when you get The News…

The person I love has cancer.

These are words that seem to spell an inevitable end to many, a death sentence from which there is no return, a statement that everyone nervously skirts around at a get-together. For those who have not experienced a loved one stricken with cancer, there is a disconnect, a mental, “duh”. When my wife and I received the initial diagnosis of cancer, my heart sank. I was convinced that I was going to lose the person I love, the person I had spent the last 20 years with. My wife was going to die. Soon.

Note: When I activated this post, I neglected to mention my friends who have lost their life partners to cancer. I do not know the pain and anguish that they experienced, or their feelings of helplessness as they watched the life slowly drain from the person that they had dedicated their souls to. I cannot imagine the sheer loss, sadness and frustration that they must still feel. I can only tell my story and what my wife and I have endured. All I have to offer my friends is the message that I hope they treasure the good moments that they had with their life partners. For now, I watch my wife wither a little bit every day, but I revel in the moments when she is with me, unfettered by the painkillers, sound of mind and once again the woman that I promised to honor and cherish until death do us part. She is the person who I call every day from work, her life; the garden I tend every day, the soul I sometimes cry for when I am alone; the one I would gladly sacrifice myself for, just to rid her forever of the cancer that has stricken her, our modern day plague.

6 years ago – 2014.

Time can be a brutal teacher, sometimes. I have heard that time can heal all wounds. The passage of time brought about my declaration of war against depression, denial and loss in relation to cancer. I fight for the one I love, no matter barriers, no matter the cost.

It has been 6 years since I took my wife into the emergency room for back pain so excruciating that she could not sit down. It was in that room that the 20-ish Emergency Room physician conducted a number of tests; the last, an X-Ray. It was not long before the doctor returned to tell us that there were a number of masses in the X-Ray.

My wife immediately broke out in tears, exclaiming why her former husband could not have had her results instead of her. She was devastated. I didn’t know what to say. I just patted her on her back, put my arm around her shoulder and told her everything was going to be okay. All the while, I was fighting back tears. A thought seemed to rebound in my mind. I’m going to lose her.

Hindsight does wonders.

There were several moments on that night that could have made the stark news that the Emergency Room doctor gave us. The first thing the young doctor could have done was to give us some kind of reassurance, regardless of whether the doctor may have felt it was pointless or not.

it is not the end of their existence.

The doctor noticed masses covering my wife’s abdomen and brought it to her attention. At the time, the doctor knew as much as we did. The mind is an amazing thing, and like a weapon, can harm or heal. When truth (or facts) are blatantly revealed, it can slice into a person’s will to live as deeply and as surely as any scalpel. The soul is wounded and can be left with indelible scars that last for the lifetime of the person who it is revealed to.

I sometimes wish that the E.R. doctor thought about what the stark truth could do to my wife’s psyche. Sure, the patient needs to know the truth, but come into the conversation armed with news that balances the truth, regardless of whether it is mired in fact or not. I feel that in our world today, many young healthcare professionals (not all professionals in healthcare, mind you) allow themselves to become jaded in a very short amount of time. Facts and truth are all important treasures to be laid at their patient’s feet.

Offerings however, may not be perceived in the same light as the person who gives the presents. Hell, even in retail, gift receipts are offered, so that a customer can exchange what has been purchased for something more to their “palate”. Information however, may or may not be perceived as a gift. It is a “Pandora’s Box” that once opened, could be filled with depression, sadness or pestilence. Perhaps the healthcare professional needs training to develop compassion, or communication skills to offer “hope” for their patients, when the news is as bad as what my wife received that night.

There are many, many healthcare professionals who regularly display compassion to their patients. I have seen proof of compassionate professionals again and again since my wife and I have traveled the road that is paved with cancer. As a spouse who has observed the person I love go from feeling great to feeling despondent and suicidal the next day, I feel that the gift to help patients heal from the inside out is should be primary in the evolution of cancer care.

There are days I feel that I myself, jumped over a chasm of doubt and sadness that I could have fallen into easily. Fortunately, I have a sister who convinced me early during my period of sadness and dread that I needed to be strong for my wife – to exude confidence in her ability to defeat her cancer, rather than succumb to it. That period of training myself to become more composed and unflappable did not come easily. There were days when I had to excuse myself from my wife’s presence so that I could cry alone.

