Easter Dinner 2007

Rachel made a "nest" for each guest, with some to spare, carrying on the tradition our Mamaw had of making individual bread bunnies for each person.

The only thing bigger than the meals Rachel prepares is the love she has for all of us. I love you, Sister... Easter at Rachel's house was a sit-down affair, complete with white table clothes, hors d'oeuvre, coffee, tea, hand-squeezed lemonade, hand-dipped truffles, chocolate covered marshmallows, homemade rolls, roasted tri-tip with peppercorn mustard gravy, roasted rosemary chicken with fig sauce, zuchinni spears, corn, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, pickles, olives, relish, artichoke hearts...Let's see, am I forgetting anything? Oh yeah! Cinnamon rolls for dessert! Delicious!!

Please Come

To Mills College on Monday, April 30, 2007 from 7 - 9 pm to hear Mill's Creative Writing Seniors (me and my crazy friends) read from our senior theses. Free. Wine and juice, cheese, crackers, strawberries, cookies, chocolate, pumpkin bread... Held in Carnegie Hall, 2nd floor, in the beautiful Bender Room.

How Do I Love Thee?

Early dawn stillness, waking up softly to the sound of birdsong. Peace filling my periwinkle room with gentleness and light. My favorite time of day. My hope for heaven--perpetual morning.

Happy Birthday Austin!

I've loved you completely from the minute you stuck your fork in that bite of spinach on my plate...

Beautiful Baby Boys

My grandson, Soren, 14 months April 2007
My son, Clayton, 14 months August 1984

Three or Two in Aqua Blue; My Childhood in Clothes, 1.

It was a store-bought dress. I don’t know how I knew that at such a young age.

The little dark-eyed girl's favorite Sunday dress was a pale aqua dotted swiss with a smocked bodice and short ruffled sleeves, like fairy wings with white lace on the edges. She felt like a butterfly when she wore it, and every week in the old Presbyterian Church in downtown Memphis, someone always stopped her mother or father to comment on how beautiful she looked. Her mother would smile down at her, sometimes placing her white gloved hand on the top of her head gently, or reaching out to touch her if her father was holding her in his arms. The little girl thought she had the most beautiful mother anywhere.

The chapel was large with three sections and it sloped down toward the front. The little girl, her parents, and her older brother and sister always sat in the same place, the right side section, fifth row from the front. The little girl liked this spot because whether she was sitting or standing, she could see all the beautiful stained glass windows--the tall elegant ones in the front above the altar, and the more simple but still pretty ones on each side of the big room. She never got tired of looking at the blues and reds and yellows, the intricate designs and the way light through the glass made patterns on the opposite walls. She especially liked the stained glass window of Jesus with a kind look on his face, holding a little lamb, and when the sun was in the right place in the sky, it shined through the stained glass, lighting up Jesus in a way that made people stop and stare.

The little girl thought that the tall, dark benches they sat on every week always smelled like lemons and the same smell that came from the crack between the cushions of her grandmother's couch. She had to stand up to see over the backs of the benches, and her mother let her do this because she was a quiet child, obedient and sweet. The big round woman sitting on the row behind the little girl's family always raised her eyebrows and held out her large wiggling fingers to invite the little girl to sit on her ample lap. The little girl was rather shy and she'd smile and look away, but she was fascinated with the strings of shiny round beads hanging around the woman’s neck and down the front of her clothes, so she'd look at her again when she thought the woman wasn't looking at her.

There were many colorful hats in the congregation too, soft pink or green ones with little nets that hung down over the women's foreheads, or hats with beautiful flowers on the front or back. The little girl thought the hats were very pretty and she’d spend time looking, comparing one hat to the next. She thought some hats looked funny, especially the ones with feathers sticking up, but she always loved the tight simple little hats her mother wore that matched her dresses perfectly.

About the time that the little girl began to grow bored, the little girl's mother would say, "Look! There's your daddy!" while one by one, the choir members came through a special door in the corner behind the pulpit. It was a small round door like the one in a fairy tale. It opened in the wall, and many of the men had to duck to walk through it. The little girl's father was rather tall and she thought he looked so handsome standing in the back row of the choir in his long blue robe. One time she waved and said, "Hi Daddy!" real loud. Her father laughed, but her mother whispered in her ear that she had to be quiet in church. The little girl noticed that her father would always smile at her, but once the music began, he put on his serious face and watched the choir director. He sang with his mouth open wide like an egg and little lines in his forehead. Then the choir members would go back through the little door and after a few minutes, the little girl's father would appear next to her in his dark suit. Then the minister would stand up, walk to the pulpit and hold on to it with both hands. When he began speaking, the little girl’s mother and father would sit up straight and encourage her to listen. But the little girl didn't understand all of the minister’s big words and she would soon lose interest.

