Christmas Eve at Home

Saturday, December 25th, 2010 | Author: admin

It was Christmas Eve. The church service was over, the choir was singing Bach’s Christmas Oratory, trumpets filled the room with sounds of pure joy. The Christmas story was retold by beautiful voices and the incredible miracle of Christmas became alive again, to carry the worshippers through their lives for another year.

She was sitting on her sofa now, remembering the time when she was one of the soprano singers and how beautiful it had been to be part of the joy, sharing with all the others. Her heart was wide open, filled with the gift of Christmas, joy, hope and trust that the angels shared with the shepherds and that brought the three Kings on their journey to greet the child and give him presents.

She saw her own daughter, adult now, a beautiful young woman with  that still tender shy smile on her face. So beautiful. She felt overwhelming love for this child whose big brown eyes spoke of dreams and mysteries. The world is a tough place for dreamers, but her daughter did not give up. Hope and joy and trust lived.

She could not see the boy, 3 years younger, a slender young man with an earnest face. She wished she knew him better.

There were the other two children too. All four united this Christmas. The family she had always  wished for.

Her father was busy in the kitchen, preparing food while talking to somebody, explaining the little tricks of  making a mayonnaise from fresh eggs. His food was mouth watering as always. He loved cooking. On his many journeys he  always looked into the kitchens of the finest restaurants, explored the chefs’ secrets and learned all he could from them. Great attention to detail, seasoning with brave generosity and giving food time to cook, time to join flavours, time to settle. He was a master of the kitchen.

She looked at her mother who was in the middle of all the activity but still distant and somehow not really there. She would listen and laugh but her big brown eyes would or could not ever be cheerful. Still, her mother enjoyed the company, too. Carefully she took the old champagne glasses out of the cupboard, for the grandchildren laid the table.

Her brother took the difficult task of opening the bottle. She had to giggle. Everybody was good at something! But she knew that was not fair, for her brother was excellent in many things. He just lacked  focus sometimes and he loved life too much to be serious about anything.

There was her husband, talking with somebody about serious issues. He knew so much, she thought, an expert in many areas. So different from her brother, and he took his life seriously, always. She could not pick up any words of the discussion but she knew, her husband was enjoying this.

Now it was time to raise the glasses. Everybody got their glass and stood in the middle of the big living room, clinking glasses and shouting: “Merry Christmas”. Even grandmother, grey and silent, stood up from her chair, smiling. She loved it so much when the family was milling around her.

Afterwards, they all sat down to sing a few of the traditional songs. These songs always brought back memories of her own childhood. It was good that it was dark in the room. Only the Christmas tree candles were giving light now. Her eyes glistened with secret tears of so many memories.

Time to unwrap the presents arrived. The first awkward silence when nobody dared to be the first. Of course the kids had to start. And they did. Each present was given appreciation and overwhelming thanks.

She smiled as she watched all this.

She took a sip of her champagne. Her cheeks were wet. This was so beautiful. Her heart opened wide with love for all these people, her family. FAMILY.

She looked at the little package next to her. Time to unwrap her own present. Her colleague had given it to her with a little card: The animal of the year. It was a calendar with photos of tigers. Tigers. Good! She liked that.

The music stopped. She stood up to put another CD into the stereo. She refilled her glass. The phone rang, her husband called and wished her a happy Christmas. They discussed the snow situation this year and how likely it would be that she could drive up to see him one of these following days. Maybe the day after tomorrow, one would have to see.

After she put the receiver down, she sighed. It would have been lovely to have her own big family, many many children. All who would celebrat Christmas with their parents and grandparents  and great grandmother.

She stared into the room  illuminated only by the four candles on her advent wreath. Thought whispered to her: You received all the gifts you wanted.  You achieved your dream job, your dream husband, your many journeys all around the world. You have friends, loyal, loving friends.  Do you need more reasons to be happy? Do you need more reasons to be grateful for all the love that you receive? These are the blessings that fill your cup.   