The Worst Thing that Could have Happened

The worst thing that my wife felt when she began her chemotherapy, was the loss of her hair. Despite the fact that she received a prohibitively expensive wig made of real human hair, as well as the loss of all facial hair (eyebrows, etc.), nothing else came close to her fear. My wife fell into a deep state of depression when she lost her hair. No matter what I said, no matter how beautiful I told her she looked, her mood would sour every time she glanced into the mirror. It was not until her chemotherapy ended that her mood improved and her state of well being improved.

has our world become dispassionate?

Despite my statements, I don’t feel that we collectively, have lost our ability to feel compassion for those in need. I did however, experience a difference in the office cultures of two cancer centers, both part of the same organization. The cancer center my wife loves to visit always seems to have staff who are happy, energetic and project a feeling of hope. The other cancer center gave me the feeling that they looked upon the I see regular displays of people helping other people, people sacrificing their personal safety for strangers every day.

I do however, believe that like the soldier who experiences PTSD on the battlefield, healthcare professionals may develop a “thick skin” to cope with the sight of horrific injuries, helping victims of cancer and other diseases cope with the deterioration of their or the erosion of what were rock-solid relationships that can occur between couples when faced with major decisions that must be made when coping with potentially life-threatening diseases such as cancer.

I can imagine the need for a healthcare professional to insulate their own thoughts and feelings, not to mention their own sanity, so that they can accomplish their daily job with standards they have set for themselves, not to mention greeting their patients with a happy or peaceful look on their face and a certain level of panache.

The Importance of Trust and Faith

I feel that it is very important for your loved one to be in an office where they feel that those who care for them, have their interest at heart. For anyone to have a physician who appears aloof or non-caring, regardless whether or not the physician truly does care about the patient, I believe that trust must be implicit as part of their recovery regimen.

My wife relies on her oncologist; not only to keep her spirits up but holds her physician up as a rock solid foundation of belief that she is going to continue to live. Her oncologist is a personal touchstone who supports my wife’s belief that her cancer will soon be eradicated. Her oncologist is very different from the award-winning, “I love me wall” all-around, aloof-sounding, “hero” oncologist she was assigned to a year ago for new, ground-breaking gene therapy treatments.

The new oncologist had all the answers about how the new treatments would work. We both felt that the oncologist who treated her had a very different personality than her regular oncologist. His attitude was more daunting and definitely patronizing. He decided to start my wife as a candidate in a treatment program from China. I heard many patients lauding the “hero” oncologist with honor and praise, but my wife preferred her oncologist. She missed her oncologist, terribly. I felt for my wife. I personally felt that she was nothing more than a lab rat for the award-winning oncologist, someone to use in a control study, rather than someone to care about as a patient. Whether my wife’s oncologist had all the answers or not, I felt that the person my wife has seen for over 5 years now, cares very much for her and has her survival as a cancer patient in mind. I feel that my wife’s oncologist is “hero” enough for her.

Complications of Cancer

Needless to say, the award-winning oncologist did not have an opportunity to prove his mettle to my wife. 8 months ago, my wife shattered her cancerous hip as she left the cancer center following a blood test. Her accident resulted in the loss of a job that she coveted, along with benefits that many in our country do not receive. After 3 months and 2 surgeries in and out of the hospital, my wife lives in a quasi-coherent existence of pain killers and muscle relaxant medications. During her rational state, my wife burns with a desire to work again, perhaps share her specialized knowledge of reading EKG strips for the past 20 years. I live with the hope that my wife will one day be free of the painkillers and that one day, I will once again, have the clear-headed, highly-opinionated woman that I married by my side.

Using Social Media

Social Media such as YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or Snapchat can be instrumental in locating markets for your website. There are other social media platforms that you may or may not be using, such as Flickr, Ello or TikTok. All of them work differently, so it is important for you to understand how they can help you.

Facebook

Facebook is probably one of the most influential social media platforms that you can use. Unlike many of the other social media platforms, it allows you to target specific markets. Recent political marketing on Facebook proved the effectiveness to reach specific markets; an excellent demonstration of how you can put its power to use.

