My blogroll is out of control.

I know this. And I try (sometimes!) to pare it down a bit. But, you see, there are so many people on the internet with mildy interesting things to say.

So what happens is this: I follow a link from a blog I already read. I read a few posts and think, "Hey, this is good stuff." So I add the new blog to my blogroll so I will remember to go back there. Then I go back there another day, and now this blog has a link to something she (or he) thinks is good stuff. So I go to that blog, and the cycle repeats itself. Next thing you know, I have a blogroll longer than a list of my real-life friends.

So I've pared down a bit today, but in the best traditions of Susanness, I also added one. And it is good stuff. Go ahead, click the link; you know you want to!

Now for the good stuff...

So, after all my whining and complaining about my not-so-favourite Olympic moments, here are my final (happy) thoughts:



Michael Phelps rocks.


But you already knew that.

Dathan Ritzenhein, Ryan Hall and Brian Sell rock.

Okay, so they took 9th & 10th (and 20 somethingth), and didn't bring home any medals. Who cares? They are still marathoning heroes. Plus, in 2012 the Games are in London. And you know what that means? They have four chances to run the London Marathon between now and then. Plus, let us consider Ryan Hall's marathon history, shall we?: #1. London Marathon. #2. U.S. Olympic Trials. #3. London Marathon. #4. Olympic Marathon. Yeah, I like his chances.

Paula Radcliffe rocks.

But I think I already covered that. All I have to say is, anyone who will continue running and competing-- and winning-- until 6 weeks (I think) before giving birth doesn't need a gold medal to prove she is a world-class athlete. And she has inspired me to think I can do it, too, when the time comes. You're not done yet, Paula-- in London you will be the same age as this year's gold medalist.

Dara Torres rocks.

Speaking of inspiration... Seriously. She's 11 years older than me, and the new face of middle-aged (although just barely) Americans. Talk about the normal barriers not getting in your way.

Oksana Chusovitina rocks.

Speaking of people who compete beyond the "normal" retirement age... this woman won a silver medal. In gymnastics. At age 33. If you haven't heard of her yet, look her up.

Usain Bolt really, really rocks.

What must it be like to train with this guy? How low will he eventually bring the 100m world record?

I could probably go on for a long, long time. But I won't, out of consideration for my faithful reader. Readers. Whichever. Alas, the Olympics are over, and I am having withdrawl... but this, too, shall pass. And if Usain Bolt is pushing it, it will pass really, really quickly.

And it's final..

Diving wins gold.

Not the American divers, although they did put up a valiant effort. Not Matthew Micham of Australia, who was the spoiler for China's would-be sweep. Not even the Chinese themselves.

No, this particular gold is for the irritating commentary, and the diving commentators win it. Last night, I couldn't take any more of Cynthia What's-her-name's voice, so I watched the last two or three rounds on mute. I even turned off the closed captioning, because I was not interested in knowing what she had to say any longer. It wasn't just her voice, although that is grating enough; with her inflections and tones, she should be playing a whiny housewife on a sitcom somewhere. It was also her very slanted opinions (in her eyes, the Chinese could do no wrong-- and everyone else (except Thomas Daley) could do no right) and trips into the "if I were a judge" territory. Perhaps in London they will make you a judge, and give the rest of us a break. NBC, find this woman a different job. And let Jennifer Wilkinson have a go at the commentary.

Silver in the event goes to the entire Track & Field commentary team at NBC. They were so close until last night to having gold, but in the end they couldn't be quite as irritating as Cynthia.

And, rounding out the medals in bronze is Jim Lampley. Now, he was not expected to be a factor in the irritating commentary event, since he was technically the daytime presenter. No matter, though; he overcame that little obstacle to annoy us all on a daily basis and claim the bronze medal. Again, NBC, I hope that before 2010 you can find someone with some skill at delivering a line, not to mention a little bit of charm when addressing the camera; Jim Lampley lacks both. Give us more of Mary Carillo. Or let Meridith, Ann, and Al work through the afternoon hours so we can see more of them (but not Matt Lauer; he is just as annoying as the rest, I'm afraid).

Or, better yet, put my favourite commentator into some overtime: Let Rowdy Gaines do it all. Now there's a man who knows how to deliver interesting, informed commentary. He does deserve a medal.

