The December Post

frazzlecatOk peoples, it is almost Christmas and I thought another erratic post was necessary to complete a year of crappy blogging behavior. Let us face it. The year 2017 has been crap for lots of reasons. Some of those reasons such as attitude towards stuff entirely controlled by me, is working well. The rest of those reasons like republicans and how low down and despicable greedy old white men can become is not. Watching your country become a monstrosity is not working out at all. I dislike how many folks in this country embrace their ignorance proudly. My country is in turmoil and this irks me. How does one old lady fight against ignorance, bigotry, greed, and political treachery?

My mood is all that I am in control of at present. I am the mistress of my mood. The queen of my mean. The ice of my nice. The flurry of my fury.

Yup, I control my ladylike disposition excepting for those times Mr. Dave irks me beyond my ability to ignore his male silliness. All husbands have the ability to rankle their wives to a point where the poor wife embraces her Netflix and begins watching marathon episodes of CSI for inspiration. I am no different from any other spouse. I can be over irked.

The ability to vex is embedded in the husband DNA. With time, patience, and a cup of Sangria, one learns to ignore most husbandly irk fests. I, myself, concentrate only upon on those moments of husbandly vexation which must be addressed because I cannot ever avoid my duty to stomp the crap out of all that is beyond stupid. Mr. Dave knows this. Yet, he is unable to desist in his need to test how far he can go before my rage blooms. Mr. Dave is an expert vexer as am I. This is why we are able to coexist in the same dimension.

Anyways, this year I didn’t feel much like blogging so I didn’t. I devoted all free time to posting vents on Facebook and arguing with fellow idiots over which of us is more stupid. It was cathartic and, possibly, unnecessary. It made me feel better to vent at the stupids. I have a renewed respect and feel blessed for having had parents who believed in education and who taught their kids by example as well as words that empathy, kindness, and knowledge are the very best qualities to attain in life. That reading books and newspapers, and periodicals was not only a lifelong joy, but it also informed you and expanded your interests in stuff other than yourself. That educating your brain on a daily basis is a good thing and education beyond high school should be a right for every member of our society to access.

If nothing else, the year 2017 has exposed me to how vast the acceptance that education has become a luxury and not a given. Too many of our people have not learned how much ignorance narrows the opportunities and the minds of folks and oppresses them. A dumbed down population is more easily led to the slaughter. Dumb citizens are what crumbles democracies and turns republics into dictatorships. Dumb citizens let someone else decide for them what is right, what is just, and who is worthier of being treated like a human being. Ok, enough of the ranting.

So, December is upon us once again. The holidays are approaching. The traditions must be observed. I am adhering to my annual Christmas cookie ordeal. My plan is to enjoy each and every day of the season. I might even write a blog or two about it. As always, I am besotted with reading the work of my more diligent blogger buddies. You guys rock!

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When I realized we are involved in the month of August and that I have procrastinated in my blogging duties, I wasn’t shocked. Didn’t faint. Did not look at the cat with an apologetic expression and beg him to forgive me of my sin of blog neglect. Is blog neglect even a sin? No matter. It is August and my silence has been long. It is, at present, over.

So, today I decided to purge my lazy and perform positive stuff and return to being a joy filled verbalista! That probably isn’t a real word because I just made it up. But it does provide a term encompassing my passion for the English language with my love of coffee.

In another life, I probably was a barista working for some feudal era coffee house that permitted employees to drink one free cup of dark roast Columbian per shift. Only on break, of course. If a scone or two went missing, it was probably me that took it. I like to dunk edible stuff in my coffee. I probably wasn’t very keen at paying full price for a crumbly old scone, so I took it and dunked it and ate it and did not pay for it. I am pretty sure I was one of those devious baristas who could do dastardly things like pilfer the scones and get away with it.

I am digressing a tad. The general idea is that I am going to post more stuff than I have been. I shall jibber jabber and post the results. I would swear not mention politics, religions, or anything that reminds me of spiders; but, where’s the fun in that? Nothing is off limits to this verbalista.  

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The Super Phone Post

cphonMy cell phone died.  It quit behaving like a reliable electronic device, went into cardiac arrest several times during the week, and was eventually pronounced a piece of dead and useless junk by Mr. Dave, our resident expert on all things electronic.

