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12/24/22 06:52 AM #6208    

 

Paul Simons

Just a note of thanks for information on interesting topics some of which mean something to me. This is a public forum and in a way it's performance art - we know it can be read by many - so with that I want to give all the credit I can to those who develop treatments for maladies like kidney stones and the like. I remember a Scientific American article about the first laser probably from when we were all "Effies." It bounced light back and forth within a ruby bar about an inch in diameter and about a foot long, had to weigh 8 or 10 pounds. Now a small but powerful laser can be focused directly, through a thin fiberoptic cable, on a kidney stone and can shatter it in a fraction of a second, no invasive surgery required.
 

And of course there are other examples of advances in technology making our lives far better and yes far longer. I don't think anyone reading this is unaware of what I'm talking about - we're all in our 70's and have probably benefited ourselves from them. It's a shame that respect for scientific research and advances isn't universal. There's one big problem which is the nuclear weapon. Instead of making a war of total aggression unthinkable it has allowed the perpetrator of such a war to threaten the world and get away with it. If anyone has a solution to that I'd like to know what it is. A heck of a thing to have to think about on Christmas Eve but it's our world and it's not warm and cozy in Kyiv today.


12/24/22 12:56 PM #6209    

 

Chuck Cole

 

An excellent sign of how much technology (along with a dramatic reduction in cigarette use)  has improved our health since we were born.  Life expectancy is 1946 (there are somewhat different numbers out there on different web sites) was 64/69 (M/F).  For someone born today it is 74/78.  

In 1946, if you were 75, your life expectancy was an additional 12.9/14.6 and for us today it is 15.8/19.0.  When were were growing up, I don't think I knew anyone who was 90.  Half of males and a higher percentage of females will make it to 90 today.  I've had several surgeries over the past few years and the technology that has been used (MRI/catscan/medications, instantaneous results from imaging) is amazing.

Life expectancy in the US has dropped for two years in a row mainly due to COVID.  If pandemics became more frequent, we may have reached a high-water mark on life expectancy in 2019.  

 

 

 


12/24/22 06:33 PM #6210    

 

Philip Spiess

A SEASONAL SOLILOQUY AND LAMENT:

"Christmas comes but once a year" . . . so they say.  But, alas, in the past year or so, a certain seasonal savor has gone out of the Christmas season.  Whether it's thanks to COVID or for some other reason, Christmas's "blessings" now arrive every day -- and usually more than once a day!

I refer to packages.  Once upon a time, in my childhood, when a present from a distant aunt or godfather would arrive several days before Christmas, it was a rare treat and excitement galore to anticipate what this annual package might contain.  No more, and bah! humbug! to it!  Now, instead of shopping at the big box stores downtown or at the mall for presents to appear under the tree, we have big boxes arrive from the stores by way of Amazon, UPS, FedEx, and the U. S. Postal Service DAILY AND ALL THE YEAR 'ROUND, courtesy of on-line ordering.  Even in England and Canada, "Boxing Day" is not just the day after Christmas anymore; it's every day, day in and day out.  Yes, it's our fault -- but the excitement is gone.  Now our dog Haligan, who recognizes each delivery truck (and the type it is) by its sound as it comes up the street, long before it stops in front of the house, announces the arrival of any package (as we no longer have a butler) -- and then goes berserk, because he knows what's coming (and coming again before you can turn around) and hates the noise of opening cardboard (i.e., the "ripping" sound).  He cowers under the dining table at my right leg and scratches at me for me to make this awful thing go away.  Give me a break, dog!

What about security:  packages on the stoop, stupe! -- and you and the neighbors are not home.  (The guy who steals the packages -- he sees when you are sleeping; he knows when you're at work!)  He stoops to stealing any package, he has to stoop to steal, lift, run -- it gives new meaning to the term "front stoop."  But lo!  Most of us have "Ring" cameras at our front doors these days, and we can box his ears if we catch him and get our boxes back. 

