Tag: lgbtq

A wedding day love letter, on the 3rd year anniversary. 

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3 years ago I wrote and sent an email to my soon to be legally wed wife. It was an emotional and exciting time and the biggest day of our life together to date. 

As we celebrate this anniversary I wanted to share that originsl very personal email here. I do so with her blessing. 

Enjoy. 

        

We are getting married …. today. Not tomorrow or next week. Today.

I was not sure this day would ever make it here or that we would be ready when it did. Over the last few days as we patiently (and equally at times, not so patiently) watched the countdown timer tick away, I tried to think of the perfect wedding gift. I thought of a million things but nothing seemed right until I went back, all the way back to our beginning.

Do you remember how we started? It was an email, simple words typed and delivered digitally but neither of us could have know what was actually taking place.

It was never just words, never just an email, and neither is this one.

I decided to write you an email for your wedding gift, I know what you are thinking, that you didn’t get me a gift. The truth is you did, I have you, a lifetime with you is the greatest gift I could imagine. You are my whole world. I hope this reaches you with as much joy and surprise as the first one did.

I hope that every message you ever get makes you smile but this one especially I want to be like the first. All the anticipation, the joy, the flips in your belly, all the wonders of sweet enchantment.

Everyday is another chance to make sure you know how much I love you, adore you, need and want you. I don’t want a single day to pass in our marriage that I don’t remind you. Starting with the first.

I am not sure what I would do without you, I don’t want to know a life without you in it. So when we say our vows later today, know that I mean every word of them. Take it all in, just like you did in the beginning. Let your mind replay them over and over just like we read each others emails and texts … over and over again. You are truly my best friend, the perfect lover and the person I want to share idiotic bliss.

I can not wait to call you my wife.

With all my love,

~Cat

Pride. You’ve got it or you don’t.

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Yesterday was the Pride festival for Asheville, North Carolina and it was held in beautiful Pack Square Park. We call it home, lots of people call it a vacation destination nestled in Western North Carolina.

We arrived early’ish in the day. It was gorgeous, partly sunny and warm enough to need a little shade but not shorts. The perfect early fall day in the south.

We wore our newly purchased, just for this event, matching t-shirts and held hands as we strolled. You can say we looked super gay but that was the theme. We were headed to Pride after all.

We walked past a few screaming protestors at the festival line. Each shouting ridiculous things about lesbians and something about children. While I know a lot about both I had better things to do than correct them.

I stared quietly, hoping that what I heard about how looks could kill was correct. It seems it wasn’t as none of the preaching, sign holding annonces dropped to the ground.

I passed  by wondering what compels someone to throw that much hate at such a peaceful, colorful group of people in the middle of a city.

Even though extra security was evident, it didn’t take long to forget those sign holding screaming lunatics were even We received so many kind words, thumbs up and sweet compliments on our matching ensemble. It was delightful to be noticed for our love (literally!) in a way much different than the usual stares and glares we get out and about in society sometimes.

There were white tented booths in the park, each with a mission to sell us something whether it be a hand craft, some rainbow colored something or an agenda of some sort.

I would say I wasn’t buying … but who am I kidding. I wanted to soak it all in. I was proud to be there and proud of the businesses who came out to show their support. It was amazing.

I stopped at nearly all 100 or so booths. I picked up beads, sampled wine, picked up more beads, scored some colorful sun glasses, signed up to win stuff, gave to charity, listened to people talk about their organization and bought some cool lesbian swag from local vendors.

We had a couple beers, met up with old friends and watched some people dance.

Watched some people try to dance that is.

We listened to a local drum circle and a group of guys singing their hearts out. We watched “Cher” give a spectacular performance, some Drag Royalty delicately balance crowns the size of Buicks on their heads and some scantily clad performers high kick their way to tips from the crowd.

There were cheers and applause from a park full of people.

So much talent and so much self esteem. Get it girl.

 

Everyone there in unity and rainbow colors in spite of controversial legislation, a nauseating political race, and so shortly after a mass shooting of people just like us … a massacre for simply being proud of who they were.

 

Thank you TD Bank!

 

 

There were speeches and heartfelt pleas to be kind to one another. There is certainly more than enough hate in the world without us attacking each other. There was talk about repealing the stupid bathroom bill – also known as HB2. If you don’t know about HB2 read up here. Basically it means that you are required by law to use the bathroom designated by your birth gender. This doesn’t really mean a change in my life but it could for many, many others and quite unfairly.

