It’s been less than two weeks since I was in Korea. It feels like an entire lifetime and also, like yesterday. This may partly be due to my exceptionally unusual sleeping schedule. I will never be an international jet-setter. My body would like me to choose a side of the international date line and stay put. I think I’m finally able to wake up in the morning time and recognize what day of the week it is. Today’s Monday, right?
I still get easily exhausted by doing things. Basically, any day I have more than three things to do, it makes me need to curl into a ball or fall haphazardly into my bed. I’ve been sorting a lot of papers, my papers, my mother’s papers, strewn-about boxes of paper my father left with scraps imprinted with his lengthy, messy scrawl. I especially like the box of cotton balls and bottle of nail polish remover he packed with the label “Ginger’s Crap and plastic thing.” I’ve been answering a lot of questions and trying to remember what life is like in Meeguk (America). What I’ve surmised is that Meeguk is a place where I have to fake it a lot of the time; mostly, I have to pretend I have a lot of answers to questions I barely hear, or pretend “I’m okay,” because that seems to be the only acceptable answer to the many questions I’m pretending to hear.
I was forewarned by others that while my grief remains fresh and my father will forever be dead, not all of the people in my life will accept that I may not be willing or able to “hit the ground running.” Some people have good intentions that are misplaced as tough love. Other people have ignorant coldness which I have ignored for many years and cannot endure at this time (and may not wish to resume enduring). But what has been pervasively overwhelming, is that I have an amazing tribe. I have busy mom friends who answer my calls in the middle of the night and distract me with stories of toddling tots. I have couple friends who interrupted their anniversary getaway to make time for a sad friend. I have single friends who entertain me with tales of dating woes and triumphs and who let me complain or cry. I have lawyer friends who have taken time out of burgeoning careers to remind me how to be a lawyer. And I have people who know me inside and out, people who know how to normalize even the most abnormal circumstances, and have huge things happening in their own lives. I love my friends who have made no demands except to ask me to take care of myself and to remind me they are omnipresent, even at a distance. I love more that those friends have stopped asking “How are you doing?”
I am reminded everyday that I am loved, beloved, valuable (though potential employers have yet to discover how much they really love me – job searches are not fun.) Slowly, I am developing some kind of guide to recreating a life…something I was sort of trying to postpone by renewing my contract in Korea. But here I am – thrown back in and doing my best to build something new. I think the thing I like to remind myself is that there is no roadmap or plan to chart personal loss – people grieve separately, differently – and there is no formulaic answer that solves or heals or resolves or improves for every single person – even as they suffer the loss of the same person.
SO, the short answers are: NO, we are not yet “okay.” Some days are better than others, and none of them feel “normal.” NO, we are not attending family bereavement counseling and NO, at this time, I do not believe it is necessary. NO, there is nothing you can say to make it better. YES, there are times you say or do the wrong thing. NO, I will not be able to answer all phone calls and NO, I do not know the best time to call. Just try and if I can answer, I will. If I can’t, I won’t. YES, I’m looking for work, and NO, I don’t know where I want to land, and NO, right now, I don’t think it’s a good time to reevaluate my life plan. YES, there are things you ca probably do, but you should probably be more specific about what you are willing or able to do, because right now – we’re kind of in survival mode and we aren’t 100% sure of what we need until we need it.
But here’s the shortest answer: I love you all too. Thank you for those who try, who put aside personal inconvenience and replace it with generosity, who have gone out of their way to try to make things seem less uncomfortable. My appreciation is unending, and I will probably not remember all of the tiny kindnesses that have been gifted to my family… but I hope I will…
The past week in Korea has been a blur of goodbyes. I’ve managed to visit all of the most important places and say farewell to the most important people. I’ve had lots of meals, lots of visits, and lots of train trips. I swear, I keep Korail in business some weekends. I think Korail will miss me most.
People often ask me if religion brings me back to the orphanage in Gimcheon, but really, *I* bring myself back to the orphanage because I committed to volunteering at children’s crisis nurseries, group homes, shelters, and orphanages when I was 18. I cooked my first solo Thanksgiving dinner at a crisis shelter in Flagstaff when I was 19, which featured only breasts a lot of turkey and limited side dishes, since people donated only birds. I went twice a week to a small shelter in my 20s and my office partner and I decided one year to sponsor their entire Christmas. We bought “appropriate” gifts and took too many illegal pictures, but we both said it was the best thing we did that year. (Of course, she also reunited with her ex-BF/future husband on Christmas Eve Mass…) Anyhow, I have always felt compelled to spend time with displaced kids, and it has nothing to do with my religion or my orphan status. It’s just me (and probably hugely contributed to my parents who did foster care when I was a teen).