So much for the soliloquy, now for the lament.  Taking in the several years' effect of what I have outlined above, I am a sad and sorry failure as a stock investor:  I never invested in a cardboard manufacturing plant!  I'd be rich today!  More cardboard arrives at our (still) humble home on a daily basis than we can consume locally.  It doesn't even fit into the recycling bin on a weekly basis.  I could have been "the Cardboard King" of North America if I'd invested when I thought of it!  H'mm . . . on second thought, the "Cardboard King" doesn't sound so good, does it?  Think of what could have happened to me if I'd been caught in the rain (and I often get caught in the rain -- at least lots of people say I'm usually all wet).  No, what the Dickens; I should have founded a cardboard firm called "The Sydney Carton Company," with the slogan "It is a far, far better thing that we make, than we have ever done; it is a far, far better place our products go to than they have ever gone."

Happy Holidays, all!


12/25/22 12:13 PM #6211    

 

Dale Gieringer

   As a PS to Chuck, the latest news is that US life expectancy has actually fallen over the past two years due to COVID and fentanyl.   It is now 76.4 years,  a span that dates back to July 1946,   Rejoice and be thankful that we will all (cross your fingers!)  have surpassed that mark by our next reunion.


12/25/22 02:04 PM #6212    

 

Steven Levinson

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, would have been my mother's 96th birtyhday.  She had more bad medical breaks than she deserved -- two radical mastectomies, a hysterectomy, and a dead child (all before age 42), and a persistently bad heart (in connection with which a surgical misadventure left her paraplegic for her last six years). She died at 65 on my father's 72nd birthday, the day I was sworn onto the Hawaii Supreme Court.  And through it all my child mom was the epitome of grace.  Happy Birthday, Mom.


12/25/22 04:07 PM #6213    

 

Jeff Daum

Bitter sweet Steve- A hearthfelt tribute to your Mom.  Thank you for sharing.


12/25/22 09:37 PM #6214    

 

Florence (Now Jean) Ager

GIFTING AND SHOPPING TRENDS

 
Phil’s  hilarious soliloquy with an underlying note of seriousness hit home. It seems that many people routinely self-gift. When my next door neighbor has a bad day or two Amazon boxes pile up at her door.  Our road has at least 2 daily deliveries from each of the major services. We also have a dog washing truck arrive next door with steam rising from the vents. Having fulfilled material wishes on an almost daily basis, gifts given by friends and family are often under-appreciated. Sometimes we are so caught up in up-grading that we half consciously compete with the gifter's choice, imagining something better. 
 
 Gift cards may seem to solve the problem, but they produce their own irritations. A friend recently told me how angry she was about being given a gift card from an unaffordable store. She didn’t realize that I had given her the card in an effort to match the posh store card she gave me.  One year a friend elected to substitute the usual card gift with a donation to a charity in my name. I then had to quickly figure out how to return the “favor,” and for a long time I got excessive pleas from the rather questionable charity she chose. I  often wonder why I am given Omaha Steak cards when I am a vegetarian. I have now spent Christmas Day searching for a pricey card which is either lost in the clutter or has never arrived. 
 
Yes, Phil the “old” days were simpler, but shopping was not without controversy. After World War II toys and children’s clothes were in short supply.  Going downtown at age 6 with my mother, I recall my mother rejecting a purchase of hot pink socks because they were made in Japan. She compensated me with a bag of caramel corn from the dime store. I don’t recall the store’s name.( Neubergers maybe?) but I will not forget the aroma. I wanted the socks to go with a gorgeous hot pink dress from a shop across from Pogues.  The small store offered a corner shortcut with long mirrors and multiple windows of frilly dresses. Mother would not buy anything there as she considered the items “cheap.” That store was one of the starters of the Victoria's Secret national brand. 

12/26/22 07:27 AM #6215    

 

Paul Simons

After reading Steve's tribute to his mother and Jeff's words I'm moved to add my sympathy to theirs for the suffering she endured. Life for many seems to be more moments of lightheartedness interspersed with a continuous struggle against adversity which turns tragic. It doesn't do any good to count one's blessings in the face of the suffering of others. We need to try to alleviate suffering and when we can't we can at least share in it. Thanks Steve for allowing us to do that, to feel a bit of what you're feeling and a bit of her strength in confronting pain and persevering through it.