None of that kept the community from celebration. It was a great day.

A beautiful, sun shining, peaceful day.

It meant a great deal for us to be there, to represent, to be counted in a community so united yet sometimes just as divided.. The festival in Asheville was held in Pack Square Park right in front of City Hall. I am super blessed to have my life here, my wife and my kids and my friends.

Please, if you have the opportunity, show your love and support.

It matters. You matter. Be counted.

Be present. Be proud.

Have pride in yourself as a member or as an ally to the community.

 

 

Pride Swag. $10 well spent.

 

The day they ate all my cocoa almonds and the world almost ended

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It may seem a little dramatic for a blog title … “The day they ate all my cocoa almonds and the world almost ended”  but it’s the truth.

I was having a bad day at work. I had skipped lunch because I knew we would be celebrating one of our favorite friends birthdays that evening.

My wife on the other hand had the day to herself and decide to get her snack on.

She found a hidden bag of cocoa almonds tucked away in the pantry. A delicious dark chocolate snack I was saving for a day of all days. The kind where you want to eat something deliriously chocolaty for dinner and wash it down with a chilled bottle of wine.

I wasn’t even so upset about it when she text me. She was giddy. Like she found a pot of chocolate wrapped gold coins at the end of a Skittles rainbow.

I didn’t pout when she told me she opened the bag and sampled the goodness inside.

It was alright. Really.

I was focused on making it the rest of my work day and getting to the restaurant on time. I knew what I was having when we got there too; a buffalo fried chicken salad with ranch, a couple beers and a big ole piece of that red velvet cake we bought the birthday girl.

To say I was hangry by the time we got to our favorite lakeside patio and were seated would be pretty accurate. I was both agitated by work events and starving from a lack of lunch break.

I needed sustenance … pronto.

We were seated and approached by non other than the server from our last visit. The one we didn’t like. The one who was slow to fill our drinks or even check on us last time. I was hopeful that this visit wouldn’t be a repeat.

I was so naive.

We did get our appetizer, and our first beer. He did take the cake to the cooler for us and promised to bring it out when we finished our meals. That was about the extent of my hopefulness.

Our friends orders came out wrong and missing side items. Our food never came at all. He never came back to check if everything was alright. I was getting more and more anxious and well … pissed off. I watched other tables get their orders. I watched the sun slowly setting on the horizon. I watched a small child nearly fall into the lake and  most importantly I watched my glass empty.

I was getting more and more irate. Have you ever witnessed a professional in the business of customer service be under served? It isn’t pretty. I said bad words. I shot a glare across the breezeway that made the server want to jump right past that unattended kid and into the lake.

Our friend flagged him down and forced him to confront our table. He nodded that he understood our complaints and ran off. A manager quickly came back to smooth things over. She made it all well, apologized for ruining our evening and summoned the remainder of our order.

We finished our meal and a second round before I requested the special item we brought in with us be delivered. The manager looked at me quizzically, she had no idea what I was talking about. Or she did and realized that this meant not only was dinner a disaster but it was a special occasion.

In the end everyone was fed, we shared cake with other tables and the helpful manager. Our bill was comped and we were given coupons to come back, all totally unnecessary as we are regulars and would have come back anyway. It was a nice touch though and I appreciated the efforts.

The end of the night came and I strolled into the house, put down my bag and went to turn out every light in the house so that we could go to bed.

I walked into the kitchen and there it was … my bag of almonds. Or should I say the bag that held my almonds when I left that morning.

It was like the final smack in the face.

One tiny chuck left in the bottom of the bag. The kids had polished off the sweet open bag of goodness like it wouldn’t be noticed.

I took a deep breath. Then another. I turned off the lights and took a shower. I climbed into bed unable to turn to the wife. I just couldn’t make her understand why I was so damn mad. My work, my birthday dinner surprise, now my almonds. My cocoa almonds!

When I was a child I was told once the world wouldn’t end if I had a bad day.

Yesterday it almost did.