YouTube

YouTube is effective in delivering video messages directly to your audience. “Edutainment” can take on many forms as a video. An artist can demonstrate their technique (for example), value that may be inherent in the art that they create. A musician can reach tight niche groups by talking about their music and how it relates to their interests. A writer can talk about their work…break into the nuances of what they tried to say in their prose. A culinary artist can demonstrate the beauty of their presentation, even taking their audience to create exact copies of their work in step-by-step informational videos.

Twitter

Twitter offers exactly 140 characters to deliver a message. It is a unique social media platform that is utilized by celebrities, politicians and businesses. “You can create a hashtag unique for your business and use it in your marketing to help people find your company and the conversations around it. In fact, hashtags are a great way to use Twitter for customer service and support.”- Social Media Examiner Twitter offers an artist the ability to “Tweet” a quick notice about what they are doing at the moment, as well as include a quick image of their life, as a method to promote themselves. A writer can offer a quick tweet of themselves at a bookstore signing.  A musician can tweet what venue they are playing at, showing a quick snapshot of the audience to bring in a larger crowd. An artist can tweet the gallery they are displaying their latest work, even include a snapshot of the work everyone is vying for to attempt a bidding war for their art. A culinary artist can tweet which of their locations they are in and provide a snapshot of their latest creation that is selling out from the menu.

Instagram

Instagram is a visual social media platform that can be used in place of “a thousand words”. With 25 million business profiles worldwide, 2 million advertisers worldwide use Instagram to share their stories and drive results. -Instagram One of the most innovative ways I have found to utilize Instagram is to create an Instagram account and link it to your Facebook account. This method works very well if your desire is to set up an auction for a piece of work that you have completed.

Snapchat

Snapchat is unique among social media platforms in that messages created are short-lived. The “self-destruct” quality of a Snapchat message started as a way for millennials to stay entertained. With 150 million users, Snapchat is used by people in the 13 to 34 age range, more males now use the platform. So, how could an artist use Snapchat? A gallery show would be the best use, perhaps a giveaway that offers a limited amount of time for Snapchat users to attend the gala. Culinary artists can use Snapchat in the same way, perhaps a limited menu offering for a specific amount of time to drive customers into the door. An author can use Snapchat for a book signing in a specific bookstore at a specific time…perhaps the offer of a free book can entice Snapchat users to attend. Simultaneous draws on Facebook and Twitter can add to the excitement of a dwindling opportunity to meet the artist in question.

Flickr

Flickr cannot be used to sell a product. It can, however, be used to promote you or your work with photographs or events.

Ello

Ello is an ad-free alternative is existing social media networks. Ello is more of a “closed” kind of social network that is accessed by invitation only. Ello has become a uniquely relational social media platform in that it is “espousing a message of trust and cooperation, and the cornerstone of that is their insistence on not running adverts and not selling their user’s data to third parties.” – Make Use Of

TikTok

TikTok is all about short form mobile videos. Launched in 2017 by ByteDance, it is an app that was created for markets outside of China. More like a YouTube for mobile devices, TikTok is meant to spurn creative videos developed, edited and streamed on a mobile device. Videos are limited to 15 seconds and it works like other social media. Followers can leave reviews or comments as well as likes and/or hashtags. Like Snapchat, quick videos from artists could serve as promotions for a new generation of users.

I covered a few social media platforms in this blog post. As of this writing, there are many more platforms that show increased popularity. Do you want to sell your work or simply promote what you have created? As you can see, each platform serves a purpose. My advice is to choose what platform (or combination of platforms) best fit your perceived needs.

Next…Local Optimization

If you have not served in the military, you have not experienced what it is like to truly offer yourself, your life and your freedom to serve. That being said, it was the military that allowed me to “kickstart” options in my life that I never realized I had.

We All Had a Reason to Join

I was going to graduate from high school in 1976. I had no real future and no plans to attend college, like my classmates. I had been working since the age of 15 as a janitor, dishwasher and pizza maker, not really making any headway in any position, living with my parents and making wrong adult decisions. I had already become a drinker, dancing until the early hours of the morning, with nothing to show for my effort but hangovers and a pregnant girlfriend. In short, I was failing in life and I wasn’t even “out of the gate”. I made the decision to join the military.

