photo of the day

Butterfly; Downtown Nashville

rubber duck race

Rubber Duck Race. Yep, that's right. Today I bought a raffle ticket in the body of two little rubber ducks to race down the river all in the name of a fundraiser. I named them Bill and Bob; I figured they were my southern ducks. Unfortunately, in a sea of over 7,000 ducks, Bill and Bob did not win any prizes. But...my souvenir duck is making a new home of my bathtub.

it's just not simple

In Southern Rwanda, I visited the villages of Kanyonyera and Rubugu where I saw water lines and water taps recently constructed by a local partner organization. The cement platforms and structures were well constructed, and the piping and hardware well chosen and installed. A seemingly ideal image of water provision in a rural region.
In Kanyonyera, a woman by the name of Pellina told us of the value of this water tap. She said that they used to get water at the lake, which was dirty and was a long way to walk. This problem was compounded by children collecting water who could only stand on the edge of the lake, where the water was the dirtiest. To top it off, every year children would die from drowning in the lake. Pellina was happy about the clean, flowing water at the tap.

A little while later I noticed Pellina, deep in conversation, did not seem happy. I found out that the mud bricks near the water tap were hers. She planned to build a house, but the land she was going to use was taken to build the water tap. Now she had clean, flowing water, but no place to build her house. In such circumstances, the Rwandan government works to compensate the individual and provide alternate land. But, that was still in the process of happening, and today Pellina was stuck in the middle of the complexities of development. She had mud bricks to use, she had access to clean water, and she had no place build her home.

Clean water provision is so simple on paper. People need water, and water is provided. People walk long distances carrying large quantities of water by hand or by head, and now they walk short distances. People had little water to spare for laundry and hand washing, and now more is available. It would seem that the simple provision of clean water would solve so many problems. And yet we were told of a another village where a team (not funded by Blood:Water) came in and drilled a well. Fantastic...except the people never used the well. I don’t know if the water did not taste good, did not smell good, was in a politically poor location in the village, or if there was some other cultural issue. Bottom line is that a well was drilled but was not used; a ‘simple’ solution did not work.

hope through soccer

Sometimes I struggle when I know I should write about one thing and I feel uninspired. It is these times that I wish a writer would modify my words filling them with eloquence that would better express what is in my head and my heart. It is not that I am uninspired by what I should write about--quite the contrary. What I do not know is how to take such a fantastic and inspiring series of events and present them in an image that will portray a piece of what I experienced.

On Saturday the final game of a 13 team, 52 game, soccer tournament was held in the midst of a grand ceremony. This tournament was a dream of our partner in Northern Uganda who saw young men being idle in their villages unsure of how to fill their time and lacking hope after 10 years in IDP camps (internally displaced people camps). Yes, stability is returning to the region, safety is the norm rather than the sacred, and villages are being rebuilt. But the rebuilding of a village is easier on paper than in reality, and hope is a magical tool. And so our partner dreamt up and created a soccer tournament where they fund uniforms and soccer balls, and there are prizes of bulls and goats to eat, and a beautiful trophy for the winner to display. Participation requires the building of latrines and hand washing locations, and soccer scores include community transformation in terms of WASH (water, hygiene, and sanitation) and half-times are filled with song and dance about WASH created and performed by the players. I could never come up with a plan so brilliant--not in my most wild imagination.

The day of ceremonies included a parade of the players through town, demonstrations of latrines, washing stations, and hand pumps. Officials present included not only local and regional officials, but also the Minster of Water and Environment of Uganda; she was impressed by what she saw. The final soccer game was exciting and demonstrated the impressive skills of the players. The song and dance were both beautiful and inspiring.

As we visited communities in the two days following the ceremony, we saw transformation beginning in communities. We saw biosand filters and hand pumps and hand washing stations and dish racks. We saw hope and we saw soccer players filled with ownership of their program. One year. This program has only been running for one year and already the impact is tangible. In the coming years the program will grow--the hope is 60 teams within three years.

I wish I could capture these events for you. Smiling women. Laughing children. Welcoming men. Stories of triumph and a sense of pride. Over it all, hope. I am at a loss of how to share this, of how to construct this image, and so I close simply wishing that I could have transported you to a soccer field in Northern Uganda for a day of celebration.

apoyo matek

Thank you. Apoyo matek. Thank you for coming to Uganda, and in particular, to Lira. Thank you for visiting. Thank you for breakfast. Thank you for lunch. Thank you for dinner. Thank you for water. I thank our God that we have been able to meet. Apoyo matek. Thank you for joining our celebration. Thank you for inviting us. Thank you for welcoming us. Thank you.

