Flying High Part Two - Prague's Subway KGB

Prague. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face. The mood and mystery of the city suit me. From walking along the Charles Bridge to winding through the streets of Mala Strana; from hiking up to the castle to reverently meandering through the Old Jewish Cemetery or simply enjoying the magical skyline from my favorite spot, Vyshrad, I love it. My joy is only heightened by dear Czech friends I've met along the way, people who have delighted me since the first time I laid eyes on them. And to think I almost didn't go because so many people, who were worried that I was traveling alone with no hotel reservations or tour guide, advised me to stay in Western Europe. I'm so glad I found the courage to follow my heart and let Prague cast its spell on me.

However, the spell was NOT cast immediately. My first view of Prague was not pretty. Everything was gray and even though it was summer the weather was cold and rainy. When I first stepped off that night train from Munich my sleepy eyes were accosted by graffiti and construction zones. There were crowds of people visiting the numerous sex shops. And there I stood a naive little Christian girl from Texas.....I'm sure you can imagine the look on my face and the size of my eyes as I took everything in. I was definitely not in Kansas anymore!

Since I was alone and slightly terrified I tagged along with the girls who had shared my night train. After a lot of walking we eventually managed to find a youth hostel in a seedy residential district. I was not thrilled to learn that the rooms were co-ed but what was I going to do, walk all the way back to the train station and camp out with the prostitutes??? No, that was definitely not an option so I stayed and tried to pretend that I wasn't such a naive little Christian girl! This is when some Pivo would have come in handy but I was still a BSF leader so it was out of the question for me......


But alas the hostel kicked me out of the room until later on in the evening so I was forced to explore the city. And that is when the magic happened. I'm sure it won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me but I got horribly lost, even with a map. I was constantly asking for directions and almost finding the right place before getting distracted by a tall spire or a Kolache shop and losing my way again. But I slowly fell in love with the charms of the city as I wandered around lost. It felt like I was walking in a fairy tale, although it was laced with reality and came to a screeching halt when I stumbled (literally) on the 9th century cobblestone right in front of........Kmart, complete with Little Caesar's Pizza inside. Call me a snob but the home of the blue light special should never grace a city like Prague! Seriously.


After running in horror from Kmart and spending many more hours wandering I eventually needed to purchase additional subway tickets so I could continue my adventure, but I could find no one to help me decipher that strange language of consonants. And this was a young country whose democratic identity was still emerging from the veil of communism, so trust me when I tell you that it was long before the words "customer service" had ever been uttered within its borders! Finally after watching me stare at the strange ticket machine for too long a stranger had mercy on me and helped me purchase a 24-hour metro ticket, or so I thought....but as the next day unfolded I discovered that there was a HUGE difference between a 24-hour ticket and an ALL DAY ticket.


I was so naive. My only subway experience had been in Munich a few days earlier, when I ended up 17 miles outside of the city because I couldn't read the subway map. Yeah, I was pretty unprepared for the Subway KGB, those stealthy undercover agents who prey on tourists and make a killing in "fines" and scare the you-know-what out of people who can't figure out how to purchase the correct ticket! When someone with a strange accent flashes a badge at you in a foreign country, the normal reaction is PANIC, and I'm proud to say that I reacted VERY normally and panicked on cue. Turns out that I possessed a DAY ticket, which meant it was only good for the date of purchase, which just so happened to be the day before...... I realized all of this within about 2 seconds as I was being yelled at and my passport was being scrutinized. That little mistake cost me over $20 which probably went straight into the agent's pocket, but it kept me from achieving "permanent resident" status in the Czech prison system so I was more than happy to pay it. Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but at the time I was scared to death and certain that I would never see America again. Of course after forking over my food budget for 2 days I proceeded to find a semi-private spot and have an emotional meltdown. Some nice European had pity on me and provided a tissue so I could mop my face. After putting myself back together again I squared my shoulders and marched off to explore the city that had captured my imagination, there was no way I would let fear keep me from experiencing as much of Prague as possible.

So now each time I return to my favorite city I make sure to purchase the correct subway ticket. But as scared as I was I wouldn't trade my first trip for anything, it was worth every second and every tear and that $20 fine! Prague. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Average

I saw a print ad for Pantene shampoo the other day and I was reminded of their old commercials. Remember the one that featured a glamorous model tossing her thick, glossy, luxurious mane of hair and uttering the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"?