The Process of Enlistment

Getting into the military was an effort. I decided to go into the Navy. I had grown up as an Air Force brat and I did not want to have anything to do with the Air Force or Army. I had seen what my father had gone through and it seemed too restrictive for my taste. Anytime I saw sailors, I saw parties and drunken carrousers. THAT was what I wanted. I gave my local Navy recruiter a call and spoke to Bill Sutton, a veteran Radioman about what it would take for me to join. Bill went over my grades with me and said that I should be able to get in. Anyone who knew me in school, knew me as a person who never seemed to be in school. I skipped classes constantly in high school, though I would read all the material I was given. I did not take any Math classes, choosing to focus instead on creative arts such as English or Theater. I would rue the day that I made those decisions, but not that time.

Bill administered the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) test. I scored high on everything except Arithmetic Reasoning and Math. My scores were low, but enough to get me in. Bill was confident that I would be able to handle what was going to be thrown at me in my career. My scores in Word Knowledge and Paragraph Comprehension were very high. Bill recommended that I sign up as a Navy Journalist. It was exactly what I wanted. As a journalist, I might become a radio broadcaster or even write for a military paper. The problem was that I would have to wait for a year to enter into the military DINFOS school and I needed to get into the military. Now. Why? My girlfriend was pregnant and I wanted to marry her. Did I tell Bill that little piece of information? Hell no. I just told Bill that I really wanted to join the Navy, now. Bill’s advice was an option; Operations Specialist. I would broadcast on the radio and could be involved in top secret operations. My father got his start in radar when he started in the Air Force during the Korean war. Bill did not lie to me. I was a broadcaster on radio…just not the kind of broadcaster I wanted to be.

I opted for Operations Specialist, hoping that within a year, I could be eligible to opt out for a seat in the Journalism school, instead. The test complete, I needed to pass another test, the military physical. Bill sent me to what is now known as the MEPS station for my phsyical.

My first hurdle in joining the military was that the surgeon stated I was not qualified to join. I had a fresh scar across my neck that the surgeon took a shine to instantly.

“What’s that?” he asked me.

“I just had an operation,” I answered him. “A thyroidectomy. 95 percent subtotal.”

“Are you on medication?”

I nodded.

“Thyroid replacement.”

He sighed.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in. Physically, you’re okay, except that you have flat feet and you’re taking medication.”

“Can’t you make an exception?”

“No. I can’t let you go in. You have too many other problems that disqualify you for service.”

I went back home and talked to my father about what the doctor said.

“I’ll go back to the station with you,” he said.

Dad was true to his word. He went back to the station with me and had me sit down at a chair so that he could talk with a sergeant at a desk. I looked at the person talking with my father. He had an Air Force insignia on his arm. He left for a moment and came back to talk to my father for a few more minutes. Both of them smiled at each other and he beckoned me to approach him.

“Looks like your father really wants to help you get into the service,” he said.

I nodded.

“Okay, I talked to my commanding officer. He talked to the surgeon and they don’t see a problem in letting you join. Looks like you’re in the Navy.”

He had a record in front of him with my name on it. He had a stamp in his hand. With a flourish, he pounded his fist on the record…”Passed” showed up across the record in big red letters. I had successfully passed the military physical, only because my military father had intervened on my behalf.

Bill called me within days of my physical and told me to get down to the processing station with a light bag. My mother’s idea of a “light bag” was a suitcase, which would be taken from me and sent home, including my underwear that was packed with it. My father went with me. I filled out the necessary paperwork, signed my name on the line and got on a bus to head to the airport. I was on my way to NTC San Diego, California for Boot Camp.

Boot Camp

Boot camp was a flurry of activity. I ended up in a “Special Company” because I could sing. We were not a “drill company”, we composed the marching band, the navy choir and the flag team. We did a lot of marching in San Diego. We marched on the “Grinder”. Those days were hot, sleazy kinds of days, marching on a hot tarmac, covered with the smells and splatter of pigeon shit. I grew to hate pigeons in those days. When we weren’t marching, we were in a hot classroom, nudging each other to stay awake and when we weren’t in class, we were running in the heat, learning to fight fires in the heat, sitting in tear gas, learning how to fire a weapon and sweat together as a group to complete our mile-and-a-half run in two minutes, fifteen seconds. Our evenings were spent polishing boots, ensuring that our bunks were spot on and our clothing was folded perfectly for our daily inspections.