She smiled and nodded. The music was beautiful. Bach’s Christmas Oratory. She started to sing along.

Category: Story, real life  | Tags:  | Leave a Comment

just a bad day

Saturday, September 11th, 2010 | Author: admin

 She stormed onto my porch, all flustered and upset. It was obvious she came to vent.

I poured some chilled Chardonnay, a remedy that helps most people to calm down. Full flavour, great taste, a bright coloured wine in a beautiful glass. This is a wine that appeals to all senses and distracts from unpleasantness.

Unfortunately she seemed quite immune to my magic drink. She gulped down her glass like water, not letting her taste buds enjoy it at all. This was serious. Yes, she was definitely pissed.

“So what happened?” I asked carefully.

“A bad day” she sighed, somewhat appeased by my simple question. She took a deep breath. “A very bad day.”

Then, after a pause, she giggled. I looked at her, my eyes framing the unasked question.

“If it was not so bad, it would even be funny.”

I smiled and leaned back, ready for her story.

“You know, Wednesday is my easy day. I start work late, have time to sleep in or time for those errands that are easier to do in the morning.”

I nodded and did not interrupt.

“Today I got up in time to go through my huge To-Do-List, have a decent breakfast, as well as cleaning up before I left the house for the mandatory technical check of my car. This was the first time with this car, after owning it for four years. From now on I will have to go through this…” she hesitated, looking for the right word, “this …procedure… once a year.” She grinned.  Not in an amused way.

“I arrived at the D.O.T. around 10 am. My hope that the line would be short was immediately destroyed. When I drove onto the yard more than 10 cars were ahead of me. No chance to get out of there anytime soon.

I tried to relax.  I tried to enjoy this forced leisure. I really did. But I got bored.

I grabbed my Ipod touch to play a game. Battery warning, lower than 20%. I dismissed that and listened to some music on the radio. It was boring.

The line had not moved during the past 5 minutes. I wondered how long I would have to wait.

I grabbed my macbook, planned to go to the internet and read emails, answer some, make the best of the time, you know?”

I nodded, seeing where this was going.

“The Battery status flashed red, only 15 minutes to go. I switched it off.

I looked for a radio station and found BFBS. After five minutes I switched that off again. The overly British accent of the radio moderator was unbearable.

Then It started to rain. But I could move. All of 2.5 metres forward.

I felt brave and patient.

Every now and then I could move another 2.5 meters forward until there were only three cars in front of me. Now it got interesting. I watched how the car owners presented their paperwork, how the exhaust fumes were checked.

Then it was my turn.

Finally.

The papers were ok, the exhaust fumes were checked, I could enter the hall where more tests would be done.

There were two lines, I tried to choose the shorter one, but both were the same length, so I decided on the left one.

Somebody came to check the lights.

Then he left and I waited again for the other tests.

The right lane seemed to be moving faster.

There was the car that had been behind me, now doing his second test already. Annoying. Why do I always choose the wrong line?

After a while I was motioned to the suspension tests. Front wheels, back wheels.

Then, waiting again.

Finally a man arrived who would take over the steering wheel to drive the car onto the brake test.

Fine. Very good indeed.

After that there was just the inspection of the underside of the car and I would be out.

The man drove the car 20 cm forwards, but not yet onto the measuring track, then 10 cm back. He got out of the car again and turned back.

Puzzled, I just stood there, watching how the car that had been two cars behind me was doing the brake test. But no, they were not doing that test really, the mechanic who drove that car got out, laughing and cheering.

More puzzled, I looked stupidly around the workshop.

I waited.

More time passed.

Then a mechanic approached me and told me that there was a power failure.

I grinned, clearly not grasping it.

He said that it could take an hour before the tests could continue.

I finally grasped it.

I think I sputtered as I told him, ‘But I have to go to work!’

‘Sorry, Madame, I cannot tell you what to do.’