 

Real marriage advice – life, love and not speaking to each other

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It has taken me awhile but I think I have learned a little about relationships, marriages in particular. It can be such a beautiful thing, hand in hand with the intention of growing old together, raising your children and retiring to rocking chairs on the front porch. Then there are days where you can barely stand the sound your phone makes when they send you yet another text message, to which you will also be ignoring.

I have put together 7 age old ridiculous tips and some alternative real life advice from an actual married person.  Actual advice for us long term ball and chain type couples; the gay, the straight, the somewhere in between  … because we all at some point need to step back and just laugh at ourselves.

Never go to bed angry.  Seriously? Who is this helping if you stay up way past your working adult bedtime?

SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO TO BED. Your co-workers will thank me for this tip in the morning. You can hash out whose turn it is to clean the bathroom another time.

Always compliment your lover. I only agree with half of this. Do not throw around over used, thoughtless words you think she wants to hear.  She doesn’t. She will stop buying into your lip service pretty quick. That is no good for her self esteem. All you are doing is encouraging your partner to not believe anything you say. Ever.

Always be sincere. If she is looking hella hot in that dress, by all means tell her so.

**I use the pronoun “she” here but this applies to everyone. Keeping in mind this is  written by a woman who is married to a woman … I use the feminine for everything. This advice could easily be just as good for that gorgeous hunk of a man in your life.

Be reasonable in your expectations. I don’t even know what this means. What exactly is a reasonable expectation? This varies wildly. If you were raised outside of the jungle you know how to behave in society and with other people. Don’t stress about what you are expected to do as long as you aren’t being an asshole.

Real advice: No really. Just don’t be an asshole. The only expectation should be that you are kind to one another and expect that no day is ever the exact same as the one before. Roll with it together.

Trust each other. This is a hard one for me personally. Do I trust she won’t leave one day with our dogs in the passenger seat and a trail of dust behind her? Sure. Do I trust she won’t drink the last of the wine or eat all the fancy ice cream? No.

Real advice: Don’t cheat on her or eat all her ice cream. Done.

Figure out your finances before you tie the knot. Uhh, we have been married awhile and we still havn’t figured this out.

Real advice: You are on your own here. I have no advice. We make the money, we spend the money.

Be affectionate as much as possible. For the sake of everyone around you, please, we beg of you do not do this. It is rude and we will tell you to get a damn room.

Real advice: In the confines of your home or around a private corner in public places by all means grab a quick feel or smooch like teenagers. All is well and good until you are holding up the line at Target looking deeply into each others eyes.

Handle your disagreements in a healthy way. We all know that couple that breaks up and makes up all the freakin’ time. Stop it. Don’t break dishes, don’t drive off squealing tires, don’t call names and never, ever tell them you don’t love them. There is no glue to mend that kind of thing and spray paint and ribbons are not a fancy fix all. No matter what you read on Pinterest.

Real advice: Be honest, take time if you need it before you respond, use your best inside voice. We learned about not throwing tantrums and using inside voices in preschool yet sometimes we forget as grown adults.

The very best advice I have ever been given was to learn from successful couples who have amazing, healthy, happy marriages. Learn from those who know they are not perfect but they keep working on it anyway, those people are the successful ones.

Most of all be willing to laugh at yourself. It’s a lot better than being laughed at.

Leave me your best marriage advice in the comments below, I would love to hear your best “real” advice!

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Parenthood: tales of the lesbian step-mom

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My kids are amazing. My wife is amazing. Together they are sorta a train wreck and today I feel a little like a helpless damsel in distress tied to the train tracks with nobody to save me.

This is how it all happened …

My youngest son (preteen) and my youngest daughter (barely a teen) live with my wife (acts like a teen sometimes) and I (always the mean mom) in our lovely rural home while their father lives across the country (we like it like that). This means for the bulk of the year we co-parent in my household with 2 moms. One of those moms never had an actual human child before this relationship, let alone a pair of prepubescent know it alls.

My kids love her, she is an amazing step-mom. She does everything I do as a parent plus more, mostly without complaining.

Like I said she is ahhh-mazing.

The kids absolutely agree, her meals taste better, she is more fun … she yells less. Whatever.

Then there are the days, like today. I get a text as a I exit the shower that the boy child is home. He didn’t catch the ride to school with his sister.

I wonder to myself what happened … is he sick? Should I check on him?

Then the real questions begin …. did I bring a robe to the bathroom?