So, I went to hold babies and braid the hair of little girls and feed everyone kimbap. I watched the babies dance along to a video and play with balloons and my two favorite babies told me everyone’s names and sat on my lap. Only one peed on me. The babies did take me down, literally, before I left, after a giant baby bit me on the ankle and then the mob of babies attacked me for some last-minute lap time. The Baby Bang (room) is still King of the Hill lap war. My Baby Badass always wins =) I can’t explain the sense of melancholy I felt when leaving the babies for the last time. I will never see them grow up. I will never see the smiles of the girls at Grace Jeep (house) when they recognize me and notice that I, yet again, have changed my hair. I won’t fold laundry with the house uhmma again or let her feed me Asian pears on a tiny fork. The last time to say goodbye in Korea has been harder than I thought it would be. And again, I am reminded how fortunate I am to own the life that was gifted to me by happenstance.
I also went back to my very favorite place in Korea: Haeundae Beach. I took a cab, to a train, to the subway and then met my host, Sohee, who is quite pregnant. We had a lovely goodbye lunch and again, I felt so overwhelmed realizing I would never hold her baby, and likely would never see her again. I watched the waves roll gently into the sand and collected a bunch of broken seashell shards. I tanned my legs and dug my toes into the cool sand. I missed my dad. I then took the subway to the lightrail to the bus to Inje campus, where I had a nice kimchi jjigae dinner with Jihye, Eun Hye and Professor Cho. We said “See you later!” but we all knew: it might be goodbye forever. I also will never hold Jihye’s baby, due in December. Strange that my world is so completely divided… that ocean really gets in the way of my relationships.
And my students… in such a short time, it seems so strange that I have become attached to people with whom I was designed to have a transient relationship. They are meant to flow in and then leave my life, and I was placed here to leave theirs. I’m not sure I’ve left any concrete lasting impression upon them, but I know they have taught me so much about the boundaries of my own patience and about how the future can change in dramatic ways. I think I learned Korean culture through Korean students, both at Inje and at Hannam… maybe my perspective is flawed… but I hope this generation of young people choose to change the social climate in Korea. I hope I taught them that they can be empowered to create change, even if it might require more force than their polite manners permit.
Anyhow, no goodbye is complete without a lot of nore at the norebang (singing at the song room = private room karaoke). AND soju. Lots of soju. I’ve decided whenever I land somewhere, I’ll need to create my own norebang in my home. And I’ll need to find Korean students who are required to sing for their elder sister. =P My students will always belong to me, in my memory, and I hope they will not forget me too soon.
Tomorrow, I leave Daejeon for good. I leave this disgusting tiny apartment where I can hear students breaking up and getting drunk and the chicken delivery scooter show up at the same time every night. I’ll leave in this room conversations where I fell in love over the phone, where I listened to my dad’s voicemails over and over, where I learned how to create curriculum via google search.
Maybe, in this room, I leave Ginger in Korea…
Or maybe, she comes home with me… a new Ginger… in a new world… in Meeguk.
It seems hollow to say my life has changed when nothing about my life in Korea has changed. Except, this huge thing has happened: My Dad DIED. And I’ve had to tell the story to far too many strangers. Far too many times. Too much, too soon, too many.
My life in Korea is easy, and if it were only me alone suffering through something, I’d probably stay and pretend that everything else is normal. I can talk workplace politics. I can feed students. I can hold babies on weekends and sleep in late everyday. I can let the routine and calm and nothingness and mundane simplicity of Korea be home. It would be easy, especially since most days, my classroom is just a stage for the Ginger Show anyhow. In Korea, I can pretend to be someone else with a different life. Actually, I just AM someone else with a different life.