I detested that commercial because I was painfully aware that I could never utter those words in good conscience. Maybe they should make a new commercial featuring yours truly. I could toss my less than luxurious, graying hair and utter the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm average." I guarantee you that women throughout the world would relate because from our hair to our makeup to our clothes many of us spend hours trying to look beautiful, and most of us end up looking, well.....average. Like a friend of mine says, "It takes a lot of work to look this average." Yeah, no kidding. For me it takes at least 30 minutes to put on a face that won't scare the masses!

On a more serious note, that ad got me thinking a lot about physical beauty, especially since seeing it again coincided with my near disastrous makeover. Beauty has often been a double-edged sword for me garnering a lot of unwanted attention, and yet I still wrestle with it because it's very clear to me that I do not fit the "mold" of what a beautiful woman should look like, at least not today! But I'm finally mature enough to grasp that real beauty has very little to do with looking "hot" and much more to do with who I am. How I wish my younger self could have understood that true beauty is mysterious and invites others to stop posing and striving and rest in its presence; it's a soothing and peaceful refuge when life is chaotic and overwhelming. And although it is elusive that's the kind of beauty I want to possess.

So while I believe that it's okay to enhance what remains of my physical beauty, I want it to reflect my inner beauty otherwise it's hollow. Perhaps my nephew has the most balanced perspective. He loves me no matter how I look maybe because he sees how much my heart loves his. But he also appreciates physical beauty and tells me when he thinks I look "cute". One night when he was about 6 we had the following exchange as he was brushing my hair and I was painting my nails.

Zachary: You know Wobin, when I am 40 you're going to be old.

Me: Yes, I know that Zachary, but will you still love me?

Zachary: Yes, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Me: But will you still think I'm beautiful?

Zachary: What? That's silly, you are bootiful.

Me: But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles?

Zachary: Wobin, that won't matter.

Me (about to get what I deserve): But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles AND I don't have on any makeup?

Zachary studying my makeup-free face: Hmmm, I'll still love you....but Wobin, the makeup helps!

Indeed.

Makeovers and Movies

Thursday Laurie and I went to Origins and had makeovers. The results were stunning. She looked beautiful. I looked like a hooker. Had I chosen to walk down San Pedro Avenue I would have likely been arrested, or at the very least run out of town by the competition.... Seriously. Why do all makeover artists insist on rimming my eyes, inside and out, with an entire stick of black eyeliner? I am not a raccoon! Add the gold and green shimmering eye shadow, bright coral lipstick and too rosy blush to my deathly pale skin and well, you can imagine the look. I haven't worn that much makeup since I was a teenager. I should have taken a picture but I really didn't want that particular look frozen in time, I have enough embarrassing looks captured on film for posterity. If you've never seen my "Elvira" phase then you don't know what you're missing......

Next, because we had errands to run I was forced to venture out into public with a face full of "lady of the night" makeup. It was 3:00 pm in the afternoon. I'm sure I garnered some strange looks at the frame shop and Target. Once we arrived home I set about wiping off some of the eyeliner and extra shimmer, but I was only mildly successful since I did not have time to start from scratch and redo all of my makeup before "Girls' Night Out". Then when I was almost ready I noticed a fresh crop of gray hair revealed by the harsh bathroom lighting, and as we all know that means a round of painful plucking. The LAST thing I wanted was to look like an old hooker, if I'm going to sport that look I'd at least like to appear young.

Because of my last minute plucking we were a little late arriving at Jeannie's but once there we quickly loaded into her husband's convertible and zoomed off to eat dinner. We ate an assortment of yummy food and desserts and talked about books, movies, men and faith. Then we left and cruised down Stoneoak with the top down, hair blowing in the wind, blasting 80s music all the way. Jeannie and Laurie were singing and car dancing to "Love Shack" because they are fun and carefree, I AM NOT. As you know I am neurotic and awkward and never dance in public, even in the car..... I did allow myself to enjoy the music and tried to sing along but I was very much aware of the fact that I looked like an old hooker so it was difficult for me to relax, especially with "Crazy Love" cranked up on the radio. We were quickly brought back to reality when Jeannie announced that she needed to purchase swim diapers before morning so off we drove to Walgreens. While she went inside Laurie and I sat in the convertible listening to music. I was a little paranoid that we would be carjacked because I forgot I was on the north side. I guess I'm used to living downtown; I would NEVER sit in a convertible with the top down and the keys in the ignition next to Puffin' Paul's Smoke Shop in my neighborhood!