Golden days, Silver nights

I have so much Olympic blogging in me it's driving me nuts, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather watch an event than blog about it. So here are the highlights:

Michael Johnson jumped up and down and smiled brightly when Usain Bolt broke his 200M world record. Now, there's a man with class, even if he is working for the BBC.

The T&F commentators are running neck-and-neck with the diving commentators for gold medal in "Really irritating commentary". I don't think I can say at this point which will win.

Jeremy Warner: Man, I wanted you to win. Kudos to you for walking away from the reporter though.

Paula Radcliffe, you are my hero. London is calling: 2012 is your year.

It's a shame Katie Hoff's games didn't go better. I was so everlastingly tired of commentators who introduced her time after time as "Katie Hoff, who trains in the same pool as Michael Phelps." Seriously, this woman has had enough success in her own right that she doesn't need to be linked to the Fish Man every five minutes. All I can suppose is that they think Phelps has been peeing in the pool, and that gives her an extra boost of some sort. (Probably to finish her workout quickly and get out!)

Speaking of the Fish Man... Wow. There's just nothing left to be said that hasn't been said by everyone else. He has a really cute dog, too.

So, this seems to be Indiana's year for the Olympics. Thus far, I've counted at least five athletes from Indiana (two gymnasts, three divers), and a few more who train there. I really wanted Haley Ishimatsu to do well, after she and her family moved from Southern California to Indianapolis so she could train with her syncro partner. Talk about sacrifice.

If I see another volleyball game, I will lay on the floor and cry. Isn't there some archery going on we can watch instead? Field hockey?

And to top it all off, I didn't get to see ONE SECOND of Roger Federer playing! Or Rafael Nadal. I did catch about five minutes each of the Williams sisters. Actually, it's part of my plan to watch the gold-medal matches (doubles for Federer, singles for Nadal) eventually, though your guess is as good at mine as to when that will happen.

Okay, coverage resumes in 40 minutes. I had better get a move on.

Oh, Canada

So I'm blogging in the intervals of actual Olympic competition, and thinking longingly of the 2010 Games, which will be held in a closer time zone. British Colombia, I love you.

Anyway, ordinarily I would not dream of mixing my sporting events with blogging, but I am trying to stay awake. I knew this would be the first of my "weekend" of late nights (seriously, it's Wednesday... how can I call this the weekend?), with primetime coverage going to midnight, but this has really been one long evening. And we still have an hour to go. Tomorrow night also goes to midnight, Friday to 1 AM, and I was afraid to look at Saturday.

Bob Costas just informed us that all remaining commercial breaks this evening will be less than 90 seconds. Holy cow. Better ease off on the water.

So, that reminds me of a conversation my supervisor and I had the other day about potential post-Olympic events for the general public:

Marathon sleeping: Those who didn't miss a minute of coverage are expected to do well in this event. (This would not be my event, since my insomnia would have me DQd in short order.)

Syncronised marathon sleeping: For couples/roommates who enjoyed the games together.

Commercial break bathroom steeplechase: Dodging furniture, leaping over laundry, using the loo, then running back to the couch in under 90 seconds. Points are deducted for leaving the door open and for any "wardrobe adjustments" after returning to the television.

TiVo-induced fencing: Spouses/roommates duel over who deleted that event you wanted to watch over and over again.

Standing celebratory high jump: You ought to be good at this one, after all those gold medal moments.

Balance test: After all those cups of coffee, can you still walk in a straight line?

NBCOlympics.com Decathalon: Competitors will look in on their favourite athletes, watch some live video, check the evening's TV listings, send a nasty e-mail to the annoying commentators, and then get back to work before the boss sees what they are doing on company time.

I was tired of the even keel, anyway.

So I've had a week of emotional upheaval.

Said upheaval has been mixed with the normal wackiness that comes from being me, which has brought me a whole new dimension of crazy. I don't even know what to call it.

I thought maybe the crazy was because Chad was gone this week. It could be from over-exposure to Lord of the Rings (I read the books and watched the movies all in the same 10-day period). Perhaps it is due to the inner hype I've been building for the past 6 months in anticipation of the Olympics. (Yeah. I'm that much of a fan.) Or the stress at work. Or an unanticipated reaction to the anniversary of losing Grandpa.