Sometime later, another man would walk down the aisle with a large silver plate in his hands. The little girl knew that people put money in the plate and sometimes the little girl would watch her father reach in his pocket and give a few coins to her older brother or sister, who put them in the plate just like a grown-up. When her father passed the plate across her to her mother, the little girl would look quickly to see the shiny nickels and dimes. She always wanted to play with the tray and its contents, but this was not allowed. So she would stand up again and watch the plate going from hand to hand, down the rows, around the room, and listen to the little plinking sounds as the coins were dropped.

After awhile, the little girl would fall asleep leaning against one of her parents with the sound of her father's warm, rich voice and her mother's sweet clear soprano singing: "All creatures of our God and King, lift up your voice and with us sing, Alleluia! Alleluia..." Later, the little girl would wake up for just a moment, long enough to know that someone, usually her dad, was carrying her out to the car to go home where a delicious Sunday dinner was waiting.

Honorable Mention

This year I won an honorable mention for poetry from the Mills English Dept writing contest. That, was cool. Here's one of the poems I entered:

Cruella Deville
always lurched her long gray car, parking sideways on the un-mown scorch in her yard, until the night she ran over my bicycle, the long wrinkled car a menacing finger pointing, the headlights two crazed eyes staring through the walls, pounding her drunken fists and scream-crying, ‘Let me in my house!’ We huddled in our pajamas against our pure cotton mother who always smelled of lilacs and yellow, and when my father opened the door, a shaft of light tumbled out and broke into a hundred tiny pieces on the porch.

I saw her cracked, ochre teeth, the red mercurochrome eyes like the time I skinned both knees, smelled grape vinegar leaking from the ends of her wild, sizzling hair. My dad stepped easily over the broken shards into the darkness, his voice warm music just like Pastor Shane’s on Sundays, to gentle Mrs.Deville across the imaginary line between our yards, the one my brothers dared to cross, press their virgin freckles against the dirty plate glass window, see if Satan owned a color television.

Morning and I slide onto the banana seat, ‘good as new’ my dad says, close my hands around the rubber grips and push off, picking up speed, the pink and white plastic tassels and long flying hair, but it never rode straight after that.

The front tire always wobbled
just a little.

I learned the signs for chicken and pork...

Last night Larry took me and Brandon and Traci to dinner at (where else?) The Mecca! We had a great time. Traci is so sharp. Brandon and I are both picking up sign language. He's taking a signing class at LMC also. Brandon spends more time with Traci than I do and he seems to understand everything she says, even though he can't sign as fast as she can yet, of course. It's really amazing to watch them together. Being with Traci has improved Brandon's speech also. He's been forced to enunciate and speak more slowly (Traci does some lip reading) and that has improved our communication tremendously. There was a time when I said "What?" to EVERYTHING Brandon said. Now, I almost never have to ask him to repeat himself. Larry learned some signing last night too, and the four of us did a lot of laughing together.

At the Hop

I think it's happening to me. And I'm going to fight it--this all too natural inclination to censor my own writing. The more my blogger "audience" grows, the more I self-edit. Not my intention when I began blogging. I do enough of that in my other life. So...random thoughts--reveal thyselves!

Brandon is doing GREAT--physically and spiritually. He said the other day, "Mom, I think I was the last one of your children to grow up." Hmmmmmm, ya think?

I sent an Easter package to my grandsons this week. While I packed the box, I remembered that Mamaw, for packing materials, used bags of marshmallows, boxes of instant pudding and jello, and cereal boxes (full, unopened) whenever she shipped to us. And that reminds me that starting when I was 10, we moved 14 times in a 4-year period. Now that's a memoir in itself. In fact, that time period has the most stories in it, and it's the least known to my children and those I love. After I got married, I decided that my childhood wasn't important. Oh, the things we believe when we're young!