He chuckled and moved into the staff room.

I got back to the car, trying to call my employer.

The line was busy.

I tried again.

The line was busy.

I tried five more times, and the line was always busy.

And then I needed the bathroom.

Was there a bathroom?

One hour!

I sent a text to my best friend, hoping he would answer something uplifting. No answer.

I tried work again. The line was open but nobody picked up the phone.

The secretary, I thought, chatting again in the staff room, telling rumours about the absent colleagues, planning and plotting her intrigues. Witch! I thought. Witch, pick up that darn phone!

I kept trying,  about fivehundred zillion times, until she picked up.

She had trouble understanding what I said. The fire alarm was too loud. She said that the building was evacuated because the fire alarm had gone off because there was no power and that could not be switched off as long as there was no power. They were all waiting for the power to return.

So that was it.

At least I would not have to hurry back to work. Better to wait here, comfortably in the car.

I found something to read until the power returned.

Had I really expected to be out of the workshop within minutes until the power was back?

I had.

I was wrong.

There were computers and instruments to restart again, to reset again, to calibrate again.

Very unhurriedly the mechanics got the workshop back in working order again, took my brake test, checked my car from underneath, told me it was ok, sent me to the cashier where I waited in line to pay and get my papers for another year.

With a big sigh I went to work, about an hour late, but just in time for an important appointment at 1:30 pm.

I had spent more than 3 hours at the D.O.T.

My To-Do-List was still full, nothing ticked off yet.

I stayed long at work today.

My friend still has not answered my text. I wonder if the whole world was ignoring me today?…”

“Just a bad day…” I offered.

She sighed, then she giggled. “Wasn’t it though…”

“But good enough for a story.” I added.

“Is it?” she asked.

I smiled and offered her another glass of wine.

Category: Story, real life  | Leave a Comment

The Truth about “Puntenel”

Sunday, August 29th, 2010 | Author: admin

She sat in the rocking chair and giggled as she told me this story.

“There was a time when I was spending my weekends and holidays in Haarlem,  a beautiful old city close to Amsterdam.  It was a three hour ride from Germany to Haarlem. Especially on Fridays there were a lot of traffic jams around Utrecht. When traffic got slow and when I was trying to relax from a week of work I listened to the radio. Dutch radio stations offer an excellent choice of pop and rock music, mixed with oldies from the 60′s and 70′s. It was a thrill.”

“Every hour the music was interrupted by radio commercials and the news. I tried to understand what the commercials were about, but often it was just guessing. Dutch is not so easy, really, especially if spoken fast. Something however surprised me. At the end of each commercial a name was given, it sounded very much like a company name: “Puntenel”. Each and every commercial referred to that mysterious enterprise. I wondered: is all of Holland owned by one monster monopoly enterprise? Is that not against European laws that enforce free competetion? It did not make sense.”

“Europe is a patchwork of cultures and languages. Each place is just a few hours away from another country, culture, language. I love living in Europe. I love the diversity, and the history and  heritage that we all share. Some places are very close, but also quite different. Germany and the Netherlands are neighbours, the German and the Dutch language have the same roots, but that does not mean that it is easy to learn the other language. “

“For many hours, many trips, many weekends this riddle remained unsolved. “Puntenel” the biggest business in Holland became a fact for me. I kept my eyes open for posters and billboards. But, strangely enough, there was none that advertised “Puntenel”.  I was clearly missing something.”

“One evening my friend and I were surfing the internet. He slowly spelled out an internet address he wanted to check. When he said: “Puntenel” I looked at him, puzzled, then at the computer screen. To my utter surprise, the internet address he had just typed ended on “.nl” which was spelled out as “punt nl”.”

“I burst out laughing. So   “punt“  was “dot” and “eNeL” was short for Netherlands. What I had heard on the radio while driving to Haarlem was nothing but the  url of various enterprises that offer their services on the radio in Holland.”