Is this towel big enough to cover me if he is lurking in the hall?

Will he see me sprint naked and afraid the 3 steps from our bathroom to the bedroom door?

After the wife arrives home from the obligatory school drop off she begins to tell me the tale of 2 children. Of how the female child was dressed, back pack and shoes ready while her younger brother was most definitely not.

She describes for me in detail what happened with the boy.

He was standing in wrinkled shorts and holding his arms wide, in a gesture we can only guess was to make himself look bigger and scarier, like a grizzly bear in an old western movie. He stood there defiantly in support of his inaction this morning, making some desperate argument about why it is he wasn’t out of bed and ready to go. He stood there insanely ranting, thin arms spread wide, arguing about whether he did or did not wake in time to leave by 7:15.

As this was unfolding the wife was processing the entire scene in her head.

This kid was wasting precious teeth brushing time. In her infinite mom wisdom she decides the boy shall stay home. The punishment stood and she left him, in his sleep clothes, red eyed and cranky.

When she returned she checked in on him and found him playing video games. Like any kid home from school (as punishment?) would be doing. I didn’t have the time to argue as I slipped a cardigan over my shoulders and grabbed my bag for work.

A few hours into my work day I receive a Skype from the wife, not abnormal as we communicate periodically like this during my work day. This time it wasn’t about after work plans or when we were scheduled to take the car in for an oil change. No. This time it read like this:

[11:42:14 AM] Wife: Your son is up here looking for borax and glue
[11:58:44 AM] Me: uhhh, no?
[11:58:48 AM] Me: for why?
[12:00:01 PM] Wife: Making messes. Aka slime.
[12:00:14 PM] Me: No.
[12:00:29 PM] Me: Welcome to parenting boys 101
[12:00:35 PM] Wife: He was about to get into the Tide. I said no.
[12:01:09 PM] Me: this is the shit I need to blog about
[12:01:24 PM] Wife: Ha.
[12:02:02 PM] Wife: Yeah. I told him we aren’t making messes today.

I am 99% sure I am going to go home this evening to find no detergent for my laundry this weekend, a slime coating on my kitchen table, an empty potato chip bag and some soda cans mixed in with a beer bottle or few, and my kid still sitting in the same wrinkled shorts playing video games.

The truth is I really don’t think I want it any other way. Except maybe if they didn’t use all the Tide for slime and maybe tossed the dirty socks into the washing matching instead of kicking them under the couch. That would be good.

That seems like the perfect equivalent to untying the distressed damsel from the train tracks …

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These people are my heart. They make me laugh, make me cry. Mostly though they make me shrug my shoulders and smile.

 

 

 

Happy International Women’s Day or whatever day it is …

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It seems there is a holiday for everything. Yesterday was Cereal Day. Tomorrow is Unique Names Day. My favorite of all though has to be March 12th, Get Over It Day. Research says it was invented in 2005 but I’m not convinced it’s not a long running joke placed coincidentally between Valentines and April Fools.

As for today … it’s officially International Women’s Day. I may have just rolled my eyes. Before I am tackled to the cold hard ground by a feminist and my inbox fills with hate mail hear me out.

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I am all about strong, kick ass women. Honestly.

I admire women in every corner of the world for your contributions to life and love. All the amazing work you do without formal recognition.  From those in high heels teetering around office buildings to those wearing military boots stomping alongside your male counterparts. Especially to those of you running around with one slipper, and a day short of a shower, chasing toddlers.

All of us are miracle makers, mountain movers and marvels of beauty and grace in our own right.

I happen to think I am pretty worthy of a little celebration now and again but is all this really necessary? Do we need an actual day of remembrance for our contributions, our talents and our sacrifices?

Do we not hear quiet admiration from our friends, our co-workers, our lovers and our children? Are we not honored by our successes? Do we not build each other to be better than the day before without a day to be reminded to do so?

Instead of a day to honor women internationally each and every one of us should really already be aware of our own unique contributions and appreciated for such daily. We should see ourselves worthy of a place in the world, with or without a ridiculous holiday because without us what kind of world would it really be?

You don’t need a day in your honor, find honor in every one of your days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making changes. Hopping trains and hoping for the best.