12/29/22 12:52 AM #6216    

 

Philip Spiess

Hey, boys and girls!  While we're in the throes of the Twelve Days of Christmas, or the Winter Solstice, or the Annual Shop Till You Drop Season, or whatever it is -- it's time to recount that ageless seasonal legend of:

"HOW THE ANGEL CAME TO BE ATOP THE CHRISTMAS TREE:        (A Tale of the Spirit of Christmas)":

It was many, many years ago, almost too long ago to tell when it was -- why, it was practically "once upon a time" time, it was that long ago -- when, up there at the North Pole (and it was a much longer Pole then; it hadn't begun to melt, for it was shortly after the last Ice Age), a disaster occurred -- the Elves went on strike!

Oh, yeah! they were steamed!  Santa's living and working conditions -- if they even could be called such -- for the Elves were distinctly substandard.  First off:  freezing cold temperatures, and no heat in the bunk houses!  (Santa can be stingy -- he puts all his money into making those toys, so he can look like the Big Man on Christmas Eve!)  Second:  18-hour work days!  (How else do you think he gets everything done in time for Christmas?)  Third:  Unhealthy food, including Christmas cookies and chocolates, washed down with hot cocoa (collected on Christmas Eve from the houses visited, and used for the Elves' yearly dining).  (Even the reindeer get a better knosh, and daily at that!)  Fourth:  Inability to get any sleep, short as that sleep might be.  (Those damn Christmas carols kept playing over the loud speakers 24 hours a day from the popular radio stations, with "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Feliz Navidad" repeating every seventh song or so).  Fifth:  The actual work was boring, boring, boring:  carving toys, painting toys, wrapping toys, loading toys -- always the same, day in and day out (and the assembly line and conveyor belt had not yet been invented)!  Sixth:  Their shoes all curled up at the ends, cramping their toes.  Seventh:  -- but you get the idea.

So, as a result of all these spirit-destroying work conditions (and Elves are usually a carefree lot when they can get away, as you may surmise), they "downed tools" and went on strike!  It was the week before Christmas.  There was nothing that Santa could do to talk them back to work; the situation had gone on too long, with Santa refusing the Elves any negotiations or altered terms of work, for Santa is a stern taskmaster.  (Remember, he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake -- and he gives you a fat black lump of coal in your stocking if you've misbehaved -- and those stockings are harder to walk in than curved-toed shoes any day!)

So what could Santa do at this, the last minute, with so much still to be done?  Well, he brought in the Angels to break the strike.  Now, frankly, between you and me, there's nothing worse than a "scab" Angel.  They certainly are well-meaning, and they're used to taking orders from Mr. Big, but they're not adjusted to the Santa's Toyshop kind of work (they can't even play "Feliz Navidad" on a harp), they haven't been trained, they only know how to sprinkle rainbows with color or paint the clouds with sunshine, they've never loaded a sleigh, harnessed reindeer, or given a good push at the "Dash away, all!" signal.  In short, as quick workers at short notice for a Fat Man in a Mood at "Crunch Time," they were a disaster.

Finally it was Christmas Eve, and Santa was tearing out his few remaining hairs.  Nothing was done, nothing was finished:  paint had yet to dry, packages had to be wrapped, evergreens had to be decorated and draped, the reindeer had to be fed before their nightly journey, the sleigh had to be loaded, lists had to be checked and re-checked -- and Santa was absolutely beside himself, so many things yet to be nailed down and accomplished, and it was really time to go --

Just then the smallest Angel of them all came into the office and said, "Hi, Mr. Santy!  I've got the tree decorated, just like you asked.  Where do you want me to put it?"  And Santa told that littlest Angel just where he could put that tree . . . .

And that, folks, is the touching, heartfelt legend of why the angel is atop the Christmas tree.  "God bless us, everyone!"  


12/31/22 06:39 PM #6217    

 

Philip Spiess

 

The Spiess cellar, ready for New Year's Eve!


01/01/23 04:27 PM #6218    

 

Margery Erhardt (Feller)

HoHoHo! Phil, just how much wine from one of your barrels did you have before writing that funny piece? And why wasn't I invited?


01/02/23 07:40 PM #6219    

 

Philip Spiess

"Civilization begins with distillation."  So wrote William Faulkner, and I, like he did, often write my pieces for "The Forum" near or after midnight, after my wife, Kathy, and the dog, Haligan, have gone to bed.  Like Faulkner (and many other 20th-century writers of note), I tend to drink whiskey (either Glenmorangie Scotch or Virginia Gentleman Bourbon) -- or something else -- as I write (I'm no slouch on wine, either).