I'm moving to Baltimore and going to grad school there. Can't wait!! The program is the only one like it in the country. But sometimes I think that school will just be an added bonus, and being with Chantel, Austin, Owen and Soren is more important (for them and for me) than any "education" I might receive. Changes...plans...decisions...right now I think the move will be a road trip, because I have to have my car. If I don't drive it, then I have to ship it, and the cost, either way, will probably be about the same.

Alessandra's Story

When Alessandra was 5, she visited Morocco with Claude, her French-Canadian come-what-may father, and Danielle, her American feminist mother. Danielle agreed to wear traditional dress out of respect for their hosts, but the family found their vacation to another country not exactly what they had in mind.

Alessandra and her parents shopped at an outdoor market for figs and vodka. The local men and women were fascinated with Alessandra's golden curls and large blue eyes, but Dani resented their unfamiliar hands and constant reaching out to touch her daughter's hair and face. (Chantel gets this). When Alessandra and her parents returned to the home of their hosts, Dani was even more resentful when she realized that she was expected to spend the rest of the day helping to prepare dinner-- tending a fire and turning the spit that held a whole lamb.

Dinner was a process in which everyone ate from the same bowl with their fingers: Take two fingers, dip, suck, dip again, suck, and pass. The bowl went to all the men first, boys second, women third, and little girls last. By the time the food reached Alessandra, it had passed through 30 hands, (or 150 fingers and 30 types of saliva.)

After dinner Danielle was dancing with the other women when Alessandra pulled on her skirt. She looked down at her daughter's green face, scooped her up, and ran out into the courtyard where Alessandra "evacuated her dinner at both ends."

A local doctor came to the house. As soon as he arrived, the doctor turned Alessandra over and much to her surprise and her mother's horror, gave her a suppository. Danielle had had it.

"Claude, call a cab! We are leaving!"

Danielle wrapped Alessandra in a blanket, changed back into her jeans and t-shirt, and the family went to a hotel in Marakesh.

This was the gist of a story we critqued the other day in my non-fiction workshop. Our purpose was to discuss what worked, what didn't. We made comments and suggestions, and we asked the writer questions. Our chatter was full of astute observations--invaluable to any serious writer. But typical of the feminine ability to multi-task, our critique went from the meaning of the word "evacuating" into multiple directions like exploding fireworks--or maybe like projectile vomiting.

"What's a suppository?"
"Have you ever heard of those intestine cleaning things?"
"I know a woman who gives herself a wheat grass enema every day."
"Some people use coffee--"
"Yeah, or cocaine--"
"Its like a giant horse-pill in some kind of medium that dissolves quickly."
"Using suppositories is the absolute fastest way of absorbing medicine, much faster than swallowing a pill."
"Did you say a cocaine enema?"
"Those are called colonics."
"Have you ever seen pictures of what's inside your intestines?"
"If you eat a lot of cheese and stuff, you can have a build-up."
"I guess that would help if you can't hold anything down."
"What's a colonic?"
"People get carried away with the whole cleansing thing."
"It's supposed to be really relaxing."
"Yeah, right!"
"The pictures on the internet are amazing."
"Yeah, but you have to be careful what you eat for awhile after that."
"Well, what's the purpose of cleansing if you're just going to eat more crap?"
"Like this two-foot long piece that looked like tar."
"How does it work?"
"That sounds gross."
"Is there a drip pan, or what?
"Well, some people want to see what's in their bodies--sort of motivating you know?
"Some things are better left to the imagination."

Clearly, this critique had gone sideways. Alessandra sat at the end of the table to my left. "See what your story started?" I said. She laughed.

I had been watching the faces of my classmates, but especially my professor, a small Chinese man with a dry sense of humor and quick, anxious mannerisms. He had been listening the whole time, laughing occasionally, but remaining quiet. Finally when there was a break in the chatter, he said, "Ok then...uh...'evacuate at both ends'---that means puke and poo, right?" The whole table erupted in laughter. We had come full circle.

Cyberfriend

I checked out a link on Tel's blog and ended up beginning a correspondence with a woman I've never met. But I feel like I know her from the way she writes. This is unusual. I mean, I don't have a presence on "My Space" and I don't chat on-line with anyone. I've never written to some random person, but thanks to blogging, the opportunity to see into people's lives is out there, all around us, and in my case, this cyber-friendship happened naturally. What an amazing time we live in!

