Give Thanks...The View Eleven Years Ago

 This photo popped up in my social media memories (okay, it was Facebook...). Eleven years.

A lot has changed.

You could not replicate this photo even if you tried. First of all, the amusement park in the distance no longer has that skyline. They've added to it. Now, a ride called Cannibal towers over the Ferris Wheel. The trees you see in front of the rides have changed, too. There are now homes where the trees used to be and many of those pines are gone.

Speaking of trees, where we once had an incredible western views, the trees planted on that side of the house grew taller. We felt like we were being surrounded by trees. Normally, this isn't a bad thing, but when it slowly removes one of the advantages of living on a hillside, it makes a difference.

Still, I miss those sunsets. I enjoyed them for five decades while living on that street. The island, the lake (when it was there...) all added up to some spectacular views.

I'm thankful for those views, for the amusement park, the trees, the sunsets that made those memories. I'm thankful for the beautiful world I'm fortunate enough to experience and enjoy. I'm thankful I was able to call that street and mountainside home, a place where I grew up, learned so many things.

Eleven years...

So much has changed.

Man...I've Missed Slapfish

My wife and I found ourselves in the town where I lived for half a century today. We were passing through and decided to stop for lunch. "Where should we eat?" I asked.

"Slapfish," my wife said.

Bingo.

It's been years since we visited the restaurant. Back when we lived a few miles from the restaurant, we didn't eat there every week, or every month, but it was a reliable go-to place for us. What we especially liked was we could order one meal and split it between the both of us. Good food and cheap as well. And the fact that seafood is one of my wife's favorite foods only adds to our love of the place.

Today, we bought one meal and split it. The photo is actually half of their fish and chips serving.

As we drove through Davis County, we discussed things we missed about our old stomping grounds. One thing we missed was good restaurants. It's not that the restaurants where we now live are bad, there just isn't many of them. 

We do not miss the traffic.

As we ate we wished they would build a Snapfish restaurant somewhere north. Ogden is acceptable, but Logan would be great. Maybe one day it will happen.

Time will tell. 

Man...I Miss Harmons

 

We've enjoyed our new home, new neighborhood, new town. The air is clean, the people are friendly almost to a fault, and the pace is slower. It's been a little slice of heaven, but yesterday I had to go to our old grocery store where we used to live because we just couldn't find Horseradish root...

Man, I miss Harmons.

There are, of course, things I don't miss about the store...mostly the prices. We didn't buy everything from there, but there are certain things in that store we couldn't find other places, or if we did, they were much farther away from where we lived.

I found the horseradish root and just looked around, took everything in. It's such a nice place to shop. We have stores in our little town, two grocery stores in fact. They are okay and possess a certain charm. If fact, my son works at one of them. But, they can't justify stocking the things we'd find at Harmons--few stores can. We just don't have the people. It's as simple as that.

There are many things we miss, the people, the mountain, the memories that return when I would walk down a city street or visit the same buildings I visited as a child. We're making new memories now and I suppose that's what life is all about--adapting to change, accepting it, embracing it.

Of course, if Harmons decided to build a store up north, I would not complain.

Give Thanks...Kind Of Missed The Party This Year...

 This past week, the town where I lived for many years had their annual city celebration. If was once called "Fiesta Days," but fearing the wrath of men, they changed it to "Festival Days."

So much better...

I'd have to say I took the event for granted for many years. Sure, we'd watch the fireworks signaling the end of the festivities, and sometimes I'd even watch the parade in person (a time or two I was in the parade...). But, I never really took the celebration too much to heart. Last year we could no longer call ourselves citizens of the city and we missed the event. This year, however, I missed it both literally and figuratively. 

The first thing that got to us this year was the announcement of the 2022 Festival Days Grand Marshalls, Betty and Woody Whitlock. We've been neighbors to the Whitlocks for decades...finer people you cannot find. They are loving, giving, and most of all, hilarious. When you think, "Salt of the Earth," they should have a picture of them in the dictionary under that phrase. We would have loved to have seen them waiving to the crowds as their car lazily drove down Main Street. We would have gone to the parade for sure this year just for them.

The town to the north and east of where we now live held a similar celebration this past weekend. They had a parade and fireworks. We missed the parade and caught the fireworks. It wasn't the same. And that's okay--communities should be unique and not try to be like something they're not.