We've wondered in the past, due to my sizable mood swings and seasons of insomnia (yep, I'm having one of those, too), if I might be manic-depressive. Chad brought the question up again in the midst of the Opening Ceremonies Friday night, when in the stretch of those four hours I went from out-and-out crying (at the pictures of parents weeping for their children after the earthquake) to absolute delight at the show being played out, back to teary at the Chinese children singing, then over to all but jumping up and down when Scotland the Brave came on, followed by squeals of joy at seeing Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer come in with their respective countries-- and then I went to bed, to lie awake for an hour or two, since I had a brain overactive with what I had seen and anticipation of my race Saturday morning.

Not that it got much better on Saturday-- I got home from my race and finished reading The War of the Ring during beach volleyball (my least favourite Olympic sport, and we're inundated with it) and I couldn't stop crying. Just couldn't. I've read that book at least a half-a-dozen times before, and never once have I been moved to tears. Then there was the fencing medal ceremony-- good grief, you'd think my dog had died.

So I've decided to embrace the emotional crazy and just go with it. I don't seem to have much of an option otherwise. :) Oh, and in the same vein, I also embraced the Olympic OCD and have polished my fingernails to match the Olympic flag. Go Team USA!!

The World is Watching

Wow. The opening ceremony was pretty cool. I was pretty annoyed by the commentators (as ever... a plague upon your wagging tongue, Matt Lauer) and their continual, often superfluous, chatter, but they did at least give this one useful bit of information: The ceremony was planned/staged/etc. by a successful Chinese filmmaker (yes, I've forgotten his name) and he had a budget that might be described as beyond astronomical. So (Matt said-- about 6 times), this is what happens when you give a creative, world-class artist an unlimited budget. I'm sure he felt it was worth every penny. (Or whatever the local equivalent is in China.)

The part that excites me about the opening ceremonies is the parade of nations, and while I didn't stay up long enough to see the end, I saw most of the countries I was watching for. (I missed Mexico-- either because I was away from the TV or because they came on after I went to bed.) I did see Switzerland, though, and was rewarded for my patience by seeing my good pal Roger Federer carrying his nation's flag. (Okay, he's not my pal. I don't care.)

The other high spot of the parade was found in the medley of music played as the athletes came in-- the second or third song that came up was "Scotland the Brave." (Played by the bagpipes, no less.) Naturally, I went from casual lounging on the couch to sitting bolt upright in about a millisecond-- causing Chad to caution me about hurting myself. Once I worked out that they were playing a selection of music from (seemingly) all over the place, I sat back to enjoy the show.

And hear the song. Like five times. Bless you, unknown Chinese filmmaker.

In case of earthquake.

So I crawled under my desk on Friday afternoon.

I actually had good reason for doing so, although my supervisor insists that I did not. (Like she is one to be pointing fingers; she moaned all Friday long about how she was ready to go home.)

So the doctor calls on Friday afternoon to make sure there were no patients waiting for him, because he had just left the office (again!) without checking first. I assured him that there were not (because at that moment, there weren't), and he hung up, after telling me to let the PAs know that he was out of the building.

I went to the patient area, to find both our PAs, both nurses, and all the clinical aides in with patients. (Or they may have been hiding.) So I thought, "Okay, they are all busy, I'll just let them know the next time they come up front."

I went back to my desk, and back to work, and about 30 minutes later one of the clinical aides came to ask me if the doctor was out of the building. I told him yes, he was at the hospital. Problem: a patient has been waiting 15 minutes to see him. Yikes!

So after a couple of minutes of panic, who waltzes in the door but the doctor himself, having finished his rounds with incredible speed. Immediately he was beset by PAs and clinical aides, all talking at once, capped off by the news that a patient was waiting to see him. He, of course, looks a bit stunned and asks, "Didn't you all know I was gone?" They all said, "No!" at once.

Naturally, this little sideshow all happened right in front of my desk, so the doc turns around to look at me. "They were all in a room when you called!" was all I could think to say, and then they all wandered off en masse, presumably to see patients.

So I turned to my supervisor and said, "I'm just going to hide under my desk." This is not a new threat, by the way; I say it at least once a week, usually at moments like these. "What? You are not!" she said, so I decided this was a good a time as any to show her I was serious... and under the desk I went.

