Saturday, January 30, 2010
Vicarious Snow Day
I sure wish we had some snow. Kind of. I'm glad I get to go about my business this evening and tomorrow: a Cure for the Common Reading, possible downtown crawling/hopping for a friend's birthday, and church and Sunday School. Rain is excuse enough to not go running, and I've gotten a lot done today because I decided to sit inside instead of erranding or other flutters. It's very nice to watch Clean House while grading papers; kind of feels like a Saturday should. I hope you landlubbers are staying warm and taking advantage of time to relax together. Please enjoy it on the behalf of all of us on the coast.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Food and Running and Pants and Potters
Kelly (my roommate) is teaching her third-graders about measurements, so she went to the store to get some pint and half-pint containers. The only thing they had in half-pints was half and half, so she got both sizes of it. I saw it in the fridge and figured it was for something at school, so when I went to the store, I got a new thing of half and half for myself. She had only needed the empties, though, so now we half about a gallon of half and half. I used some in a soup today, which because I made it up turned out more like goop with some liquid surrounding it, but tastes delicious. The soup was also an effort to use up broccoli, which I bought a ton of yesterday (still doing the HT sale thing) and of course Kelly already had a lot too. Surprisingly, I've used up over half of the broccoli in less than twenty-four hours, so surely there's hope yet that I'll finish it before it goes bad. Especially because I have mac and cheese (on sale too) and alfredo sauce, both of which will be delicious broccoli delivery systems. It's rather fun to just get what's on sale and then think of ways to use it, rather than picking a recipe and getting what I need.
I can run all the way around the Loop now! That's 2.5 miles, or 2.9, or 2.2, depending on whom you ask. I would have laughed if you'd told me a year ago that I could do that and like it. God is truly good, and He lends us strength and stamina all the time. I've a litle cough today, though, so we'll see how it goes when Lyndsay (marathon runner with lots of patience for slow ol' me) comes over to run it with me. The good part is one can always stop to walk in extenuating circumstances.
I got five pairs of fabulous pants at Christmas. Took them to the sweet little pictures-of-kids-on-the-wall alteration shop I'd had success with before. Four of the five pairs came back with one leg, I kid you not, about an inch shorter than the other. Bizarro. Luckily, when I tried them on, it was the shorter leg that fit best (surprise). It's definitely easier for them to shorten than to lengthen. They're redoing them for free. The ladies were very nice and as mystified as I was. They seem quite experienced, and hemming pants is, like, one of the easiest things in sewing, right? I'm supposed to get them back today.
The NCPC is doing a show of young potters! Oh snap! Wanna go at Spring Break? That's my plan. It's got some of my faves. http://www.pottersforncpc.blogspot.com/2010/01/seagrove-area-has-a-long-and-rich-history.html or better yet, http://www.ncpotterycenter.com/.
Does anyone know how to make it so a word is highlighted and it is a link? I'm always putting those ugly http's. I'd be ever so grateful if you told me how to do it on Blogspot/Blogger blogs.
I can run all the way around the Loop now! That's 2.5 miles, or 2.9, or 2.2, depending on whom you ask. I would have laughed if you'd told me a year ago that I could do that and like it. God is truly good, and He lends us strength and stamina all the time. I've a litle cough today, though, so we'll see how it goes when Lyndsay (marathon runner with lots of patience for slow ol' me) comes over to run it with me. The good part is one can always stop to walk in extenuating circumstances.
I got five pairs of fabulous pants at Christmas. Took them to the sweet little pictures-of-kids-on-the-wall alteration shop I'd had success with before. Four of the five pairs came back with one leg, I kid you not, about an inch shorter than the other. Bizarro. Luckily, when I tried them on, it was the shorter leg that fit best (surprise). It's definitely easier for them to shorten than to lengthen. They're redoing them for free. The ladies were very nice and as mystified as I was. They seem quite experienced, and hemming pants is, like, one of the easiest things in sewing, right? I'm supposed to get them back today.
The NCPC is doing a show of young potters! Oh snap! Wanna go at Spring Break? That's my plan. It's got some of my faves. http://www.pottersforncpc.blogspot.com/2010/01/seagrove-area-has-a-long-and-rich-history.html or better yet, http://www.ncpotterycenter.com/.