Yes, I have a good idea of how things transpired about 50 miles to the south of us the past couple of days. Runners exhausted themselves at the Fun Run, kids scrambled for thrown candy on the parade route, goods and services were exchanged on the park next to the elementary school I attended and the baseball diamonds where I played. And in the evening, the townsfolk peered skyward as explosions of light and sounds delighted the residents and their friends and families.

Yeah, sort of missed the old town this year. I'm grateful for the memories.

Bringing Back The Memories...

 I saw the poster hanging at a local pizza joint. It was flashy and bright and had an attention-grabbing photo. The sole purpose (or main purpose...) of the poster is to get you excited to the point that you will go out and order tickets to the event.

To me, the poster transported me back about fifty or so years.

I doubt those creating the poster thought it would have that affect on anyone.

In the early 1970s, my father worked as a civilian contractor at Hill Air Force Base. Unfortunately, he passed away before I could get to know all the things he did, but I do know one of the perks of his job was scoring tickets to the local rodeos and demolition derbies that took place a few miles from our home.

Yes, I remember going to those events at the grandstand at Lagoon Amusement Park.

Many of the "old timers" remember it, too.

If I remember (and it's been a while...), Friday night was demolition derby night and the rodeos were on Saturdays. If you look in the photo of the field, the grandstand is visible in the lower right-hand corner. They tore out the rodeo fence and fairground buildings before this photo was taken. Going to the fair each summer was a lot of fun as well.

In a few days, people will gather including families, to watch and enjoy people climb into vehicles and crash the crap out of them. I wonder if those kids will see a poster advertising an event and remember back when they were young and they went to a demolition derby at the Box Elder County Fairgrounds in Tremonton, Utah.

I hope so. Those will most likely be great memories.

Give Thanks...The Post I Cannot Share

Last night, I snapped several photographs, even took a video to remember the closing of another season of an incredible show.

I can show you almost none of it.

What I can show you is a photo of the venue (what it looks like on the outside...), and the mask I wore when I greeted the attendees as I stood outside with them and waited for the shows to begin.

Other than that...nope.

I am one of a select few that is allowed to see "behind the curtain" of the show...I get to see the inner workings, see how the sausage is made. Oh, and there's little thing called a "non-disclosure agreement" that prohibits me from posting those pictures or that video.

I'd sure love, too...

But I won't, or better, can't.

I'd love to show you just how special the show is, how amazing it is, how  completely dedicated to one singular purpose it is and it fulfills that purpose extremely well.

Basically, the show scares people.

I'm grateful I've been associated with Lagoon's Seance since its inception. I've worked with some of the most talented people I know all dedicated to scare the bejebbers out of all those who enter that non-assuming door. Yes, I'd love to share more, but the best I can do is invite you to come experience Seance yourself next year. And maybe...just maybe, I'll see you there.

Give Thanks...Family Traditions

 If, in the next couple of days, you find yourself meandering around the Farmington Utah Cemetery, you may come across a humble pumpkin sitting atop a headstone. Of all the headstones in that particular cemetery, that particular one means the most to me, and of all the pumpkins in the world, that one sitting alone on the cold earth means the most to me.

This morning, I picked up the pre-selected pumpkin, hollowed it out, and carved into it three words and a tiny spider. Some say I was preparing for Halloween, but actually, I was carrying on a family tradition, one I've kept alive or decades. It's the Jack-O-Lantern I carved for my mom before her birthday.

I am thankful for family traditions. I don't know if we have more or less than other families when it comes to traditions. I've only been associated with mine, and my wife's. Most of our traditions center around holidays, and I suppose the Happy Birthday pumpkin falls in that category. I'd like to think I'd do something similar even if it weren't close to Halloween.

Yes, the headstone means the most, the pumpkin means the most, and one of the three words I carved earlier today is one of the most important words I've ever known...

Mom.

Happy birthday, Mom (in a few days...). Same time next year.

Considering Flipping Some Property...? Give Amanda And Jared A Call

 In the fall of 2000, my then five-year old son and I decided to audition for a community theater production of Scrooge. Thus began an incredible period of my life that has brought experiences and memories I'll hopefully cherish forever. Another thing I'll cherish is the relationships forged and friendships made. Not only are the people on stage amazingly talented, but so are the talents they have when not on the stage.

