Foreign Customs on New Year’s Eve

Shutterstock
People in France give presents to one another. A kid dreamed up that custom; I guarantee it.

For the past dozen years, our family has welcomed the new year at our friends’ house. They belong to the Quaker meeting that I pastor, and are on their best behavior. I’d hate to think what would happen if I weren’t there to keep things under control. We cheat at board games, watch old episodes of Johnny Carson, play ping-pong, discretely gossip about people who aren’t there, and overeat. At the stroke of midnight, we blow horns, throw confetti on one another, then leave before we’re pressed into service to clean up the mess we’ve made.

When our children were small, we stayed home and slept through that golden moment. We would stir at midnight when the teenagers next door set off firecrackers, then fall back to sleep. When our children went to school and discovered their friends stayed up past midnight, the going to bed early stopped, and we had to look around for somewhere to go. Several churches in our town have New Year’s Eve parties, but that felt too much like work. If I were a mechanic, I wouldn’t want to welcome the new year underneath a car. We were looking for something mildly decadent, but not so naughty it would get me fired, so we jumped at the chance to attend our friends’ party, throw confetti, gossip, and toss back a stiff apple cider at the appointed hour.

I assumed most people in the world celebrated the new year the way Americans do, but they don’t. In Belgium, children write nice letters to their parents and read them aloud. I don’t know who started that practice, but I bet it wasn’t a kid. That sounds like an adult’s idea. People in France give presents to one another. A kid dreamed up that custom; I guarantee it. In Germany, people drop a lump of hot lead into cold water to see what shape it makes. They believe the resulting shape reveals their future. For instance, if the lead assumes the shape of a bullet, it means someone is going to shoot you. But if the chunk of lead looks like France or Poland, it means you’ll be invaded by Germans. I could never live in India, where on New Year’s Eve they’re expected to finish any uncompleted work. My life is a train of unfinished tasks, one railcar after another of half-finished efforts, with no caboose in sight.

Hungarians make effigies called “Jack Straws,” then burn them at midnight. The effigies symbolize everything bad that happened the previous year, so burning them wipes the slate clean. Theoretically, it’s supposed to bring them good luck in the upcoming year, though it never does since they always have to make effigies the next New Year’s Eve. If you have to continually repeat a tradition meant to ensure good luck, it means it doesn’t work.

In Scotland they clean their homes. My father’s family is from Scotland, but I must be adopted because I wouldn’t dream of cleaning my house on New Year’s Eve. I think my birth parents were from Australia, where they welcome the new year camping on the beach.

This is our first New Year’s with the kids grown and gone. People arch their eyebrows and say, “Oh, you can finally whoop it up.” But Quakers aren’t known for their whooping. We’re good for a whoop or two, then settle down pretty quickly.

When I was little, I would take a bath, put on my pajamas, lie on the living room floor with my brothers and sister, and watch Guy Lombardo at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City. My dad would light a fire in the fireplace, and my mom would make popcorn. We were each allowed one bottle of Coke. The glass ball would drop in Times Square. Mr. New Year’s Eve, Guy Lombardo himself, would pick up his baton and the Royal Canadians would swing into action with Auld Lang Syne. My father would grow misty-eyed.

“If we were still in Scotland,” he would say, “we’d be cleaning the house right now.”

Hospice Girl Friday | ‘The Things I Never Knew’


Devra Lee Fishman’s dear friend and college roommate, Leslie, died from breast cancer one month shy of her 46th birthday after a four-year battle with the disease. Being with Leslie and her family at the end of her life inspired Devra to help care for others who are terminally ill. Each week, she documents her experiences volunteering at her local hospice in her blog, Hospice Girl Friday.

Recently my husband and I attended the funeral of Frank, a former community band mate of ours who died from brain cancer earlier this year. Frank’s wife also plays in the band and the four of us would often chat as we walked to our cars after our weekly rehearsals. We weren’t close friends and never saw each other socially outside of band, but after I saw Frank struggle to walk into rehearsal one evening I reached out to Betty and offered to come over to sit with Frank while she ran errands or just took a break from her 24/7 caregiving. Frank dozed the entire time my husband, Jim, and I sat with him but woke up to say goodbye just as we were leaving. Frank passed away the following week. He was 64.

Frank retired after 20 years in the navy and wanted to be inurned in Arlington National Cemetery, the hallowed and hauntingly beautiful burial ground a few miles from where we live. Because of his rank, Frank was sent off with full military honors that included an escort platoon, a colors team, a military band, and a horse-drawn caisson that carried Frank to his final resting place. Jim and I were honored to be there and surprised by what we learned about Frank’s life and legacy from his eulogists.

We knew Frank was a submariner, but we did not know that he retired as a commander. After he retired, he worked with a defense agency to create training and tools currently used by soldiers fighting today’s wars. We also knew that that he and Betty liked to tell stories, but we did not know that they once won the National Storytelling Network’s Oracle Award. And we did not know that Frank was in the process of writing several stories of his own before cancer robbed him of his words, and that Tom Clancy had dedicated one of his blockbuster books to him.

Jim and I were silent as our motorcade slowly traveled from the chapel to Frank’s final resting place. The air was unseasonably warm; the sky threatened to rain, but never did. I watched the clouds race by as though they were reminding us how quickly time goes. Then Jim voiced what I had been thinking.

“I wish I talked to Frank more than I did at band rehearsal.”

“Me too,” I said.

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” my husband said. “I would have loved to talk to him about his military career.”

“And I wish I had gone to hear him perform with his storytelling troupe,” I said.

“Why didn’t we?” my husband asked.