Does anyone know how to make it so a word is highlighted and it is a link? I'm always putting those ugly http's. I'd be ever so grateful if you told me how to do it on Blogspot/Blogger blogs.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
And to your right...
I'd like to direct your attention to the sidebar with other blogs on it. I just added two of the Seagrove potters' blogs--Michael Mahan and Tom Gray--so please go take a look at their awesomeness, both online and in real life.
Monday, January 18, 2010
What I Did on my Martin Luther King Jr. Vacation
I have a master plan to stick it to Wal-Mart by shopping the specials at Harris-Teeter. The e-VIC specials are crazy good, like half off and buy-one-get-two-free. I do buy things that aren't on sale if I need them, but the practice dictates my meals somewhat, which in these days of indecisiveness feels kinda nice. So I have a whole lotta chicken in the freezer. I ate tilapia this evening with rosemary (a trick my aunt taught me, so the house smells like rosemary instead of fish), and my go-to salad of spinach, raspberry vinaigrette, walnuts, and feta. A little bowl of cherries, and crackers and cheese. Quite a spread. Oh, and ice cream for dessert. I feel rather queenly when I actually sit down at the island to eat instead of wandering in circles or plopping on the couch.
Job opportunities come in a slow but steady trickle, slow enough that I worry but steady enough that I don't collapse from it. My job-correspondence spreadsheet--whom I've contacted and when--provides the sweet illusion of control. The weather continues to surprise and please us all--I saw two barefoot boys in their bathing suits on the sidewalk today. Student work is shockingly good for in-class exercises but predictably bell-curved on typed assignments. I think it's because they don't think too hard about the in-class stuff. I had them write one sentence and then pass the paper, write the next sentence of the story they then had, etc. One began, "Today I turned 96 years old," and the next student continued, "And it's the first day I've ever been outside." I almost got chills.
I'm workshopping next week, almost all of the book that isn't directly about the set-to. A little nervous because it's so different from what other people turn in for that class. They're all writing novels, fiction novels, and this is not going to be quite so linear. But one of the best things I've learned in grad school is how to hear and interpret responses to my work, so I can certainly handle whatever they say, especially considering that the portion I'm sharing isn't the book's heart. There are surprisingly few things I'll miss about grad school, but I will definitely miss workshop. It's simultaneously so thrilling and so safe.
I learned the most fun game ever last night! It's called telephone pictionary. Everyone gets a stack of note cards, as many as there are people. You write a phrase on one card, any phrase. I used "Napoleon Dynamite" and "Up the creek without a paddle." You pass the entire stack to the right. Then everyone looks at the phrase and draws a picture of it, leaving their picture on the top and moving the phrase to the bottom of the stack. Pass, and then write the phrase you think the picture represents. Pass and draw the phrase, and so on until you run out of cards, which will coincide with your receiving your original stack. Everyone shows all of their cards so you can see how their phrase, in most cases, got mangled beyond recognition. "Napoleon Dynamite" quickly became "swingset," and "Up the creek without a paddle" became "I see a happy fish and I am thrilled." "He drinks too much" became "foul language" because someone drew a guy drinking from a jug with XXX on it but the jug was upside down and looked like a speech bubble with XXX in it. You should definitely play, and everyone can make fun of everyone else's drawings, and you will laugh and laugh and if one of your friends is pregnant she will have to leave a lot to pee because of all the laughing.
Job opportunities come in a slow but steady trickle, slow enough that I worry but steady enough that I don't collapse from it. My job-correspondence spreadsheet--whom I've contacted and when--provides the sweet illusion of control. The weather continues to surprise and please us all--I saw two barefoot boys in their bathing suits on the sidewalk today. Student work is shockingly good for in-class exercises but predictably bell-curved on typed assignments. I think it's because they don't think too hard about the in-class stuff. I had them write one sentence and then pass the paper, write the next sentence of the story they then had, etc. One began, "Today I turned 96 years old," and the next student continued, "And it's the first day I've ever been outside." I almost got chills.
I'm workshopping next week, almost all of the book that isn't directly about the set-to. A little nervous because it's so different from what other people turn in for that class. They're all writing novels, fiction novels, and this is not going to be quite so linear. But one of the best things I've learned in grad school is how to hear and interpret responses to my work, so I can certainly handle whatever they say, especially considering that the portion I'm sharing isn't the book's heart. There are surprisingly few things I'll miss about grad school, but I will definitely miss workshop. It's simultaneously so thrilling and so safe.
