Saturday, August 30, 2008


Is it possible to miss something that you have never had? One of my favorite theories is that everyone experiences what I call 'celestial homesickness.' We all long for someplace better - a home with understanding, acceptance, and love - and I think it is a remnant of what we experienced in our pre-mortal existence.

But I grew up with the ocean, albeit 45 miles or so away. And adored hitting the beach every possible moment while living on Oahu in the 80's; began 'serious' jogging (although combining the words 'jogging' and 'serious' in the same sentence is more than ludicrous) in Waikiki Park along the beachfront; and actually got into good enough shape while living in Hawaii to not dread being seen in a swimsuit.

Tonight, all those memories came rushing back as my daughter and I stood by the waves hitting the beach.

You don't realize what you've got until someone takes it away.

Thursday, August 28, 2008


Some things are exactly as I remember them - blue sky, constant breeze, green green mountains, smiling person in mumus and aloha shirts. Some things have changed - three interstate highways ('interstate' means federally funded, not going between states - it would be a very wet drive otherwise), six lanes of traffic and actual traffic jams.

I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly I adjusted to the 95% humidity. It does help that southern Arizona actually had a monsoon this summer, but the 35% that we moan and groan about it really nothing in comparison to Hawaii. And I'm certain simply BEING here with family is what has helped with any weather, time or comfort adjustment.

But I haven't been to the beach - I haven't driven back to view any old haunts - I really haven't been out of the house much except to take my grandson to and from kindergarten (private school, half hour away - and double the gas prices from the mainland). I'm mostly vegging watching Kate play and having our normal jump-from-subject-to-subject conversation with my daughter.

I am loving it.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008


A crisis of some sort occurs at or around our house whenever a member of the family is leaving. A flat tire, insane weather, animal health... something. Sunday morning, as I was preparing to leave for Phoenix, I heard something. Sounded like a young female voice - screaming something.

Since I don't trust my hearing (and if you knew me, you would not either), I ran inside (another mistake - at 53 years of age and some 50 extra lbs., I should never attempt any faster pace than a brisk walk) and yelled for my husband to come out - QUICKLY.

Now, my husband is great in almost any emergency situations (PMS demanding chocolate ice cream - not so much). He gets into this wonderful 'in-charge' mood, is attentive, and LISTENS to whatever emergency information I have to share (note: the wording here is 'emergency' information - not a normal conversation or anything). He races outside with me, takes note of the possible direction of the voice, and begins to run back into the house to get dressed (he was, at the time, clothed only in his bathrobe and bedroom slippers).

But I shout, "NO, NO, LISTEN!!" I wanted to make certain he was hearing the actual cry that I was - too many times I hear 'voices in the wind' that are simply the mutterings of our mesquite trees or grousing of the yuccas (my hearing really is that bad). We both froze, and then did hear, "GET OFF ME!" from the southeast.

My husband then dashed off, I assumed, to get dressed and get in the car. I ran as far as our fencing would let me in that direction, and was surprised to see (okay, sit down if you aren't already) crouching and running thorough the brush a half-naked adult male with a shotgun.

And yes, it was.

Turned out that a neighbor's youngest daughter was mad about something, and WAS yelling, but no one was around her or bothering her. It required a return phone call to both 911 and the Border Patrol, but I called off the Calvary, my neighbor was very embarrassed, but I left shortly afterwards for my trip.
The image, however, is forever imprinted on my brain. I may need counseling before I can return home.

Friday, August 22, 2008


1) Person #1 has a great affection for Dog #1

2) Person #1 has left Dog #1 in care and keeping of Person #2, who also is responsible for Dog #2, Cat #1, and Horses #1 and #2.

3) While in the care of Person #2, Dog #1 is kicked in the face by either Horse #1 or Horse #2 (actual incident was not witnessed).

4) Person #2 staunches blood flow, administers pain relievers (after consulting Dog #1 breed specialist by phone), and overlooks blood stains on t-shirt, couch, carpet and two towels.

5) Person #1 returns shortly afterwards, and remarkably does not immediately head out to shoot Horse #1 and/or Horse#2.

I feel extremely bad about this. The greyhound has been streaking right next to the horses for weeks, and this was just an accident waiting to happen. But I also can't blame whichever one of the horses for striking out.

Anybody know how to remove dog blood from all the aforementioned household items?