But, someday, I’d have to go home. Since Korea has never been, nor was it intended to be, a permanent plan, someday, I would have to be just regular Ginger again. Someday, I’d have to come back to a life I left at home. When I get there, no one will have washed and waxed Henri Le Celica or made sure my tires have air. No one will call to report how many times Wagger-Grace, Border Collie Extraordinaire, has sniffed the interior of the car looking for me. There won’t have been anyone moving around my boxes or repacking things already packed or printing random new articles about Korea. Because, when I get home, whenever that would be, my dad will never be there again. Even if in Korea I can pretend that he MIGHT be…
So, I can delay the inevitable basket drop feeling of resuming a life where I return to being half-orphan, or I go home now. I’ve spent the past few years delaying a lot of realities, but this one isn’t something I can change with an insane delusion or a lot of hope or strategic planning. There is no use in stretching out a grieving process that never ends, only transitions into another kind of thing. At Christmas, my dad and I were talking about our birthdays and his parents, who had died many years ago. He said, still – there were times he thought of things he wanted to tell his parents, or his twin brother, and there were times he thought “I’m gonna call…” only to remember: There was no one to answer. I think that’s how it is already, except I’m still in some sort of half-denial phase.
If I don’t go home to feel my feelings, I probably will just be delusional forever about my grief. I’ll let grief get caught up in the nasty web of Korean culture clash and bad communication. I’ll let grief catch in my throat instead of be released. I’ll let grief capture me and make me freeze to a moment in time and a place in life. I’ll be trapped – in more ways than one.
And since I’m a girl that really really loves her freedom, that is not acceptable. So, as much as going home sounds super not fun at all, and looking for a new career in a new city, in a world without a dad seems extremely unappealing, that’s what I’m doing, because that’s what a girl does when she doesn’t want to belong to grief forever.
So, someday soon (like next week) this blog ends because there won’ be a Ginger and Korea anymore. But stay tuned, Readers… I’m sure to pop up somewhere else.
When my brothers, sister, and I went to write things about my dad that we wanted to share with you, we had to laugh; mostly because my dad would hate having so much attention focused on him. He hated to be the center of attention, so much so that it bored him to sleep. We used to tease him because he could fall asleep anywhere, including the dentist’s chair, the barber shop, and any sunny place. Looking for photos of my dad, there were more pictures of him sleeping or hiding than there were of him posing or smiling.
When, as a foursome, we decided we wanted to tell stories about my father, memories that made us smile, laugh or cry, we wanted people to know that my dad was a loving, but grumpy guy. My dad, his identical twin, Bob, and I shared a birthday. I remember going to other kid’s birthday parties and asking why they only had one cake – I always had three. My dad use to let me think all of those cakes were for me… and I got to open triple presents most years – again so that he could deflect the attention from himself. My dad taught me that the most important person in the room was the gap-filler, the stream-liner, the comfort person. The person who was most valuable was the one who could make every other person feel like they were most important. The most cherished lesson I learned from my dad was that loving other people was more meaningful than the love you got back. Because of this, I have always had more love to give. I know that it frustrated him that all of his kids sometimes gave too much to other people and he urged me to stop fixing broken people. I always reassured him, I had it to give because I had been so loved.
My brother, Jarid, remembers the same thing. No matter what my dad was doing, he would make special time to include him. Jarid remembers going to the Prairie House for breakfast in the mornings with Dad’s friends and the cool part is how he always wanted Jarid to come along, just the guys. Jarid remembers dad taking him places to do things to be special, even if there were things Dad didn’t particularly like. My dad spent many weekends camping and fishing because my mom and her family cherished that time and enjoyed those outings – it was never his favorite, but he loved us all enough to want us to have fun and be happy. Jarid and I used to look forward to the autumn every year because dad would throw us into huge piles of leaves. All of his yard cleaning work felt like it was solely for our entertainment.
My dad didn’t always say things with great eloquence. When I was in my twenties, I totaled my first vehicle. It was Christmas Eve and I was buying last minute Christmas gifts. I crashed into a car in front of me and passed out after the airbags deployed. In crisis, I called my dad. I said “Dad, I just totaled my truck. I’m still in the truck.” He said “Well, why’d you do that? That was stupid.” And he hung up. I was baffled, but before I could respond, he called back concerned and asked all of the other routine questions. Later, he said, “Well, you were calling. You were fine.” Alex remembers a similar story. Although he spent the least amount of time with Dad, because he is only 17, he says those were great years and he wishes he could have had more. Alex is so grateful for the time he got to spend with Dad, whether it was just normal father son activities like learning to ride a bike or fixing up his car. Dad was always there for Alex; Alex remembers when he was about 7ish, he had just gotten his first bike with training wheels a little too small. He asked dad if he would fall because he wobbled a lot; the training wheels only touched when you leaned to one side. Dad said to Alex: “You won’t fall, don’t be stupid.” But Alex fell off the sidewalk and down a rocky hill. When Dad got to him, he said from above: “Well, that was stupid.” What Alex remembers saying was: “You said I wouldn’t fall!” Even though he got pretty banged up from the fall, Alex knew he was good because Dad was there.