Repairs...

Larry picked Brandon up at 5 am and drove him to Pleasanton Kaiser for his shoulder surgery. I got off work an hour early, thanks to another care-giver, and went on over around 10 am. Brandon was still being operated on. The receptionists kept checking his progress for me, then I got to go back to recovery. As soon as I walked through the door across the white tiles, the smell hit me. It was so familiar but I couldn't place it. Then I remembered, oh yeah, that place...almost nine years ago...

Brandon was sitting up in a chair flirting with a nurse. He was HUNGRY, which was a good sign. And he was SMILING which was another good sign. He is supposed to keep his shoulder immobile for three weeks. No showering til Tuesday. He's on Spring break this coming week so the timing is good. The best part is Dr. Wyatt was able to do the surgery orthoscopically instead of with a traditional incision. The healing time will be much quicker. Brandon had a priesthood blessing last night and that's what we prayed for.

Brandon's life is coming together in so many ways...I'm thankful for that. He's been through a lot, some of it his own doing, but he keeps learning from his mistakes and he keeps setting goals and moving forward. I love you, Son, and I'm very proud of you.

Sitting Witty

I'm sitting at a counter at Peet's Coffee in Pleasant Hill with my laptop open in front of me. There's a large glass window in front of me facing the street. Peet's is on the corner of an intersection; foot traffic is fairly consistent. Right now there's a young man sitting right in front of me--outside on a bench. If the window weren't here, I could reach out and rub his buzzed head. Some guys don't look good in buzzed heads. This one does. But I have still never seen anyone with a more beautifully shaped head than Clayton! He keeps his head buzzed and still lets me rub it once in awhile. (Thanks Budster!)

This guy looks like he's in his twenties. Has a couple of days of stubble, wearing a navy blue t-shirt and jeans. Acts like he's waiting for someone...oh, here she is. Curly blondish brown hair in a pony-tail. Sun-glasses on top of her head. Tiny silver hoops and even tinier stud earrings. Black t-shirt. Beige cargo pants. She sits down right next to him, close. He pulls his arm from the back of the bench and puts it around her instead. Now there are two heads within touching distance. She just turned and she's looking into his face. Her eyes are blue. I'm trying not to stare. She kisses his cheek. She's in love with him, obviously. He's rubbing her back now while she talks to him. The glass must be tinted from the outside because they're oblivious to my presence. I can read her lips if I try, but I won't. What a way to eavesdrop on someone's life! Ok, she just stood up and ran across the street to her car. Now she's walking down the street, out of sight. Maybe she's going to run into a store. There are so many wonderful shops down here.

I remember when this area was a few scummy businesses, including a decrepit bowling alley and some empty littered fields. There was one fabulous gourmet cheese shop though. I used to go there once in a great while. One time the owner noticed the car I was driving--a 1972 Renault. I told him it was my 'Flintstone car' and he said in his strong French accent, "What? No bottom?" We laughed. Now this area is modern and beautiful with banks, restaurants, Bed Bath and Beyond, Michael's, a Hallmark store...It's the new mecca for yuppies young and old.

Ok, now the young man is taping his fingers on the bench. Waiting. She probably won't be long. Oh, here she is again. Aha! I was right...she's carrying a bag...sandwiches. That was fast. She must have called ahead. They unwrap their food and they're both eating now with gusto. My guess is that he works near-by and she's met him on his lunch break. A big red-headed guy on a bicycle has just stopped to talk to them.One foot on the ground and one resting on a bike pedal. He reminds me of a combination of Shane and a young Danny Bonaducci (Partridge family brat for those too young to remember). They seem to all know each other. He looks through the glass right at me. I look back at my computer screen. The young man sitting on the bench turns and glances at me briefly but I keep typing, pretending to ignore them. Not quite as fun now that they know I'm here. A shirtless man with a six-pack runs by with a black lab and a golden setter in tow. Wow...Come back!....

They're fast eaters. He finishes first. She probably takes smaller bites like I do. She keeps sucking the tips of her fingers. Now she's leaning against him. It's 12:25. Does he get a thirty minute lunch or an hour? My guess is 1/2 hour, or they would have probably met at the Greek place down the street, or Sweet Tomatoes. What a beautiful day. The sun is out, but they're in the shade of the awning. They stand up to leave. She shoulders her leather bag and they walk away holding hands. They disappear around the corner, out of my sight.