Case in point, Amanda and Jared Morgan.

I've been fortunate to share the stage with both of them. They're both wicked talented in their singing, dancing, and acting skills, but what they can do to refurbish and transform a room (or an old camper trailer...), is almost more impressive.

I came across a  Facebook post from this couple. They are looking for investors with which they can work to transform existing properties and turn them into spectacular works of art. I've only included one photo from that Facebook post, but there are more to see, and if you're seriously in need of people with their particular talents, give them a call. Or, even if you need project that needs a hand and you're in the area, they might be perfect for those tasks, too.

Yes, in those twenty-plus years on the stage, I've meet many impressive people. Amanda and Jared are prime examples of what I'm talking about.

I Guess We're Starting New Traditions...

 When you make a major life change (new job, moving, etc...), you find you miss some things, but not so much other things. One thing I realized after our move last fall that I had taken for granted was our proximity to the cemetery where so many family, friends, and loved ones are laid to rest.

For almost fifty years, I was able to get in my car and drive to the cemetery about a mile away from our house. I could visit my parent's graves, place flowers, or a carved pumpkin at Halloween any time I wanted. I'd then just turn around and travel the mile back to our home.

Those days are gone.

This week was the first Memorial Day were we had to travel. It's only about an hour away from our old house...still, we needed to make some plans. We packed a lunch, carpooled and met the rest of the family at noon. After putting flowers on the graves, we sat in the shade of a huge tree and enjoyed each other's company.

It hit me, as I snapped a picture or two of the gathering, it was the first time we've ever done that. I don't think I've ever had a meal at the cemetery, let alone, a meal with my extended family. As we chatted, we talked about how we'll be doing this again...a new family tradition has been born.

There are a lot of things I miss about the old home--many of those things I've gotten over fairly easily. But, not being close to the folks...I can say I'll miss that a lot.

Give Thanks...Preserving History

 Before--and after--I visited my dentist who dug out an old filling and replaced it with a new non-metal one, I noticed something. In my old home town, they like to preserve history. I saw it inside the dentist's office--a photo montage of famous buildings in the city, and I saw it outside the office--restoring buildings and putting up markers.

Without history, you cannot understand the future.

One could say I've tried to preserve history, and in some small way I have. As I get older I can't seem to get enough of historical photos, memorabilia, basically anything having to do with history. I wish I had studied it more in my youth.

There's an effort to re-write history. I'm not going to get into the pros and cons, but I think it's a dangerous thing. History, even uncomfortable history (especially uncomfortable history...) must be preserved. It must be studied and known so it will not be repeated. 

It was refreshing and comforting to see the lengths at which the small town is going to preserve history. I'm sure it's happening where we now live--I just need to go check it out. I"m thankful for those who chose to do the work it takes to preserve history.

I have no idea if my blog posts or journal entries will be preserved. I mean, I'll do my best to preserve them, but once I'm gone, what will happen to them? I'll have no control at that point. Heck, every digital entry I've ever written could be erased in the blink of an eye. And all my journals could fly away in a tornado or get destroyed in a fire. The important thing is to do what we can to remember the way things used to be.

...Like It Was Never There

 Took a trip to my old stomping grounds yesterday, and I literally mean, my old "stomping grounds." As a kid, teenager, even adult I walked, ran, biked, skateboarded, drove, tracked, and stomped over the sidewalks, roads, trails, parking lots of Farmington.

We drove downtown. There's not much there, as far as downtowns go...a few buildings, government offices, mostly. Like most small towns, the growth has occurred away from the center of the city, where more people now live. We drove by the old Davis County Courthouse, or Davis Covnty Covrt Hovse, as it is engraved in the granite above the main entrance. It's where Jay Hess gave a speech after being freed as a Vietnam P.O.W. and where I dressed up with hundreds of other elementary school-aged children and welcomed him home. 

It's where I ran around with my friends, playing hide-and-seek, investigating the building like buried treasure was somehow hidden inside. It's where I served for my one and only time on jury duty. It's were I voted as an adult and completed other adult functions, like registering my car and where I attended American Legion meetings.