Boot camp could take up the size of a book, so I will be brief enough to let you know that in the time I was at NTC, I ended up being robbed on liberty (I was at a company party and our entire group was waylaid by two individuals who robbed us all at gunpoint – apparently a common practice at that time – which left me on the base for another month, while I waited for my military ID to be reprocessed). I was lucky to graduate with my class. I had a report chit pulled from me, ready to go in my last two weeks, because I decided to humiliate a fresh company marching into their barracks, in full view of their company commander. My company commander chewed me out for over an hour, telling me how lucky I was, since their company commander wanted me to repeat my boot camp training.

Two weeks later, I took part in my graduation with my company and received my orders for Apprentice Training. AT was quick on my timeline radar, more of a laid back kind of memory, filled with classes that taught us all how to tie knots and learn all the functions of shipboard life to prepare us for our future as sailors.

To Become a Sailor

I remember the flight to the Phillippines to catch my first ship, the USS Long Beach (CGN-9). It was a very long flight for me. Families were on the flight as well, since it also stopped at several airports along the way. We were on an Air Force C-9, bound for Clark Air Base, Phillippines. Our flight from San Diego made a stop in Anchorage, Alaska, where we all de-planed into what was a cold airport. We boarded another C-9 that stopped in Honolulu, Wake Island, Tachikawa Air Base in Japan and finally, Clark Air Base, Phillippines.

Opening the door to the Phillippines was a memorable greeting for me. The air was so hot and humid that my glasses fogged up as soon as I stepped out of the door. I suffered from jet lag and shuffled behind everyone onto the tarmac, measuring every step carefully as I struggled to wipe the fog from my glasses that seemed to not go away. I retrieved my sole baggage from the airport, a duffel bag and walked to customs. On my way to customs, I noticed a couple of yellow buses parked not far from the small airport, all of them with different names. Out of customs, I found my way to the Naval attache, showed him my orders, who directed me to the first bus that was parked next to the terminal. A large sign, “Subic Bay” was on the front of the bus, with a line of sailors, men and women formed up at the door, each with a duffel bag in hand and filing onto the bus.

Looking back on my past posts, one can realize what it was like to be on a ship, even a ship filled with as colorful and glorious a past as the USS Long Beach.

A Career Sailor

The life of a career sailor can become a plethora of changes: one command to another command, each stay at the command lasting only a year or two.

My tour on the Long Beach only lasted two years. It felt longer because those years were my most formative years, comprised of 2 months of scrubbing toilets that literally “exploded” with feces from time-to-time and 3 months of duty, scrubbing hundreds of steel sheet pans in a hot scullery every day. (By the way, I attempted to find steel sheet pans on the web like the ones that I worked with. There are none even close to what I cleaned. The pans I worked with were heavy individually, each one had to be at least 7 pounds each, pitted with use, always covered with grease.)

By the time I was finally introduced to the life of an Operations Specialist, I was grim. I learned from the best veterans in the U.S. Navy. Our captain could be stodgy at times, but I feel that he was the best mentor anyone could have to this day, Captain Harry S. Schrader (later Vice Admiral Harry S. Schrader, Commander Naval Surface Force, U.S. Pacific Fleet), a man I would have the honor of working for in other capacities throughout my career, a man who would eventually see me progress as an exceptional Operations Specialist.

My introduction to my commanding officer however, did not start out so well. I was assigned as the bridge talker as the ship took plane guard station 10 levels above the main deck.

It was an awesome sight and a scary position for me to be in. I felt like I was stationed on top of the world and “God” himself was in front of me. We were part of the world’s only nuclear task force, Long Beach, Enterprise and Truxtun, Long Beach taking station 500 yards behind the carrier for plane guard duty. For anyone who has never seen what it is like to be 500 yards behind a huge carrier, with jets taking off and landing on its deck, you don’t know awe or fear. Not yet, anyway. I was manning my sound-powered headphones, a naval tradition that dated back to the second world war. Captain Schrader had the conn and started by looking at my board before talking to me.

“Combat, give me a range and bearing to the carrier.”

I was ready for him.

“Aye sir…range to the carrier, 3,750 yards, bearing 279.”

“All right. Combat, give me range and bearing to the carrier every 15 seconds when we approach 2,000 yards.”

