Remembering 9/11. . .

On September 11, 2001, I arrived at work just before 9am. I walked through the waiting room, (I worked at a car dealership), and quickly glanced at the TV…..I saw a building in flames and asked the customers that were waiting, what had happened….they told me that a plane had hit a building in New York City. I raced upstairs to my office, and then went to the business office because they had a TV. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing…..the girls filled me in on what was going on, and then I ran back to my office, this time in a panic because I knew that my son Todd, who lives in NYC, took the train to work that passed directly under the World Trade Center. I had no idea what time he left for work. I called him immediately, and just prayed that he answered, ‘Please God, let him answer, please God, let him answer’…...he did, “I Mom, what’s up?” he asked in a calm voice. My God, I was so happy to hear his voice. . .I said, “Todd, do you know what’s happening outside?”...he said that he didn’t, and I told him what had happened, he couldn’t believe what I was telling him. He went to turn on the TV. 

I then ran back to the business office.. . As we stood watching in horror as the second plane hit, we all gasped! One of the girls said that the pilot must have been blinded by the smoke…..I looked at her and told her that this was no accident, it was a terror attack. This was so surreal…...could we actually be watching this happen? It didn’t seem to register for any of us that this was indeed really happening. And then, we watched as the first building fell. . . .dear God, how could this happen???? 

I went back to my office once again to call Todd. He lived in Brooklyn then, in D.U.M.B.O. to be exact, which was directly across the river from South Street Seaport, and a block away from the Brooklyn Bridge. He said that when the building fell, he lost all TV connections, and that he was taking his camera to the end of the street and that he’d call me later. 

Again, I went to the business office…..by this time, we watched the second building fall. . .we were all in shock. I couldn’t seem to get my insides to calm down, I was still worried about Todd, even though I knew he wasn’t in Manhattan, no one knew what would happen next. I decided to go home. 

Once I home, I was glued to the TV. Todd called at one point to tell me what he had witnessed. He said that what he thought was paper falling from the second building, were actually people jumping. He also said that the people that were running on the Brooklyn Bridge looked like they were on a conveyor belt, moving across the bridge to the other side, and that the air smelled of concrete and ash. I told him to try and get out of the city if he could, but that was almost impossible to do. Later in the day, he did get out through Brooklyn, and went to say with friends.. . .I was very relieved knowing that, and I told him to check in with me later on. 

For the rest of the day, I sat in utter disbelief in front of the TV, watching as events unfolded. . I kept the phone in my hand. . .and just cried.

House Hunters. . .

Our very first house was a two family, front and back flats, that we purchased before we got married.  It was in Kaisertown, where we grew up, and we lived there for 5 years before we moved to the suburbs.  Being landlords was not for us.  When we move in, I had to raise the rent to $100 for the front tenant, and it just killed me, because she was an elderly woman, but this was an investment for us and I had no choice.

Over the years, house hunting became a major weekend past time.  Even though we were already in our second home, which was beautiful, and in a neighborhood that the boys loved, it was in a sub-division, and we always had visions of living in the country, and thus pursued that perfect home of our dreams. 

On the way to this ‘perfection’. We did have a few eye openers. . .or perhaps a better word would be misadventures.

When Eric, my youngest son, was only a year old, we looked at a home that was completely out of our comfort zone.  It was in a rural area along Lake Ontario, and the house was in pristine condition. . that is, if it was 1930.  The wallpaper was all original, and this home had no kitchen cabinets, instead it had a butlers pantry, which was very common during that time period.  It had a back staircase, as well as a beautiful one in the front foyer.  This had always been something that I loved, back stairs, since my Aunt Kitty had them in her house, and I used to visit there a lot when I was a child (by the way, Aunt Kitty’s house is my all time favorite home).  The foyer was huge, and the staircase was gorgeous...all wood, and wonderful!!  When I first saw it, my jaw dropped, Jerry told me not to show so much positive enthusiasm as it might drive the price up. The bedrooms had no closets, which was also very common for homes built during the early 1900’s. 

In the basement was a cistern, which is a place to catch rain water.  I was also told that there were snakes in the basement...ok, I wasn’t going down there.  The property was on 5 acres, and included a barn, a chicken coop, and a couple other small out buildings.  It also had a front porch, which is also something that I’ve loved since childhood. 