Thursday, August 21, 2008


My neighbor Julianna is dying of cancer. After one round of chemotherapy and two of radiation, a move back to Washington state for her family, she and her husband David have moved back here and are just taking it one day at a time. Julianna is staying incredibly busy, between mowing four acres of grass (honestly), volunteering for the American Cancer Society, and, believe it or not, helping OTHER people with lesser problems such as heart blockage and marital distress.

I feel guilty for not being more 'there' for her. I've fixed her computer more than once, created graphics and signs for her yard sale (in which she, again, extremely unselfishness, was getting rid of a lot of her personal belonging, saving her husband the trouble of having to do it later), but am not certain which borders to keep or ignore.

I am also, very selfishly, luxuriating in every single moment I have at home, particularly this week when I am ENTIRELY alone (well, if you don't count two dogs, one cat, two horses, and three flies who have set permanent residence in my laundry room). It's amazing how one's daily view is entirely altered by 1) not having to be any place at any certain time, 2) refusing to feel any remorse about hours spent playing solitaire, watching "Pride and Prejudice" and eating chocolate, and 3) having no negative energy around (except for the greyhound's unpredictable demands to go outside, look pointedly west, and then turn around and insist on being let back inside instantly.

However, tonight, just as I had released both horses for their evening graze, Julianna walked over, as we stood chatting at the gate for probably a good half hour. Again, she impresses me so much with her positive attitude, her renewal of faith (she has gone back to her original Catholic beliefs, and seems to be comforted), and her sheer strength, even as her walk becomes more insecure and her voice falters at time.

So, as she turned back home (and since David was walking out of their house, I felt okay about leaving her), I gathered the two dogs (who had been alternating between whining at my feet or chasing each other), and began walking over to where I had last seen the horses.

Guess what? No horses.

I took a deep breath, told myself that two large animals such as Najale and Sally could not easily hide, regardless of how high the grass has gotten, and began scanning the horizon.

Again - no horses.

I made myself take another deeper breath, and began walking, not running, towards the back of the house, trying to believe that they might be over by the air conditioner… although they don't like being next to the noisy fan generator, and normally only go there when I am leading them around.

Yet again - no horses.

So at an increased pace (again, not running… but definitely getting closer to that pace), I began to circle the other end of the house. There are four acres fenced in where the horses could be, and I was beginning to… not panic, but be concerned.

Once more - no horses.

I was rapidly giving way to the possible terror of losing 1,800 lbs. of moving horse-flesh who had somehow jumped the fence and were perhaps heading for either the Mexican border (to be detained as - can you see this one coming - drug mules by the Border Patrol) or Coronado National Monument to be captured by tourists who mistake them for ghosts of the conquistador's mounts, when…

TA DA!! Two completely uncontrolled and unrestrained horses had taken refuge… BACK IN THEIR ENCLOSED AND FENCED PASTURE. Eating leftover hay. From what they'd had for dinner tonight.

Geesh. I didn't need that spike in my blood pressure tonight.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


Every evening, the roar of riding lawn mowers permeate the quiet twilight hours as homeowners attempt to conquer our unusual and high growth of weeds, grass and assorted bushes that have followed our abundant monsoon season here in southern Arizona.

There is a theory that people are superstitious (rabbits foot, lucky numbers, etc.) because there is so little in our lives that we actually can control, and this allows the illusion of being in charge. I make the same argument for individuals who sweat, strain and swear at their lawns as they attempt to conquer what they have encouraged to grow.
I take pride in our unkempt and overgrown eight acres, claiming that we didn't move out to the country to try to tame it (rather than admit that I also am far too lazy to even attempt it). Occasionally I will borrow a neighbor's mower to clean thirty-feet around the house for wild-fire safety, but that's it.

Since I am still pretending to be training Najale for some serious purpose, rather than simply admitting that he is a 900 lb. pet, I have been taking him out every evening to graze on the verdant scenery. We've gotten to the point where I can loop the lead rope over his back and leave him alone for quite some time while I continue on my personal project of rock-harvesting(to be explained another time).

Three evenings ago, I took the bold step in actually releasing Najale with nothing more than his halter on to browse on his own. Sally, the old mare, is the one in the past who has bolted for freedom and jumped the fence in pursuit of imaginary love, but she seems to be content with just eating, so I am keeping my fingers crossed (speaking of superstitions) that Najale won't be tempted to follow her bad example.