“It won’t charge beyond 1%,” I complained to Mr. Dave when I placed my ailing phone into his hands so that he could make it work again.

Mr. Dave immediately went into what I call his guy-in-fix-it mode.  He began fiddling with buttons and thoroughly examining the cell phone to determine what caused it to quit working.  I am used to dealing with Mr. Dave while he is in the fix it mode. I have years of experience dealing with it.

There are two rules that govern proper guy-in-fix-it mode conduct.  Rule one, do not speak a word while the guy mind is focusing on stuff.  Rule two, stay within three feet of the guy because questions will need to be asked and answered by whomever placed the object requiring fixing into the hands of the guy.

So, I handed the phone to Mr. Dave and sat down to wait to answer any potential questions.  This is obviously a very boring activity for me.  I was never very good at being quiet as a mouse when I was a child.  As an adult, I can last several minutes when I am on my game.  Usually, I do a couple of silent chores while I wait.  I plan the weekly menu or mentally add items to the grocery list in my head or wonder what the cat is doing?

I was just in the process of wondering if our cookie jar contained anything but useless crumbs when Mr. Dave began questioning me about the events leading up to the demise of my phone.

“Did you plug it in the charger correctly,” he asked as he fiddled with the button on the side of the phone that I was once told by him was never, ever to be fiddled with.

“Of course, I plugged it into the charger thingy,” I answered.

“Did you do it correctly?”

“Yes,” I replied in a defensive tone.

I really wasn’t sure if I had plugged it in correctly, but I had plugged it in several times. I was almost sure I had done it properly at least one or two of those times.

“Where is your charger?” asked Mr. Dave.

“Right next to you where I put it ten minutes ago,” I answered using my irked wife voice.

I suspected that Mr. Dave was doubting my ability to properly plug the charger cord into the phone.  It was obvious he was recalling those very few times when I might have mistakenly plugged it in incorrectly.  I immediately entered hostile wife mode.  It was not my fault the stupid piece of plastic crap wouldn’t charge!

Mr. Dave blithely ignored any irritated glares I might have sent his way.  He was in the final stages of cell phone autopsy. He plugged the phone into the charger, fiddled with buttons, got the screen to almost light up, shook the phone, fiddled some more, then frowned thoughtfully.

“It’s dead, isn’t it.” I said.

“Yep,” you killed it.

“I did not kill it.” I believe I snarled those words.  “It just quit working.”

“You are a phone killer,” smirked Mr. Dave.

“I plugged it in correctly.  Not my fault.” I insisted.

“No, it isn’t your fault,” agreed Mr. Dave.  “It is an old phone and was bound to quit working one day.  We need to get you a new phone.”


The medical examiner had spoken. The autopsy was completed.  Cell phone pronounced absolutely dead.  Burial in trash can imminent.  Those thoughts raced through my mind creating chaos and panic.  I was not ready to deal with learning new technology!

“I don’t want a new phone,” I griped.  “I just need this one to work correctly.”

“It’s broken,” said Mr. Dave with a sigh.

Mr. Dave is familiar with what he considers my extreme stubbornness about giving up on beloved stuff that no longer works.  As a guy, Mr. Dave’s  method of dealing with anything broken is to either fix it or toss it out and get a replacement.  Problem solved, move on.  I am different.  I get attached.  My stuff is precious to me.  That phone has been a useful tool.  Dependable. Reliable. Easy to use.  A friend.

“No, no, no it isn’t permanently broken,” I argued.  “It just doesn’t work.  It needs help.  It needs to go to the phone shop at the mall and have the kid at the counter, who looks like he’s sixteen at best, fix it.  Replace the battery, get it resuscitated!  I cannot deal with welcoming a new cell phone into my existence!  I won’t do it!  I want my old phone that I know how to use fixed!”

My phone accompanied Mr. Dave to the mall to be examined by experts and repaired.  Mr. Dave returned home bearing good news and not so good news.

“I upgraded my phone!” announced Mr. Dave using his happy guy voice.

That was the good news.

Next, came the bad news.

“I switched your old phone number to my old phone,” he said using his aren’t you glad you married a problem solver voice.  “You will love my old Apple.  It does everything.”