The only neighbors at that time were chickens on one side and corn on the other, like I said, very rural.  This house would not be ’the one’, and I’m very glad that it wasn’t because my life would be very different now, and some of the people that I hold very dear would not be in it.  So we move on. . .

A few years later, we decided to check out a new area of homes. . yes, it was in a sub-division, but it couldn’t hurt to look. It had been raining for a few days prior, and the area was very muddy around all of the model homes. We proceeded to check each one out. By the time we got to the last one, our shoes were covered in mud. We walked in the last home and I told the kids to wipe off their mud caked feet in the front hall before we took the tour. . "Make sure you get all that mud off". At that point, something happened that was an absolute shock to us. . .we looked up, and in the kitchen, a family was eating dinner. . . "UHHHHHHH, HELLO?". . .talk about embarrassed. There we were, wiping our filthy feet on their front hall rug, thinking this was a model home. With a very ‘tail between our legs’ apology, we turned and got as far away from that house as possible. . .and then you just know we laughed our asses off!! Dare we move on?

The next house was also in the country, but not quite as rural as the Lake Ontario home, a bit closer to civilization. By this time, Eric was 10 and Todd was in his last year of high school.

This particular house was being sold by the owners, an elderly couple. He was very articulate, and we later found out that he was a handwriting expert and banker. They seemed very friendly and I think that they really liked us. The property was also 5 acres, mostly wooded, and the home was a small ranch, on a hill, and in perfect condition. The woman had a lot of beautiful antiques, and it was immaculate. I have to mention that Eric was not at all happy about even thinking about moving, in fact he pretty much decided he wasn’t going, no matter what!

This house seemed perfect for us, so we decided to put a bid in. Our bid was accepted and we put our house on the market and scheduled an ‘Open House’. A couple of weeks went by when I got a phone call from the woman. . .she was frantic, absolutely hysterical. . .I thought that her husband must have died. Uh, NO. . .he just packed up his stuff and left for a commune in Lake Tahoe...alrighty then!!!! I could not calm her down. She was very upset, but she seemed more upset that there was no one there to cut the grass. So, being the ‘NICE’ people that we are, we decided to go over there and Jerry would cut her grass.

When we arrived at the house, the woman was working in the garden….’HOLY SHIT, JERRY, SHE KILLED HIM AND IS BURYING HIS BODY IN THE GARDEN!!!!!!’!! I expected to see a hand in the soil!!

Oh My GOD!!!! We didn’t know these people, who knows if she was capable of something like that!!!! I could just see us on the news. Anyway, she proceeded to give Jerry his grass cutting instructions, and believe me, they’re were a lot...and they were very precise as to how she wanted that grass cut. I got to sit on the porch with her while we waited. She began to tell me a very strange, and twisted story. She said that her husband had a relationship with their daughter that was way too close. . .inappropriately close (OMG!! I don’t want to hear this stuff!!). . .she also hauled out a garbage bag full of his books regarding commune living in Lake Tahoe, with various passages highlighted. Apparently this was a place that he went often, and alone...but I don’t think that she realized that his intentions were to go there and stay once the house was sold, I think that these were his plans all along. 

Jerry finished the grass, and the woman gave his work a critique, it wasn’t quite up to her standards. . .I’m not sure that she even said ‘Thank You’. She brought out something for Jerry to drink and at that point told us that she had the locks changed. . .but that the locksmith was chasing her around the basement, so she had to tell him to leave. . .(look in the G-A-R-D-E-N!!!). Thank God I came with Jerry or he might have been accused of chasing her with the lawn mower.

When we left, I told Jerry that I didn’t want anything to do with this house at all!!!! BAD JuJu!!! As soon as we got home, I called the realtor who was handling our sale and cancelled the Open House. We would wait for the contract to expire, and hope that our home didn’t sell until then.

That evening, I got a call from the ‘husband’…..’Well, hello’. He was calling from Lake Tahoe to assure us that even though he had left, nothing would change and that the deal would all be the same. I told him that his wife was devastated, and that he would have been better off dropping dead than leaving her high and dry, and that he should have at least waited until the process was complete.  Luckily, there was no interest in our house, and the contract did expire. . .and that was the last we ever heard of either one of them.

And so, we move on?