In fact, now the shoe seems to be on the other hoof. Sally has now become the difficult one to catch. I catch Najale, put the lead rope back on, and Sally normally follows close behind her baby. She now is saying, 'HELL, NO, WE WON'T GO" (anyone out there from the Vietnam era?) and continues to munch on grass.

Bribery worked well on my children when they were being raised, so I fill a bucket with Sally's favorite food - "Equine Senior Feed" (translation: little itty bitty granules of feed all sweetened with molasses and easier to digest), thinking I will tempt her to return to the corral every night.

It did work.... once.

Ufortunately, the next time I carelessly offer Najale a small handful of Sally's feed just so he doesn't feel left out (keeping a balanced relationship with your pets is important out here). OH NO - now the colt LOVES this stuff - he is the one trying to jam his muzzle into the bucket, cutting me off, and doing his little pretend-stud-rear-and-dance routine .

So what am I gonna do?

The obvious - get some feed for the colt, have him chase - er, follow me in the corral. And then Sally notices, hey, the kid is getting something before ME, and gallops over.

PROBLEM SOLVED!! That is, if you don't mind having two half-ton animals thundering down on you, intent upon what you are carrying.

Monday, August 18, 2008


A tree never hits an automobile except in self defense.

Honesty is like an icicle; if once it melts that is the end of it.

If you can't ride two horses at once, you shouldn't be in the circus.

Men seek less to be instructed than applauded.

Never miss a good chance to shut up.

Of two evils, it is always best to vote for the less hypocritical.

The bad gardener quarrels with his rake.

When pleasure interferes with business, give up business.

You don't put robbers to work in a bank.

A bashful dog never fattens.

A maid who laughs is half taken.

A stumble may prevent a fall.

Ale in, wit out.

Death always comes too early or too late.

A fool is thirsty in the midst of water.

When spider webs unite, they can tie up a lion.

Confessed faults are half mended.

What may be done at any time will be done at no time.

Sunday, August 17, 2008


This has been one of my favorite movies forever, and tonight it was on television WITHOUT ANY COMMERCIALS.

Just pure delight for me.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Sally in some ways is like a elderly lady going through a later-than-mid-life crisis. She still is trying to chase (imaginary) younger stallions; she still wants to get pregnant, and now she is playing hard-to-get... with ME now.If I get the colt first back in the pasture, Sally used to race back to be with her baby. Now, she takes a casual look over her shoulder just to make certain where he is, and goes back grazing. And then begins to play tag when I go to catch her.

Yesterday, I turned the tables on her - I put Sally back first, so she suddenly was the one racing up and down the fence, frantically whinning for her baby to 'come back home'.

And today, as extra duty, I RODE her. Sally was so suprised by me sticking a bit in her mouth and actually getting on her back that she actually WALKED instead of her normal prance. I kept it short (before she had time to figure it out), but it felt nice.

Well, sorta nce - even though it was just a few minutes, I am a little bit saddle-sore.

Friday, August 8, 2008


I am watching the opening ceremonies, and I must say, crying like a baby. One of those incredible displays of what should, in an ideal world, be something normal - people putting aside their political, religious, cultural and language differences, and joining together in an event.

(Of course, I could write an entire additional blog about the silliness of sports and competition, but I'll set that aside for now).

And one of those most poignant moments? With the flag-bearer for the China delegation (that 7'8" guy who plays basketball in the U.S. - Yao Ming, I think?) was little boy, eight or nine years old, I'd guess. He was at school when that horrible earthquake struck in China a few months ago, crawled out from the rubble, and then crawled back in to save two of his schoolmates. When asked why he had gone back in, he said, "I'm one of the class leaders. I was responsible for them."

Can you see why I'm all teary?

Thursday, August 7, 2008


"I wish I had eyes in the back of my head" - "I could use another arm" - "I need to be in two places at once" - sounds familiar, right?

Sally, my old (20+ years) Thoroughbred mare, was used as a brood mare for a long time, and obviously feels very strongly about having her numerous babies ripped away from her. When we first got her, she was skin and bones, and absolutely frantic about being taken away from her latest little six-month old filly.