He handed his old phone to me, minus the carrying case.  His new phone fit his old carrying case. I was now the owner of a naked plastic thing that looked anorexic compared to my chubby, reliable old phone.

“This phone was made by Satan’s minions, I grumbled, using my ungrateful wife voice. “It has too many buttons, its highly complicated, and slippery. I require simple.”

“I got a good deal.  New phone didn’t cost a dime, just upgraded our plan,”  Mr. Dave proudly replied.

“Damn,” I muttered.

Mr. Dave had played the no out-of-pocket-cost card.  A crafty move.  An excellent excuse to force me into accepting the Apple as my new cell phone or appearing ungrateful for his husbandly thoughtfulness towards not decimating our tight budget.

So, peoples, I now possess what I am christening Super Phone.  It is an ultra-complicated social media management device and is, as well, a phone.  I can do amazing stuff with this phone.  I can look up the time and weather in any city of the world.  I can play cool games. I can take photos of the cat.  I can net surf and read email.  I can message Mr. Dave any time of the night or day.  I can do a zillion other time consuming things if I can recall correctly how to unlock the device and get to the icons.

Mr. Dave spent much time patiently showing me all the bells and whistles of Super Phone.  He was extremely forgiving during those frustrated moments on my end, and there were many, when I couldn’t do something on Super Phone that I had always been able to do easily on my old phone.

As I end this little rant of mine, it occurs to me that the only thing Mr. Dave forgot to show me how to do was access the phone part.  I was so busy playing games and checking out Facebook and writing this blog that I forgot to remind him to show me how to make a phone call on this thing.

No biggie.  I will eventually figure it out.

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The She Rises Yet Again Post

I decided that for the year 2017, I shall return to my blogging duties.  I retired myself for a bit of time while dealing with irksome issues that zapped my joy in life and all its occasional pitfalls.  Thankfully, I read the works of lots of talented bloggers whilst in my funk. I had wonderful words to read and excellent messages to ponder.  My blogger friends remind me, always, that there are still wonderful, marvelous, and sometimes astounding stuff that is still out there waiting for me to discover it.  I am out of my slump, peoples, and ready to be verbal once more.  I rise to the challenge yet again.

Doesn’t that sound uplifting and all Hallmarkish?  It should.  I meant it to sound that way.  The truer version of things is I need something better to do than watch while greed and malice destroys a country I kind of like and tarnishes a world that depended on sensible folks like us to use our brains very carefully when voting for a president.  To say I am disappointed in some of the folks in my home country is a truth.  To know that in our nation a level of evangelical bigotry, vile racism, and flat-out willful ignorance exists in great numbers irks me to the core. 

The level of ignorance about American civics in the USA is atrocious.  From our newly elected president on down, the level of knowledge of how our government is structured, why it is structured that way, and how that applies to today’s world is lacking big time.  How can you be a thoughtful voter if you don’t even know how your government came into being and how it operates?  How can you be a patriot to a government whose history and structure you know nothing about?  How can you salute its flag, pledge your life to defend its shores, or proudly represent a nation if you are ignorant of the very basics that our country is build upon?

We are a country that provides free public libraries.  Our society also has dozens of ways to upgrade one’s base education and increase one’s knowledge of our country and our society.  The library offers anyone a free source of reading and research materials.  So many folks in this country never read a book after graduating high school.  Many folks here in the USA get their news via friends telling them what to think, rather than using the mind their god gave them and the resources available in their communities to check out the information they receive to make sure it is true and accurate. 

People who should know better are getting what they consider news from commentary posts.  Facebook, Twitter, and in the biased faux news posts from special interest groups who will purposely lie to snag your interest in their viewpoint.  It has gotten to the point where some cable news outlets (I shall not name because you all know who they are.) pump up their news reports with false statistics, results, and refuse to accurately report what someone said in front of a working camera.  Journalists are now less credible in our minds, because some of their colleagues have developed a very bad habit of becoming a news creator rather than a reporter of facts.  This is not good for a country which relies on a free and unbiased press to keep its citizens informed.