While she was telling me this story, I had started to smile. Not just because the story was amusing but because my friend in South Africa had recently discovered an internet radio station from Holland, Radio Veronica (http://www.radioveronica.nl).  He likes it very much, and, he, too,  listening to the commercials,  had wondered about “Puntenel”.  He also burst out laughing when he discovered the truth about “Puntenel”.

Category: Story, real life  | Tags: , ,  | One Comment

A Dolphin’s Gift

Sunday, August 29th, 2010 | Author: admin

Miracles do happen. There is light even on the darkest days of our lives. When we think there is nothing but despair, a sliver of hope may unexpectedly bring back some happiness  and renew  the knowledge that there are moments of magic, unexplainable mysteries, gifts that life presents  us when we need them most.

My daughter had been sickly for some time. I wondered if she was homesick or if there was a real physical reason for her frequent health problems. We tried to distract her, to take her to places that she liked. The high temperatures of the Texan summer were not helping, the outdoors was unbearable in the early afternoons. She hated Texas. She felt lonely and helpless there. Doctors prescribed antibiotics that did not work. Texan mothers let her feel that they did not appreciate a German tomboy and would not invite her to play with their daughters.

A few weeks before we moved back home, we visited Sea World, San Antonio, again. It was  my daughter’s 9th birthday.  Her friends from home had sent her parcels and greeting cards. She missed them more than ever. She was disappointed about not being able to celebrate with them, being sick all the time, to far away from the river that she loved, from the friends that she could share secrets with and the doctor that could help her.

She loved Sea World.  That day however, she could not cheer up. The killer whales jumped as high  as always, splashed water on the visitors, as always, but her eyes did not show any joy or pleasure. Her mood was as dark as the black spots on the skin of an orca.

Finally we went to the dolphin tank. Stranded wild dolphins are kept there until they are ready to be released again, into the freedom of the  wide open Gulf of Mexico. I thought of her as  a stranded dolphin, too, so sweet and friendly, so intelligent and adorable, like those dolphins stranded in Texas, stuck in an area that was strange  and would never be home.

Loads of kids were standing around that tank, trying to touch the dolphins.  Feeding time was over. Another disappointment on a disappointing day. We missed feeding time,  the planned highlight of our visit!

Sadly she stood at the tank and watched the dolphins milling  around. Her hand idly touched the water. While the other kids tried splashing  water to attract the animals’ attention, she just stared dreamily, merely wetting her hand, not inviting any dolphins to play.

A dolphin that she recognized from a previous visit swam up to her. His nose touched her hand playfully.  He  had one of the sardines in his mouth, remains of the meal the kids had just served him.

My daughter’s eyes lit up. The dolphin touched her hand again and offered her the sardine. She smiled for the first time this day. She took the sardine and threw it into the middle of the tank. The dolphin swam away to get it. He brought it back to her, energetically encouraging her to throw it one more time for him. And she did. Again and again she threw that fish and the sardine was brought back for more play. Like puppies bringing back the bone, this dolphin kept his food as a toy.  They played fetch for some time. The dolphin never ate the sardine, instead he kept it carefully in his mouth, and did not squash it by accident.

A happier child left Sea World that day. My daughter had forgotten her misery for a  little while. On the way back she marvelled about the miracle that she had just experienced.

Not long after this we returned to Europe. My daughter got the proper treatment there and was healthy again very soon.  The antibiotics the Texan doctors had prescribed were either not given to her in the correct dosage or were  given for too long periods of time. She had developed a resistance to them.  Back home a different diagnosis and changed medications helped her heal fast.

That wild nameless dolphin from Sea World will never be forgotten. For us he became a symbol for hope and joy in dismal times. I hope he too returned home to the freedom of the ocean and was able to enjoy life fully again.

Category: Story, real life  | Leave a Comment

Carpe Diem

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010 | Author: admin

This story is true. It happened a few years ago. Some of you might have heard me telling it, because it was one of the “wow” moments in my life. I like telling this story.