This is where it gets really good... I was giggling at the look on her face, and she said, "No wonder your parents abused you! You are such a brat!" Now it is my turn to be stunned, so I said, "What? Why?" as I crawled back out. "Because you are, hiding under your desk!" (In case anyone was wondering, apparently all one has to do to be a brat is hide under one's desk.)

So I went back to work. And she went back to moaning about how it was time to go home. (Further note: She wasn't being serious. As far as I can tell.)

A year ago today...

A year ago today... I set my phone to "vibrate" for church, then forgot to put it back to ring.
A year ago today... Grandpa got out of bed at the nursing home, insisting that he was "going home".
A year ago today... jokes were told, prayers were spoken, and a family shared time together.
A year ago today... Grandma went to bed a wife, and woke up a widow.

Of all the nights for me to not put my phone by my bed, as I had done every night up until then (and have done every night since). Thank goodness the nursing home staff didn't agree with Grandpa's request (because I am so glad Grandma didn't wake with her husband's cold body beside her). And it turns out, of course, that Grandpa was right; he was going home.

If only I could have been there for that final night (that we didn't know was the final night).

I don't think Grandma will get much sleep tonight, because I'm sure she wishes she had sat up all night a year ago today.

12 Days, 20 Hours

Only two weeks until the Olympics begin! Yes, I am excited at the prospect. Why? Well, for one thing, there is currently nothing on TV worth watching. Okay, there is the Tour de France, but I don't have cable, so I'm stuck with nothing.

For another, it is so nice to have such a diversity of sports available for watching in such a short time. American sports broadcasting-- on network TV, anyway-- is consumed by football, basketball, baseball, and Nascar. You get the occasional soccer or tennis match and special events (National championships in figure skating and gymnastics, for instance), but that's pretty much it. I may only get the highlights of the Games on network TV, but we do the the highlights of a wide variety of stuff. Fencing, for instance. The only time I ever see fencing on TV is during the Games. Not to mention diving, swimming, archery... et cetera. One of the girls at work asked me a couple of weeks ago which Olympic sports I like, and I said without hesitation, "All of them. Except for beach volleyball, and I'm not really wild about weightlifting."

Which is true. I don't watch beach volleyball.

No, I've not gone to that great blogroll in the sky... I've just been unmotivated to post. (Of course, I my have just run out of things to say.)

So, this week I begin training for my first half-marathon. (Yes, me, who as recently as six months ago had NO interest in doing such a thing!) It's easy going at first... running three times a week, and my longest run in the first four weeks is seven miles. After that, things start to pick up... leading (eventually) to long tempo runs, brutal intervals, and long long runs. I can't wait.

Oh, and I'm working my way through a transcription course. I really, really want to be a telecommuter.

Where do you draw the line?

Yes, I am really hoping for comments/discussion on this post. Otherwise, it's just me talking to cyberspace.

So, I mentioned in my Going Green post this article, which gives 10 reasons to be happy about higher petrol (gasoline-- I call it petrol, to distinguish it in my mind from natural gas, which we also have to pay for), and then I read this post, predicting the potential dire consequences of Sen. Obama's proposed solution to high petrol prices. (Please don't use my comments section to comment on his post-- if you want to comment on the post, comment at his blog. Thanks.)

So I read the post, and thought, "I wouldn't drive if petrol were at $10 a gallon." Then I realised, I would probably stop driving before we got to that point. But I am not sure where my line is. So I put it before Chad: "At what price per gallon for petrol do you say to me, 'Honey, we're going to park the car until the price of petrol comes back down.'?"

In the course of the ensuing discussion, I said that I am almost to that point now; in fact, after filling up our tiny car for $40 yesterday, I am now wondering whether we can run all our errands on Thursdays, when I already have to drive anyway. (I can't take the bike to prayer group and still make it to work on time afterwards.) Chad says yes, we can, and I absolutely agree.

So, the final verdict? I think my line is somewhere around $5.50 per gallon. Certainly, we arrive at it by $6.

Where is your line? At what point do you park your car and pursue "alternative" transportation?

I sense a disturbance in the Force...

Seriously? Roger Federer loses Wimbledon? It's like there is something wrong with the universe.

The final was the longest in history, and it was absolutely fantastic. If you missed it, boy did you miss a good one. My sister has informed me on more that one occasion that she is "tired" of Federer v. Nadal matches, but I told her today that if she couldn't find this match exciting, then there is something wrong with her. She is more of a Nadal fan, so she is a lot happier than I with the result.