OK,  that is my rant for today.  I love this country.  I’ve experienced an enjoyable childhood and an interesting life.  I got blessed, and I appreciate that fact.  I want everyone to have the freedom to make their lives be something to celebrate when they have time to ponder about the years they have spent residing on this fine planet. Happiness is one of those fleeting moment things.  It comes and it goes.  Do what makes you happy, peoples.  Those are the memories that are the steel that supports everything else your soul will face before it journeys elsewhere.

Posted in ageing, family, making life work in your favor, Miscellaneous, Rants, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Procrastinator’s Confession

Sometimes stuff gets in the way of my best intentions.  Important stuff that causes me to delay my blog offerings. I have really good reasons for this utter procrastination of effort.  Current really good reasons as to why I haven’t added posts for uhmmmm about three months are as follows:

Ongoing War Against the Little Rat Bastards
Yep, the ants returned to continue the war.  They attacked, as expected, in the spring, but surprised us with an additional, unexpected summer offensive.   They are still being led by their totally daft, mad-assed queen.  She hates me and, probably, Mr. Dave as well.   We make her look like a total royal ditzel dork by decimating her troops year after year after year.  I expect she had to go voodoo on this year’s supply of worker ants in order to get them to participate in this year’s stepped up conflict schedule.

voodoo antThere are tales of horror whispered within the hallways of the ant hill or hole or wherever it is they live.  Tales told by survivors of last year’s ant invasion fail.  Tales about that wicked mean lady who isn’t impressed by how straight a line ants can march in or how industriously ants always behave.  Nightmarish tales of disinfectant soaked sponge attacks that slosh troopers off the kitchen counters, into the sink, down a drain, and into the city sewer system which is not a very glorious way to die in battle; and, those “let’s make peace” offerings the mean lady leaves out containing homemade goodies that have a funny after taste and render one unable to carry on with living; and, that horrible alien spacecraft the mean lady calls Dustbuster that sucks up panicking troops into its grimy plastic guts and never spits them back out.

No right-minded ant would willingly deal with the hell I can rain down upon it!  Only a mind addled ant stripped of its free will would continue to enter the mean lady’s house.  Yep, that queen ant zombified this year’s team. Only explanation that makes sense.

Anyways, ant war takes time away from other stuff I could be doing.  Lots of time.  I’m  a general  and I have to do stuff that is general related.  Top secret stuff.  Time consuming stuff…..

Exploring Other Cultures through Netflix
OK, this activity might be considered leisure in nature.  Watching subtitled in English foreign dramas from Korea is a choice thing, right?  I should dump this activity as soon as I find out if Mr. Kim will give his consent for his daughter to marry that guy who yearns for her hand in marriage.  His name I forget, but he is unable to do anything except visit his friends and family and whine about how miserable he is.  Oh, and he is poor and jobless at the moment, yet his heart and will are strong forever!  He says that a lot, especially when his widowed mother suggests he just get a job and move on.  I am totally awed by Korean drama. I’m almost certain the dad is going to say no and that more dramatic angst will occur.   I just won’t know for sure until I watch the next episode……

Playing Facebook Games
candy-crush-soda-sagaI am not addicted to ALL Facebook games. Just Candy Crush Soda and maybe that Panda Pop one.  I merely want to get to the last level of Candy Crush Soda while I have enough friends playing who send me extra lives.  Without extra lives the game drags.  I am on level 545 or something near it. I think there are only 600 levels to the game. All levels reached without purchase of anything to make it easier!  Gamers who are cheap like me will know how cool an achievement this is.  Anyways, I am not addicted, I just have a mission to accomplish….

I could continue providing credible reasons for my present lack of blog offerings, but I have other stuff to do just now.  Important stuff. Time consuming stuff…….



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The Paranormal Post


Watching television with Mr. Dave is always a special time at our house. This is not just because we are both in the same room at the same time staring in the same direction. It involves additional interesting stuff like stimulating conversations, cosmic revelations, and, sometimes, popcorn.

We have determined over the years that we mostly agree with each other’s opinions regarding worldly issues involving politics, religions, and Kardashians.  We also totally agree that if our house or any of the objects therein became possessed by a fiendish Satanic critter, we would knock each other over in a turbo-rush to flee the place.