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There are days like any other, predictable and comfortable. Like waking on your own on a Saturday morning, with no hangover despite copious amounts of consumed wine the night before. Eyelids slowly opening to see a breakfast tray beside you, adorned with a single rose and a neatly folded napkin,  your lover waiting patiently to spoon feed you bits of syrup soaked pancake.

Then there are days so miserable and pathetic that you want to cut off all your hair, throw your phone in a nearby body of water (a toilet works), flip your wife the bird and hope all those days at the treadmill afford you the strength to chase down a moving train and hop aboard … bound for wherever hobos go in old movies.

I’m not saying I’m having a really, really bad day but there might be scissors and some pink  Nike shoes in my backpack.

Unfortunately for me I don’t own a breakfast tray, I don’t remember buying napkins at the grocery last time I went and I haven’t had pancakes since the last time Denny’s served them to me while I was wearing sunglasses.

Inside. At 10 am.

Because if you drink that much wine you will have a hang over … just like the last time. Dummy.

So here I sit, on  a Monday, procrastinating. Contemplating returning that text that will undoubtedly start a fight.

Considering dumping my phone in the ladies room but will undoubtedly regret it later.

Scanning Pinterest for ideas about how to make a hobo hanky on a stick that will match my escape outfit.

*FYI that stick is called a “bindle” … thanks eHow for clearing that up for me. http://www.ehow.com/how_8193614_make-hobo-bag-stick.html

A girl has to be stylish even when fleeing from reality. I think I will pass on the hair cutting but I do need a change. Sleep and pancakes would probably be a good start. If that doesn’t work my next blog may just be from the train.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good morning sunshine, a canine calamity

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1003073_727448280602596_401554036_nMy day started with a rude awakening – all 3 dogs barking at the sound of tires in the gravel driveway.

They sound like a puppy version of thousands of tween girls at a boy band concert. That screaching, scream sort of crying bark that doesn’t stop until my wife makes her way from her parked vehicle, into our home and down the hall to open the bedroom door and greet them.

It’s really an incredibly awful way to be jolted from weekend slumber.

Torturous really and it plays out every other weekend at our place right about 7:30 AM. I have about 5 minutes of quiet after they are released, from what should be my sanctuary, before they all come rushing back to the bedroom. Each canine taking flying leaps into the bed on top of me.

Sometimes the wife joins them, just for fun.

It sounds like a romantic comedy until I am finally able to raise my head. Then the romantic comedy turns into a horror flick. My face gets all contorted, smeared with last night’s makeup. Yesterday’s curls now a massive fluff of angry red frizz. A sound escapes me like a guttural growl and when I find my voice obscenities spew out like I’m being exercised of demons. I throw back the blankets and climb clumsily over the furry sprawled out bodies in our bed.

I gather whatever is laying on the floor to wear and mutter a few more obscenities as I walk out to make coffee. All the while the bedroom quiets, the blankets get pulled up and everyone settles in to sleep the day away.

Everyone but me that is.

As soon as I finish my coffee I will realize once again, just like yesterday and the weekend before, that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Legally wed (almost) a year. Here is the recap …

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It was this time last year that our home state made our marriage legal. We were so excited, it was like a second wedding day. Sorta like that … but without rain, stress, arguments or blisters. Good times.

So in the spirit of a (sort of) one year wedding anniversary I compiled the top 10 best of best things that happened this last year, our first full year of being legally married in our home state.