Those are the words that fill my ears and exit my mouth all day long. I am now in Uganda which, like much of Africa, is a thanking culture. Little can be assumed about any event--the starting time, how long it will last, what will occur, or what will be expected of me--except that I will say 'Thank you' and be told 'Thank you.' Sometimes it gets old and I begin to think that it would be great to hop skip and jump over the many thank you's, effectively thinking, "Let's move on and not spend more time on this." And then I remember what it is like in America where we say "Hey" and "What's up?" with more frequency than "Thank you" and suddenly my patience increases. Apoyo matek.

A day in Amsterdam

Begins with good coffee and pastries.

a schedule

For those of you following me, this is where I will (more or less) be in October:

Sept 30 - Oct 8: Northern Uganda 

Oct 8 - 12: Rwanda

Oct 12 - 15: Nairobi, Kenya

Oct 18 - 19: Atlanta (Beer Festival with the siblings)

Oct 28 - 30: Chattanooga (Strategic planning 'retreat')

Am leaving for the airport in 30 minutes, so I guess that's it for now.

iron mike

day to day
lost in the mundane,
which is really the wild.
sometimes it takes unusual inspiration
to shake me out of the day to day.
inspiration from another’s sacrifice,
inspiration from america:
iron mike.

I hurriedly wrote the above after a staff meeting earlier this week. Mike is an average 55 year old man from Elizabethtown. He became ‘Iron Mike’ when he biked from coast to coast to raise funds for Blood:Water Mission. He found something worth fighting for, bought a bike a couple weeks before the ride began, joined the team, and rode his bike for the better part of 9 weeks telling people at gas stations, parks, churches and concerts about the men, women, and children who needed clean water in Africa. Iron Mike and his team raised a fairly impressive sum of money and impacted thousands. Beyond that, they were and continue to be inspiring. Iron Mike stopped in our office earlier this week and he encouraged our staff to continue our work and to work towards excellence.

I love what I do, and I love Africa. America is comfortable, but I let my guard down in Africa. The stories of hurt and happiness, of pain and perseverance, and of trials and triumphs of Africans are my day to day. In America it is in the pictures, proposals, and reports that I read daily, and in Africa it is all around me. It is wild and lovely, but is my day to day. In America I am surrounded by shiny windows, smooth roads, fast food, and blinking lights; consumerism. It is a constant sensory overload and yet it is uninspiring. And that is why I found Iron Mike so refreshing and incredibly inspiring. I am grateful to be in a place where I have the privilege to regularly be inspired and blessed by the Iron Mike’s of America.

Asheville coffee shop post camping

Camping pictures at Picasa.

how was africa?

Africa is a continent, not one country or one people, but I find this to be something hard for many to truly grasp as they sit across an ocean from this grand continent. Although I understand where this misconception comes from, it makes me want to ask a Boston native about soul cooking and an LA resident why they don’t have a Jersey accent. Most of the time I refrain as I remind myself that they have not had the same privileges of travel with which I have been blessed. And, when they ask how Africa was, I tell them a word or two about the specific country from which I have just returned.

My new job puts the question, “How was Africa?” in a new context. On this trip I have visited South Africa, Zambia, Mozambique, and Kenya. Within several of these countries I have visited locations that are as diverse as Chicago and Chattanooga and Charlotte. In October I will return to visit Uganda, Rwanda, and likely Ghana.

“How was Africa?”

On this trip, the diversity and differences found within Africa seem particularly vivid. This being my first trip to Mozambique, it was fun to find the Portuguese and Brazilian influence on the country everywhere I turned. Homes are painted bright colors, music is tinted with Latin flavors, driving is relaxed, and conversation is filled with the smooth tones of Portuguese. Each country, each region is unique, but this was a new flavor for me. Kind of like traveling across America and suddenly landing oneself in Texas.