We learned before we moved the building was to undergo changes. Basically, they were returning the building to its original condition, smaller. Back when it was built, the government didn't need all that space. Now, since the government has grown exponentially and numerous buildings have been built to handle all they do, the old court house wasn't needed.

Change.

It's interesting. We drove by the building and I noticed that the original outside walls, that were inside walls for decades, and are now outside walls once again. Experts and craftsman will restore the building, plug the holes, and generations will grow up never knowing that the building was more than double the new size. They'll just see an old relic of generations past. They'll know the building the way the ones who built it knew it.

It's like the additions never were there.

Change is good, at least, it can be. Might as well accept it because it's the only constant. 

You Can Really Never Go Home...

 For the first time since moving, I went back last Tuesday.

And I realized, I can never really go home again.

When I say Farmington Utah was my hometown, that's exactly what it was. I was such a part of that community (and that community was such a part of me...), that I could not even consider me being a citizen of any other city. I saw homes be built, entire neighborhoods rose from the ground, streets cleared, then paved, children grow to adulthood, and saw dozens of its citizens pass away, my parents included.

For fifty years, I was Farmington, and it was me.

But that's gone.

And it's never coming back.

The concept of "home" is tricky. During my grade school years, home was me, my brother, sister, and mom living on our street. After I got married and began a family of my own, we moved back to that street, eventually building a house I still love. When my mom passed away four years later, it was still home...

But, was it really?

Looking back, I don't think so. I think once my mom died, it was my home, my family's home, but not the home that it used to be. If we sold our home and moved back--even moved back to the same street, the same house, it wouldn't be home tomorrow, it wouldn't be home--something's forever changed. Sure, we can return, but my mom can't. I'll never have that again, my siblings living together, under the same roof. No, home disappeared years ago. I was holding on to memories, to ghosts and calling it home.

It was a strange feeling standing in the parking lot of the Rock Hotel Dental building, looking up at the mountain I considered as much of my own as anyone's. And yet, there was no longer a claim, a feeling of ownership, of belonging. 

Since leaving, I wondered how I would feel when I came back. I'm not necessarily sad, or bitter, or regretful. I think the realization that it's never going to be the place it once was--for me--was the thing that surprised me the most. I'll always love that place, my childhood--then adult--memories of those streets, those homes, those incredible sunsets, the sounds of Lagoon in summer, even the howling winds, the mountain trails, and the smell of the lake when a storm blew in. That little town is part of my D.N.A...

It's just no longer "home."

Goodnight...Sweet Angel

 When you get the news that someone has passed, if you knew that person in any capacity, reality sort of stops for a moment. It's as if that spirit that dwelled with you in the same space, the same realm is missing. 

A void opens, and you feel alone.

But, when that spirit is special--and I mean "special" in every definition of that word--the loss is unique, as unique as the personality contained in that imperfect shell.

We found out this week a former neighbor passed away. Condolences have flowed on social media and the word that best describes her is, "angel." 

And she truly was.

There are so many things I don't understand in this life, so many mysteries, so many unknowns. I have no idea the reasons for her physical limitations. I chalk it up to a higher understanding, a higher law, a higher love. It's most likely something my brain cannot possibly comprehend. But, I do know what I know, and I know that this girl possessed the ability to make those around her feel the love she had for others. It's a rare gift very few have.

I had not seen much of my neighbor in the past couple of years, and due to covid, people with compromised immunity were just not there. Since we moved, chances were good that we may not have the chance to see her again in this life, to see that smile, to get that hug. But, hearing the news doesn't lessen the impact.

Goodnight, sweet angel. Whether you knew it or not, you made our lives better and you will be truly missed.

Small Town...

 Publishing a blog post can be a strange thing sometimes. When I first began this little electronic journal, I wondered what people would like to read. Then, after a while, it became too much work trying to constantly figure out what others wanted to read--especially writing every day--so I ended up writing about things that interested me more than the public at large.

This isn't to say I'm not considering my audience when I write and post something. It's just in order to come up with stuff to write about every day, it's got to be something I want to write about.

Case in point, I'm going to write a lot about the recent move our family made, or in other words, I'm going to continue writing about this move, because I've already dedicated many a post to our decision.