It happened many years ago, at the time when each of the European countries still had their own currencies, the franc in France, the mark in Germany, the peso in Spain, the pound in Great Britain, no wait, there is still the pound in Great Britain, but most of continental Europe has the Euro now.  (Which reminds me of another story, where my friend was planning another trip to Europe, went to a bank to exchange some US dollars for Euros. The bank assistant asked him, eyes wide in wonder: “What country do they use the Euro in?” – this happened in 2010 in the middle of PA – and is true, too.)

We were on the way back from Paris, France, to Germany. On the way we decided to make a pit stop in Gent, Belgium, for a nice Belgian beer.  Since parking is difficult in the inner city of Gent, and we had no particular priority as to where to we would have our beer, so we stopped at a big parking lot in the outskirts and entered a local pub close by.

The pub was nearly empty, we just saw the bartender, a young, pretty lady, and a young man who was playing at the slot machines. We ordered our choice of beer. It was so good. It was cool and refreshing after the 4 hour trip from Paris. We talked a bit with the lady behind the bar whose English was excellent, as most people’s in northern Belgium is.

When we had almost finished our beers it was time to continue our trip. So we took out our money and froze. We had D Mark, we had dollars, we had French Francs, but we did not have Belgian Francs. We could not pay!

Then a lengthy discussion about options started. Walking to the next ATM seemed the only option. The lady of the bar produced a map of the town, and pointed out where we could find the closest ATM. It was quite a distance and we did not really want to walk that far, but we had to pay and no choice.

The man at the slot machine overheard parts of the discussion. He came over to the bar and asked if he could help. Obviously the lady knew him well and she explained the problem to him in Dutch. He then turned to us and offered to exchange some money.  He opened his wallet which included at least ten different European currencies, dollars, pounds, Danish crowns, Belgian and French Francs. We had the choice! We could exchange money right then and pay our beers!

After we all had worked out how much our bill would be in dollars, of  which of course the young man knew the exact exchange rate,  too, we changed dollars for Belgian Francs, paid, and thanked the young man for his help.

He explained that he was an international money broker who lived in London and was visiting his family in Gent.

My friend and I left the bar stunned. We turned around, once outside, to take a look again at this miraculous place, where an international money broker just pops up the moment you need one.

The name of the bar was “Carpe Diem”.

I still keep the beermat from there.

Category: Story, real life  | Leave a Comment

On the line off the Medas Isles

Saturday, August 14th, 2010 | Author: admin

Diving is awesome. Breathing under the water, sightseeing fish, extraterrestrial landscapes, floating without gravity in 3D space, handling highly technical equipment: diving is the ultimate sci-fi adventure for me.

The “Illes Medes” off the Catalan Coast in Spain are part of the Costa Brava,  the rugged coastline of the northern Spanish Mediterranean sea. Cliffs drop off dramatically only to give space to small sandy beaches and coves. The weather conditions can be as pleasant as they can become hostile. Especially with the wind coming from the land to turn the sea into a wild, inaccessible area. Even on calm days there often are tricky currents. the Medas Islands

Usually dive boats take their guests to easy diving sites. One site is like a huge natural aquarium – clear waters, no currents, and plenty of fish to delight anybody who dares to put on scuba gear and breathe under water.

More experienced groups are trusted to manage themselves in more difficult areas. My diving buddies are all members of the German water guard. These are people who do search and rescue in local lakes and, more often, on the river. They are strong, good divers, reliable buddies, good people, all of them.

One day we were together with a group of Italians, a big family around a patriarch, who claimed to be a diving instructor who said he was weather worn and comfortable in all sorts of conditions. His young daughters and friends also seemed to be in good shape. They were all up for a more challenging excursion, close to the open side, close to the real Mediterranean that is unprotected by the islands. The dive master had concerns about this diving site, but he gave in to the Italian’s request. In his briefing he gave us clear, strict instructions to not dive out too far, certainly not to venture towards the outer, open side of the Medas.