So four plus years ago, when she was put into the corral with Najale, who at the time was a skinny little 18 month old colt, she fought with her emotions and loyalty to her former foals valiantly for about, let's see, maybe three seconds, and then adopted Najale with her entire equine heart and has loved him unconditionally ever since.

The disadvantage about this wonderful maternal love, however, is that Sally cannot stand being apart from Najale by more than six inches, and will freak out in every sort of horse sort of way possible. She rears, she runs, she whinnies, she gets into quite literally a LATHER of a panic attack.

I am, regardless of Sally's discomfort, forced to feed them separately, because Sally will cheerfully give up every last bit of her feed to El Gordo colt. But otherwise throughout the day and night, where ever Najale is, Sally is just a few steps away.

So when I take both of them out to graze (which after the generous rainfall we have enjoyed is pretty much twice a day), I count on Sally's separation anxiety to keep her close by to Najale, and so I need to keep a lead rope on Najale only.

It usually works.

I do have to mention that I also take out both dogs for this grazing siesta time - Murray, my obedient, patient German Shephard/Border Collie mix, who follows me around with a tennis ball in his mouth, waiting for whenever I am willing to throw it (for hours, if necessary) - and Delilah, my husband's adopted-from-the-track insane Greyhound, who spends the majority of time outside clocking and comparing her own race times (she has her own stopwatch and is asking for an Blackberry for Christmas), chasing rabbits (of which we have LOADS, and thank goodness they usually outlast her on the long stretch), or eating horse dung in the pasture.

Now, Sally has been undergoing.... hmm, there really isn't any way to put this that isn't pretty crass.... an extended period of celibacy. I mean, she was a brood mare, which meant she at least was getting some when they wanted to get her pregnant. so she seems to, er, ENJOY the process, and seems to wait to, oh, REPEAT it as often as possible.

And my dear sweet virgin Najale, although he wasn't gelded until he was almost two (which means some of those male hormones should still circulating in his system), has absolutely NO idea of what it could mean to consummate ANYthing. Poor Sally tries to seduce him in true Mrs. Robinson fashion, and all he thinks she just wants to play tag or see who can bite who the fastest. And yes, I mean, it would be sort of incestuous, wouldn't it, with their relationship, right, so I can't get too mad at him.

So (back to the main story, if you are still reading this, which is amazing, because I would have given up about two paragraphs in - in fact, why are you still wasting valuable time here?! Isn't there any late-night television that it be more educational than this? Go try on the rehashing of the men's Olympic swimming - some good male bodies to check out there!), tonight Sally somehow either caught a whiff of something in the air or fancied she heard a studly whinny from down the road.

Whatever it was, she was certain it was male, and it was WAY more interesting than the grass she was munching on. So she took off at a fast trot for the northeast corner of our property, looking for the tempting pleasure that was somewhere beyond that fence.

Now, Najale was still concentrating on stuffing his face with grass as fast as he could, so took no notice at first - but suddenly Delilah (Greyhound) streaks in front of his nose, causing Najale to both throw his head up and suddenly notice, hey, Mom is taking off somewhere withOUT me!

So suddenly there is (I'll try to keep this in the correct order) Najale rearing and getting ready to dash after Sally, Sally STILL heading for the fence, Delilah suddenly deciding that this is the chance to break her latest 6.2 second 600 yard dash, and Murray ALSO unexpectedly resolving that THIS is the moment to stand between the excited Najale and myself.

Four animals all in opposing motion. If only someone had had a video going.

End of the story - all ended up safe and sound back where where they were supposed to be, and, since this story is being repeated about every other evening now, NO additional gray hairs on my head. I know it sounds very
nonchalant, but it's like having teenagers - after a while, you realize getting upset about it doesn't change anything, they will eventually come back home (or call you from the holding cell, at least), and you might as well go back inside and get another cold soda.

Another Diet Coke, anyone?

Wednesday, August 6, 2008


The gym I have joined has only two elliptical trainers, and they are side-by-side in the midst of all the other stair-climbers, treadmills, and whatever-they-call those seemingly frivolous air-walking dealios (I'm certain they work something - I just can't tell what it might be, except for an excuse to get into cute exercise clothing, look like you're working out but not having to sweat at all).

So whenever I climb onto the elliptical (and because of my knees and ankles, that the only cardio thing I do anymore), there is usually someone already on the other one, or if not, someone will mount it while I am working out.