As Jim’s question hung in the air between, us I thought about the time–soon after I became a hospice volunteer–that I read an obituary of a long-term patient. A nurse had clipped it out of the paper and tacked it to the bulletin board in our conference room. The patient lived in our hospice for several months, but I never knew that she was once a college professor, or that she played the piano and was a gourmet cook. Of course the nurse already knew that about the patient because they talked on a daily basis and, more importantly, the nurse cared enough to ask.

Back then I preferred to keep my distance from the patients I met because I was still coping with the pain of losing my dear friend Leslie and did not want to get close to anyone I knew I would have to mourn before long. Also, since most patients stayed in our hospice unit for only a few days before they went home or passed away, I had rationalized that there was not enough time to forge any kind of meaningful relationship. Sometimes my fear of grief still causes me to think and act like that.

With Frank, however, there were plenty of opportunities, and I regret that I decided long ago that other than band, he and I had nothing in common, so I kept my distance. I use that rationalization too often to mitigate loss, grief, and pain–the inevitable payoffs that come from investing emotionally in personal relationships.

As a hospice volunteer, I am reminded every week how fleeting this life is–something I thought I knew and knew better than many others. But as I rode in Frank’s funeral procession, grateful for what I learned about him that day, I wished I hadn’t taken this long to realize that getting to know someone like Frank, or any of my hospice patients, would only enrich my life no matter how little we might have in common or how much time we might have together.

Regret never fades, but in the long run, the memories of shared experiences and stories outlive any grief. I know that now. Frank knew that because he believed in the value of a good story. I learned at his funeral that he also believed there is an appropriate Gilbert & Sullivan quote for every occasion–something else I wish I had known about him. Betty chose this perfectly apt one from The Yeoman of the Guard to end Frank’s memorial service:

Is life a boon?
If so, it must befall
That Death, whene’er he call,
Must call too soon.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Previous post: A Case for Comfort Animals Next post: The Power of Compassion

Bonus: For more on end of life care from a physician’s perspective, see How Doctors Die from our March/April 2013 issue.

Videos from the International Snow Sculpture Championships

Celebrate Ullr, the Norse god of snow, at the Budweiser International Snow Sculpture Championships in Breckenridge, Colorado. Each year more than 32,000 people gather to watch as artists from across the globe transform 20-ton, 12-foot-tall blocks of snow into gold-, silver-, and bronze-medal-winning works of art. Voting and sculpting takes place Jan. 21-24, but the sparkling winter wonders will be on display through Feb. 2, depending on weather.

Watch how-they-were-made videos and view an image gallery of the dazzling snow sculptures from prior years below:

2013 International Snow Sculpture Championships

2012 International Snow Sculpture Championships


All images by Carl Scofield, courtesy of the International Snow Sculpture Championships.

 

 

 

Rainbow Trout with Oranges and Tomatoes

Rainbow trout, also known as golden trout, is actually part of the salmon family. Its tender flesh has a delicious, mild, and nutty taste. Pairing it with a vibrant tomato and orange sauce enhances its natural wholesome flavor. This beautiful dish is served on a bed of whole-wheat couscous, but you can easily substitute brown rice or quinoa.

Note: When buying fish, don’t be misguided by the term “fresh.” Ask your purveyor for their definition of fresh. If buying fillets, look for gaps in the flesh because that’s a sign fish may not be fresh. Likewise, any discoloration, such as brown or yellow edges, is a sign to avoid it. If buying whole fish to fillet at home, look for firm, shiny flesh. It should bounce back when you touch it. Trust your nose: a strong fishy smell may mean it’s too old. Eyes should be clear, not cloudy. And gills should be pink or red and wet, not slimy or dry.

Rainbow Trout with Oranges and Tomatoes

(Makes 4 servings)

Trout with Oranges and Tomatoes

Ingredients

Directions

  1. Cook couscous per package directions. Peel oranges and trim off white pith. Over small bowl, separate oranges into sections and cut each section in half, while catching any juice. Set aside.
  2. In large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat. Cook fillets until opaque, about 2 minutes per side or until done. Season to taste with salt and pepper, transfer to plate and cover with foil to keep warm.
  3. Use remaining oil and sauté garlic and ginger until light brown, about 2 minutes. Add tomatoes and stir gently and occasionally until tomatoes start to break down, about 3–4 minutes. Add oranges and any juice and gently toss to heat through.
  4. On four individual serving plates, make bed of couscous. Carefully lay a fillet on top and spoon tomato and orange mixture over fillet. Garnish with green onion and serve immediately.

Nutrition Facts

Per Serving


Calories: 406
Total fat: 11 g
Saturated fat: 2 g
Carbohydrate: 47 g
Fiber: 5 g
Protein: 29 g
Sodium: 48 mg


The Homecoming

The Homecoming Norman Rockwell December 25, 1948
Joyful reunion: To create authenticity for Christmas Homecoming, Norman Rockwell used family members, colleagues, and good friends as models.
The Homecoming Norman Rockwell December 25, 1948

Parents will tell you nothing makes holidays more enjoyable than visits from their grown-up children. In 1948, Rockwell created his vision of a happy Christmas reunion by gathering all three of his boys in a single painting. We see the back of his oldest son, Jerry, receiving a joyful hug from his mother, Mary. To the left of Mary, in a plaid shirt, is son Tommy. Youngest son, Peter, appears on the far left wearing glasses. To Mary’s right, with that ubiquitous pipe, is happy Dad, who occasionally made cameo appearances in his paintings.

To make this scene of the homecoming even more joyous, Rockwell added friends and neighbors from his community in Arlington, Vermont. Many of these people appeared on other Rockwell covers, like the little boy holding the hat, who was the main character in Rockwell’s A Day in the Life of a Boy. Rockwell also used the boy’s baby sitter—the blonde girl on the far right—and his mother and baby brother, who was dressed in a pink sweater. The little girls in red jumpers are actually one girl—the daughter of Rockwell’s doctor—who was so cute, he painted her as twins.