We ended the night with a double feature in Jeannie's home cinema. All snuggled up with blankies in the soft, buttery leather recliners laughing at the antics of Ben Stiller in "Along Came Polly" and having our hearts warmed by Ryan Gosling in "Lars and the Real Girl". We laughed and cried (well, I cried) and then faced reality when the clock struck 2:00 am. By the time we made it home and fell asleep it was 3:00 am. Today I feel and look old from lack of sleep and 2 days later I am STILL recovering, but getting makeovers, hanging with fun girlfriends, reminiscing about our youth and watching funny movies was a great way to spend a few vacation days, black eyeliner and all.

Shiny Silver Dress

I just read a short article about Sarah Jessica Parker's fashion misfortune last week. It appears the dress she wore to her movie premier had been worn by a socialite just three weeks before. Apparently this is a big deal. A celebrity of her status is supposed to be the first person photographed in a dress, not the second.... It's a huge scandal. People are embarrassed. People are making accusations. People are disappointed. People are completely focused on a shiny, silver dress.

Wow.

Since I'm obviously not a fashionista it is rather difficult for me to comprehend the magnitude of this problem, especially when I contrast it with the struggles of friends whose annual salary is less than the cost of the dress in this fashion scandal. This week alone I had 3 different women share their struggles with me. They were all crying. They were all stressed. They were all worried. They work long hours. They work hard and yet they struggle to survive. They struggle to put food on the table for their children. They make too much money for food stamps but not enough for HEB. But they fight. And even though they have made choices I will never understand, I admire them. I admire them for not giving up. I admire them for their determination. I admire them for digging in their heels and deciding that they will do whatever it takes.

But admiring them is not enough. How do I help them? Vowing to live a life of poverty will not meet their needs. And giving money today will not necessarily meet their needs tomorrow. I do offer emotional support. I do offer community resources designed to meet their physical needs. I do what I can but then I go home to my nice apartment and full refrigerator. And I struggle to reconcile my small luxuries with their very real poverty. And I don't know how to not feel guilty for some of my material blessings.

I know others who struggle with this too. I just had this conversation a few weeks ago. I just had it again last night. Is it okay to enjoy financial blessings? It is okay to drive a nice car or live in a nice house? Is it okay to spend money on art? Is it okay to buy expensive clothes or new furniture? Why do I get to live without the burden of poverty when others will never find their way out of it?

Perhaps in an effort to lessen my guilt I sometimes focus on those who wear shiny, silver dresses. It's easy to judge them for the things I deem excessive. It's easy to be pious. It's easy to believe that I would not choose to live their way or care about frivolous things when it isn't even an option for me. But what if it becomes an option? What if I inherit a small fortune? What if I win the lottery? Would I be willing to give away the extra cash to help those who are less fortunate? Would I really choose to live as I do now, clipping coupons or forgoing my wants to afford my needs? The reality is that I would adjust very quickly to a higher income level. We ALL would. I'm not sure I would choose to give as sacrificially as the widow in Jesus' story. And that breaks my heart because I want to care more about people than I do about shiny, silver dresses.

Flying High

I haven't had a real vacation for 2 years now and the wear and tear is starting to show. I'm much grouchier and moodier than normal and so exhausted that sometimes I worry I have some terrible, undiagnosed disease. But - my blood work came back normal - so I decided to diagnose myself, I do work in the medical field so I'm qualified, right? While I'm fairly certain you will not find this diagnosis in the "official" ICD-9 book, I do exhibit every symptom, so I'm pretty sure it exists in more than just my rapidly deteriorating mind. DX: 999.00, NAE D/O NOS (i.e. No Adventure or Excitement Disorder, no other symptoms). The only cure appears to be an extended vacation in Prague or Italy or Krakow or......

