathering at my place for a viewing. The Gods bless Moffet and Gatiss; they have done it again.

Until next time, be careful out there – and watch those step-in showers.

They bite.

Here We Go Again

My apologies for my long absence. It was not by design. Shortly before Yule, I realized that my foot felt “crunchy” whenever I took a step. I had my suspicions that this didn't bode well, and so it was off to the podiatrist.

My foot was x-rayed and the dreaded news was confirmed: my Charot was back, and my foot was broken once more. My brother drove me out to Langhorne PA to see my surgeon, who confirmed that my situation was not good. Surgery would be needed once the Charcot went dormant. Meanwhile, it was back to using the roll-about.

That was a Thursday. By Friday, I was running a fever and had to literally crawl to the bathroom. My legs would not support me. By Monday, I was shaking so badly that I called my friend Ellen, who called 911. It was off to St. Peter's University Hospital ER. I was admitted with a leg that was crimson, hot and painful up to the knee. Test after test confirmed that I had staph in my bloodstream. I had Sepsis. The next few days were a blur. I had almost bitten through my tongue, and could not sleep at night. Bag after bag of antibiotics were pumped into my system, while a copious amount of blood was taken to the lab (I ended up needing two transfusions later).

Leg - not looking good...

Meanwhile, my brother and I decided that I could not safely return to my house. Brother is a realtor for a retirement community, and so he started arranging for a new house – handicapped accessible. That's when the family discovered that my finances were in ruin. With the aid of my loving nephew, Keith, the money was made available to purchase a nice co-op. However, at the time, I felt like I was slowly loosing the battle. My siblings visited and sat around me, asking about credit card debt, balances owed, minimum payments required etc. yet, in my head, all I could see were three death ravens. They were all speaking at once, and I had the thought “I'm dying, and these birds are asking me to do math problems.” I still crack up when I think of it.

Thankfully, the sepsis passed, and I was sent to Aria Health. That first night, I had a conversation with my surgeon. Tests at St. Peter's determined I had an abscess and the foot was full of osteomyelitis. I had a 10% chance of saving my leg. Was I willing to try? Well, of course! I'm rather attached to “lefty” and would like to continue the association. I was hoping for a miracle, and I think I got one. Further tests, and surgery to drain the foot and remove the old hardware, showed no abscess and no infection.

                                                                foot after clean out
                                                 

The next step was to be transferred to a rehab center in Langhorne. If I had any sense of modesty or problems with body image, I lost them here. I had as many male aids as female, no part of my body went untouched, and I was even showered by Kim the “shower queen”. (I promised not to mention her but..oops!). My room mate was 92 and hard of hearing. She was also demanding, especially at night, so the lights went on and the nurses shouted to her all through the wee hours until morning. There were also characters like Walter, who sat in the hall shouting “Help me! Help me!” and who would try to roll into my room at night. THAT was an experience. I will NEVER go to a nursing home in my old age. Never. Mine was one of the nicer ones and, even at that, I damn near lost my mind!

                                                     Gary visited me at the rehab
                                                            

The one saving grace, beyond the support of my family and friends, was writing. As I lay in the grip of the sepsis in New Brunswick, Ellen came to visit me. “I can't even work on my book,” I moaned. “I have no way of doing the research.”

“Write something else,” said she.

“Like what?”

“Give me a premises.”

“What if Sherlock Holmes had an older sister who once was in love with John?”

“I'll get you some paper and a pen.”

That began our collaboration. I have the pen, and she has the mystery plots in her head. I wrote every possible waking minute, calling her at odd times for plot discussions and changes in direction.

At one point, I had to go to the ER for a cast change. While I was sitting on the gurney, I got a call from her.

“Look, I'm in the ER. There's blood coming from my cast and they have to take a look. I just have one question. How are we killing off Dominic (One of our characters)?”

Ellen burst out laughing. “Can anyone HEAR this conversation?”

I looked up, and three interns were standing in the doorway, mouths agape. “It's a novel,” I said as they half smiled and walked away.

Pretty soon, the hospital and rehab staff knew I was a published author. Some started calling me “The Sherlock lady” while others went on line to Graven Images Oracle to get free readings. It was the only bright spot in nearly two months of hospitalization.

                                    My new home in Monroe Twsp. My co-op is downstairs.

So, here I am. I will keep the blog going until I'm ready for the next surgery, at which time I'll have to take another break. 

Fingers crossed, everyone.

Mea Culpa

 

My life has been a train wreck, of late. Because of this, my blog has gone unattended for far too long. For those of you wondering “What happened?” please forgive me, but I have been blessed to live in “interesting times” - Gods help me.

Honestly, there is a lot going on – some of it pretty scary. I developed another ulcer on my foot, directly above my old wound site. Thankfully, it healed up rather quickly, although the old wound is now having its own troubles. The skin over it cracked, and so it has a habit of bleeding, made worse by my blood thinners.