Rockwell’s good friend and fellow Post artist, Mead Schaeffer, is at the very top left. His daughters, who posed for Rockwell are also shown: blonde Lee is just left of Norman, redheaded Patty, stands to the right of Tommy. And what family gathering is complete without a grandmother? Happy to pose for the role was none other than Grandma Moses, who started painting at 67. “When I knew her,” Rockwell wrote, “she was over 85 years old, a spry, white-haired little woman. Like a lively sparrow.”

Rockwell chose his subjects carefully. He wanted to create a scene both familiar and poignant, one that would resonate with families who had known recent (and lengthy) wartime separations. Even today, Rockwell’s homecoming evokes the 
spirit of welcome we’d like to see waiting for us when we come home for the holidays.

The Trouble with the Real Mary Poppins

P.L. Travers, author of Mary Poppins, reads to a group of children
P.L. Travers delights children with her stories. “Mary Poppins,” says the English author, “is the story of my life.” The Saturday Evening Post, November 1964.
© SEPS 2013

Entrepreneur and theme park magician Walt Disney was accustomed to difficulty; he’d overcome innumerable hurdles as he created his movies and his theme parks. But, as the upcoming movie Saving Mr. Banks (starring Tom Hanks and Emma Thompson) shows, he was unprepared for the challenge of working with P.L. Travers.

Disney should have known from the start that adapting Mary Poppins to the screen would be an uphill battle. He had already spent 20 years trying to buy the movie rights from Travers, the author of the popular children’s book. Travers resisted all offers until, on the brink of bankruptcy, she relented with great reluctance. She flew to Hollywood to consult with Disney, and that’s when the trouble began in earnest.

Travers didn’t like the music. She heartily disliked the animated penguins. She raised countless objections to the script, and even protested the use of the color red in the film. Nor did she approve of the casting; she suggested the male lead should not go to Dick Van Dyke, but to a British actor like Laurence Olivier or Richard Burton. Her objections continued all through the production. Disney didn’t even invite her to the premier for fear she would make a scene.

Travers’ biggest objection to the film was the way Disney portrayed Mary Poppins. In the movie, the magical nanny played by Julie Andrews is a sweet, gentle, and cheerful lady. In contrast, the character in Travers books was definitely not cheerful. Instead, as Travers’ biographer puts it, Mary Poppins was “tart and sharp, rude, plain and vain.”

Disney couldn’t have known that Travers was so protective of the character because she identified with her: “Mary Poppins is the story of my life,” she later told an interviewer. And Disney couldn’t have known the sad beginnings of Travers’ writing career; how Mary Poppins was born in the imagination of a destitute young girl living in a small town in Australia.

The year was 1913, and Pamela Travers’ alcoholic father, who had lost his job as a bank manager, had just died of influenza. Stricken by grief and sudden poverty, Travers’ mother left her children and attempted to drown herself.

Just seven years old, Travers found herself alone with her two younger sisters, listening to the monsoon rain drumming on the roof. Out of nowhere, the idea for a story came to her. She brought her sisters to the fire and there, as they huddled under a blanket, she spun them a story of a flying white horse whose hooves they could hear stamping on the tin roof above.

She also came up with stories about a magical nanny, giving her a name that she had found written into an old book: “M. Poppins.”

Film still of Julie Andrews and Mary Poppins and Dick Van Dyke as Burt in the 1964 Walt Disney film "Mary Poppins."
Travers heartily disliked the animated penguins. She raised countless objections to the script, and even protested the use of the color red in the film. Nor did she approve of the casting of Dick Van Dyke or Julie Andrews.

As a young woman, Travers began writing down her Poppins stories, and published her first book in 1934. Over the years, she added eight more titles to the series.

She also wrote adult non-fiction, including an article about her children’s books that appeared in the Post in 1964. In “Where Did She Come From? Why Did She Go?” she made no reference to her bleak girlhood, or the sad genesis of Mary Poppins. There is no hint of the woman who later told The New York Times, “Sorrow lies like a heartbeat behind everything I have written.” Nor is there any suggestion of the bitterness she was feeling about Disney’s version of her book.

In the Post article, Travers responded to the many fans who wondered how she came up with the idea for Mary Poppins. Travers never knew how to answer that question; she felt that her character had simply arrived, fully formed. It was easier, she wrote, to think that Mary Poppins had thought her up. “All I know is that without a word of explanation, a character…came in search of an author,” she added. “And the one she picked on, for whatever incomprehensible reason, was glad, surprised and grateful.”

But she acknowledged that the stories came from her life. For any writer, she believed, the material was always the author, “or the child hidden within her, perhaps, or the memories of her own youth, which are never far away.”

Consequently, her books always contained bits of autobiography. “Every story has something out of my own experience. Several record my dreary childhood penance of ‘going for a walk.’ But against that is set the blissful, forgiving moment at bedtime when I suddenly felt so very good.” In her books, she worked to recapture the sense of dread and delight that epitomized childhood for her.

Yet she insisted that she never wrote juvenile literature. “For me there is no such thing as a book for children. If it is true, it is true for everyone.” A writer, she believed, could never aim at a particular audience without becoming lost. Quoting Beatrix Potter, the author of Peter Rabbit, she stated, “I write to please myself. And so does everyone else.”

Travers felt that children wanted more than simple plots and happy endings—they were the ingredients put into children’s books to please adults. Children wanted stories that fit their experiences. Life, to them, was often confusing and frustrating, and they couldn’t be satisfied with tidy little tales. “What child enjoys being written down to?” she asked.

It’s interesting to speculate on what sort of movie Mary Poppins would be if Pamela Travers had been given creative control. Maybe she might have even secured Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton for the two leading roles. It would have been an unusual movie, but it wouldn’t have been as entertaining as the film Disney ultimately produced, which had removed so much of Travers’ original character.