I learned the most fun game ever last night! It's called telephone pictionary. Everyone gets a stack of note cards, as many as there are people. You write a phrase on one card, any phrase. I used "Napoleon Dynamite" and "Up the creek without a paddle." You pass the entire stack to the right. Then everyone looks at the phrase and draws a picture of it, leaving their picture on the top and moving the phrase to the bottom of the stack. Pass, and then write the phrase you think the picture represents. Pass and draw the phrase, and so on until you run out of cards, which will coincide with your receiving your original stack. Everyone shows all of their cards so you can see how their phrase, in most cases, got mangled beyond recognition. "Napoleon Dynamite" quickly became "swingset," and "Up the creek without a paddle" became "I see a happy fish and I am thrilled." "He drinks too much" became "foul language" because someone drew a guy drinking from a jug with XXX on it but the jug was upside down and looked like a speech bubble with XXX in it. You should definitely play, and everyone can make fun of everyone else's drawings, and you will laugh and laugh and if one of your friends is pregnant she will have to leave a lot to pee because of all the laughing.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Even in Australia
This morning I got in the car for class and realized I was going to have to come back home for less than two hours in the afternoon and then go back to school, a pet peeve of mine. Then, when I was going to the thing at tw0 which made this happen, I couldn't find a spot and had to park in the scrub lot. Then I was late and the door made a loud sound on my way in. The event was a discussion about fellowships and residencies, ways to get time to write. When I asked about finding a job after such things are over, the only response was "I wish I hadn't obssessed about it." I had a voicemail that I hoped would be from a prospective employer, but it was from the dermatologist's office reminding me of an 8:15 appointment tomorrow. I came home and checked the mail to find a letter saying our senior pastor is retiring. Certainly it is partly because of the way people acted toward him when he welcomed a gay couple into our church. I threw some things and grumped out until it was time for dinner, which was at church. I was so excited about the chicken casserole. Guess what they were out of. So I ate rice, rolls, a cold hard potato, and gummy lemon meringue pie. Partly my fault for being late, but they usually have plenty extra. Not this time because the food lady's father died on Monday. We have classes after dinner, and someone I'm supposed to love but don't like was in mine. He asked me how I was doing three times, so I finally said I wished I hadn't checked the mail today. As if that was all.
But it's none of that, really. It's having to face the fact that I'm not consulted about every change that affects me. And that staying here in Wilmington after graduation will not freeze time and keep all the women strong and the men good-looking and the children cute and above average. That no matter what I do or where I live, good things wane and bad things wax even though it's mostly the other way around. I just hate that I can't stop time while things are awesome, before someone gets sick or injured or falls out of love or moves away. I hate that none of this is my call.
And I'm crestfallen at the thought of leaving, but scared to death that I'll stay and things'll immediately go sour like they sometimes do. Mostly sad in advance, as if my sadness now can lessen the impact later. Sad because people who meant a lot to me a few years ago, and still do, have gotten married, had children, turned gay, and I only found out third-or-fourth-hand because I guess they didn't know I still cared about them so much. Because while I love writing letters and think about people all the time, I'm officially very bad at keeping in touch. I don't blame only myself--it's a two-way street--but I do see a pattern here. And I don't want these current friends to drift away, at least not now or soon. I want to see these kids grow up. I want to see these grown-ups flourish and stretch toward God. I want to keep eating their cooking and celebrating their lives. So I scramble for purchase by wanting to stay. Jobs seem to say otherwise. Today I thought for the first time, "It's eating at me." And it absolutely is. I can hardly think about anything but finding a way to stick, and if I can't, finding a way to not be bitter and depressed. I lose sleep. I cry. I talk about it almost incessantly. I am so blessed to have a community I'm this upset about even the thought of leaving. That's the funny part; I should actually be grateful for this mess because I would definitely not rather be disenchanted with Wilmington and itching to head out. It is a wonderful and powerful thing to be this rooted. Not that that makes it easier. Much is at stake. But that's what makes a story meaningful. And meaningful is the main thing I want my story to be.