Completely distinct from the rest of this trip was Marsabit, a town and region in Northern Kenya. This is the desert region just south of Ethiopia that is largely forgotten by Kenya. The landscape is filled with igneous rocks, and desert trees and scrubs which provide little protection from the harsh sun. The main road to Ethiopia is a bumpy, dusty dirt road; it is by far the best around. Here herds of animals are life, water trips take days, women wear bright scarves, and homes are moved on camels’ back. Sort of like being time warped to a 100 years ago to visit ranchers in Montana.

When I say ‘kind of’ or ‘sort of’ like such and such, I am trying to make the differences and the vitality of life in Africa a bit more real, but I often wonder if it works. How does one take a National Geographic special that is what I have just experienced and make it anything but the two dimensional image of my photographs? Maybe if I told you stories as I unpacked my suitcase so that you could experience the mingling smells of the fresh coffee beans I bring back and laundry dirtied in the villages or if we talked as we bounced along in a four wheeler or if we sat in the hot autumn sun with music taped at villages and schools serenading us in the background, these images, these rich and vibrant cultures, would become real. Yet it is so much more complex to try and communicate an image, an understanding, stuck in my head that is constantly changing and growing. How can I blame someone for seeing Africa as one place when I, who have traveled much, struggle to make even the most simple of stories real to friends I love?

I feel as if each place I visit in Africa adds a color or a layer to an oil painting. With each visit my painting of Africa becomes more detailed, increasingly complex, and ever richer. Somehow the diversity that I experience and try to share with others fits onto one wild canvas. Yet, as I continue to add to this painting, I doubt it will ever be complete. One canvas, one painting, so many parts, sections, colors, and textures.

Maybe as my painting of Africa continues to grow in my head and in my heart, my response to the question, “How was Africa?” will change. Maybe I will simply say, “She is good.”

gladys

There is a wonderful magic about children. They have the ability to capture the heart and the soul with nothing more than a smile and a twinkle in the eye, and tonight Gladys captured my heart.

We visited a girls’ home run by one of our partners. Here the children are well clothed, have wonderful facilities, and are surrounded by people who love them. Each child comes out of a difficult situation ranging from abandonment to living on the street to abuse to lacking parents. By being family with one another, they are rising out of these difficult, seemingly hopeless situations, to live full lives. They learn the enduring power of love and hope.

Tonight as these girls sang and danced for us, little Gladys, only two and a half years old, was held in the loving arms of her new sisters and mothers. Later, as she sat next to an older girl, she stretched her small hand out to greet me. Suddenly shy, she backed away to play pick-a-boo around the edge of the table, a game that stands outside of language or culture. Then I gathered this delightful child in my arms. Over the next minutes we shared smiles and gestures and she proceeded to capture my heart.

Before leaving I sat down to sign the guest book, Gladys still in my arms. An active child engaged in the world around her, she wanted to participate in the writing. So after I signed their guest book, young Gladys signed my field notebook. Now I have two pages of scribbles that are Gladys’s two year old signature sandwiched between pages of notes from endless days of meetings. These two pages, a reminder of a child who captured my heart in a moment, might be the most precious thing that notebook holds.

on travel and biosand filters

In case you were wondering, I have not forgotten you. It is simply that travel has been a bit consuming as of late. As I travel with Blood:Water job, I will post on occasion on our Blood:Water blog. My best guess is that you don't read their site, so I figure the least I can do is post those entries here as well. This was written while I was in Zambia:

Today I returned from village tired from my time in the sun, from laughing with the children, and from sharing knowing looks with the women. The afternoon was spent installing 15 biosand filters in village, not long ago an informal settlement outside of Ndola, Zambia. Like so many technologies, the construction of a biosand filter is relatively simple: a concrete exterior created in a metal mold, a small pipe to carry water, layers of washed gravel and sand covered by a metal plate, all sealed by a wood cover. This simple technology has the potential to work for 15-20 years, is inexpensive to produce, and can reduce waterborne disease by 97%. But the expertise to create the filters and the money for the materials and labor is not enough. No where near enough. It takes education and the building of strong relationships to change long-established practices within a community. Though this takes longer than simply placing a filter in a home, it comes with the hope and possibility that the filter is the first step towards continued change, change that will come from the strength within the village.

For example, in a village not far from where I was today, where biosand filters have also been installed in some of the homes, our partner’s ongoing relationships and conversations with the locals led to a realization that the large garbage dumps within their village needed to be moved as they bred disease. The locals decided to move the dumps and clean their village. The combination of these efforts has led to such a great reduction of waterborne disease in the community that they said that, last year, for the fist time in their history, there was no cholera within the community.