More Vintage Christmas Ads | Santa and Other Curiosities

Santa the Ad Man

More than one child must have been troubled by all these commercial Kringles. Why would Santa Claus appear in so many ads, urging people to buy gifts, when he and his elves were making all the gifts up at the North Pole?

Over the years, they saw Santa promote everything from gasoline to chewing gum, socks, typewriters, electric lights, orange juice, and antacid. Some of the more interesting versions of Santa can be seen in the 1920 ads for Interwoven socks and Kuppenheimer good clothes. They were created by the popular illustrator, and frequent Post cover artist, J.C. Leyendecker.

Here’s one weird-looking Santa from 1911:

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Post cover artist J.C. Leyendecker illustrated this ad.

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You can count on clothing ads to feature quality artwork.

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Another Leyendecker Santa ad.

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Done with Christmas, Santa begins work on his memoirs:

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Santa’s elves, all hard at work making… appliances?

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Whatever happened to flying reindeer?

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Santa’s only request:

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Still looking for gift ideas? Because everyone needs socks.

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It doesn’t get more Christmas-y than this.

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I guess he’s done with milk.

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Even Santa needs an Alka-Seltzer sometimes.

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Something’s off about this Santa…

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Curious Christmas Ads

In an effort to cash in on Christmas sales, everybody from car manufacturers to tobacco companies to the United States government released Christmas-themed ads. In 1919, The Faultless Rubber Company tried to get in on the Christmas-gift-buying momentum to sell their baby bottles, hot water bottles, and enema bags. The American Chain Company used a Christmas theme to promote their tire chains and automobile jacks. Mueller Faucets selling plumbing fixtures by showing a rooftop Santa listening for dripping faucets in 1926.

Christmas is a time for giving, but it has also long been a time for buying and selling. Enjoy this selection of Christmas ads that have little to do with Christmas.

When I think Christmas, I think ‘rubber goods.’

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Out of gift ideas? How about tire chains?

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Here’s Santa with a sack full of knives.

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Because Santa won’t go in if you have a leaky faucet.

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If you want to go big, you can always give a Buick.

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Is this Santa in space?

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Lacquer: Another classic Christmas gift.

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Who wouldn’t want to receive savings bonds on Christmas?

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From model trains to the real thing.

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Tobacco companies used to issue special holiday cigarette cartons.

1940-chesterfield-skiing

You can make any ad a Christmas ad by adding a small child with gifts.

1940-fisher-body

This Christmas ad’s a bit of a stretch.

1941-general-tire

Nothing says Christmas like ‘Pliofilm’!

1941-pliofilm

Since so many people travel around Christmas, travel ads are a holiday fixture.

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If dad wants a new Plymouth so bad, maybe he should ask Santa himself.

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As travel became easier, luggage ads became more common.

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22 Vintage Christmas Ads for Him, Her, and the Kids

Because the décor of Christmas doesn’t change, one Christmas looks pretty much like any other. The only things that seems to change much are the gifts. And the advertisements.

The ads in this gallery show how much Christmas gifts, and advertising, have changed over the past century. Some gifts, such as warm socks or jewelry, have remained constant. Other gift ideas, such as giving your wife leisure or freedom in the form of a vacuum cleaner, show just how much Americans have changed in the past 100 years.

Get your boy a rifle–What could go wrong?

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Oh goody! Santa brought us hand-shoes!

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A timeless Christmas gift.

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“The gift that insures shapely feet.” It’s too bad about his face, though.

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This guy’s looking pretty stylish in 1923.

1923 Kuppenheimer Ad

What says leisure like a vacuum cleaner?

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Santa has a daughter?

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This 1926 ad stresses utility over all else.

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Silverware is a recurring gift idea for women in the early 20th century.

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Nothing warms a girl’s heart like a good refrigerator.

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Take a look at this colorful perfume ad from 1933.

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“Let Frigidaire glorify her Christmas–and your judgment!”

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This ad continues the trope of vacuums as leisure devices.

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Give him some dignity!

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What’s more timeless than warm socks?

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Check out these men’s jackets from 1948.

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Well, at least dad and the kids are having fun here.

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Schick patented the first electric razor in 1928. This one’s from 1952.

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Make no mistake: This dream pipe is no pipe dream.

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Sears and Roy Rogers: Welcome to 1956.

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Electric razors are a common gift idea for men. But what about women?

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Nothing says 1958 like an appliance ad featuring Lucy and Desi.

1958-westinghouse-cookware-p1-copy

Hospice Girl Friday | ‘A Case for Comfort Animals’


Devra Lee Fishman’s dear friend and college roommate, Leslie, died from breast cancer one month shy of her 46th birthday after a four-year battle with the disease. Being with Leslie and her family at the end of her life inspired Devra to help care for others who are terminally ill. Each week, she documents her experiences volunteering at her local hospice in her blog, Hospice Girl Friday.

My brother and sister-in-law are raising Hazel, a six-month old black Lab, for the Guide Dog Foundation. Part of her early training involves socializing her in as many public settings as possible, so I asked if I could take Hazel to the hospice with me. My brother was confident Hazel would easily transition from carefree puppy to serious ‘working’ dog when she had on her yellow training vest, but I wondered how she would respond to the smells, sounds, and sights of the hospice and how the people there would respond to her.

As soon as Hazel and I walked into the hospice I introduced her to the staff. They greeted Hazel with wide smiles and high, breathy voices like they were talking to an adorable toddler.

“How are the patients today?” I asked.

“The woman in room two is a pickle,” the doctor replied, rubbing Hazel’s neck.

“A pickle?”

The doctor looked up. “You know, sometimes sweet and sometimes sour?”

“And today?”