Another house that caught our eye was actually on the street that we now live on. It was a small refurbished farmhouse, with a big, beautiful barn on the property. The house itself was just so small, so small that the bathroom was directly off the dining room. It was remodeled, but not really to our liking, but it was that great barn that had us hooked. Jerry and I went to check it out, and then I decided to take the kids to see the property. So, Todd, Eric, & myself took a ride. I don’t remember if we went in, but we did walk around the property and of course into the massive barn. . .which both guys liked.

When we were ready to leave. we got in the car, and something smelled like shit...’ Check your shoes guys, one of you must have stepped in dog shit’!! They checked, and said nothing was on their shoes. . ‘one of you stepped in shit and it stinks!!!’ I kept at them because the odor was getting worse!! I looked down at my feet, and there, all over my sandal clad feet. . Oozing and gushing up between my toes. . spread all over the floor, and covering the car pedals was a mushy, red, you guessed it...DOG SHIT!!! Lots of it!!! Needless to say, the three of us started to laugh so hard that we literally cried. . .I had to pull over because we were laughing so hard. There was nothing to be done at that point, just hold our breaths and head for home. I don’t know how we got there because this kind of ‘funny’ doesn’t go away very fast!! When we did get home, I jumped out of the car, got the hose and just cleaned my feet and sandals. . .then I had to clean the car...OMG!!! It was so gross!!! And of course the kids were still laughing!

We pass that house all the time now because it’s just a few doors away...and every time, I can’t help but think of the red dog shit!!!!

We had made an appointment to see a house that was just down the street from the small farmhouse. We got there on time and waited for the agent to show up. That never happened, so we decided to take a ride down the street since we really loved this area, (On our first date, Jerry and I took a ride down this street and got lost in the fog...at least that’s what he told me), so you can see why we were drawn here. As we checked out the area, we saw another house for sale. . .our current house. My first thoughts were ‘UGLY!!’, and I really had no interest in seeing the interior.

When we got home, I did call about the house, and was really surprised to learn how large it was.  They called it a split level, so I expected a small stairs off the living room.  We made an appointment.  The front entry had double doors and when I walked into the huge foyer, once again my jaw dropped.  This was not your average split level home.  It was actually a tri-level, with a full staircase to the upstairs. . .not what I had pictured at all. 

Probably the weirdest thing about this house was the basement.  They had closed off half of it and made it into an apartment...an awful apartment.  How anyone lived there is beyond me.  Jerry assured me that it could be reversed.  The yard was beautiful and there was an in-ground pool to boot.  We fell in love with this house. . .it went from ‘UGLY’ to ‘GORGEOUS’ in one fell swoop!

Needless to say, we bought the house.  By this time Todd was already in college, and Eric was ready to start high school, so moving was no problem. 

On the evening before we were to move, we went to the house to take some smaller items.  When we walked into the family room, the owners son and a friend of his were there (he lived in the house). . .the entire room smelled like pot...I guess they were celebrating.

Once we were moved in, Jerry took on the major task of the basement, which was separated into two basements.  He took down the wall in between….and then started to clean...and clean...and clean.

Todd was home from school at one point and helped Jerry.  They found a few very interesting items down there.  Hidden in the rafters was a rifle, and an array of snapshots taken in our yard of a naked woman...OK...into the fireplace they went!!! (Todd wanted to take them back to school with him. . .I don’t think so!)!!  They also found a floor safe that they had to pry open.  In this safe was a bottle, in the bottle was a rolled up small plastic bag, tightly wound with rubber bands...in that was a cigarette pack, also rolled up...in the cigarette pack were a few very large white pills.  Now call me crazy, but I doubt if that’s where they stored their vitamins.  We contemplated having them analyzed, but had no idea what they were and didn’t want to be caught with this unknown substance, so they got flushed...what a lovely housewarming!!!

So, here we are 20 years later. . .in our beautiful remodeled house, with my new gourmet kitchen that Jerry did for me. . .and contemplating if it’s time to move on yet again. 

“So Jerry, what do you think, are you up for another adventure?”

Just Call Me 'Grandma'!!!! ????

Now that I’m finally going to have my first Grandchild, since Eric and Sarah are expecting their first baby in October.. (even saying that gives me chills and makes me want to cry...and I‘ve been on a cloud since I found out)....I started to think about what I want to be called. ‘Grandma’ is probably the easiest, but do I really want to be called ‘Grandma’?