Yes, a biosand filter is a fantastic technology, but it is the education and the relationships that are key to long term success. It is because of these things I am hopeful that, if I return to Zambia in 10 or 20 years, these communities will not only have clean water, but will also have taken significant other steps to reduce disease and further community development. Tonight I turn to bed tired, but hopeful.

fencing

Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BskJRTWZRJY
Sometimes you just have to brag, and this is one of those times. The non-Olympic fencer in this commercial is RC, one of 'my girls'. To top it off, I just happened to be in LA the day they filmed for the commercial, so I was sitting on the bleachers watching as they filmed. Good memories.

where in the world?

Do you remember the book series Where’s Waldo? I am fairly certain that my family never owned one of the books, but I certainly ‘read’ or ‘played’ them with friends. I must have been a book elitist in my early years as I remember being baffled by the concept that this book, which was really a game in my mind, could be called a book. It was like a regression to early reader books where the sentences are short and the pages filled with pictures.

In case you never had a chance to play a Where’s Waldo book, the pages are filled with detailed drawings and Waldo, always dressed in a red and white striped shirt, is hidden somewhere on the page. Waldo gets to cities and famous landmarks across the world, so I guess there is something educational about it.

When I returned from Tanzania this spring a friend told me that she would ask the question, “Where in the world is Pamela C.?” before checking my blog. I wish I could capture the way she told me this as it made me laugh and feel like I was Waldo. If I was, what would be my red and white striped shirt? Maybe my white skin and red hair, or maybe I would be well served to find an iconic shirt to always pack in my travel bag. Let me know if you have a thought on this.

Regardless, this friend has inspired an addition to my blog. ‘where: in the world’ will be updates on the go...little bits and pieces of where I am and what I am up to. If you want, you can pretend that I am in a red and white stripped shirt, or whatever other iconic shirt you so desire.

burnt cake

Last night I decided to make a cake. Nothing fancy, just a boxed cake mix. Just because I wanted a piece of cake. I figured JM, who is staying at my house as I travel to a wedding this weekend, might enjoy it too. So out came the strawberry cake mix, juice (makes it even better than adding water), oil, eggs, a bowl, the mixer, and the cake pan. I whipped up the cake mix, tossed it in the oven, and set the timer a few minutes short of the shortest suggest bake time.

Now, you ask why a few minutes short of the bake time? New ovens are unpredictable. They should not be as baking is much more of a science than an art, but they are. What should happen is that you turn the dial to the desired temperature, oven heats up and remains at that temperature until the dial is again turned. However, all too often the temperature is off, and this was my first time to bake at my cottage.

You have to understand that I love to cook. I bake primarily because I like baked goods. It is a science, and I know what parts of recipes to not mess with, and I get good results. Every now and then I forget to set the timer on a tray of cookies (a tray, not a batch), but that is the extent of the disaster.

Last night the house was smelling great as I was watching Laura Croft Tomb Raider while ironing in the living room. The timer goes off, I go to check the cake and as I approach the oven I smell burnt food. A distinctive and altogether painful and annoying smell. I pull the cake out of the oven and the bottom of it is burnt. I now have the top have cake in small pieces in a tuperware in the fridge. I am glad to say that part tasted good. An oven thermometer is on my ‘to purchase’ list so that next time the science of baking will not fail me.

All because I wanted a piece of cake.

cosmetology school

Today my mailbox contained two items:
1-The fifth disk of Alias Season 1 compliments of Netflix. This I will enjoy.
2-A brochure from Remington College for cosmetology school. Ok...the inside of the brochure says I could also become a personal fitness trainer, massage therapist, or a medical assistant through 8 - 12 months of school at any of the 19 campuses across the nation. Can I count the ways in which they waisted paper?

arriving in nashville

I recently received an email from a friend titled “Breathing Check.” Yes, I am alive. Alive and well. I haven’t written as life has been busy, and the beginning of my time here was trying in its own way. On day three in town I found my one of my car windows busted and my car stereo stolen. Annoying at any time, day three was in the midst of painting multiple rooms in my house, living with friends to 45 minutes away to avoid sleeping amongst the paint fumes, learning the roads in a new town, and starting a new job. So it took a little longer to be able to write a sane blog than I thought it would. Since day three I have managed to finish the wall painting, move in, find some random pieces of needed furniture, unpack most of my crap, get the car fixed, start to figure out the new job, have a few good nights of hanging out with people from the office, and general avoid traumatic events. As the police officer said, it should all be uphill from here.

moving my crap

The moving van is loaded with my crap. By crap I really mean my treasures, except that they are mostly not. It is really the memories that are attached to these objects or the possibilities that they represent that somehow transform them into treasures.