“Sour,” the doctor replied. “She has been cranky with all of us. We were just talking about what else we might try.”

One of the nurses said, “She’s eating her breakfast now, but when she’s done do you think she could meet Hazel? Apparently she had three dogs when she was younger so Hazel might cheer her up.”

I did not plan to take Hazel to visit patients yet, but since the nurse asked I said, “Sure, just let me know when.”

I sat down at the desk and looked at the census. The ‘pickle’ was Dr. Ellen Kaye. 89 years old. Cardiovascular Disease.

Twenty minutes later the nurse approached me. “Dr. Kaye is ready and very excited,” she said.

I took hold of Hazel’s leash and told her we were going to meet Dr. Kaye. Hazel walked next to me with her head high and determined, like she knew this was important. I knocked on the door of room two and walked in. Dr. Kaye was sitting straight up in a chair next to the window with her hands flat on her lap and her eyes open wide, full of expectation. Her full-length bathrobe matched Hazel’s glossy black coat. Hazel started to tug me forward so I reminded her she was working. Hazel sat down next to Dr. Kaye and looked up at her as if to say ‘It’s okay, you can pet me now.’

Dr. Kaye leaned forward and stroked Hazel’s head.

“Your nurse said you had Weimaraners,” I said to get us started.

“Yes, three,” she said. “My dogs were the first to come over from Germany after WWII ended. They followed me everywhere. They do that, you know, Weimaraners.”

Dr. Kaye kept petting Hazel and looked up at me as she talked about her career, her many homes, and her travels. She told me her husband died of cancer almost 50 years ago and that she has lived alone ever since. She wished she could have a dog, but she knew she would not be able to take proper care of one. The whole time we talked Dr. Kaye’s eyes were bright and focused, her face animated. Occasionally she would pause to catch her breath, but other than that I could not detect any signs that her heart was failing. Nor did I see any of the sour pickle the doctor had described.

I have seen family members bring in patients’ dogs to visit, and I have always been aware of the many ways dogs can help calm and comfort people who are going through some sort of trauma. This was the first time I witnessed it first hand. I wondered how the nurse knew this might happen.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” I heard the doctor said from the doorway, “but I need to do a quick exam.” I glanced at the clock. Dr. Kaye and I had been talking for over forty-five minutes.

“Okay,” I said. Then I turned to Dr. Kaye. “Hazel and I will be here until noon. Ring your call bell if you’d like us to come back for another visit.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said. Then she smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of Hazel’s head.

The doctor found me as soon as she left Dr. Kaye’s room. “Devra, what you and Hazel did for Mrs. Kaye worked better than everything else we’ve tried. I had no idea how she would react, but her physical and mental demeanor brightened, which made it easier for us to take care of her. Thank you so much.” Then she looked down at Hazel and said, “Thank you, too, Hazel.”

Hazel locked eyes with the doctor, sat up a little straighter and wagged her tail, already looking like the professional service dog she is destined to become.

Every week I marvel at the way the hospice staff take care of their patients. I see them worry when traditional methods and medications are not effective, so I was happy to be a part of this week’s success story, especially since I originally thought going to the hospice would simply be good training for Hazel. The nurses seemed to think that Hazel could help some of the more difficult patients, and their instincts turned out to be right. Once again I drove home grateful for the privilege to watch them do anything and everything they could to make our hospice patients comfortable.

Previous post: Putting The Patient First Next post: The Things I Never Knew

Bonus: For more on end of life care from a physician’s perspective, see How Doctors Die from our March/April 2013 issue.

2014 Great American Fiction Contest Winners

We’re pleased to announce Linda Davis as the winner of our 2014 Great American Fiction Contest! Read her prize-winning story, “The War at Home,” and stories from our five runners-up below.

To purchase the collection Best Short Stories from The Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction Contest: 2014, which includes 13 additional stories not available online, click here.

Click here to enter the 2015 Great American Fiction Contest

Winner:

LindaDavis2

‘The War at Home’

By Linda Davis

A single mom struggles with school politics and a rebellious preteen in this complex portrait of a family at a crossroads.

Bio: Before focusing on her own stories, Davis worked at Harper’s Magazine and as a story editor for Wildwood Enterprises—Robert Redford’s production company. Though a finalist for many awards, Davis says, “This is the first time I’ve won.” Her work has been published in The Literary Review, Gemini Magazine, and Tattoo Highway. Her essay, “This House,” was published in the anthology, Morning Coffee and Other Stories: Mothering Children with Special Needs.

Runners-Up:

ErinBartelsSq

‘This Elegant Ruin’

By Erin Bartels

Garrison Knight commands his orchestra with power and grace until a musician’s strike and his attraction to a young violinist combine to threaten his orderly world.

Bio: Bartels—“a copywriter by day, a novelist at night”—worked for a book publisher for 12 years. In January 2013, she embarked on a personal goal of writing one short story each month: “This Elegant Ruin” was her March story. Bartels is currently working on a novel, as well as a non-fiction e-book that she will release in spring 2014.

Headshot of author Stephen Eoannou

‘Auld Lang Syne’

By Stephen G. Eoannou

The discovery of a windfall in the backseat of a cab on Christmas Eve triggers an ethical conundrum. But the driver’s chance encounter with three strangers leads to an unexpected decision.

Bio: A runner-up in our 2013 Great American Fiction Contest for his short story “The Wolf Boy of Forest Lawn,” Eoannou is also a two-time Pushcart Award nominee and a finalist for the Santa Fe Writers Project Literary Award. His fiction has appeared in Rosebud and The MacGuffin among other literary journals. His first short story collection, Muscle Cars, will be published in spring 2015.

MorganHunt2

‘The Answer Box’

By Morgan Hunt

A young mother, bolstered by unwavering love for her children, struggles with the isolation and stigma of divorce during the 1960s.