There’s a lot to consider here, since this is what I will always be to all of my Grandchildren.  I was never much of a fan of ‘Nana’, and my apologies to those of you who are called Nana, but it reminds me of ’Nanny’ way too much. I could go the Italian route and choose ‘Nonni’, but that just doesn’t seem like a good fit, maybe because I’m not Italian. Of course, there’s always the Polish version, ‘Babcia’ (pronounced ‘bop-cha’) is Fathers mother, and ‘Busha’ (pronounced ‘boo-sha’) is mothers mother……I guess that would make me Babcia...but that steers me to a black dress and babushka...not exactly where I want to go.

If I were to choose the international ‘grandma’...maybe German, ‘Oma’...or Dutch, ‘Grootmoeder’...or perhaps Spanish, ‘Abuela’ or Portuguese, Avó.  The French Grandma sounds rather beautiful, ‘Grand Mere’...and there’s something nice about Grandma in Slovenia, ‘Babica’.   Oh, I don’t know, “Abuela, play with me…Grootmoeder, read me a story”….. just doesn’t do it for me.

I guess ‘Grandma Kancar’ would work, but that is my husbands Mom to all of us. But, when my boys were little, in order to distinguish their two grandma's, they called my mom, 'Grandma with the Big Hair', and Jerry's mom, 'Smokey's Grandma' (she had a basset hound named Smokey)! Those were names that they chose, and of course as they got older that changed to Grandma Kancar and Grandma Bielat.

What about ‘Grandma K’ or even ‘Grandma Carole’? Now that would be good, except that Sarah’s Mom is also Carol and that could get confusing. She already has two grandsons that call her grandma.

My son Todd’s Mother-in-law told me that when they have children, she wants to be called ‘Mimi’, so that’s out.  There’s always ‘Grand Mother’ or ‘Grand Mummy’...uh, way too formal!!...and I’m not the Queen!!  One version I rather like is ‘Grandmom’ sounds more modern. There's always 'Gram', 'Grams', or even 'Grammy'...way too cutsie for me. What about 'Granny'..yeah, right! That's a bit too 'Beverly Hillbillies'!!!

I've been thinking about this a lot and something that I did come up with that I really like is 'Gia'....I love the sound of it.

Anyway, I have a few months to decide on a perfect fit. Regardless of what I’ll be called, this is a dream come true for me and I’m absolutely thrilled!!!! So for now, just call me ‘Grandma’!!!!!!

Confessions of a Packrat.... ('If you Have 2, It's a Collection!')

AA
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col-lec-tion :
The act or process of collecting.
A group of objects or works to be seen, studied, or kept together.                                                 
An accumulation, Gathering together.
ad-dic-tion: 
Compulsive physiological and psychological need for a habit-forming substance.

The condition of being habitually or compulsively occupied with or involved in something.
packrat:

Any of various small North American rodents that collect in or around
their nests a great variety of small objects .

A collector or accumulator of miscellaneous objects. 

"....My NAME IS CAROLE, AND I'M ADDICTED TO DISHES"

Exactly when does the 'Packrat' syndrome begin? Early on would be my guess. Are we 'Connoisseurs of Collecting' or 'Selective Packrats'? Or perhaps, we're obsessed with possessing more than one of a particular item. I'm inclined to think that a lot of the enjoyment of collecting is the 'Hunt'. Finding that exact item that you've been looking for to add to your collection can be so exciting. Whatever the case, collecting is fun!

A

As a child I absolutely loved paper dolls, or cut-outs as I always called them. Those cut-outs came in card board folders that were used to store the paper dolls and the clothes that you had already cut out. I can remember saving all the folders. My paper doll collection consisted of Wedding, Baby Doll, Movie Star, Family, etc. One in particular that I remember was from the movie 'Oklahoma'. How I wish I had saved all of them because I see them constantly at fleamarkets, antique shows, and on Ebay ...and they're very pricey at times.