Paranormal television programming has been viewed by Mr. Dave, me, and the cats on a regular basis. Opinions have been voiced, points argued, and the state of mankind’s overall common sense questioned while watching this sort of television program. We never question the state of “our” common sense, by the way. Mr. Dave and I are chock full of that particular sense. Doesn’t mean we use it all time, mind you. We are merely certain that we possess a lot of it.

The basic formula for producing your standard paranormal television program is not overly complicated. First, you need to locate someone on the planet  who is willing to sit in front of a camera and relate an incident that really happened to them involving a resident of the ghostly community.

I have no idea how one ensures that a supernatural incident really occurred and isn’t some sort of deceit invented by one of the stupid humans.  Stupid humans exist in our physical world in copious numbers, folks. They say stupid stuff and they do stupid stuff  for utterly stupid reasons.   I like to think of the stupids as a bunch of colorful gemstones mixed in with the rest of us overly serious, gray gravel souls scattered across this fine planet.

The big titter about the stupids community, is that we are all members of it.  In any well-lived lifetime, by judgement of one or more of our fellow humans who didn’t much like us,  we get voted into the community of stupid.  Nearly no one escapes it. Opinion is a bitch.

Next, you should hire some film actors to portray interesting snippets of the story.  It makes itghost123 entertaining for us viewers to watch the actor stupids try to make sense of their encounter with a member of the spirit community.  Make sure there is enough eerie music and special effects so that us viewers will feel the fear and there you have it, the perfect paranormal viewing experience.

Naturally, Mr. Dave and I, being mere mortals with questionable television viewing habits, will sometimes disagree about what the perfect paranormal program consists of. I am not choosy. I am entertained by all of them no matter how ridiculous they may be.  Mr. Dave, however, believes that a better job could be done presenting the paranormal side of things.

“There is a better way to do this,” Mr. Dave informed me after we watched an episode of paranormal chaos featuring a frightened family, a missing house cat named Sparky, who may have fallen victim to a nefarious ghostly hit man, and a disembodied humanlike voice that suggested at least three times  during the program that everyone just ‘GET OUT!’

“What these ghost chasers should do,” said Mr. Dave, “is a program where someone interviews  the spirits who are haunting a house and get their side of the story. They should hire a guy like Anderson Cooper to do the interviews. I’m pretty positive Anderson Cooper could come up with some great questions.”

“That won’t work,” I told him, “Spirits are too busy messing about in the Otherworld to waste time explaining their motives to the living. They are not going to waste their limited energy levels trying to explain themselves to us living stupids.

“I disagree with you,” replied Mr. Dave. If I was producing a paranormal television program, I would title it “An Interview With The Spirits.”

“Hmmm,” I replied in my most unconvinced vocal tone.

“I would provide a suitable talk show format for all the paranormal critters who are verbal and who wish to express their opinions of the afterlife experience,” Mr. Dave informed me. “It would be epic!”

“I doubt that most ghostly spirits  would verbal very well,” I replied. “Seems to me that the paranormal critters we see on all the shows we watch mostly growl, thump on the walls, and manifest as scary dark shadows.” They all seem to lack essential speaking skills, like using full sentences, which seems rather necessary if one is going to provide a decent talk show format.”

“I realize this,” said Mr. Dave, “But some of them speak fairly clearly. Those are the ones I would feature on my show.”

“And you think Anderson Cooper, who already has a great career in news reporting, would want to waste his time hosting a talk show featuring invisible paranormal critters.” I sniggered.

anderson“Sure he would,” said Mr. Dave. “Anderson Cooper could handle any situation that may come up. If a couple of the spirits get into an argument and start berating each other, Anderson could step in and steer the conversation in a new direction.  Anderson’s capable.  He could deal with the unexpected and keep the conversation flowing no matter what.”

“Yep,” I agreed in a sarcastic tone,  “I can envision the train wreck, now. Anderson Cooper hosting a bevy of pissy tempered paranormal beings with questionable mental health issues and possible ties to Satan.”

“You don’t think Anderson could handle the job?” gasped Mr. Dave.

“Nope, I do not.” I said. “No one could do that job because it is a stupid job. Anderson doesn’t do stupid stuff.”

“You are so wrong,” muttered Mr. Dave.