“Aye, Aye, sir.”

I could hear OS2 Goodman on the phones. He was manning the radar, chatting with the rest of the Combat Information Center watch crew in CIC, 12 decks below me.

“Goody, the captain wants range and bearing to the carrier every 15 seconds when we are within 2,000 yards of the carrier,” I whispered into the sound-powered phones.

“Combat, aye.”

Goodman’s voice was crisp and clear.

Captain Schrader called out for range and bearing to the carrier.

“Combat. Bridge. Need range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Range 2,300 yards. Bearing 270.”

“Roger,” I said.

“Captain, range is 2,300 yards, bearing 270.”

I watched the carrier pass us on my left. It looked huge. It also looked too close. The bridge tilted to one side as we turned.

“Quartermaster, give me constant range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Aye, captain,” answered the quartermaster manning the chart.

The captain stepped out onto the deck just outside of the bridge.

“Combat, range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Combat, range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Combat, aye.”

I watched the silhouette of the carrier loom ahead in front of us as the quartermaster called out visual range and bearing to the carrier, while I waited for word from CIC.”

“Combat, where is my range and bearing?”

“Aye sir. CIC, Bridge, range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Coming up.”

“Combat!”

Captain Schrader was obviously annoyed.

“Bridge Combat, range 1,700 yards at 300.

“Captain, CIC has carrier at 1,700 yards, bearing 300.”

“Okay, give me those ranges and bearings.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Combat, range and bearing to the carrier.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“What?”

“Don’t sweat it, man.”

“Captain wants range and bearing to the carrier every 15 seconds.”

I watched us approach the carrier closer as the quartermaster called out range and bearing of the carrier every 15 seconds.

“Combat, need range and bearing to the carrier. Captain wants it, now.”

“Okay, okay. Range 800 yards, bearing 357.”

“Captain, CIC reports range to the carrier 800 yards, bearing 357.”

By now, the captain was not listening to me, but the quartermasters. The aft end of the Enterprise loomed directly in front of us.

“Okay QM’s, that’s good. Give me a final bearing and range. Combat, finish up with the Officer-of-the-Deck. Good job everyone.”

I relayed the information to CIC, which now was silent. The circuit had gone dead while the watch changed. I felt like I did not do a good job, but that I did the best I could.

My tour on the USS Long Beach lasted until my new orders to my OS “A” School in late 1978, where I would spend 6 months at NTC Great Lakes, Illinois. I almost failed at the school, because of my low math skills. I never realized the need in high school to have even a rudimentary knowledge of trigonometry or calculus, a lesson I would rectify on my next command, sacrificing precious sleep for an education in mathematics at sea.

USS Monticello (LSD-35)

After school, I was assigned to the USS Monticello. I was salty, but not enough. Monticello was where I really grew up as a professional and as a man.

I grew as an Operations Specialist in a very small group. It gave me the opportunity to not only make my mistakes, but to stand out as a growing professional.

The USS Monticello was where I began to throw off my mantle of anger and frustration. I began to truly enjoy myself as a sailor and hone not only my perspective of the Navy, but discover what and who I was, by looking at the men that I lived and worked with. Those I worked with, shaped me into the man I would become. We would visit many countries, cities and ports. I would go with my friends on some occasions, scout out alone on others. All of the places we visited became a part of me.

What I discovered during this time was each port had its own distinctive smells. One of the guys taught me that. I can’t remember who did. But that person was right.

I would go on to more commands, more ships, more friends and more adventures after the Monticello. I would serve on the USS William H. Standley (CG-32), USNS Ponchatoula (TAO-148), FCTCPAC (Fleet Combat Training Center, Pacific) and USS Downes (FF-1032).

Eventually, life or destiny brought me back to the USS Long Beach (CGN-9) as one of the decommissioning crew, to retire her in 1992. As fate would have it, my last ship was the USS Denver (LPD-9).

I felt it fitting that I end my career and retire on the Denver, since I initially made my 20-year start in the MEPS station, located in Denver, Colorado. Looking back, were it not for my time in the military, life would have been very different for me, I doubt that my life would have been better, probably worse. What I have to look on with pride is that I took part in a part of our country’s history and served the United States as a military sailor with pride and honor.