That’s the thing about my dad; no matter what any of us kids did, he had ultimate faith that we were fine, we were good, we would be okay. He let us be free to make mistakes, big and small, without real judgment, and without expectation. He believed in us when we did not have faith in our own abilities. It is the thing I will miss the very most.
We also love how our dad thought his own way. There were important lessons he wanted to teach us. He always wanted us to have a pet so that we could learn responsibility. I think my mom is now very responsible after caring for our several dogs, bunnies, fish, and turtles. On my twenty-fifth birthday, my dad handed over a heavy box. When I opened it, it was a deluxe Black & Decker power drill. I said “Oh. A drill.” My mom said “Well, I wanted to get you something shiny, but your dad said ‘every girl needs a drill.'” When I moved to Sacramento for law school, my dad told me, with all seriousness, “I saw on Dateline that sometimes you can use a drill as a weapon. Just keep it in your bedroom.” I thought, “Yup, just what a girl needs in her bedroom.”
In my classroom, I hear my father’s voice come from my mouth often. I’ve taught Korean boys how to make a Windsor knot in their tie and how to earn respect through a firm handshake. When I was prepping a resume writing lesson, I actually found my very first resume and it had my dad’s notes on it, teaching me how to be a professional and how to be a grown up. I realize now that after I finished school, how often my dad asked me for help and advice, and how uncomfortable I always was. I don’t think I ever believed I could know more than my dad about any topic.
JARID’s final thoughts: “Being like my dad growing up was so important to me, I wanted to be so much like him that even at dinner time when my father use to mix all the contents of his plate into one big pile I did the same because if Dad did it, it was cool he was my hero. In the end all that I can say is that I am honored to have known him, and I am privileged to have had him as my father and as my best friend, I love you, Dad.”
ALEX’s final thoughts: “I can’t thank you enough dad for just being there, if I had any problems whether it be school, girls, or cars I knew I could count on dad to give me advice even if sometimes it wasn’t the best I always kept it in mind and I’ve learned so much from him like don’t empty the transmission fluid when you’re actually trying to change the oil, or ‘don’t be stupid.’ I hope you’re having some quality time with Bob. Dad, you were and are my hero and I love you more than I can express in words.”
KRISTA and I just want to add that our dad always taught us we could do whatever boys could do. Except for pay for dates. He reminded me during our last conversation that feminist or whatever I was, I should stop paying for dates – he said it was maybe the only real advantage to being a girl. Whatever we did, even the stupid things, he said that as long as we were happy, we were doing the right thing. So, Dad, we will try to be happy, and we will try to honor you by giving you the gift you asked for during every birthday, Christmas and Father’s Day – we will try to be good kids.
So, I am having an incredibly difficult time leaving America. I have not lost a credit card, I have not found a job, and actually, nothing incredible has happened while I’ve been back Stateside except I interchangeably call America AND Korea “home.”
When I first left Korea after my program at Inje University, I LOVED KOREA. I think the experience in a program specifically designed for Korean adoptees was insulating, plus, the atmosphere in the Busan area is incredibly warm. It was a definite softball way to acclimate to Korea, learn some culture, make some friends, and drink some soju. I acquired a strong affection for Korean ramyeon, shorter skirts, Gwangalli beach, bingsu, and all things aegyo. I came home excited to share my new affection with all of my Desert Dwellers, and about 500 different kinds of cosmetic products.
An extremely difficult summer fraught with about 100 extenuating circumstances, plus my first bona fide job offer in two years resulted in a knee jerk reaction to move to a city that did not make a great first impression, and to a University that gave me a definite bad feeling. I ignored these gut reactions because a) that’s what I do when I try to be reasonable b) the extremely difficult thing made me want to run far far away; c) I was broke.