A gray haired man sits down now. Plaid flannet shirt jacket, baby heinz on a leash, newspaper in hand...oh, never mind. At this rate I'll never get anything done. Time to get to work on my thesis.

What Do All These Have in Common?

Dolphin

(The blue of this water is real)

St Stephen's Cathedral, Mainz, Germany

Sydney Opera House

Heidelberg Castle, Heidelberg, Germany

Kauri tree

Baby Joey

Ok, I'll give you a hint....

Tree Hugger?
My Best Girl!! All these photos (and more) are from Marilyn's recent trip to Australia, New Zealand, Europe and New York City, and anyone who's been to NY will tell you that it's like another country! She went with her sisters and her nieces for 3 1/2 weeks. Mar and I have been friends for 24 years, since I was pregnant with Clayton and she was pregnant with Christine. We even used the same doctor when we had previous home births, but didn't know each other at the time. She has been with me through thick and thin. My children love her as one of the family as well.

1985

Women and Money

I watched a show on public television the other night about women and money. Suzy Ormond was the lecturer. She doesn't mince words! Although I enjoyed the entire show, a few ideas have stayed in my head since then:

Women, in general, take care of everyone but themselves, and our behavior usually shows an unhealthy relationship with money: We co-sign for our children, borrow on credit so we can loan the money to others, undervalue our services and therefore charge less than we should (Suzy calls it putting ourselves on sale) fail to save adequately, are under-insured, don't ask for raises and have a difficult time saying "NO" when others want to borrow money. She outlined 8 rules for financial success, but I think these apply to life in general:

Harmony: When everything we think, say, feel and do is the SAME.
Balance: Which gives us the equilibrium to make good decisions.
Courage: Overcoming fears by taking action.
Generosity: Giving to ourselves and others in ways that are healthy.
Happiness: Happy people attract other happy people.
Cleanliness. "Wealth can't dwell in filth!" Think about that one.
Beauty: When we know our own worth as individuals.
Wisdom: Making the right choices for the right reasons.

Should I or Shouldn't I?

I arrived home after 10:30 pm. I had worked all day at my care-giver job and I was tired. Brandon was still up. Two boxes from the distribution center had arrived (I had ordered some ASL materials for Brandon and his friend who recently joined the church). On top of the boxes was a stack of mail. A check from Guideposts! Cool! They paid me for a story that's coming out in the May/June issue. They had changed the title of the story from "A Friend in Deed" to "Wilma to the Rescue." I laughed out loud. That was Wilma alright. I shuffled through the mail. Yet another offer for a credit card. A flyer from a real estate agent. A bill from my auto insurance company. A letter from the University of Montana. Two of them, in fact! My mind raced. Two letters? Duplicates? One saying, "We don't want you" The other saying, "We REALLY don't want you"? Or one letter for the "N" and one for the "O"? Brandon urged me to open them.
"No. I'm not ready."
"But Mom, whatever is in the letters will be the same no matter when you open them."
"I know, and that's why I'm not opening them now."

I thought about my daughter--the person I would tell first. It was almost 2 am in Maryland. I thought about my friend Glo. She'd be up. But, still, I wanted to share this with my girl. If "no" I'd need her support. If "yes" I wanted to share the joy. I opened everything else, including the boxes, threw the trash away, brushed my teeth, got ready for bed, said my prayers, and left the letters on my vanity. My heart wouldn't slow down. I had to get some sleep. This was ridiculous. I reached for the letters and, lying back on my pillows, held them up to the light. Maybe just a few words to give me a hint. Sort of the way I get into a swimming pool--one toe at a time instead of doing a cannonball off the diving board. I couldn't make out anything significant. I put the letters aside, turned off the light and went to sleep.

Last night I dreamed happy dreams. I don't remember what I dreamed exactly, but I felt peaceful and happy when I woke up. I called Chantel and got her voice mail. She called me back a short time later. The moment had arrived! With her on the other end of the phone, it was easy to open the letters.

Dear Martha:

According to information...could not be processed...information is incomplete...if you have any questions...blah, blah, blah!

All that anxiety over a letter from financial aid? Basically, the letters said what I already know: my application is being processed. They need more information. (They're waiting on my completed tax return).