All credit to Nadal, of course; he has worked hard for this title. And this is shaping up to be a good year for Spain. But I really, really wanted Federer to get 6 straight. And as I told Chad, I am more bummed by this than I thought I would be. Something wrong with the universe, seriously.

Also, I love it that the crowd at the Olympic Track & Field trials were chanting "Come to Oregon!" when Jordan Henesay set a new high school record with her 1500m time.

Going green...

...and saving some, too.

The day we got back from our Indiana trip (25 May) Chad and I had a discussion about how best to motivate ourselves to cut back on our car usage. $4 per gallon for the cheap stuff hit the greater Indianapolis area while we were in town, and while the cheap stuff here in Lubbock has (thus far) stayed under $3.90, it is only a matter of time. Besides, as I told my husband last week, if we must spend our hard-earned money, I'd rather spend it on things we choose to spend it on, not things we've left ourselves no choice about.

So! The Chad-and-Susan Going Green challenge is as follows: For every day that we do not use our car, we pay ourselves $1. The cash goes into a jar until we have enough to take out and do something meaningful/fun/whatever with it. Then, if we manage to go two weeks between fillups, we get a bonus dollar for each day. For instance: we last filled up two Saturdays ago. Last Friday (27 June) marked 14 days from fillup day. So, on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, we got a bonus dollar.

So for us, this challenge is working well. I don't know how long we will keep it up, or what form it will evolve into as the weeks go by. But so far, our original intent has been upheld: we are using the car a lot less.

An in case you're interested, Time published this article about the positive effects of $4-per-gallon gas. (Yeah, I was skeptical, too. It's a good read, though.)

One Day More

I got up early (technically, late, but who gets up at 5:30 on a Saturday?) this morning so I could run for an hour before watching Venus & Serena Williams play spectacular tennis. If you missed their match, you missed out!

So in the course of the match, one of the commentators mentioned that the Williams sisters rarely complain, and that they don't take a point that they don't earn. Which, of course, adds to the enjoyment of watching them. They aren't prima donas, they don't whine, they don't stir up problems in their press conferences as so many atheletes are prone to do. They are polite and gracious, and hard workers who go out and play great tennis.

Long may they play.

100 Things

So I read this article about this guy who is choosing to whittle his possessions down to 100 things, and then live with only 100 possessions for 1 year. Yikes!

In a small move in the same direction, I went through our apartment to find out just how many things belong to me personally. Answer: far too many. I didn't count some things because they were put away (stuffed animals, winter clothes), and some things because I just couldn't be bothered (CDs, jewelry), and I didn't count my stash of craft supplies because I wasn't sure how to quantify it, and I still got a grand total of 510 things. Of course, without books that total comes down to 321, but that is still a lot.

So, along those same lines, I have a list going in the sidebar of possessions I do not want to live without. I don't know that I'm ready to take such a dramatic plunge as cutting down my stuff by two-thirds, though.

So, I pass along news of the "100 Thing Challenge" to those of you who may not have heard of it yet. Read, be challenged, sneer, act, ignore... it's entirely up to you.

Go, Roger, go!

I'm watching Roger Federer warm up for his semifinal game. Today is the day that will set up the match I will be watching Sunday-- please, please, please, Federer and Nadal, play for us today as you always do, because I am still not tired of watching the two of you play this game so beautifully. (Denise is, though, so if you prefer her feelings to mine, then you can play poorly today.)

We'll be going downtown to see what kind of celebrating is going on there in just a little while, so I won't be watching tennis all day. The jury is still out regarding the fireworks later.

So we missed the parade this morning, because we were in Brownfield volunteering for the running club race today. The race director asked me to read out the winners of the awards (yikes!), and gave me the microphone. What a kind, trusting man. I stood on the tailgate of his pickup because, let's face it, I am probably the shortest member of the running club who is over 18. And possible the shortest over-15. After hearing names (including my own-- how hard is "Susan"?) being mangled at every race since we began, I read through the list to be sure I could pronounce them all (even going so far to ask one of my pals how to say her surname-- I've only ever used her first name). And, of course, the one I overlooked before starting is the one that tripped me up. Badly. In the second race, we had an out-of-towner entered whose name none of us knew, so I tried it a couple of times before giving the awards, the race volunteers came to a consensus as to how it was probably pronounced, and when he collected his medal, I asked, "Did I say your name right?" He said, "Close enough," so I guess it was. :)

I also got to have a nice conversation with another new 30-year-old, and a girl a couple of years older than us, about how competitive the womens' 30-34 age group is. This conversation was sparked because one of them did not collect her usual medal today, and we couldn't believe it.