I couldn't invite you to the cellar because you wrote me after New Year's Eve, and, truth to tell, the "cellar" is that of A. Smith Bowman Distillers in Fredericksburg, Virginia (main distillery now in Frankfort, Kentucky, once here in Fairfax County, Virginia, at Sunset Hills).

As to the humor, well, humor, dear readers, is where you find it (I just try to supply what strikes me as funny).  The story in question I first heard from my father; I have significantly embellished it in the build-up to the punch line here.  (Speaking of punch, yes, I sometimes drink a Regency or Victorian Punch, a la Dickens, while I'm writing at this time of year -- recipes available on request.)  [Note:  Remember, in our Senior year at WHHS, 1964, you all voted Laura Reed (Pease) and me "The Wittiest."]

Happy New Year! 


01/05/23 02:39 PM #6220    

 

Stephen Collett

My favorite word for the new year is defenestration. I had to look it up. I got the "fenestra" part, a window. But it means to throw an idea, or ideololgy (cant seem to get spelhelp there) out the window. I think it was used in some regard to Kevin McCarthy.

On a different plane, I am looking at shifting seven of the critical windows in my house in the coming year, as soon as the carpenters can work. It will take a big stake in my savings, but save on the energi costs, one hopes. A kind of refrenestration.


01/05/23 04:59 PM #6221    

 

Philip Spiess

I learned of the famous (or infamous) Defenestration of Prague from Mr. Knab in AP Modern European History.  The event took place in 1618:  two Roman Catholic Lords Regent, sent by the Holy Roman Emperor to quell the Protestant estates of the Kingdom of Bohemia, were, with their secretary, thrown out of the 3rd (top)-floor windows (the actual "defenestration") of the tower of Hradcany Castle in response to the Emperor's letter declaring a death sentence for the Protestants.  Miraculously, the three escaped death, Catholics declaring that they had been saved by angels, while Protestants claimed that the three had been saved by falling headfirst into a manure cart.  (I think Mr. Knab favored the latter view.)  The whole incident precipated the Thirty Years' War beginning two years later.

In the same century, defenestrations took place regularly on a nightly (or knightly) basis, as Londoners of every class and level of society emptied their chamber pots out of the second and third floor windows into the streets (hence the common phrase, assumed to be "French," "Gardy loo!" or "Watch out for the water!").  This, in turn, led to the recently abandoned (in our times) custom of gentlemen, when accompanying ladies on the street, walking on the outside (street side) of the sidewalk. 


01/05/23 05:58 PM #6222    

 

Paul Simons

Good word! Here it is in action! The controlled defenestration of a piano:




01/05/23 06:39 PM #6223    

 

Philip Spiess

Paul:

At the risk of repeating myself (which I'm doing [cf. Post #3455 (4-4-2018) on this "Forum"]), I'll follow up your video of the "Heave of Destruction" with my story of a moment in our lives at Walnut Hills High:  

I cannot say whether it was a Steinway or a Baldwin concert grand on the WHHS stage, circa 1961 (the one the now-disgraced Jimmy Levine played on, to impressive effect), but I am about to tell you what happened to it.

Some bright-eyed, though not bright-brained, lad on the Stage Crew -- I think said "genius" was Don Lee, a year ahead of us -- got the not so bright idea that it would be a fine and fun thing to attach ropes to the concert grand piano on stage and hoist it up to the height of the "grid," that massive iron-girdered platform high above the stage from which all of the light battens and scenery battens and curtains and whatnot -- the things that were dropped into place on stage when needed and whisked out of sight when not -- were suspended.

No sooner said than done -- by some other of the idle brains on Stage Crew ("An idle brain is the Devil's playground," it is said).  (Full disclosure, as they say in The Washington Post:  I was a member of Stage Crew at this time, and obviously present, as I am reporting the incident, but I was not a participant, having great respect for Signor Cristofori's venerated invention -- the "soft-loud" -- which helped make Beethoven great.)

We watched the great grand (Baldwin or Steinway, as it were) sail aloft, as if lifted on wings of song (mind you, it had to be seriously counter-weighted at the batten rail to get it to move at all), and then -- but perhaps you, the reader, anticipate me -- and then . . . with a slow-motion splitting and shearing of the none-too-sturdy rope supporting it, fascinating to watch, it descended.