But it's none of that, really. It's having to face the fact that I'm not consulted about every change that affects me. And that staying here in Wilmington after graduation will not freeze time and keep all the women strong and the men good-looking and the children cute and above average. That no matter what I do or where I live, good things wane and bad things wax even though it's mostly the other way around. I just hate that I can't stop time while things are awesome, before someone gets sick or injured or falls out of love or moves away. I hate that none of this is my call.
And I'm crestfallen at the thought of leaving, but scared to death that I'll stay and things'll immediately go sour like they sometimes do. Mostly sad in advance, as if my sadness now can lessen the impact later. Sad because people who meant a lot to me a few years ago, and still do, have gotten married, had children, turned gay, and I only found out third-or-fourth-hand because I guess they didn't know I still cared about them so much. Because while I love writing letters and think about people all the time, I'm officially very bad at keeping in touch. I don't blame only myself--it's a two-way street--but I do see a pattern here. And I don't want these current friends to drift away, at least not now or soon. I want to see these kids grow up. I want to see these grown-ups flourish and stretch toward God. I want to keep eating their cooking and celebrating their lives. So I scramble for purchase by wanting to stay. Jobs seem to say otherwise. Today I thought for the first time, "It's eating at me." And it absolutely is. I can hardly think about anything but finding a way to stick, and if I can't, finding a way to not be bitter and depressed. I lose sleep. I cry. I talk about it almost incessantly. I am so blessed to have a community I'm this upset about even the thought of leaving. That's the funny part; I should actually be grateful for this mess because I would definitely not rather be disenchanted with Wilmington and itching to head out. It is a wonderful and powerful thing to be this rooted. Not that that makes it easier. Much is at stake. But that's what makes a story meaningful. And meaningful is the main thing I want my story to be.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
keeping up the pace
Reading Seagrove blogs has gotten me all bloggy, plus I hope to make 2010 the Year of the Blog by being more diligent about it, so here's a post practically on the heels of the last one.
Things Taize and Seagrove have in common:
-They both make me feel at peace and I want to be there a lot.
-They both have remarkable people producing pottery.
-They have complex relationships with outsiders.
-They began with one visionary person or couple.
-From there, they ballooned quickly as a surprising number of people responded and loved the idea of the place. But for all that,
-popularity was never really the goal for either but is certainly a means to two desirable ends in both cases.
www.taize.fr/en just might change your life. Certainly changed mine. (To be clear, the website, while it's great, is less likely to change your life. I'm referring to the place.) Would you like to go with me sometime? One of my life goals is to go back one day, ideally with a group. Plus we will get to see Shakespeare & Company and whatever else you want to see in Paris. I'm an excellent tour guide, ask anyone.
I'm feeling bolstered lately by the uncertain euphoria of almost constantly thinking, "This is my last semester!" I absolutely can't wait to see what's next.
It's very nice to have Tuesday off. Unlike having Friday off like last semester, it's an unexpected little tiramisu (pick-me-up). In a couple weeks I'll start doing pub lab hours on Tuesdays, but for now it's sweet.
Things Taize and Seagrove have in common:
-They both make me feel at peace and I want to be there a lot.
-They both have remarkable people producing pottery.
-They have complex relationships with outsiders.
-They began with one visionary person or couple.
-From there, they ballooned quickly as a surprising number of people responded and loved the idea of the place. But for all that,
-popularity was never really the goal for either but is certainly a means to two desirable ends in both cases.
www.taize.fr/en just might change your life. Certainly changed mine. (To be clear, the website, while it's great, is less likely to change your life. I'm referring to the place.) Would you like to go with me sometime? One of my life goals is to go back one day, ideally with a group. Plus we will get to see Shakespeare & Company and whatever else you want to see in Paris. I'm an excellent tour guide, ask anyone.
I'm feeling bolstered lately by the uncertain euphoria of almost constantly thinking, "This is my last semester!" I absolutely can't wait to see what's next.
It's very nice to have Tuesday off. Unlike having Friday off like last semester, it's an unexpected little tiramisu (pick-me-up). In a couple weeks I'll start doing pub lab hours on Tuesdays, but for now it's sweet.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
It's been truly cold here, not just we're-wimpy-southerners faux cold. Before Christmas, I got used to walking/running almost every day. But I'm not quite dedicated enough to push myself into this weather, particularly on the bridges where there's no wind cover, so I've been on an unwelcome hiatus. I always intend to do yoga or something to get moving and relieve antsiness, but if I'm indoors anyway I always come up with something ostensibly more important. Plus, I bought several new skirts and dresses that I've been dying to wear but can't/won't because of the cold. Come on, this is the beach! No one moved here for this!