As an adult, I've collected an array of items: Tea Pots (a slew of yellow ones included); Blue Willow China (started with my Grandmothers); White China; turquoise melamine (this is where the 'dish' addiction comes in); glass candle holders; children's books, cookbooks, books in general (my collection consists of a large number of 'Wizard of Oz' and 'Little Women' editions); Cabbage Patch Dolls (saving these for grandchildren); Lazy Susan's; vintage purses; green marbles, green vintage hand mirrors (my bathroom is green); and vintage wedding cake toppers. Right now, I've been concentrating on woman's gloves, my grandmother started me on that. I have well over 1000 pairs, every color, length, and style that you can imagine. I have these in dresser drawers sorted by color. Vintage Ginny dolls has also become a fun collection, although there are some really serious collectors out there and the prices are rather high. I myself prefer the sad little ones that need some TCL. My Lazy Susan collection started with 2 turquoise/white ones at an estate sale. I didn't buy them right away, but I kept thinking about them, so I went back the next day and bought both. That's all I needed ...now I've started a collection. I look for markings on the back that say 'California'. I now have too many in all colors. This is a collection that takes up too much room, so I'm thinking about cutting it down and just keeping the colors that are my favorite. I've also recently started to collect the cardboard Christmas houses for under the tree, and the old bottlebrush Christmas trees to go along with them. I have so many beautiful ones.  My husband made a special 3-tiered stand for me to display them on during the holidays. That 12-step program is getting closer.

But, my all time favorite and most fun collection is one that I started maybe 2 years ago ...vintage wedding pictures ...all eras. I collect them for the styles. I read an article in the newspaper a few years ago regarding the various change in wedding gown styles ...that got me to thinking about what a wonderful collection old wedding photos would be. I collect them like someone collects stamps, for my own enjoyment, and I have so many that I actually needed a special cabinet to store them, one with separate sections so that I could separate them according to era. This collection has been so much fun! I started out by just copying photos and putting them in a binder, but it soon expanded to purchasing the actual vintage photographs. Ebay, flea markets, antique shops, relatives, are the best places to find them. My best find was at a yard sale. I was looking around at items displayed on a lawn under a tent. This was not your average garage sale because there were a lot of antiques. The man running it asked me if I was looking for anything in particular, I said old photos ...he asked what kind ...I said 'wedding'. He told me to wait while he went into the house. In a few minutes he returned with a chair in one hand and a binder in the other. He put the chair down, told me to sit and handed me the binder. I started to look through it and my heart started to pound .... it was all old wedding pictures ... '30's, '40's, '50's. I didn't even look through all of it, but I went far enough to know that I had to have it, all of it! I figured that he'd want at least $300. for the entire album. I thought, ok, first I'll ask him how much for each photo. He said it depended, maybe $5 or $10 each. Then I asked how much for the whole thing. He didn't answer and kept side stepping my question ...but, I kept asking (answer me mister, my heart can't take the suspense). I decided that I would pay $100. at the very most for the entire album and I figured he would eventually say $300. Finally, after quite awhile, he answered, "$100." (at that point I almost fell off the chair!) .... I said, "Would you take $90.?". He said yes. I walked across to my car and when I got in, I let out an excited high pitched "eeeeee" and just shook all over. ... Damn!, I hit the mother load!! Quite a few of the pictures in this album were post card size and from Romania. One thing that all of these vintage Romanian brides had in common was that they wore metallic streamers on their veils or bouquets. I tried in vain to find out what the streamers meant.. .. I'm thinking a wish for prosperity. I was meant to have the album, I'm convinced of it.

When my husband and I were at a local antique mall, I was looking at a doll and a woman in another stall said she couldn't help but over hear what I said. She asked what else I collect. Of course, I went through my current collection list. I mentioned old wedding pictures. She said that she was doing an estate sale for a man who owned some sort of local newspaper and that there were some wedding pictures, the kind that brides would have sent to the newspaper to announce their marriage. She asked if we could meet her at the house and so we did ..... Boxes and stuff every where. I found the box with the pictures ... there were a lot. I asked her what she wanted for them and she said "$20." ...I said "I'll take 'um!". When we got home, my husband and I started to look through the pictures. They were mostly from the 1960's, maybe a few from the '70, and two from the '40s. There were 123 in all and believe it or not, I actually knew one of the brides .... what are the chances of that. Once again, I was meant to have these pictures.