In an effort to maintain my fragile sanity, I have begun reminiscing and reliving some of my favorite experiences from past adventures. This is where a travel journal pays off (thanks Becky for giving me my first one ever!) And I'm thankful for my slightly annoying and obsessive habit of journaling every detail - it's making my memories much sharper after so many years.

So, here's the first retelling of a very long line of funny memories. I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I enjoyed creating them.

*****************************

It all began with one very long Lufthansa flight from Newark to Munich, a connection I almost missed due to my inexperience and a fumble with my passport. The connecting flight was late (aren't they always?) so the airline had a buggy waiting to pick me up and rush me to a different terminal where an entire airplane full of restless passengers was waiting to depart.....waiting just for me. It was mortifying to be rushed through the airport on what amounts to a golf cart as the driver honked his horn and yelled in a harsh Jersey accent for people to "get out of the way!"

Upon arriving at the gate I was greeted by an impatient ground crew entirely lacking in southern hospitality. I was bewildered, terrified and on the verge of tears at the thought of flying over the ocean to a different country, completely and utterly alone. Next I boldly boarded the plane and let's just say that the welcome I received was a little "hostile". People were angry to be kept waiting and glared at me while simultaneously ducking as my backpack and I made our way to the very last row because, of course, my desired window seat had been reassigned.

I was herded to the middle of a row of 8 seats in between huge German men in need of a shower.... Men who spoke no English and kept touching me and smiling at me and saying apparently hilarious things to each other in German. I'm pretty sure they were flirting but it's always possible that I had spinach in my teeth or toilet paper on my shoe.... But wait, it gets better. This was a long time ago, years before the smoking ban went into effect, so guess what? I was lucky enough to spend 8 hours sitting in a cloud of unfiltered, German nicotine, a few smelly feet away from the bathrooms. Between the nicotine, body odor and bathrooms is it any wonder I couldn't see the more "charming" qualities of my seatmates?

After a sleepless night sitting in a seat that did not recline, I guess you could say that my big adventure was off to a bumpy start. And although I didn't know it there would be more turbulence on the ground than there was in the air. I would go on to spend a few hours sleeping off my jetlag on a subway bench; blow $22 on subway tickets because I was hopelessly confused and desperately lost; walk several hours from hostel to hostel trying in vain to find a place to lay my weary head; and finally book the last hotel room available and promptly fall fast asleep until 8:45 am the next morning.

When I emerged from that flight I was a terrified, exhausted girl with bloodshot eyes, flat hair and no makeup, but over the next few weeks I would grow into a woman bursting with excitement, joy and a deepened faith in God and her own abilities. I returned home with an awakened spirit and I'm determined not to let it fall asleep again.

Carryon Baggage

14 years ago I embarked upon my first overseas adventure, a trip that would change my life by igniting a passion for all things European. As my launch date approached, I stayed busy packing, weighing, repacking and wearing my backpack around the house. I'm sure it took every ounce of self-control for my parents to keep from bursting into hoots of laughter as I traipsed around with 60 pounds of turquoise nylon strapped to my back. I was determined to "train" for my big adventure and completely unwilling to part with anything on my list. I was landing on foreign soil after all and I was not inclined to use German toothpaste, Austrian shampoo or Czech deodorant!

Since that most excellent adventure I have traveled abroad many times and experience has taught me that it is always better to pack less not more. Everything must fit into the overhead bin or underneath the seat in front of me, especially if I have to haul it around on my aging, decrepit back! And I have been rewarded by breezing to the front of the customs' line right past the huge crowds of people watching the carousel of luggage in a frenzied state, trying to figure out which one of the 312 black suitcases is theirs..... Plus instead of using my precious moola on a shiny cart to hold all of my cargo, I get to spend it on a $6.00 airport soda. Woo-hoo!

Through the years I have also pared down my other "baggage", if you know what I mean... Downsizing has definite advantages. Things are simpler and my perspective is better, and even when life comes at me fast or circumstances are painful I handle them more graciously than I used to. I used to hit everyone in the face with all of my bags, and while I probably still do, at least the bags are lighter now and the injuries no longer life threatening!