Why the blood thinners? Because I had a Doppler that showed I MIGHT have a blood clot in my leg. Better safe than sorry, according to my doctor, and so here I go – once a week – to have my blood tested and my medication adjusted. Meanwhile, I had a complete blood panel done. I knew I was buggered when Dr. Scharf called three times:

(first time) “Increase your blood thinner to 5mg.”

(second time) “Increase your insulin to 40 units.”

( third time) “I just looked at your A1C. What the hell are you doing! Get IN here!!”

It just so happened that my endocrinologist was holding all my scripts hostage until I got my stubborn posterior into HIS office. I had the appointment set, so my primary was content to let my specialist rake my sugar soaked booty over the coals. To this meeting, I took my old friend Ellen. Ellen wanted to make sure the doc knew what kind of “big bad” I've been (I asked her to do this, to keep me honest). Turns out my A1C was 12.1... a bit of not good.

So, I must now stay to the straight and narrow. I had already swore to my anam cara, Claude, and my nephew that I would safeguard my health, and I've been true to my word. I have never lied to either of them, and don't intend to start now. Happily my sugars have gone from the high 300's to 96! With change of diet should come change of weight, which will be wonderful for my foot and my mobility. The goal is to travel with Claude and Keith to see my cousins in Ireland next year, healthy, happy and able to walk. Surprisingly, my sister and Guy (brother-in-law) have mentioned possibly going with me. If my Mum were alive, she would never believe it: not only do I get along well with Diane, and enjoy our time together, but would love to have her travel with me. (Mum's idea of “keeping the peace” was to keep Diane and me separate, preventing us from working out our little differences when young. It was a real shame she didn't trust us to push through and find our own peace – but that's all past tense now).

There are changes happening in other areas as well. For the past 2 months I've been very emotional, even to the point of sobbing in my sleep. I have no idea what the crying was about – I haven't been unhappy and don't remember upsetting dreams. There have been things happening to other friends (My buddy Goldie in PA lost her husband a short while ago, and her house burnt to the ground Friday before Samhain, and another friend lost her mother Samhain morning) but nothing to bring me to the point of sobbing! Goldie's situation prompted me to action, gathering replacements for her magical tools, clothes etc. (Boxes are coming, Goldie!). My other friend's loss was sad, but her mother was suffering. Her passing was also a relief.

It got so ridiculous that I played a CD my first love made for me a few years ago, and broke out in tears the minute I heard his voice. I couldn't continue to drive! I mean, OK. I'm proud of him, always loved his voice, miss singing with him, may even get teary-eyed nostalgic, but this was loony tunes.

Wil performing in Nashville

Then I started to notice that when I got that way, someone always showed up needing help, or comfort, or advice. It was as though I was clearing space in my heart so I would have the empathy to relate to these folks. It was a cleansing, of a sort.

It also prepared me for other changes happening in my life. I can't really discuss details just yet, but I'm about to go into complete lifestyle overhaul. Almost everything is going to change for me and, while some may say I'm dancing with adversity, I feel great potential and opportunity ahead. There will be more on this as the weeks progress. Thankfully, I have talented and caring friends guiding me through the metaphysical barrier reef!

I have spent the latter portion of the Fall enticing my friends and fellow Sherlockians to watch the BBC's “Sherlock” and reading through the Fan Fiction. There are wonderful tales being written (as well as slash and porn, but I usually skip all that), as well as some great art. “Season” 2 won't come to these shores until May 6th 2012, although BBC One will be showing it in January. For those who are Conan-Doyle fans, I would like to make a plea for support. His home, Undershaw, is slated to be turned into 3 terrace houses. In the interim, the premises is being allowed to fall into ruin. It was at Undershaw that Doyle wrote some of his best Sherlock, including “Hound of the Baskervilles”. Please visit the Undershaw website and lend your support:

www.saveundershaw.com

Undershaw in better days

Doyle at Undershaw



Undershaw today, falling into ruin

As I mentioned in a prior post, I enjoyed myself immensely at Para-X. I'm happy to report that I've been asked to be a speaker at the next. I have to make sure I'm not in Ireland at the time! Fairly soon, Keith and I will be prowling around New Brunswick, NJ setting up the pictures for yet another Fate Magazine article, “Haunted New Brunswick.” I already have the photos I wish to use in my final article on Glastonbury. After that, I'm not sure what I will do. I have neglected my manuscript shamefully, and intend to have that completed and shopped out by Spring.

Finally, as promised, here are a few more of the gargoyle pictures that did not see the light of day in my Fate article. All photos are by my wonderful nephew, Keith Filarowitz.  Enjoy.  I'll post more next time!

A metal lion on a Red Bank door



A lion's head on a Red Bank public building



A worn Princeton gargoyle..