Yesterday, as my wife and I headed to one of the two local hardware stores in town, I snapped a quick picture of the moon rising above the eastern mountains. It's not a great picture, as far as the composition is concerned, but for me it represents the small town where we now find ourselves. It's also the view from our front porch. The picture--the hamlet--remind me of a John Mellencap song, Small Town.

Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probably die in a small town
Oh, those small communities

All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity, hey

Educated in a small town
Taught to fear Jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic that's me

But I've seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an LA doll and
Brought her to this small town
Now she's small town just like me

No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be

Got nothing against the big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look who's in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and that's good enough for me

Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And that's probably where they'll bury me

Now, the lyrics don't follow my journey exactly. I was born in Ogden and in 1965 it was a lot smaller than it is now, but even back then, I doubt anyone would call it a "small town" as indicated by the spirit of Mr. Mellencamp's song. Nor did I marry a LA doll, and all of my friends are not small town, many are medium to large town.

But, I feel I grew up in a small town and I'm beginning to feel many of the same things I remember Farmington to have been many years ago.

I know I'll be writing about this little community more and more as we begin to add our story to its story. I'm sorry if it's redundant, but it's where we live now. And soon, it'll become more and more a part of us as it comes to be our home.

It Is Over...We Are Exhausted

 Tonight, we drove back into town to clear out the old house. We moved Saturday, but as we founded the final bend on Main Street and descended toward the city center, it felt like we'd been gone a month. We had to return to do a little cleaning and pick up other things we forgot to take.

We're exhausted.

It's been such a surreal experience, waking up the first time in the new home and realizing this is the new normal. I know I've blogged many times about this change in our lives, and I apologize I haven't been more diverse in my blog post topics, but this move has enveloped us, surrounded us, consumed us and now, after driving away and saying, "Everyone say, 'By house,'" after which we said, "By house," we realized, it's over.

Thank you to all our neighbors. Thank you for those who assisted in the move. Thank you for making our lives and the lives of our children a blessed time. I have no idea what's ahead. Personally, I think that's for the best (it's not good to know too much about your future...). All I know is, I am the person I am because of that town, that street, that house. And that person is tired and ready for bed.

Adventure is out there! Time to go find it.

Location, Location, Location...Works Every Time

 

 Earlier in the week we drove around the neighborhood one last time and stopped to talk to many neighbors. There are some wonderful people living in those streets at the base of the Davis County mountains. 

I had seen the pink Jeep a few days before. It looked like a US Mail Jeep, meaning the driver sat on the opposite side--England Style--than cars in America. The color and the big speaker on top gave it away--someone's planning on selling ice cream. When we spoke to Charity, the owner, my suspicions were confirmed.

Saturday morning was total chaos at our house. We had several burley dudes from Red Barn Movers literally running through our house, upstairs, downstairs, main level--it was exhausting just watching them. Then, I heard the music, soft at first, then it grew. I knew instantly what and who it was.

The pink Jeep came musically rolling down our street.

I know it wasn't a park full of tired, soccer-playing kids and their equally tired parents hungry for a delicious diversion, but I decided to treat the the movers anyway. I bought something for each worker, and one for myself.

Location, location, location.

I don't know if Charity came by because we were moving, or if she just looked down the end of 325 East as she drove by and decided to turn in. Either way, I'm glad she did. I'm glad I could do something for the boys who worked so hard for us.

I'm glad someone had a dream to do something different, something fun and took a chance. And I hope she has many more successful weekends selling treats to the masses.

And I hope that music doesn't drive her crazy.

When You See A McLaren Parked On The Street...You Take A Picture

 As I drove from our street on my way to new adventures, I spotted something orange parked on the hill. Since there was no other cars coming or going, I slowed down to see if I could identify the make.

McLaren.

The fact that I had to slow down reinforced something I already knew...I don't know my supercars. Sure, Ferrari and Lamborghini have distinct looks. I suppose you could say so does McLaren. Back in the day, I used to check out the car magazines at the local drug store. That was about the only way to really catch up on the latest supercar news.

I was never so obsessed that I knew every line, every curve of every car. Sure, I had my favorites, but I never had a poster of a car on my wall growing up (truth be told, I didn't have many posters on my walls growing up...). Part of the reason I didn't go full fan-boy over cars like some of my friends was because I didn't see the point of it. I mean, more than likely, I was never going to be able to afford those cars, anyway. That turned out to be true.