Once at an auction I noticed a box with some old photos. Upon closer examination, you guessed it, wedding pictures. There must have been 50 or 60. I wanted to just scoop up the box and tell them that I would buy it, but we know auctions don't work like that. I made up my mind that the . photos would be mine because I would outbid everyone else (that took some of the pressure off). I was a nervous wreck (I always get like that when there's something that I want at an auction) waiting for the box to come up for bid. Finally, I bid ...someone else bid ...then I bid again ..... .'what no more bids?' .... YES! The box was mine, for $12.00!! Talk about a steal!! OK, now I could relax.

People at the auction, flea markets, antique shops know me as the 'wedding picture lady'. Sometimes the problem with that is that when they know what you're interested in, the price goes up. I let them know straight out that I won't pay much because I have so many and I can be selective. Of course, there's always that one gorgeous photograph that I can't live without and therefore don't think twice about paying more. The beauty in all of my wedding picture collection is amazing. Some of the photos are signed by the photographer and are truly works of art.

Things are really bad when you start to collect for other people. My husband Jerry, collects Boy Scout items and license plates ... my son, Eric, collects marbles, old maps, and metal globes ...and my son, Todd, collects unusual photographs (crime scene, post mortem, etc.), vintage paint-by-number, and black velvet paintings. And of course I keep my eyes open for all of those things! 

Thinking back, I seem to recall that my son Eric’s marble collection started when he was about 6 years old. On one particular weekend, we had ventured to one of our very rural, but huge flea market haunts and had purchased a large butter container full of marbles for him. Eric held onto the container like it was his last bowl of noodles (noodles were pretty much all he wanted to eat at that age). On our way home, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch, and of course he took the container in with him so that he could check out his find. As we stood in the restaurant waiting to be seated, Eric dropped the butter container…...Uhh!!!…was the single chorus that came out of all our mouths...the marbles rolled everywhere, scattering like cockroaches when you flick on a light. Eric looked at us and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry (as the shock dissipated, we couldn’t keep the laughter in). As luck would have it, a restaurant employee was sweeping at the time (how convenient), and without a word just started to sweep up the marbles. Before you knew it, the butter container was once again full. As we ate lunch, patrons were bringing us wayward marbles that had rolled under their tables. I’m assuming that somewhere out there this story has been told by those patrons…’Once Upon a Time, there was a little boy and a butter container of marbles….’. Those marbles were in a gumball machine in Eric’s room for a long time, but were then packed away and banished to the basement (as are most collections at one time or another). A few years ago, he resurrected his marble collection and we’ve been adding to it ever since...it’s quite extensive now.

As a very young child, my son Todd had a penchant for little plastic animals. Every time we went shopping we would buy a bag of these animals which were sold as either farm, jungle, or zoo. He had so many of them that we ended up getting a very large plastic container to store them in (we set them up for play on a black & white check bedspread). On one of our shopping trips, he noticed a bag that had teeny, tiny piglets in it and even though he already had multiples of all the other animals in the bag, he just had to have those teeny tiny piglets, and of course as a collector at heart, I thought he should have them too. Todd is an adult now, his animal collection has become that of taxidermy. His prize piece being that of a Buffalo head which he received as a gift from his father-in-law. His ‘paintings’ collection began some time ago when I was at an estate sale and found a black velvet painting right out of the ‘70s of a wide eyed girl, lifting her shirt to expose her breasts… tacky to say the least, but highly collectible (my husband always says ‘What a Mom!’). He lives in New York city, so I called him from the estate sale to ask if he would be interested in the painting….of course, he was. I ended up purchasing it for $5. and that was the beginning. On Ebay, I found an exquisite vintage ‘paint-by-number nude’. It was so well done, and the paint had acquired that beautiful old patina, I just had to have it for his collection. Three more Ebay ‘nudes’ followed soon after. Are we seeing a pattern emerge? Now tell me collecting isn’t genetic.

Awhile back, my friend Jan (another avid collector) and I stopped at an antique store in yet another rural town. Our husbands waited in the car since we pushed their ‘antiquing’ buttons to the limit. Inside was a ‘paint-by-number’ treasure trove, I bought twelve of them and one black velvet painting. Our husbands thought we were captured by pirates since we were in there for so long. I couldn’t wait to call Todd and tell him about our find.  We are a family of 'Collectors'.

I've come to the conclusion that people who 'collect' are warm hearted ...wanting to be surrounded by things we love to look at. ... and possess. If that is an addiction of sorts, then so be it. ....we could all be addicted to worse.

"Hello Carole."