  1. We survived new car envy. She bought I convertible, I got jealous. We now share our vehicles. Whats mine is mine. What is yours is now mine too. I’m pretty sure it was in the vows.96a9c5c0cecad209aedb00bb45a2dffa
  2. The kids went away for the summer and we managed to focus a little time on us. Every relationship needs a little space alone to develop. Ours developed into missing the kids after a couple month extended honeymoon. Whatever works.Summer-of-Love
  3. We went to the beach, several times. There is nothing like feeling the sand between your toes. Or the sand hitting you in the face as it swirls around the car, coming off your beach gear. That’s what happens when you shove the sandy gear into the back of that super cute, top down convertible you HAD to take for the trip.  11137193_1011165278894072_8677361988249007150_n
  4. We watched fireworks for the 4th, from our mountain spot, all by ourselves. It was kinda romantic and super beautiful. The other fireworks throughout the year on the mountain, likely scaring the neighbors into calling for backup, maybe not so much romantic as horrifying. We are trying to keep our arguments to ourselves now. Sorry y’all. 11403087_1036972702979996_7696834849185982622_n
  5. We learned to budget. Just kidding, no we didn’t. We bought a new car and went to the beach a few times. We can’t seem to save any money. I have no idea why. Saving Money
  6. She learned to cook. Well, not really cook, but she can grill like nobody’s business. Thinking about our 1 year anniversary steak dinner she magically produced is making me hungry, 3 months later. sunset-2
  7. I changed my last time to hers. Finally. She ran out and changed the name on the mailbox … I am still learning to sign it. Or to recolonize it when called. fa38b4ca80e150dc2a1e9445abc452b4
  8. We made new friends. Together. Couple friends. That isn’t easy considering we are so different. It is almost like getting a raise, the one you don’t think it will ever happen. All of a sudden you are eating more than soup from a can, in your one room apartment, while talking to your cat before bedtime at 8pm. It’s a big wide world out there when you have couple friends to go explore it with. friends_cast_004a
  9. We found new things to explore together. Places to go, things to do, food to eat and fancy new beer to try. Again, a big deal because when we first met we didn’t have much more in common than mutual lust. No shame. None. 3190410_13213875_lz
  10. Last but certainly most important: Nobody was seriously injured or died. I’m not kidding, it was a close call a few times. Marriage is hard, apparently so is smothering your beloved with a pillow. wpid-wp-1432838209051.jpeg

In a world full of strangers

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Everything you have read from me has been hilarious.

Fine, it was at least funny in parts.

I try to be light hearted as much as possible. No matter what. Anything to make the next day better. Sarcasm helps.

Some days though … there is no strength left for better.

Some days it just feels like I’m dragging around a body. Just posing my limbs throughout the day like a stylish department store clothing display. Moving my mouth to form words in such a way that to call it interacting with society would be a generous stretch.

I’m in autopilot and I’m surrounded by strangers. Overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, dramatically desperate.

I left the doctor today with strange news. There is a major malfunction in my body but it is fixable. Correctable once the source of the problem has been diagnosed. Probably. Hopefully.

Great news, right? No.

I like to be in control. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. I am great at being in control. I mean it’s not like I land airplanes for a living but I direct and reflect trouble like a boss.

Except now. Right now I am all alone. I am broken. I don’t want to share the pits of my despair with anyone in particular. I don’t want to pour my story onto a white page to be discovered by strangers.

Actually. Yes. Yes, I do. I want to share my story. It’s not always witty and entertaining. Sometimes it’s sad and raw and real.

The entirety of the situation is rather embarrassing really.

That makes me sad.
Or mad.
Not gangster style mad though … more like blogger mad. Instead of roughing up the rivals I will take to my blog and punch the keys with intent. That’s right, the sound of my typing can probably be heard from outside the house.
I’m an angry typer.

It’s been a tough couple weeks. I have not blogged purposely because I didn’t want to share sad. Sad isn’t witty or funny or entertaining. It’s just … sad.

Not very long ago I watched my children walk with contained excitement onto an airplane destined for the other side of the country. To be delivered to the other half of their parental unit. They couldn’t wait to find their seats and I panicked when I lost sight down the airplane corridor.

I cried on the way home.
I lost control.

I will miss them. They are gone for a few more weeks. If they need me I won’t be there. I don’t know what to do with that. How do parents do this? Why is this a thing?

Yes, they are safe.
Yes, they are healthy and happy and having a blast.
Yes, I’m still crying.
So what.

Also entirely out of my control?

My marriage. My beautiful, amazing, brag worthy and public love letter inspiring union.
What could be so bad about that? My fairy tale is made of regular everyday normal people, that’s what. People who sometimes reach a crossroads. I have no control over the depths of my love and just the same seemingly no control over the limits of human patience. My carriage may have turned into a pumpkin. No fairy godmother, just humble pie. Good thing I still believe in happy endings.

Sometimes you just want to go where nobody knows your name. Where you are surrounded by strangers. Where you only need to be in control of you.

I need to be reminded that the world still turns, the sun still rises and the moon will still beckon to the lost souls. Even if I get lost in the crowd. Even if I get lost and have to relinquish my control.

Sometimes I just need to be in a world full of strangers.
with my humble pie.
a glass of wine would be great too.