While I have gained freedom by disposing of so much junk, it doesn't mean that I don't need help carrying my load periodically. If you are "lucky" enough to really know me let me apologize in advance, because you may be required to do some heavy lifting from time to time, especially when I am exhausted and unable to figure out how to keep moving forward. But, I am a firmly committed "carryon baggage girl" so most of the time I'll carry my stuff on my back, which frees my arms to help carry your stuff if you need me to.

That Kind of Day

Ever have one of those days where you feel like the mountain you're climbing is growing taller with each step you take? The kind of day where situations get worse instead of better no matter how much wisdom or prayer you apply? The kind of day where everything is 200 times more difficult than it should be?

THAT'S the kind of day I had.

Today it was personal. I don't play office politics well and it came back to bite me. Apparently I'm terrible at hiding what people assume I'm thinking with assume being the key word. I'm cursed with a face that displays a variety of emotions, often misinterpreted if I'm not smiling and chipper. When others assume I'm angry, I'm often just deep in thought, usually of the "Saturday Night Live" variety. Unfortunately most people suffer from the same degree of narcissism as I do and are convinced that every thought in my head and every facial expression are somehow directed at them. Add to the mix my struggle to communicate honestly with people who have not earned my love and respect plus my sarcastic, sardonic and dry sense of humor and you can see why I'm in a pickle!

What's a straight shooter like me to do? I'm terrible at emotional games and extremely intolerant of the junior high antics that keep me from focusing on my real job. But the people who share my "too small" workspace have a different moral code than I do. And as impossible as it sounds they are even more insecure than I am and will do anything to make themselves look better, even if it means dragging someone else's name and reputation through the mud.....even if it means resorting to lies, gossip and slander.

Honestly, I feel a little battered and bruised and I'm pretty sure my heart is black and blue. Obviously I have glaring flaws that need attention, but it's excruciating to hear about them from people who do not care about knowing or loving me. I cannot begin to examine them until I first hold myself up to God's truth and focus on what his opinion of me is. Otherwise it's too easy for me to live in that ugly, negative place, and I have done that for far too long.

Please be kind to me if you happen to cross my path in the next few weeks. A lot of arrows have found their mark landing smack dab in the middle of my heart and I'm finding it hard to pretend that it isn't killing me. I want to rebel against our culture for demanding that I hide any ugly emotions. I don't want to live a lie. Faking it is just not my style. Neither is chipper...... But, I really don't want to wound other people either, even those I find difficult to love. I guess I'll spend the long weekend licking my wounds and trying to figure out how to play the game. I just wish I didn't hate it so much.

THAT'S the kind of day I had. I sincerely hope yours was better.

American Idol Addict

Yes. I admit it, I LOVE it. It's my guilty pleasure. ***GO DAVID COOK*** And even though I attend a home group on Tuesdays and a prayer study on Wednesdays I am able to enjoy it thanks to the inventor of TIVO, whose face I will gladly kiss if I ever see it!

I love it the early stages when all of the terrible singers audition. I find myself laughing until I cry at their antics. Of course I also cry for real when some of them are heartbroken because no one has been honest enough to tell them that, no, they really should not sing in public, EVER. I get mad at Simon sometimes, especially when I think he has been unfair, but I have to admit that I prefer his approach to Paula's "nicey-nice" one. At least you know where you stand with him! ***GO DAVID COOK***

Once Hollywood Week begins I lose interest pretty fast, I don't think it's possible for me to care any less about the silly dramas that unfold between highly emotional contestants. I just want to see and hear people sing! ***GO DAVID COOK*** Ah, but once they narrow down the playing field to 24 I find myself drawn back into the frenzy. I watch every performance and listen to every note as if my personal future is at stake. This year I chose my favorite early. ***GO DAVID COOK*** A young rocker with the ability to make me like a Dolly Parton song about a sparrow - THAT takes talent. When he sang "Music of the Night" and "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" I was swooning. And, when he redid "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson, and made it amazingly cool, I nearly wept.

This week will mark the finale, and since it begins on Tuesday I will be conspicuously absent from home group (sorry HG, some things just need to be seen live!) ***GO DAVID COOK*** And, thanks to some scheduling conflicts my prayer group will meet on Thursday relieving me of the guilt I would feel when choosing to watch a television show over devoting myself to prayer... ***GO DAVID COOK***

In case you're not sure who I'm voting for, I will close with the following:

GO DAVID COOK!