... and a Classic one, still surviving the elements



Grotesques can be a beautiful face....





...to one plagued by monkeys!




The chapel has owls...



...and a bat!...

..and even this steampunk looking fellow!

Para-Exceptional

Last weekend's Para-X in East Brunswick was a real blast.  Thanks to New Jersey Ghost Organization for hosting the event, and also to my lovely publisher, Phyllis Galde, for providing new Fate Magazines hot off the presses.

I also have to acknowledge my friend Charlene and nephew Keith for doing all the lugging and setting up/ breaking down that was beyond my abilities. We handed out lots of goodie bags, and sold both books and pouches, we had lovely neighbors in the guise of the Lytle sisters, and generally had a ball.  Would I do this again next year? Absolutely!


Yours truly



The signing table



Charlene in green



Me and ECTO 2


I mentioned in a prior blog entry that I would be doing the Samhain Circle at Earth Spirit on October 30th.  That has now been changed.  The shop decided they wanted a party, instead, complete with psychic readings and a seance. During Samhain season? Well, good luck there, folks.  I'll be safely tucked in bed.

Speaking of Samhain season, I have always said "If things can go wrong, they will"... and so they have.  Last Wednesdsay I took my shower, started putting on my socks and there, on my left ankle, was an ulcer.  I froze.  I thought I was having flashbacks.  I went to see my doctor and, thankfully, it is very shallow. No walking in the CRO until it heals. Therefore I had to 1) work at home again 2) give up my ticket to see the Ghost Hunters at the Count Basie Theatre and 3) cancel my Salem trip.  However! I am happy to report the healing has begun and we have avoided the road I went down last year. Worth a trip to Salem? Oh, yes.

Next weekend, the blog will be all about Samhain - and will also feature some of the gargoyle photos not used in the "Jersey Goyle" article.  Until then, be careful out there.  The worlds are getting closer and closer...

Finally! A Clue...

I am in love. 
 Truly.
Oh, this isn't a new relationship by any means.  I've been carrying the torch for this gentlemen since I was in high school. I admired his intellect, his near-magical abilities, the fact that he was not focused on monetary gain, surface relationships, or chasing the mundane and pedestrian in life. He has placed himself in the service of others many times, risked his life, but all with the commitment of conquering the puzzle, finding the solution, feeling alive.

He's far from perfect.  Like me, he dwells on the darkness when there are no distractions.  He mopes.  He withdraws. But I have loved him with all my heart. Many have tried to be like him, a clear compliment to his individualistic style, but I have never seen the spark of his spirit in any man's eyes…until now.

This weekend, I watched all 3 episodes of "Sherlock", the BBC's 3-parter, and my skeptical heart just melted. Finally! A Holmes and Watson that doesn't insult the intelligence, that plays to those human traits - strength, weakness, flaws, brilliance - that have been in the "cannon" all this time.  And they are young - as young as they would have been in Sir Arthur's stories: mature, in their thirties – men old enough to have seen the jaded side of the world (John in war and Sherlock in crime investigation) but who still have a longing for “the game” - the thrill of life.

Stripped away is Victorian England. This is the 21^st century. There are laptops, cell phones, Chinese take-away open until 2am. What remains is pure relationship and character development or, better stated, character re-discovery. Holy Goddess, what a ride! They have just finished filming next year's three episode 2^nd season. Was that actually me giggling when I got the news? Funny, what love can do.

As to this quote:

Barry: "Hey, you gotta help me, Mr. Holmes! Everyone says you're the best. Without you... I'll get hung for this."
Sherlock: "No, no, Mr. Bewick, not at all. Hanged, yes."

...it's part of scene one, episode 3, current season.
Those who know me, and my near obsession with proper grammar (specific errors in particular) are now grinning like Cheshire Cats. Do you see? If I hadn't yet given my soul to this Sherlock after Episodes 1 and 2, he would have had me at “hanged”.

Regarding everyday existence - I went to see the doctors this past Thursday.  The new CRO and shoe are working out OK, but I still have a chronic fear of falling.  They've given me a script for physical therapy.  I also complained about pain in the back of my leg, and now I must go for a Doppler. Blood clots may be forming, even at this late date. I couldn't go Friday because my car was at the garage having the electrical system checked. (Sigh) it IS still Samhain season.

On the bright side, the Fate Magazine issue has arrived and the article looks great, as does Keith's photography. I have a supply, although limited. Come see me at the Para-X event at the East Brunswick Elks on Saturday, October 15th, and pick up a copy while they last. There will also be goodie bags, books and pouches for purchase, and lots of candy corn!

Hopefully, Jersey folks who read Jersey "Goyles" will take a few snaps of their own local stone lurkers and send them to me. In my next blog I will begin sharing images not used in the article.

See you next Saturday!