Bio: Hunt is the author of the Tess Camillo mystery series, which won a Best Books Award in 2008 from U.S. Book News and a National Indie Excellence Award. She has published poetry and non-fiction in various outlets including Writer’s Digest.

Christine-Venzon-001

‘The Talent Scout’

By Christine Venzon

In promoting a talented young street musician from New Orleans, a gallery curator rediscovers her own artistic ambitions.

Bio: A veteran freelance writer, Venzon spent 10 years writing high school family and consumer science books for Glencoe/McGraw-Hill. Her fiction and non-fiction has been published in national magazines, including St. Anthony Messenger and The Christian Science Monitor. Venzon won the 2010 Highlights for Children fiction contest and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011.

Headshot of author Robert Steven Williams

‘Twelve Miles, 48 Stops’

By Robert Steven Williams
For Davida and Granny Jack, life in the projects is a daily challenge. With her father’s pending release from prison, Davida plans an escape from the war-torn neighborhood and family ties that both alienate and sustain.

Bio: In 2013, Williams released his first novel, My Year as a Clown, which won the Silver Medal for popular fiction in the 2013 Independent Publisher Book Awards. A finalist in the Raymond Carver Short Story Contest, Williams is now working on a second novel, as well as a documentary about F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Click here to see the winners from the 2013 Great American Fiction Contest.

2013 Great American Fiction Contest Winner and Runners-Up

We’re pleased to announce Lucy Jane Bledsoe as the winner of our 2013 Great American Fiction Contest! Read her prize-winning story, “Wolf,” and stories from our six runners-up below.

To purchase the collection Best Short Stories from The Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction Contest: 2013, which includes the winning short story, 5 stories from our runners-up, and 6 additional stories not available online, visit shopthepost.com.

Click here to enter the 2015 Great American Fiction Contest

Winner:

Headshot of author Lucy Jane Bledsoe

‘Wolf’

By Lucy Jane Bledsoe

As Jim tries to identify with the Yellowstone wolf trackers, both he and his wife have an awakening that changes their lives forever.

Bio: Lucy Jane Bledsoe has authored four novels and six children’s books, and her work has appeared in literary magazines. Awards include the California Arts & Letters Fiction Prize, the 2009 Sherwood Anderson Prize for Fiction, and a California Arts Council Fellowship.

Runners-Up:

Headshot of author P.J. Devlin

‘The Decline and Fall’

By P.J. Devlin

At 88, Gloria is in decline and needs some help managing her daily chores. Enter Helen, her Meals-on-Wheels driver, who quickly makes herself indispensable but has mischief on her mind.

Bio: P.J. Devlin lives in Fairfax, Virginia. Her fiction has appeared in literary magazines.

Headshot of author Stephen Eoannou

‘The Wolf Boy of Forest Lawn’

By Stephen G. Eoannou

After a young boy goes missing, his teacher and classmates learn a lesson about myths, education, and the danger of secret agendas.

Bio: Stephen G. Eoannou lives in Buffalo, New York. His work has appeared in literary magazines.

Headshot of author Andrew Hamilton

‘Surface Tension’

By Andrew Hamilton

Isolated by the domestication of his 
family household, a desperate husband initiates 
a series of self-destructive acts in an attempt 
to rediscover the relationships he once knew with 
his wife and daughter.

Bio: Andrew Hamilton lives in Lookout Mtn., Tennessee. His poetry has appeared in literary magazines.

Headshot of author Cynthia McGean

‘The Battle of the Pewhasset Pie Palace’

By Cynthia McGean

All Big Rosco has going for him is his 
love for Loretta, his big ears, and a windmill-tilting spirit worthy of Don Quixote. Is that enough 
to save the Pewhasset Pie Palace from the clutches of the villainous Taco Charlie and the destructive power of The World Famous Twelve Flags Amusement 
Park and Arcade Extravaganza?

Bio: Cynthia J. McGean is a teacher and award-winning writer (Writer’s Digest, Ogle, and more) who is currently working on two novels.

Headshot of author Marvin Pletzke

‘A Corner Room at the Y’

By Marvin Pletzke
Milvey is a loner. Each time he enters the world to compete, he does something to derail himself. Believing in oneself is not always an option. Seems that some people just aren’t meant to be where they find themselves.

Bio: Marvin Pletzke is an established playwright living in Malden on Hudson, New York. This is his first short story published by a national magazine.

Headshot of author Caroline Sposto

‘The Conch Shell’

By Caroline Sposto

Told through the voice of a resilient
 5-year-old, a middle-class white family 
in the segregated South strives for stability 
despite the mother’s confinement in an iron lung.

Bio: Caroline Sposto lives in Memphis, Tennessee. Her work has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies.

Click here to see the winners from the 2014 Great American Fiction Contest.

Gingersnap Cookies with Lemon Icing

Shortening is the ultimate determining factor in gingersnap texture. A stick of nondairy shortening gives them serious snap. The one I use contains no trans-fats or additives; it is a blend of oils. For me, a cookie’s crunch matters as much as its flavor. But if chewy cookies are your thing, read on.

Use a nondairy soft spread for a softer result. Cookies come out of the oven crispish, but turn chewy after they sit overnight. If you want softer snaps, know that the batter will be too soft to shape into balls. It needs to be dropped from a spoon onto your baking sheet.

Both shortenings make cookies with the same warm, zingy flavor, so bake them to please your preference. And either way, the cookies keep for a week and are great for sharing at holiday cookie swaps. (To make them look especially festive, sprinkle a pinch of red, green, or multicolor sugar onto the wet frosting.)