I say it descended, but this was not in slow motion.  It was fast, furious, loud, and devastating.  I thank God to this day that there was no one under it, for it hit the stage with a crash that shook the room and demolished the instrument.  First, the three sturdy legs which supported it snapped off; the pedals and their support shot off into the wings.  Then the keys of the keyboard peeled out of their traditional position like something in an early "Silly Symphonies" cartoon and scattered themselves about the stage.  The music stand above them flew up in the air.  And with one final grand movement, like Leviathan slipping back into the sea, the heavy folded-back top detached itself from the piano's main body (its iron frame of strings), and ponderously threw itself into the orchestra pit.

I watched this debacle from somewhere mid-Auditorium.  Though the possibility of this occurence had crossed my mind on hearing the initial proposal being made, the reality, when it did occur, was far more real than the mere probability.  I had seen nothing quite so spectacular since watching the film of the Washington Tacoma Narrows Bridge ("Galloping Gertie") flagellate itself and self-destruct in 1940.  I've tried to describe the scene for you -- but I guess you had to have been there.


01/05/23 08:44 PM #6224    

 

Paul Simons

Many rockers at WHHS both before - Hertzman, Susskind, Mitnick, Lane - and after - Kurtz, Birckhead, Altman to name a few. I n our class besides me Frey, Buchholz, Katona, Alberts and others. All influenced by and in awe of this man who just died. There's a lesson here - 



 

 


01/06/23 02:27 AM #6225    

 

Philip Spiess

Folks, I do not presume to dominate this "Forum," but Paul Simons and I have had a way (unintended and unplanned) of tandem commenting on diverse matters.  He reports on, and shows a video above, of the explosion in 1937 of the German Zeppelin super-dirigible Hindenburg at Lakehurst, New Jersey, a famous event, as it pretty much ended dirigible (i.e., lighter-than-air craft) travel worldwide.  [My first travel by air was in the Goodyear blimp in Florida, circa 1959, and it was a lovely, gentle ride].  At Lakehurst, an electrical storm was approaching, and it has often been assumed that a lightning bolt set off the explosion as the Hindenburg landed.

But I have a somewhat different and horrifying story to tell, which may contradict the common news report.  From 1968 to 1970 I was in graduate school at the University of Delaware, and my sister Barbara was residing in Barnegat, New Jersey, on the coast.  I often took the weekend to visit her and her husband there (to get a substantial meal), and one weekend, while I was visiting, we were invited out to have dinner at the home of one of my brother-in-law's parishioners (he was the Presbyterian minister in Barnegat at the time).  After dinner, as we talked, it came out that I was interested in 78 r.p.m. records.  "Oh," said our hostess, "we have a batch in the barn; you can have any of them if you like."

I looked through them, and the first one I came across was the radio broadcast of the Hindenburg disaster, with the reporter crying, "Oh! the humanity!  The humanity!"  "I'd like this one," I said, and my hostess said, "Oh, I remember that night.  I was out in the Jersey Pine Barrens with my then boyfriend, kinda spooning, you know, when we saw the Hindenburg go over.  My boyfriend said, 'I bet I can hit that sucker!' and he took his 22. rifle and fired at it."  Now I know from my Boy Scout days that a 22. rifle's shot can go as far as a mile, so it's entirely possible that he hit the Hindenburg, which therefore would have started leaking hydrogen gas.  Was it therefore no wonder that, on hitting static electricity on landing at Lakehurst, New Jersey, that the Hindenburg blew up?

This true story troubles me to this day. 


01/17/23 12:13 AM #6226    

 

Philip Spiess

​I hope you all had a relaxing and satisfying commemoration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  Here is a little "new" history offered on the occasion of this national holiday:        AN EARLY FREEING OF SLAVES:

Quite by coincidence, I received from a friend this morning an article on Robert Carter III, the patriarch of one of the wealthiest families in Virginia in the 18th century (his grandfather was Robert “King” Carter of Virginia, and he himself owned sixteen plantations).  It seems — a little-known story — that on September 5, 1791, he filed, in the Northumberland County, Va., courthouse, a “deed of gift,” an “airtight” legal document freeing 511 of his slaves.  It was the largest liberation of African Americans before the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863.