Next time I'll just rip the envelope open right on the spot...But what if it's a no? What if it's a yes? What if it's late, and Telly is asleep across the country? Oh----------raspberry!!!

Dancer Dreams in Montana

Muscle memory. It's a fact. Having it is what makes it easy to ride a bicycle, or ice skate, or dance, after years of not doing so. Muscle memory doesn't fade--at least, not like regular memory. At least, mine hasn't seemed to. I've been taking a ballet class at Mills and I'm amazed at the moves my body remembers--from 30 years ago! I never want to stop doing this. I'm getting strong and discovering movement that I haven't done in years. I even see myself as a dancer--ok--visually maybe a stretch for now, but my dancer's body is still in there--somewhere. Dancing is in my future because it brings me such joy and such a connection with myself that I get in no other way.

Most people are aware that art and music are the first programs to be cut when schools are under budget. Well, now I hear some schools are also cutting PE--ok if you have active children. But what about the families whose children spend their free time in front of the television?? Scary.

I envision a piece of land--Montana maybe, or Idaho. Lots of sky and space, clean air and stars at night. A big, old house with high ceilings and a wrap around porch. A large flower and vegetable garden bursting with zinnias and marigolds and cosmos. A giant old barn, weathered but strong, and inside the barn (this is where it gets fun) daylight and an art studio with tables and easles and sinks and supplies; a dance studio with a wood floor and ballet barres and mirrors and a nice little bathroom, maybe even a remodeled loft for guests. And the best part: children and women of all ages (ok, men can come too if they want), everyone either contributing (talents or resources) or creating, and everyone growing.

This will not be a career move--I still plan to teach--but a way in which to contribute to my community and my family (read between the lines: Grammy wants to live near her family) and do the things I love at the same time. I already have an art teacher who will move to the area as soon as I give the word, and living near each other has long been a dream of my siblings and mine. The place is waiting. Can't wait to find it.

Anxiety

Counting down...chewed off my nails!! Darn it! First time in 3 years. Withdrew my application from Emerson. Got two no's this week--Pittsburgh and Iowa. That leaves Montana, North Carolina, Baltimore or West Virginia. With only four choices left out of seven, I should be feeling better, but I actually feel worse. I'm trying to look down the road and my future isn't neatly packaged, dated and bar coded for efficiency. It's a big question mark; HOWEVER--I'd rather have anxiety and excitement than dull and routine. Lack of conflict doesn't necessarily mean happy. And I still have a thesis to complete and a graduation party to plan. I'll keep y'all posted.

Friends

This is a picture from my housewarming party two years ago. I'm posting this because I got to see Britney (middle) and Michon (right) this weekend at Britney's new house. Britney is one heck of a massage therapist, postitive, passionate, funny...I met her at a birthday party for Michon when we were students together at DVC. Michon moved to Reno some time ago and I've kept up with her through Britney; It was so wonderful to see them both. They are beautiful inside and out.

Stolen Treasure

About 6 weeks ago, I left my clothes on a bench in the locker room while I went upstairs to the athletics department to get a locker assignment. I took my backpack with me (wallet, etc) but when I came back, I realized I'd left my blue topaz earrings in my jeans. They were gone. I was so disappointed. It's one thing if some random person steals when you're out in public. But this felt worse because one of my own did it--another Mill's student. How crappy is that?

I posted an announcement on Mill's Student News. It goes automatically to every Mills student and cannot be relegated to "spam." I didn't accuse anyone of stealing, (even though they had) I simply said that I felt terrible, I'd lost my earrings, if anyone found them, please turn them in, etc. No response. Two weeks passed and I posted again..."I'm hoping someone has my earrings but has been too busy to turn them in...they mean a lot to me...please...etc." No response. Several weeks later I was mad. I decided that if someone was going to steal from me, she was going to feel guilty for keeping my earrings. I went to the computer lab and printed flyers. Then I took them to the gym and posted them all over: on the lockers, on the bathroom mirrors, in the bathroom stalls, on the doors leading into and out of the locker room: "Do you have my earrings?? Blah, blah, blah....Please do a kind thing and turn them in..." I was prepared to keep posting flyers every week until graduation. But Wah-lah!! Someone turned them in to lost and found. Maybe the guilt got to be too much. Whatever the reason, I got them back. So thank you, whoever you are, for doing the right thing. And please think twice before stealing again. It wasn't really worth it, was it??