My ultimate lesson in life is to learn to trust my extreme first impressions, and not rationalize with reason, logic, and good common sense. When I go against these instincts, bad things happen. Without going into a lot of detail (see all my prior posts from this past year) I now basically HATE KOREA. Daejeon has made me hate Korea, my current job makes me hate Korea, my boss and work environment make me hate Korea. I’m not sure I understood oppression, discrimination, or the feeling of despair so clearly until I moved into this situation. The level of lying and deception in the job recruitment process was so disgusting, I can’t believe how foolish I must have been. Or desperate. I have to remember how broken I was when I decided I HAD to move to Korea. A few people peeled me from the floor to make sure I got on the airplane last summer.
Except now, I’m not broken. I’m feeling rejuvenated and back to my old self (in all the good and bad ways). My mind is working a million times over and I have opportunities to create a different life, and I actually feel motivated to begin again looking for new work in a new city. Despite a million and one complications, I’m happy in my relationship, I know who my core friends are, and I have developed better communication skills with the people who I love.
But, despite these many strengths, the recovery process from two years of stapling together a financial living is very difficult in consideration of my law school debt. Bottom line: My bottom line is still in the red. Staying in Korea will give me a TINY bit of savings, but it might be enough floating money to get me to the next place. RATIONALLY, staying in Korea is the best thing financially and reasonably.
EMOTIONALLY, INSTINCTIVELY, VISCERALLY – I feel I should turnaround as soon as I land. I could spend three days and pack everything to return to a land where I speak my native language, find comfort in the familiar, and love people. I’ve been encouraged by more than one person (and The BF has threatened more than once to burn my passport) that if I feel I’m done in Korea, I should just come home and not waste another year feeling hatred and misery… as the saying goes… life is short.
The hardest thing, though, is that I cannot imagine NOT being in Korea. Something about Korea IS familiar and easy and I live every day with only my voice in my head, making decisions based purely on my (sometimes delusional) ideas and feelings. My plans for the future will still be there when the future gets here, and the people who love me will (or should anyhow) still love me. And it gives some things time to settle into the right place… and some love to normalize instead of fester. SIGH.
I said earlier on FB that the rock is hard and the hard place is rocky. I’m not sure what the right thing is…. I guess I just have to take some time to feel like I’m in Korea and try to have only my delusions and my voice guide my choice.
It’s really easy to take life for granted. Day-to-day living and day-to-day problems, like: baby and child crises, back-stabbing coworkers, annoying ex-boyfriends, current romance rockiness, traffic, bills and debt, educational woes, and long-distance relationships of all varieties – it’s easy to take for granted these things as constants. Except when they are no longer constant.
Today, I take a short break from complaining about the (sometimes imagined or embellished) difficulties I’m facing in Korea, to acknowledge the loss of a high school classmate. Travis Carter was one of the Granite Mountain Hotshots killed in the Yarnell, AZ wildfire this week. Travis was a year younger than me when I attended a tiny boarding school in the Arizona desert where I lived in dirt and went camping twice a year for credit. There is nothing bad to say about Travis because he was one of those people whom no one can think of anything remotely negative to say. This is not just because he is deceased (which seems often to be the case when a person dies so tragically), but because he was a sincere, genuine guy who was affable and kind. This is, of course, from the far reaches of my non-law-school-damaged brain. I barely knew this person (then or now), so I can only comment that I remember him as sweet boy at 14.
But here’s the thing I must comment on…. this unique sense of grief that people share when they are even tangentially touched by tragedy. My Facebook feed, email accounts, and texts have been flooded with old pictures and comments, and group get-togethers, and random memory posts (like this one) from people from high school that I haven’t seen since we were pimply-faced and awkward (and awkwardly riding horses or awkwardly camping in dirt or awkwardly kissing our first loves – or awkwardly kissing our first loves on an awkward horse during an awkward camping trip). ANYHOW: These people do remember Travis as more than a fuzzy memory; they not only remember, but they know Travis as a roommate, a teammate, a confidante, a friend, a husband, a father, a son. Their memories and their loss reverberates to those of us who can only respond with vague ideas of what and who will forever be missing.