Carter’s rationale for doing so he stated in this deed:  “I have for sometime past been convinced that to retain them [my slaves] in Slavery is contrary to the true Principles of Religion and Justice and that therefor [sic] it was my duty to manumit [free] them.”  [Compare this with Thomas Jefferson’s comment on freeing slaves, made nearly thirty years later:  “As it is, we have the wolf by the ear, and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go.  Justice is in one scale, and self-preservation in the other.”  Jefferson ultimately freed only ten persons of his hundreds of slaves, apparently placing a higher value on self-preservation than on justice.]

But there’s more:  Carter not only freed his slaves, he created a plan by which he ensured that these new freedmen could sustain themselves after being freed, in order to prosper and be integrated into society (something which, of course, did not happen to the slaves freed by the 1863 Emancipation).  He set up a schedule for freeing them, starting with the oldest and then their children as they came of adult age.  He allowed them to choose their last names so they could keep families together and thereby pass down wealth.  He ensured that they had salable skills, arranging for them to buy or lease land; he even bought their wares.  He also spent money on transporting them from his plantations to the courthouse and on lawyers to guarantee their future freedom — and to guarantee that his own heirs didn’t undo his wishes.

Well, you know that this was all an anomaly, given the times:  Carter's heirs were unhappy that he had trimmed down their inheritance, his neighbors in Virginia complained about his actions (setting a bad example, no doubt), and one even threatened to torch Carter’s home on 2,000 acres of land, Nomini Hall (sound like certain actions today?).  Eventually 625 slaves and their descendants were freed by Carter’s deed of gift, and extensive genealogical work has shown the fruits of the spread of this freedom, the several generations of descendants spreading throughout the states and far into the West.  As freedmen, the families of Carter’s former slaves began appearing in the U. S. Censuses starting in 1800; this meant that they began to be listed as having two parents (families not broken apart), and later census and tax records showed evidence of land ownership, education, and gainful employment, not just in farming but in an array of occupations.  The descendants not only had wills but passed on wealth.  By the 1930s, the descendants of Carter’s enslaved persons were graduating from colleges and entering the teaching, nursing, and other professions.

The Nomini Hall Slave Legacy Project is now in operation, an endeavor designed both to educate Americans about the Carter legacy and to provide a genealogical resource for the many families freed and their descendants.  As the tutor of Robert Carter III’s children, Philip Vickers Fithian said in his diary, “I make no Doubt at all but he is, by far the most humane to his Slaves of any in these parts!  Good God! are these Christians?"


01/18/23 06:49 PM #6227    

 

Richard Winter

I just made my flight reservations for my trip to the reunion in Cincinnati in June.  I hope many of you will be there -- I look forward ot seeing you.


01/19/23 12:20 AM #6228    

 

Philip Spiess

Richard or Gail (or whoever):  Are there any plans we should know about yet, such as events, reserved hotels, dinners?


01/19/23 05:50 AM #6229    

 

Laura Reid (Pease)

Phil, yes, a "Save the Date" is being mailed to all "64 graduates in the next few days; hotel options will be listed there.  We will have a casual get-together Friday night downtown and a dinner Saturday night.  Also included will be a tour of WHHS on Saturday during the day..

Hoping for a wonderful turnout for our long awaited reunion in Cincy, June 9th and 10th, 2023!


01/19/23 12:41 PM #6230    

 

Stephen Collett

Just got my ticket to Ohio. Can´t wait. So you all stay well.

 


01/19/23 01:07 PM #6231    

 

Richard Murdock

Got my roundtrip airline tickets a couple of weeks ago.  I am flying into Cincinnati on Tuesday June 6th  - arriving from California late in the PM.   I wanted to have a couple extra days to play tourist in Cincinnati, and to drive by the home I grew up in - out in Mt. Lookout.  I am definitely looking forward to seeing everyone and enjoying Cincinnati and WHHS.   Only hope the humidity is not too bad.  Living for so many years out here in the SF Bay Area - has gotten me used to basically zero humidity during the summer.  


01/19/23 04:34 PM #6232    

 

Sandy Steele (Bauman)

As Laura mentioned, the Save the Date will be mailed this week or next, and the invitations will be sent in April. We are looking forward to seeing e wry one as it's been much too long.


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