Gingersnap with Lemon Icing

(Makes 24 cookies)

Gingersnaps with Lemon Icing

Ingredients

Directions

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
  2. In mixing bowl, whisk together both flours, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, pepper, and salt.
  3. In another bowl, use electric mixer on medium-high speed to beat shortening sticks with ½ cup sugar for 2 minutes. Add molasses and egg white and beat for 3 minutes. Set mixer on low speed and mix in dry ingredients just to combine–leaving white streaks is better than overmixing. Batter will form soft ball.
  4. Place remaining 2 tablespoons sugar in wide, shallow bowl. Pinch off about 1 tablespoon batter and roll it between your palms, forming 1″ ball. Place ball in bowl with sugar and roll to coat it, and then place on light-colored, ungreased baking sheet. Discard leftover sugar. Repeat, spacing balls 2″ apart. Using back of glass, press to flatten each ball into 1 ⅓” disk.
  5. Bake cookies for 10 minutes. For glaze: In small bowl, combine confectioners’ sugar with lemon juice, mixing until sugar is completely dissolved.
  6. When cookies are done, immediately transfer with spatula to wire cooling racks. Using tip of knife, spread ¼ teaspoon glaze on top of each warm cookie. Cool completely. Store in cookie tin for up to 1 week.

Nutrition Facts

Per Serving (1 cookie)


Calories: 75
Total fat: 3 g
Saturated fat: 1 g
Carbohydrate: 12 g
Fiber: <1 g
Protein: 1 g
Sodium: 80 mg


Minibooks

Finger Balancing Stack of Minibooks

S
troll into a bookstore looking for a hardcover—something meaty to keep you occupied for a few weeks—and chances are that almost immediately you’ll be assaulted by carefully positioned displays of Hobbit dolls, Duck Dynasty flashlights, and Conehead Zombie vinyl figures. (Is there nowhere in America to escape our zany culture?) A nanosecond later, if things go according to plan, your attention will be commandeered by tables stacked high with scores of adorably teensy books. So…amusing.

Bam! The store has got you for an additional purchase.

Itty-bitty books are big. Retailers love them because they sell, well, like snacks. Shoppers devour them because they are clever, inexpensive (around nine bucks), and make great gifts. Which is why you can spot them practically everywhere, in venues as improbable as furniture showrooms and art galleries.

Likely the first of these bantam-size books to throw a heavyweight punch was The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, published in 1999. Since then, scores of companies have delivered an endless li’l library—everything from The Artistic Cat to Useless Information to 50 Things You’re Not Supposed to Know (as in Carl Sagan was an avid pot-smoker). Most of these are under four inches square. Many are barely half that size, veritable teacup pups compared to the Great Danes of traditional literature.

“It’s so hard to sell real books that bookstores are trying to find things that will be impulse buys,” says Bronwen Hruska, publisher of Soho Press, which is in the business of delivering full-size fiction. “The problem with these little books is that you can sometimes read everything in them before you reach the cash register.” Well, sure, there is that.

Still, there’s no getting round the fact that pipsqueak guides, lists, jokes, and devotionals play a useful role in our lives. The world is basically inscrutable today, and so anything that either distills or clarifies its essence seems priceless. Small wonder that a hit in this category can mean sales of more than 500,000 copies, which is a remarkable number in the publishing business.

And despite their often whimsical nature, some of the titles are weighty, at least by content. Bo Press, whose works are truly miniature (and thus more pricey), has published serious short fiction by an author in Tasmania. One might ask, what about the writers, who labor over works they know will never be reviewed? Melissa Heckscher, a California freelancer who specializes in minibooks (the one that got her started was Be Safe! Simple Strategies for Death-Free Living), points to one redeeming factor: “This could be a primary income if you wrote two books a year—and if you don’t need to own a house on the beach.”

Beatlemania

The Post was there when the Beatles first came into the public view. At the time we dismissed them as fad, but we quickly learned that their cheeky attitudes, unruly hairstyles, and catchy songs were a much bigger deal both at home in England and across the globe. Follow the Beatles on their rise to stardom with photos and articles from our archives. Don’t miss our special coverage on the 50th anniversary of the Beatles invasion in our Jan/Feb issue!

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Music’s Gold Bugs: The Beatles


At Miami Beach press conference, John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney, George Harrison bug a fisheye camera.

By Alfred G. Aronowitz – March 21,1964

They can’t read music, their beat is corny and their voices are faint, but England’s shaggy-maned exports manage to flip wigs on two continents.

 

The Return of The Beatles


In their new movie, <em>A Hard Day's Night</em>, the Beatles enact a typical triumphal welcome. John and Paul stand behind Ringo and George.

By Alfred G. Aronowitz – August 8, 1964

When the Beatles stepped from the plane, 1,500 people shrieked a welcome from the roof of the Liverpool Airport. The mobs kept breaking through the police lines to claw at their car, while the police motorcycles raced down both gutters, making spectators jump hotfootedly back onto the curbs. Along the way the motorcycle police heard radio reports that there was rioting at town hall. The Beatles–Ringo Starr, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison–were home.

 

The Monarchs of the Beatle Empire


Standing in a Beatle version of attention, Ringo, John, Paul, and George show their medals after being made Members of the British Empire by the Queen last fall. August 27, 1966.

By James Morris – August 27, 1966

“Not many seers, I suspect, would have forecast in 1964, when the group first fell upon the United States, that in two years’ time they would still be at the very top of their slippery profession, still be inciting teenagers into peculiar paroxysms, still be raising wry smiles among the cops, the clergy, and the multitudinous rivals.”

 

There Once Was a Guru from Rishikesh, Part 1


The cover of The Saturday Evening Post May 5, 1968

By Lewis H. Lapham – May 4, 1968

Our reporter learns about Transcendental Meditation, makes a voyage to India and meets the Maharishi, the Beatles, a Beach Boy, and other notables in search of something.