Those of us who didn’t know Travis, or any of the other 18 men who perished, as personally as we would have liked – we still grieve for the small fragments of memory we possess about these people. We grieve, because the loss reminds us of the fragility of our mortality, of the mortality of our loved ones. We grieve in the knowledge that one day can change your life – or end it. And it isn’t the same kind of grief that is being suffered by widows who lost their lovers, or children who lost their fathers, and companions who lost their best friends. But it is grief we share.
Those of us on the fringes can only say that we know we share your grief shallowly – the impact of your loss is only a vibration to us. But, what we share with you is sincere and genuine. We care that the world has lost a guy no one can say anything bad about – even during a pimply and awkward time. There are no words that will give enough comfort or solace, but hopefully, the knowledge that strangers are thinking of these families, of the memories of people we knew long ago (or not so long ago) helps – somehow.
At least, that is what we hope.
For more information on a memorial fund created for Travis Carter’s survivors, please see: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Travis-Krista-Children-Carter-Family-Memorial-Fund
So, Korea has gotten under my skin, not in the good way, but in the sneak-attack-make-you-apathetic way.
Today, almost everyone I know is celebrating because America is finally catching up to reality. I am proud again to be a member of a profession which helps to propel and compel social change (or at least tries to eliminate some of the roadblocks). US v. Windsor enforces what most of MY PEOPLE already knew: EQUALITY means EQUAL. And, furthermore, is for every citizen of the United States EQUALLY.
But I must confess: In Korea, I don’t proclaim and shame as much as I do in the United States. I am humiliated and heartbroken and ashamed of this fact. At home, my sister calls me one of the most gay-sessible people she knows and I remember being angry at friends for calling me an “ally” instead of just a person with basic reasoning skills who understands fundamental fairness. And I’m not sure why I lost my sense of logic and reason in Korea. I’m not sure why I let Koreans steamroll me on equality issues.
It’s not only Marriage Equality. It’s race equality, nationality, religion, sex, gender, class. As a sociologist, social worker, feminist, equalist, and attorney, Korea basically ignores, disdains, or shames the topics I have dedicated not only career, but my very existence to overcome. I chose my battle holistically (granted, not always strategically), but I have always known my reputation for GRRRR on certain social equality issues precedes me, often to my delight and simultaneous horror. I’ve been lucky (or fucking stubborn), but I’ve been able to push through my agenda more than once. I’ve not been afraid to create enemies or burn bridges when I know I’m right. And fairness and equality and equity are always right.
So, why have I lost myself here?
A few weeks ago, a student asked me what I thought about an article regarding gay marriage in America. I asked him what he thought, and his reply was “It is disgusting.” I could’ve shamed him, I probably should’ve, I had the hierarchical advantage and he appeared open to listening. But I didn’t. Instead, with much exhaustion, I told him to think for himself about what fairness and equality meant and I went to my office and cried. It is tiresome to be constantly surrounded by such a large and vast blanket of ignorance over issues which have simply not made their way across the sea yet. I cannot even imagine what it must be like for someone in Korea who cannot even fight for their right to be equal (or open or free) because the topic has not even been identified as an issue for discussion. Koreans are convinced no one in Korea is born gay.
I find myself fighting mundane and stupid issues constantly and I realize now it’s because I am helpless and oppressed to make positive change for the issues that truly matter to me. I was in Gumi last month, and for the first time in a long while, I was overwhelmed with helplessness about the orphan situation in Korea. Even with my fiercest, most difficult, most damaged CPS kid, I never gave up hope that that child could have a better future. But in Korea, I’m often skeptical that a better future awaits many of the children raised in group home care. My fight feels futile, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so wholly incapable of fighting. My GGRRRR has become a whispered gasp.
So, here I am without answers or a bow to put on this post. Except to say, I’d like to spend the rest of my time in Korea focused on the battles that matter. I’m tired of fighting for copier paper when Koreans still tell little girls that they can’t get a good job unless they are pretty. I find it a waste of my intellect to keep asking for adequate housing, hot water, fair billing, or a venue for concerns when the TRUE thing I desire is to be treated like a person of value – something I cannot compel by force of action, screaming, or writing long emails filled with loathing. I can’t make Korea stop being hierarchical and collective and demand it move forward with progress, analytic thinking, and equality.
But, I can command it in my classroom, in my office, in my home, and in my presence. And I can remember to battle, to proclaim and, if necessary, to shame. I can be a Twinkie on a Soapbox again… I guess I just have to find a box…
TO BE CONTINUED…