Scavengers

So Paige recently posted a blog about water-related moments, and included among the trip down memory lane was a picture of Paige, myself, and a guy in my aim class (I think his name was Michael) standing in the fountain at Texas Tech. To be fair, Paige (probably) didn't know that is was me in the picture; I'm sure she thought it was some random aim student. Which, in fact, I was. I commented to tell her that it was me in the picture, and in return, she e-mailed me another photo from the evening. A photo which, by the way, will NOT be appearing on my blog. Ever.

The thing is, I remember that night very, very well. Why it should be so stuck in my memory I don't know, but there it is. Denyce came along to my apartment while I was doing homework, to ask if I had a Polariod camera (I didn't) and to tell me that there was going to be a photo scavenger hunt that evening.

So I tagged along to her apartment, where we discovered there were no Polaroids in aimland. Alas. So we got out the regular cameras, divided into teams, set a time to meet up at the Wal-Mart photo centre, and off we went.

I know for sure I was teamed up with Paige, Denyce, and Michael (and thanks to the photo, I can add Tami and Trent). So in addition to the afore-mentioned hop into the TTU fountain, we took a bunch of other pictures: something to do with a tombstone in the cemetery; a trip to the men's room at a restaurant (while one of the guys who worked there guarded the door for us); a bicycle (or two), perhaps with us riding them; and I distinctly remember climbing into (and back out of) a dumpster. Upon reflection, I really hope the dumpster picture came before the fountain picture.

And, our group lost the contest. It all came down to our final picture, which was something of our choice in Wal-Mart. (Paige also cleared up this one for me; I had it backwards in my memory.) We buried Paige in stuffed animals (which I'm pretty sure we put back again properly), but the judges preferred the other team all posing in flowerpots. So we had to settle for second place.

So, this little trip down memory lane was inspired by a trip to Paige's blog. I wonder what will be next?

Alas, poor June. I knew him well.

So I was looking at my blog archive, and comparing last year's total posts to what I've posted thus far this year... I am waaaaaay behind. Or perhaps I have run out of things to say. :) Not likely, I suppose.

So, June is ended, July has begun. I love June; it is my favourite month of the year by far. I suppose September is second (which is new for me; I used to hate the autumn. It's amazing what the Texas heat will do for you.), and after that... hard to say. May, perhaps? I hate it that June went by so quickly. In fact, this year is flying, as years do. Soon I'll have to start thinking about my reflective, end-of-the year post. I'd better get to work on that.... no way, I don't want the year to go that quickly.

So I am going to enjoy July. I am going to grab each moment before it passes on forever. I am going to go down to the cliche factory and see if I can pick up some new ones.

Sisters Praying, Part 3

I have to say that my prayer life has been, at best, sporatic. That has been the case for my whole life. There are seasons that have been less sporatic than others, but I've never had a regularly-scheduled prayer time that I kept rigidly. I've prayed while cycling, prayed while walking, prayed first thing in the morning, last thing before going to bed, every hour on the hour (that was a good week), etc. The only predictable thing about my prayer life for the last 14 years is how varied it has been.

I hit a new low in April, though, when Sisters Praying has been the only thing that enabled me to say with any truth that I even HAVE a prayer life. I was walking at lunch one day, lost in whatever it was I was thinking about, when I noticed the grass in the park was getting dead and brown. I thought to myself, "I should pray for rain," and the very next thought (unfortunately, I am not making this up) was, "Oh, like that's going to make a difference."

So I knew it was time to bring it to Sisters Praying. And pray we did, and I took my turn in praying that week, although to call my prayer that week half-hearted would be extremely generous.

So, it has gotten better since then. My prayer life is still much more shallow than I would like. I am still completely without consistency. But Sisters Praying is there, the solid block of encouragment that keeps me going when I would rather not.

I wouldn't stop this ministry for anything.