My Jordanian serving dishes are a memory of seven years spent in the Holy Land, a reminder of Arab hospitality, and the possibility of many a good meal to be served to friends. The Palestinian wine glasses hold memories of long nights of merriment. Although I have yet to break one, I bought 18 with the hope of being left with a small set 20 years later with which to continue to make memories.

There is a box of pottery that represents a year of being soothed by the repetition of a potter’s wheel, of letting beauty be created from my hurt and exhaustion. There are fragrant spices that have slowly been collected from around the world that bring my food to life. There are boxes of journal papers and field notebooks that are a testimony to five years of research at Notre Dame and in Benin. There are boxes of photos and enlarged prints that are a reminder of where I have been and the people that fill my heart.

There is an art table at which to create. There is a breakfast nook at which to serve meals. There is camping gear galore. There is a bed on which to sleep.

These are all just things, just crap of one sort or another. I could loose it all and I would still be complete, and yet in moving it from my home to what will become my home, there is a process of remembering. A processes of saying goodbye, letting go, and opening the arms and heart wide to the next place that will hold all my crap.

An so, tomorrow morning circa 7am, the moving van, me, and all my crap are on the road to Nashville.

making the new york times

Sometimes you just have to brag, and I feel like making The New York Times is a braggable event. On Sunday MC, my little brother, had an article published in Nature Methods, a highly respected technical journal. Then his accomplishments were made available to the masses through an article in The New York Times. The article came out on Tuesday and is available online here.

sometimes i am just a kid

19 June 2008

For example, last weekend I was at a festival in a little town in the Midwest. The one thing that I simply HAD to do while I was there was get a blue ‘Hawaiian Shaved Ice’ (aka snow cone). You have to understand that it is critical to ask for blue, not ‘blue raspberry’ because that somehow ‘blue raspberry’ makes it seem more grown-up and takes a little bit of magic out of the event. I love the whole experience. I love the anticipation of all the blue goodness, the sweetness of the flavored ice, the brain freeze, the slurred speech complements of a very cold tongue, and, best of all, a wonderfully blue mouth, tongue, and lips. I hope the glory of a blue snow cone is never lost on me.

Today it was the anticipation of an upgrade, free movies, and Biscoff cookies. Compliments of the air miles logged on transantlantic and cross-country flights, I sometimes get free upgrades to first class when traveling in the US of A. But, I pretty much never know until I am about to board a plane if I get that magical upgrade that provides larger, more comfortable seats and endless supplies of drink and snacks. So I hope and enjoy the anticipation. Today there was no such upgrade.

When I got on the 767, I pulled out the inflight magazine as it provides all critical information concerning what movie(s) I will get to enjoy on the flight. Maybe a movie I was hoping to see or maybe one I did not want to spend the money to rent but might just be decent (at least decent enough for a plane ride) or maybe an old favorite. Instead the magazine informed me that, unless I was on a transatlantic flight (somehow flying from Atlanta to LA does not qualify) or flying first class (see above described disappointment), I had to pay to watch a movie. Sure, the systems were ‘on demand’ so I could fast forward, rewind, etc., but it now costs $6 for this benefit. Disappointment.

Then there is the beverage service. Given the general trauma that the airlines are facing complements soaring gas prices, I should be thankful that there is any beverage service at all. Of course all of the alcohol costs, and now the food too. I pulled out the food brochure to see what there was to offer should I fancy spending some money on food that used to be free. All sorts of random things, but no Biscoff cookies, the signature Delta cookie. Trauma. I LOVE them. Then, I see the fine print at the bottom....Peanuts, crackers, and Biscoff cookies are FREE snacks. Needless to say I just finished my cookies. I wonder if Biscoff cookies would hold the same appeal on solid land. I honestly don’t know. But, should you happen to visit me, fly Delta on the way, and decide to save your cookies because you were stuffed from your airport meal, you might just be rewarded with a goofy, happy grin that would likely cover my entire face.

the brother's graduation

CC graduated a day after me....in a city five hours away. It made for a long but fantastic weekend filled with family, friends, food, ceremonies, and some sleep.