Now, I am a fifty-three year old white woman. In addition, I know that I look like a fifty-three year old white woman. I also look like a mother of three, possible a grandmother of two to eight, someone has a deep and personal relationship with both ice cream and pizza (and, as I am discovering while writing this, I also seem to have an annoying inclination to write out numbers when it isn't necessary).

I don't think my exterior (i.e. body, physical appearance, 45% body fat poured into spandex) could be intimidating to anyone else under the age of 114 (it was an effort, but I did not write that one out, did you notice?), so when I scrambled onto trainer next to a twenty-something young woman (notice how I said 'young' woman instead of just a woman? That's age showing right there), I was certain I posed no tangible threat or any sort of challenge to her. I would huff and puff while keeping my rpm under 85, my heart rate around 160, and the weight/pressure/whatever on the stride around 2.

So, with my faithful iPod in my ear, I begin my normal slow, gradual, 50 year old lady (hey, I'm on a roll now) warm-up. My partner next-store, meanwhile, is perhaps slightly condescendingly glancing over at my dashboard/read-put/whatever you call the thing and keeping her steady and obviously faster pace going.

But, as with most exercise things I do, I begin to gradually to speed up - just a notch or two at a time. It's nothing to alarm anyone, and it certainly does not quell my young companion's enthusiasm, who is still keeping a gleeful eye on this middle-aged woman next to her (sidebar here - why is it called middle-aged? I'm not planning about being around when I am 106. Middle age should be when you're 35).

After about 6 minutes, I am actually matching my travel companion's speed, and she is becoming slightly concerned. However, confident that this is only an old lady's desperate and last-ditch effort to somehow show her up, she does not increase her speed.


Okay, actually, I don't speed up at all. But I lasted for 24 more minutes - and my 'buddy' finally gave up after 20 (tee hee!).


Monday, August 4, 2008


"Swooning" is what Scarlett O'Hara did before she went through the Civil War and got toughened up.

Swooning is 1. to be overwhelmed by happiness, excitement, adoration, or infatuation 2. fall in faint: to experience a sudden and usually brief loss of consciousness [13th century. Shortening of aswoon.

It lends an elegant and very feminine swoosh (1. make or move with rushing sound: to make or move with the rushing or swirling sound of fast-moving water, or make something move with such a sound [Mid-19th century. An imitation of the sound])

Can you tell yet that I just LOVE dictionaries?

But unfortunately, I do not swoon. I don't even faint. I pass out.

And I just fall flat either on my face or my butt. If I fall on my face, I generally either get a bloody or broken nose (by my own calculations, I think my nose has been broken something like eight times now - only once surgically).

Today? Twice. Once at the gym - thank goodness I was on a machine that I could grab hold of and keep myself from falling. Once at home- slumped (which is one of the most unromantic words in the English language) over the stand-alone-freezer and so didn't completely fall down.

It's not that uncommon for me - I have unusually low blood pressure. Great for my heart, but lousy for remaining upright at times.

And you think by now I would KNOW that I can't stand up suddenly, right?!

Sunday, August 3, 2008


I am trying very hard to be the adult here, but I want to stomp and complain and BITCH, so blog, you are the place I am going to vent tonight. Hopefully this way I can get it out of my system and not be excommunicated next week.

And I am deliberately NOT using the name of my church - I don't want any search engines picking this up (especially after I've already used the word bitch and may use hell and damn before I am finished). The two of you who are my only readers will know, I am certain, what I am talking about.

I was asked to begin a book club last year. And yes, I was asked by the leader of my church's women's organization. So I set a date, and a place, and invited a lot of women generally (and some women specifically) to come. We met - we all made some suggestions - we picked a particular book to read that month - and the pattern was established.

And we've read some pretty good books.

Sounds okay, right?

NOW the plot thickens (I love that expression - like adding creme of tarter to a soup).

I should mention somewhere in here that members of my church tend to be rather conservative, although the church as a unit remains STEADFASTLY out of politics (which I just love) - and my local congregation takes that conservative tendency to EXTREME levels (read that pretty far right).

But (back to the book club). since I was also responsible for the church's sacrament meeting bulletin also, I made certain that our little group received the publicity it obviously needed (since it began and has remained a relatively small group) by putting in every week the book we were reading, and the date and time of our next meeting.