In October near Seagrove there's going to be an exhibition for potters who blog, which is awesome because a few of my faves are included and because I've long been thinking about that connection, between writing and pottery. Also in Seagrove news, I just learned (thanks, Granddaddy!) that the Museum group got a citation and big fine for carrying out the Festival without a vendor permit. It never got or needed one in the past. Permits were a big part of the Celebration madness last summer, one of the ways some people tried to stop it from happening. So I've yet another aspect to delve into. Seagrove, you know I love you. Can't you just not do anything new until I'm done with my thesis? And preferably until it gets published? I can't wait to share it with you, by the way! I hope you get a grocery store soon.
I can't seem to stop saying things I shouldn't. It's not that I don't think before I speak; I often do, and decide it's OK, and then realize too late that it's not. I try not to beat myself up about it since I don't have a time machine and what's said is said, and because those things (mostly silly comments with a touch of shock value) are part of my personality and I try to like or at least accept it. There are also recent issues with volume and with the clarity of my comment's connection to the conversation in progress. It's always clear to me, and sometimes when I explain why I thought of it, the comment becomes slightly less inappropriate. I have many friends who share the quick-draw mouth at least on occasion, another reason I shouldn't feel bad about it. But I always admire those who never seem out of line. I want to be like the Proverbs woman (chapter 30 or 31?) who's always dignified and wise. Even when I attain that, my version will include funny. Just not silly, which is what we're working on.
I applied for two near-perfect part-time jobs on Thursday. Getting one would mean a schedule CF, but I'd have peace of mind because I'd have work upon graduation. Sweet deal no matter what happens.
I had my party for school people who were away for my birthday. Lots of folks came, and I had a wonderful time. I can't overstress how wonderful a time I had. But after having hosted a smaller party on December 23rd and a medium one on January 31st, with all of Christmas and shopping and starting school in between, I look forward to a time of rest. Yesterday I watched When Harry Met Sally and then Ratatouille, and read quite a bit. That was a huge relief, just being alone and focusing on something where my part was inconsequential. Throw in some thesis work, and you've got a good working model for my free time in the weeks ahead. Woo-hoo!
Speaking of "woo-hoo," I just started my last semester! Potentially ever! Four months from now, I'll be long done with classes and probably even done grading. My thesis will be either turned in or about to be, and I'll know whether I get to settle in town or go explore. Lots of things will change. I hope not everything. I know God is in charge and has a great plan, but I can't quite get past "Thy will be--". For now, I'm praying that He give me the trust to be able to say the whole sentence, to let go of all that I'm clinging to even if it's for the best reasons and let Him control my whole life.
Ick. Easier typed than done. Seems like we both have our work cut out for us, me the yielding and Him the whacking into submission. I don't see any obvious reason God would want me to move, other than my career, which I'm not sure is a priority for either of us at this time in a traditional sense. But I know that the more I cling to my preferences, the more I insist that I must stay in Wilmington and have all the same friends and blah blah blah, the more reason God will have to take it away, or rather take me away. So I'm trying to, you know, let go of the butterfly so it will come back to me, or something. Yes, the teacup is already broken. But that doesn't mean I want to throw it down. When things are good (and right now they are really good, y'all), it's healthy to realize that they will change someday. But that doesn't mean you should withdraw from relationships just because you know you'll disappoint each other eventually, or develop stony-faced resolve about moving away, or be careless in any way with whatever is making life so good. It's extremely hard to strike a balance between cherishing and letting go, especially when you're not sure which you'll have to do in the near future. I say "near" in a relative sense, though. For today, it's a matter of breathing and working, which will smooth the road between now and then.
My hands, in the cold, take on the aspect of an old lady's, wizened and shrivelly. It's not unpleasant, and I definitely stay alert in the car. At home, hot chocolate and an electric blanket help, and the thought of someone reading this and feeling upheld. That's what writing is, for me, ultimately: the hope of putting something into words that helps someone feel less alone, even as they sit at a computer or with a book. Drawing together a series of worlds. Using words to create what I need, or what someone else needs. It keeps me warm in January when even the air from the vent seems cold.