CC helps to design, build, and race 'Baja' cars every year. This year's car is nearly ready and will be raced the beginning of June.

The whole family.

With the parentals (yeah...CC's height is not normal for our family).

The biological kids.

With the wife.

Yeah...he's done with school and off to vacation and then a job!

dr. pam

Before ceremony with hood in hand.

Being hooded by my advisor.


Receiving diploma.

Triumphant.


With my advisor after the ceremony.

With the family minus youngest brother (he was in Cleveland due to his ceremony the next day).

In front of the 'Golden Dome'.

On the balcony of the Main Building, home to the 'Golden Dome'.

The hood in all of its glory.

Again, on the balcony of the Main Building, the Basilica in the background.

My favorite globe on campus.

tomorrow: my graduation

graduation in indy

Last weekend I returned to Indy for BQ's graduation from IU's Master of Social Work program. BQ has been a kindred spirit through the past few years as we have both been working on our respective degrees. She started working on the degree part-time while working full time--back when she was still single. Since then she switched to working on the degree full time, got engaged and then married. She excelled at the program she chose, and has worked hard to prepare to be a social worker. As we sat on her front porch a few weeks ago, we laughed about how we have both just finished another batch of schooling and are preparing for what we hope to be fulfilling, though not highly lucrative careers. So here is a shout-out to a kindred spirit who got to wear a fantastic robe, cap, and hood last weekend!

road trip: back to the bend

The day after I returned home, I had a lovely brunch with two of my girls: RC and SR. It was delightful! For those of you who have followed this blog for a while and know the third 'girl', LL, she was on her way back from the Kentucky Derby. Fun times for all!

road trip stop six: cleveland, ohio

ok...I've been back for a while, so these posts are a bit delayed....

Here I chilled with brother CC and sister-in-law EC. Highlights include the farmer's market, great food (think salmon, crepes, fresh raspberries), spending a day replacing the speakers and stereo in George (aka ' my faithful car'), and riding on CC's motorcycle.
For the record, in this picture I am in an empty parking lot in first gear...I am much more practiced at being a passenger!

road trip stop five: atlanta, georgia

Spent a couple days chilling with brother MC in Atlanta. In this picture he is finding out that he has lost a bet...good thing we just bet a beer.

Meet MC's girlfriend LL. She has been the inspiration of MC's starting to cook. MC wowed me with two outstanding breakfasts and three fantastic dinners. May they continue to cook to create many a good meal together!

raod trip stop four: athens, georgia

When KJ and I lived together, Saturday morning tradition was waffles or french toast, fresh fruit, and coffee or tea. 9 times out 10 KJ would wake me up by loudly starting to pull pans out of cupboards or by the smell of coffee. We resurrected the tradition... I think we will always be breakfast buddies.

We went wedding dress shopping, but just in case she chooses one of the dresses tried on for her July wedding, I figured I should keep the photos of KJ being beautiful in white safe on my computer. Instead, us after lunch.

road trip stop three: nashville, tennesse

Me & JB in front of a Vanderbilt University building. As you can see below, it was a rather pretty campus.

For some reason I was not shutter happy this trip and so things that were done but not captured on film, or really, sd memory card...going downtown to Broadway for live music and drinks, friends I stayed with and their lively and imaginative four year old daughter, Lebanese and Ethiopian food.

road trip stop two: indianapolis, indiana

Enjoying a beautiful afternoon on the front porch with BQ (formerly BT). BQ got off work a little early, so we indulged in some food with addictive properties and a couple games of cribbage. Once again the husband, JQ, was missing thanks to work...

road trip stop one: upland, indiana

The road trip has been great thus far, which has left little time for blogging or writing about it. Instead of holding out on photos for a time when I might or might not get around to tossing in details, here are a few images from the road of the people I have seen.

Antiquing with JD. (Husband CD opted out of this excursion to do the responsible thing and write a lecture.)

Chilling with SM & CM. For those of you who know SM, she is doing great and sends her greetings.