I think part of the reason, or much of the reason in some cases, for buying a car like this is because people look at it. And when they look at it and you're in it, they look at you. It says something about the person in the car and the person looking.

Today, I slowed down, stopped, lowered my window and took a picture. I guess both the owner and the admirer were doing their part.

Good-Bye Street...It's Been An Adventure

 Today, as we grabbed every unboxed thing and shoved it into a box, I took a break and walked to the end of my street and snapped a single picture.

My street...

Soon, it won't be my street anymore.

My family moved to this street when I was four-years old. I remember some things. I remember the road was dirt and where homes and grass grow, there stood cherry and apricot trees. In fact, where I stood to take the picture was about twenty feet underground. There were no homes between the Warnocks to the west and the Kennards to the east. We built, then the Bargers, then the Seeleys, then others. Most have gone, some remain.

That was fifty years ago.

We're about to dismantle our bed so it will be easier for the movers to shove it into a big box on wheels and ship it sixty miles north, our lives, our memories of seventeen years and more in two trucks. We'll leave behind an empty house and a bit of our hearts.

It wasn't always great--both my parents died in the house my father began to build. I miss them. With us going, no Taylors will live on 325 East anymore. I'm sad, but excited. I'm nervous, but calmed in knowing it is time.

Good-bye, Farmington. We've loved you and you've treated us well. On to the next!

What I See...When I Look East

I have lived—off and on—on the same street for half a century. When you live in the same place for that long, you get used to the view. What we see looking west is incredible, the sunsets, the storm rolling in, but the mountains to the east are incredible, too—sometimes more so.

Tonight, the mountain displayed its autumn colors, not as brilliant as other years, but beautiful none the less. Ever since I was a little kid, there’s been some rock formations I’ve identified—they look like things to me. Maybe you’ll see them too, maybe not. That’s okay. We all see things differently.

Here’s what I saw tonight, and what I’ve seen so many times in the last five decades.

First...well, there’s Flag Rock. We have an excellent view of the formation. What impresses me most is that for a few miles north or south, if you’re at a certain elevation, Flag Rock rises like a huge stone pimple on the mountain face. It’s something many Farmingtonites know, like a stone lighthouse hundreds of feet above.

The next thing I see is what I think looks like an old football helmet. I call it the Football Helmet Rock Formation (original, I know...). The flat surface must be a shear wall, and big. I can’t see anything else when I look at it.

Then, there’s the rock formation above Patsy’s Mine. I’ve heard from many that the mine’s now sealed up. I’m sure they have their reasons for doing this and to them, the reasons are good. To me, I’m sad to know hundreds—maybe even thousands of kids—will no longer have the thrill of seeing just how deep they can venture into the mine before turning back.

There’s a couple of other things I see. A little south of those three I can spot what looks like an old craggy face. It wasn’t until the Harry Potter films came along that I realized the rock looks like a hat-less Sorting Hat. Still, it’s always had that crooked smile I love.

A little down from the face is another face. This time I see what could be a face—maybe a George Washington face—in the mountain. The eye socket and nose are definitely there.

And last, the hill is covered with huge fields of rocks, places where bigger rocks succumbed to nature and have gathered together. It’s hard to see from this angle, but I always thought this lower rock field looks like a running dog, some sort of terrier.

There’s so much I’m going to miss when we pack up and drive away later this week. This mountain and the things I see is definitely one of them.

Tonight's Wild Sky...

Tonight I opened the back door to our deck. It smelled like rain. It's a smell we haven't had for a long time. We could see filtering clouds descending, but we felt no rain...maybe it's too warm for the rain to reach the ground.

I hope that changes.

But, rain or no rain, the sky opened up and went wild.

I tried capturing what I saw as best I could, but it's a poor representation at best.

Such is life.

The past month, we've had some amazing sunsets, mostly due to wild fires burning in the west. Still, I believe clouds help to make the best sunsets. Tonight, we had them.

I'm just going to post what I took and include a video, or maybe two (you might catch some thunder and lightning in the videos, too...). It's something we haven't seen in a while--thought I'd share.