In October near Seagrove there's going to be an exhibition for potters who blog, which is awesome because a few of my faves are included and because I've long been thinking about that connection, between writing and pottery. Also in Seagrove news, I just learned (thanks, Granddaddy!) that the Museum group got a citation and big fine for carrying out the Festival without a vendor permit. It never got or needed one in the past. Permits were a big part of the Celebration madness last summer, one of the ways some people tried to stop it from happening. So I've yet another aspect to delve into. Seagrove, you know I love you. Can't you just not do anything new until I'm done with my thesis? And preferably until it gets published? I can't wait to share it with you, by the way! I hope you get a grocery store soon.
I can't seem to stop saying things I shouldn't. It's not that I don't think before I speak; I often do, and decide it's OK, and then realize too late that it's not. I try not to beat myself up about it since I don't have a time machine and what's said is said, and because those things (mostly silly comments with a touch of shock value) are part of my personality and I try to like or at least accept it. There are also recent issues with volume and with the clarity of my comment's connection to the conversation in progress. It's always clear to me, and sometimes when I explain why I thought of it, the comment becomes slightly less inappropriate. I have many friends who share the quick-draw mouth at least on occasion, another reason I shouldn't feel bad about it. But I always admire those who never seem out of line. I want to be like the Proverbs woman (chapter 30 or 31?) who's always dignified and wise. Even when I attain that, my version will include funny. Just not silly, which is what we're working on.
I applied for two near-perfect part-time jobs on Thursday. Getting one would mean a schedule CF, but I'd have peace of mind because I'd have work upon graduation. Sweet deal no matter what happens.
I had my party for school people who were away for my birthday. Lots of folks came, and I had a wonderful time. I can't overstress how wonderful a time I had. But after having hosted a smaller party on December 23rd and a medium one on January 31st, with all of Christmas and shopping and starting school in between, I look forward to a time of rest. Yesterday I watched When Harry Met Sally and then Ratatouille, and read quite a bit. That was a huge relief, just being alone and focusing on something where my part was inconsequential. Throw in some thesis work, and you've got a good working model for my free time in the weeks ahead. Woo-hoo!
Speaking of "woo-hoo," I just started my last semester! Potentially ever! Four months from now, I'll be long done with classes and probably even done grading. My thesis will be either turned in or about to be, and I'll know whether I get to settle in town or go explore. Lots of things will change. I hope not everything. I know God is in charge and has a great plan, but I can't quite get past "Thy will be--". For now, I'm praying that He give me the trust to be able to say the whole sentence, to let go of all that I'm clinging to even if it's for the best reasons and let Him control my whole life.
Ick. Easier typed than done. Seems like we both have our work cut out for us, me the yielding and Him the whacking into submission. I don't see any obvious reason God would want me to move, other than my career, which I'm not sure is a priority for either of us at this time in a traditional sense. But I know that the more I cling to my preferences, the more I insist that I must stay in Wilmington and have all the same friends and blah blah blah, the more reason God will have to take it away, or rather take me away. So I'm trying to, you know, let go of the butterfly so it will come back to me, or something. Yes, the teacup is already broken. But that doesn't mean I want to throw it down. When things are good (and right now they are really good, y'all), it's healthy to realize that they will change someday. But that doesn't mean you should withdraw from relationships just because you know you'll disappoint each other eventually, or develop stony-faced resolve about moving away, or be careless in any way with whatever is making life so good. It's extremely hard to strike a balance between cherishing and letting go, especially when you're not sure which you'll have to do in the near future. I say "near" in a relative sense, though. For today, it's a matter of breathing and working, which will smooth the road between now and then.
My hands, in the cold, take on the aspect of an old lady's, wizened and shrivelly. It's not unpleasant, and I definitely stay alert in the car. At home, hot chocolate and an electric blanket help, and the thought of someone reading this and feeling upheld. That's what writing is, for me, ultimately: the hope of putting something into words that helps someone feel less alone, even as they sit at a computer or with a book. Drawing together a series of worlds. Using words to create what I need, or what someone else needs. It keeps me warm in January when even the air from the vent seems cold.
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