“Nope, I am right.” I retorted. “I can see nothing but problems from the onset with a ghostly talk show format.  I am assuming none of these potential paranormal interviewees will be manifesting itself.  They’re all going to be invisible, right?”

“That is correct,” replied Mr. Dave. “Although if they want to manifest, they could.  It would add interest for the viewer.”

“And scare Anderson Cooper to the point of shrieking.” I said.

“Anderson doesn’t scare easily,” said Mr. Dave. “He’s a professional.”

“He would shriek.”  I insisted.  “He would shriek and then run off the stage and be humiliated and it would all be your fault.”

“He wouldn’t shriek.” growled Mr. Dave. “He would carry on and do his job.  He would hold out that microphone and let them say what they need to say.”

“Yes, he would hold out that microphone,” I agreed. “However, since all his haunted guests are invisible, he won’t know where exactly they are standing or sitting or oozing.  Most likely, Anderson will end up grievously insulting one of them.   He would, probably, accidentally poke one of his guests in the eye with the microphone or confuse an armpit for a mouth. Next thing you know, instead of us hearing ghostly opinion,  we see Anderson being drop kicked across the stage by an angry spirit who has personal space issues. There is always an element of potential disaster when interviewing the invisible,” I said.”

aGhost-002“You may be entirely correct,” sighed Mr. Dave, “but I still think it would be a great viewing experience.”

“Yep,” I agreed, “it would be epic.”










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The Crabby Post

We are more than halfway through the month of March, and I haven’t posted anything for ages.  This is not a good thing, peoples, as I am generally a prolific and verbose writing machine.  I just haven’t felt a passionate urge, as of late, to write about stuff.  This is, possibly, because of a growth spurt that I’ve recently experienced in the area of my acerbic female attitude.  I have no other believable excuses to offer for my lack of posts; and, I am not even sorry for abandoning my bloggering while I deal with age related hassles.

This is my present senior citizen dilemma:  I thought by the time I reached my “golden years”, I would morph into some sort of saintly grandmotherly being.  I’m supposed to have developed a charitable heart the size of Texas.  I am supposed to have lost the need to waste an iota of my self-absorption time judging the stupid things other people do to mess up their lives. I’m supposed to be nicer, kinder, and more understanding of any and all flaws my fellow humans may exhibit within the vicinity of my notice.  I am supposed to be mellow and accepting and wise, but I’m not.

I am finding that the older I’ve grown, the less I care about saying what is expected of me.  I suppose that  the former politically correct, eager to please everyone disposition of the younger moi has been covertly rusting into that of a moody, rebellious, semi-crabby, old lady who speaks her mind without sugar-coating her words using verbiage designed to make sure other folks DO get their feelings hurt.

Of course, I don’t want folks to think I have become a total dipshit.   I am just aging gracelessly, peoples!

Yep, I will probably not be in the running, any time soon, for evolving into the planet’s next Mother Theresa.  People piss me off, and I am, apparently, unwilling to forgive and forget. I am a crabby, mean senior citizen. Screechy voiced children, small,  yappy dogs, and conservative republican politicians should probably fear my grumpiness as I am a volcano of savage mean not yet erupted.

Recently, I confessed to my sister, Judy, that I used to be one of those. kindly, caring gals who went out of her way to maintain a staunch “political correctness” in her dealings with the more questionable behaviors displayed by her fellow humans.  I tried, mostly always, not to openly condemn others to the bowels of Hades when what they said or did irked me.  I maintained an ever chipper faith that in every human being, there is a spark of goodness that just needed to be nudged into bloom. It was my duty to devote time, effort, and understanding so that the little dot of hidden goodness could burst into being, making the world a better place for all.

I was once nice, damn it!  Now, I am less so.  It perplexes me that I am capable of such a negative attitude change.  I am, at present, feeling like Alice in Wonderland’s Red Queen at her meanest.  If allowed,  I would be ordering beheadings and banishments at an alarming rate.

I have lost my patience with all the world’s dumb asses, peoples.  I’ve grown tired of waiting for them to grow up and live their lives as I believe they should live them.  I literally want to force my personal belief system down the throats of all who I encounter.  All must live up to MY expectations.  I want to dominate the world with only my point of view……..

I told you all that I’m a bit crabby today, right?

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