 

There Once Was a Guru from Rishikesh, Part 2


Ringo Starr and reporter Lewis Lapham inspect film equipment in India

By Lewis H. Lapham – May 18, 1968

Having voyaged to India and satisfied the Maharishi of his good vibrations, our reporter throws toast to a monkey, breathes incense with the students of meditation, listens with Mia Farrow to the scream of a wild peacock, and bestows a garland of flowers upon a Beatle.

 

Movie Review: The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Martin Freeman as Bilbo, (left) and John Callen as Oin (right) in <em>The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug</em>.
Martin Freeman as Bilbo, (left) and John Callen as Oin (right) in The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.

After long wait, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, the second part of Peter Jackson’s trilogy is finally in theaters. And, for the most part, the mega-budget sequel lived up to the hype.

First, the positives: It would be very easy for a director of less talent to fail at making his or her actors achieve serious performances when adapting Tolkien. Peter Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to coax stellar performances all around from his large ensemble of actors. Particularly noteworthy was Sir Ian McKellen, who portrayed Gandalf with gravitas and authority while still making some of his shortcomings believable and relatable to an audience who grew accustomed to his character’s power in the first threeThe Lord of the Rings films.

Orlando Bloom’s return to Middle Earth was also done in an effective and enjoyable way. Since the film serves as a prequel to previous The Lord of the Rings movies, the veteran actor needed–and was able to–portray a much less mature version of his character, Legolas. Martin Freeman was able to expertly walk the line in his role as Bilbo, a complicated character always in flux, striving to do the right thing yet slowly succumbing to the corrupt power of the ring.

While the performances were great, there are some issues I take umbrage with. The first three Rings films captured audiences with phenomenal prosthetics and practical special effects, bringing to life the vast armies of Middle Earth, etc, so it was disappointing to see a reliance on computer generated imagery for the orcs in this film. CGI can be effectively used in many ways, and Peter Jackson is a pioneer in this arena, but the rendering of his orcs in this film pales in comparison to the quality of the CGI used for the dragon Smaug (voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch). The overly smooth, computerized skin takes the audience out of the movie, and makes it hard to get back into the mythical world.

Additionally, some of the action scenes seemed to have been directed with a future franchise of theme-park rides in mind, more reminiscent of the infamous fourth Indiana Jones movie than the flawlessly crafted scenes from Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.

All in all, the film is definitely worth seeing. As always, Peter Jackson has made the film accessible for those who have not read the books in deference to the films, while still leaving plenty of Easter eggs for fans of Tolkien’s original writings. At nearly 3 hours, the film can feel slow at times, but the action sequences and continuation of the story pull viewers through to the end. I would give it 4 out of 5 stars.

3 Questions for Robert Redford

Actor Robert Redford on the set of <em>All Is Lost</em>.
I just know that for me there have been a lot of times in my life where it seemed a good idea to stop or to quit…but I said, “No. I’m going to keep moving. I’m going to try to make this thing happen.” – Robert Redford on the set of All Is Lost.

The actor talks with West Coast editor Jeanne Wolf on what compels some of us to hang tough in the face of adversity while others simply give up.

Robert Redford seems only to improve with age. The 77-year-old Hollywood superstar’s classically handsome profile has taken on a rugged and weathered look that remains as sexy as his smile and easy laugh, and his screen presence is no less alluring than it was in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In his recently opened film, All Is Lost, Redford plays a man stuck alone in a storm on a small sailboat with no help in sight. The storm sequences were physically daunting, but, though stunt men were standing by, Redford insisted on putting himself in the midst of the storm-tossed action. The hard work didn’t end when the camera stopped rolling: director J.C. Chandor recalled watching from his hotel balcony as the famed actor/director methodically swam laps in the pool after a particularly punishing day of work.

Jeanne Wolf: Your role in All Is Lost is wall-to-wall intensity. That’s a lot to ask of yourself. Was that part of the attraction for you?
Robert Redford: Yes. It took a lot of effort both psychologically and physically, and I like that. I like the challenge. You knew they would work to make that storm as real as can be. And that meant I’d go through it and see what happens. There was also a great sense of aloneness on the set even with a film crew. I think the audience will feel and relate to that aloneness. The pureness of it is a powerful element. I did worry because movies now are so full of action and special effects that we were almost daring the audience to come along. But this is a time in America when a lot of people feel lost.

JW: How the audience reacts is central to your view of the success of a film, isn’t it?
RR: Yes. That’s why I like a film that ends with a question, or really, when a question goes on throughout the story. The question for the audience is always “What would I do if I was faced with those circumstances?” All Is Lost asks the audience to think, Could I last? Could I stick with it? Some people give up when life gets unbearably difficult. Some people just say, “That’s it.” And they die; they stop because there’s no point in going on. I like to think I’d never give up. I’d hold on as long as I could. I don’t know where that comes from. I don’t know if it comes from birth, what you bring to the world on your own. I just know that for me there have been a lot of times in my life where it seemed a good idea to stop or to quit. Whether it was ego–I don’t know what it was–but I said, “No. I’m going to keep moving. I’m going to try to make this thing happen.”

JW: Your character in the course of his battle for survival totes up his regrets. In a sense, I think it’s harder sometimes to total up what you don’t regret: What you’re happy for. What you’re grateful for.
RR: I guess it depends on your heritage. If you come from a dark family like I do, you don’t think that way. You just think about regret. It’s funny. I don’t know that I’ve ever stopped to count my blessings. I guess I’m afraid that if I start counting my blessings, they’ll disappear. I’m very proud of what I’ve done. But once you finish your work, it leaves you. You give it over and it belongs to the audience, one way or another. People keep asking me about awards, and I just don’t think that way. That doesn’t come to my mind. What comes to my mind is not standing on the top. I like the climb up. To me, that’s the exciting part. I’d just as soon be always climbing.