DAVID COOK ROCKS!

GO DAVID COOK!

DAVID COOK ROCKS!

Check out these performances if you don't believe me!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dMZ97pNilI - "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_aiawC-9aM - "Billie Jean"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHo5I811n0k - "Hello"

To Dye or Not to Dye

Perhaps it's time to consider obtaining a part time job so I can afford to dye my formerly luscious locks back to the shiny raven hue of my youth. Today at lunch my adorable 9-year-old niece, who will eventually sport gray hair of her own (which I hope to be around to witness, if only so I can gloat) commented that she noticed very little gray in my head full of black hair. Although flattered, only I knew the secret reason why - I have devoted several hours in the last few weeks to plucking out those pesky little wiry, white strands from my tender head!

Since I can no longer honestly list my hair color as black - it's really black and white - I have been considering the pros and cons of hair dye.

Pros of Natural Hair

• Cheap, or to be more politically correct "budget friendly"
• Saves hours of time spent at the salon with a head full of foil
• Green....environmentally friendly....no chemicals
• No root touch-up every 6 weeks
• The gray proves that I have earned SOME wisdom.....

Pros of Dyed Hair

• Shiny, shiny, shiny!
• Saves hours of time spent in front of the mirror armed with a pair of tweezers....
• Helps maintain low unemployment levels in the chemical/cosmetic industry
• Brings the illusion of youth

What a dilemma! Can I really be one of the lone holdouts of my generation? And if I start dying the hair on my head, then what about my graying eyebrows? Must I dye them too or just keep plucking? Then there is the matter of my mustache, if only it would turn gray.....but no, it stays stubbornly black and forces me to break my "no chemical" rule on a routine basis. After all, a girl can only take so much "au naturale".

Until I make my final ruling I have learned to part my hair differently and use mascara to temporarily cover the obvious gray when I don't have time to pluck OR when plucking would leave a bald spot (which is more and more frequently.) If you happen to notice some gray then please remember that I earned it and it means that I'm smarter than I was when my hair was solid black. But if the gray is suspiciously missing then I guess you'll know how I spent my weekend!

Flowers

Almost every day, after several hours spent working or lately perfecting the fine art of CYA, I take a nice, long walk through the historic district surrounding me. I walk all the way down to my favorite street - Lynwood - and take the long way back to my little pad. I zigzag up and down the blocks and walk by stately mansions, some still in the process of being restored to their former glory. I make sure to walk past my favorite home every day, a strange green and white structure mixing Spanish and Craftsman architecture. It also boasts a beautiful garden, beautiful enough to elicit admiration from my 8-year-old nephew!

As I walk down the tree-lined streets my sense of smell is filled with the mingling aromas of honeysuckle, roses, magnolias, lavender and a variety of other flowers carefully tended and proudly watching over the old homes. The air smells so fresh and fragrant that I wish I could find a bench on which to sit so I could linger in the scent.

As I continue walking, my eyes feast on the beautiful colors and shapes of the delicate petals gracing the proud stems. The shockingly orange, yellow and pink hibiscus on the corner. The beautifully tended and sculpted rosebushes. The gorgeous, flowering magnolias. The whimsical and wild honeysuckle. In my mind they collide and resemble an abstract painting.

Being surrounded by beauty brings deep peace and contentment to my weary soul. That's one reason why flowers are one of my favorite gifts. It makes me feel special to have someone spend money to give me a few moments of something beautiful. Flowers are also one of the few indulgences I allow myself. I think it's because they are impractical and contrast sharply with my practical nature. No matter how hard I try I cannot resist their beauty, nor do I want to. Besides, I can ultimately justify the expense; it really IS practical to buy myself flowers because it keeps me on my diet. After all, I purchase flowers with money that would have otherwise been spent on food!

So, if you happen to see a girl with her nose buried in the magnolia blossoms, or her mouth agape as she drools over the abundance of choices in the flower department at the local grocery store, it's probably me, appreciating God's creativity and bold use of color and form. As I find rest and peace in beauty my soul finds the freedom to worship the One who loves me enough to delight all of my senses.