No problem - never a comment - this went out to EVERYone in our congregation that attended sacrament meeting EVERY week.

Until about three weeks ago.

The book club had agreed, upon my suggestion, on reading Barack Obama's "The Audacity of Hope." My husband had read it, and recommended it - no one else had any book to recommend - okay, decision was made. We weren't reading it really as a political book, but to gain more insight on Obama's life and views.

And I, of course, if regular fashion, put my little note in the sacrament bulletin, "The Book Club will meet on ____ at ___ to discuss this month's selection, 'The Audacity of Hope' by Barack Obama."

AHA! Now, suddenly, this gets attention.

It didn't help that at this exact time I had asked to be released from doing the sacrament bulletin. I was having an increasingly difficult time with sitting for more than 10 to 15 minutes. And since I needed to be at church 2 hours before to make copies (an extremely long tale about 'our' people never get anything done early, but I'm not going to get into that), I needed to stand through most of our services, and generally had choir practice for an hour afterwards, it was getting more and more difficult to last through our entire block of meetings, let alone the time before and after.

So, when my little book club announcement did NOT appear the first week that I do NOT create and copy the bulletin, I asked the executive secretary (who was doing it until someone was formally asked) why not?

I think that is what started the whole ball rolling.

Suddenly the book club listing in the regular women's organization listing disappears - I am asked to NOT distribute my regular fliers to the youth and children's organizations until the women's organization president (a newer one since I was asked to begin the book group) has spoken to me. And when I ask her what's going on, SHE needs to talk to the local church's leader first.

Then, extremely embarrassed, she explains to me that all readings for the book club must be approved IN ADVANCE by the local church leader.

I will bet you five million, thirty-eight thousand, two hundred and fifty-six dollars ($5,380,256) that NONE of this would have happened if the book club selection had been John McCain's "Faith of My Fathers."

Okay, I am going to be the grown-up now. I will have the book club list IN ADVANCE submitted.

But oh, I am SORELY tempted to simply submit what we have read for the PAST year and get it rubber-stamped. I am also sorely tempted to simply hand over the leadership of our book club to someone else who will only accept 'church-approved' reading choice.

Thanks - I need to get that out of my system.

Friday, August 1, 2008


There are some things that we as humans all seem to do, regardless of our upbringing. We smile - we cry - we roll our eyes - our first word always seems to be 'ma' or 'wa' (my children being the exception that proves the rule, of course - Harmony's first word was "shoes", Joy's was "food" and Josiah's was "SHUT UP!" since the girls were always talking for him).

Instinct? Genetic behavior? Survival skills? I don't know.

But it's our differences that seem to be emphasized, at least in the large political scheme of the modern world. Our view of God(s), our social observations, our treatment of others, our punishment of those who break our rules.

I have a very strong opinion that if women were in charge of things (world leadership, political positions, trade, etc.), a lot of things would be handled without having to resort to violence. My husband always gets quite upset when I bring this up, insisting that women are just as prone to defensive tactics, etc. I agree that we are prone to offensive moves, and yes, I'm certain there are aggressive females who would drum up some battles (the image of a shoe sales at Macy's immediately comes to mind)

But I also feel that without the high testosterone levels, we are more likely to be thinking about our children, their future, and how to care for all of us. We clean up - we take care of other people - we concentrate on our homes and our families.

Two very small and possibly silly examples come immediately to mind- the difference between male and female missionaries, and the difference between RS and Priesthood quorums (I guess I could even go into the difference between the YW and YM programs, but let's stick to these two).

Admittedly, young men in our church are expected to serve their full-time missions at age 19 (although the case can be argued that 19 may be their intellectual peak), and young women are not allowed to go until they are at least 21 (when their intellectual peak is not reached until at least 36 and often later).

But elders have rules, and time-schedules, and mission presidents, and zone and district leaders, and white books, and a lot of rules. The sisters are just sent out, and they work.

I've known personally two mission presidents say they would give almost anything to have a mission of JUST sister missionaries - "because you don't need to keep watching them!"

And anyone who has served in a ward or stake council knows that if you want it to happen, put the Relief Society in charge.

It doesn't look like it is going to happen in this world, but I honestly would love to see women be in charge, and see what happens differently.

Anyone out there got opinions about this? I'm curious (and no, Bro. Amon, I am not asking you for yours).