We were dropped off above a sandy flat area where nothing much was to be seen. We – a group of three- Wolfgang, a diving instructor, Waldemar, a young man in his best of health and strength and I, who had not participated in our club’s pool sessions for some time. It was summer and hot, so Waldemar was just diving in his shorts.  The dive was not going to be very deep,  the temperature would be fine even for somebody without a wetsuit.

It seemed like a few kicks only to get us to a group of rocks that formed a line. The rocks were full of life. Fish of all shapes and colours swam around, plants covered the rocks, crabs hid in the holes, and the ground revealed a  well camouflaged stonefish now and then. It was beautiful! We dove around the rocks in figure eights, so that we would not miss one single hole, one single fish. Waldemar was in a bit of trouble because schools of tiny fish were attracted to his naked arms, nibbling off something on his skin that they liked. Fighting them off, Waldemar stayed a bit behind. I, however, stayed close to Wolfgang, since he was the leader of our group.

From time to time I checked my air. I must have got distracted by the beauty, because at one point I was below 50% and we were not on our way back to the boat yet, we were still heading further out, away from the boat. I gave the signal to Wolfgang, who nodded and turned round, to get orientation on his compass and guide us back to the boat.

I was shocked to see that between us and the spot where I supposed the boat was, there was nothing but wide empty space. I could not even see the shadow of the boat. I had no idea where we were. I trusted Wolfgang to take us back, but I could not see Waldemar any more. So where was Waldemar? How was I doing on air? I turned round, kicked hard into my fins into the direction that Wolfgang pointed out, and seemed not to move forward at all. A strong current was blowing against us. I was low on air. Waldemar lost. The boat not in sight.

Then Wolfgang vanished, too. I supposed he was behind another rock that gave him a bit of shelter against the current. But I could not get to that side. I started to panic. There was no way I could make it to the boat. The others had to be low on air also, and buddy breathing against a current seemed impossible to me anyhow.

I weighed the odds. I did not want to die down there! I did not want to be a dive accident today. I knew I had to be very clear headed and very careful. So I stayed by that rock, and tried to breathe normally and calm myself.  I clung to the rock, surfacing centimetre by centimetre, ever so careful not to shoot through to the surface. The thought of the surface scared me, too, because the surf around those rocks could be very dangerous. But that was my only chance. I surfaced. I looked around. I did not see the boat. However I signalled the standard sign of distress, waving with both arms.

And there it was. The saviour zodiac found me. The boat was already full with the members of the Italian group. They had thrown out a line that I was supposed to grip. On that line I also met Wolfgang and Waldemar again. All was well, all of us were safe now, I thought. I gripped the line and the zodiac set off to pull us to the boat.

That trip was endless. My arm hurt so much that I thought the pain would never stop. But I would not let loose. For nothing in the world would I let go of that line.

Finally we reached the boat. Somebody helped me to get my tank and jacket onto the boat. I felt sick and yet relieved at the same time.

We have never discussed that dive. We have tried to erase it from our memories, or at least I have.  Apparently the zodiac had initially gone out to rescue the Italian group that surfaced on the other side of the islands where the currents would carry them off to the south of France eventually. On the way back they found us, and took us all back to the boat.

Wolfgang, Waldemar and I went diving again the next day, not because we really wanted to, but because we all knew, if we stopped now, that dive that we could not finish, without the help of others, would have been our last one.

Since then I have logged another 400 dives. None of them ended on a  line.

Category: Story, real life  | Tags: , ,  | Leave a Comment

Puppy Buddy Fun

Thursday, August 12th, 2010 | Author: admin

One of the most exciting adventures is having a puppy.  Within a few weeks the helpless blind bundle of fur grows from the routine of playing-eating-pooing-sleeping to a being that is aware of it s environment, balancing curiosity and caution. Every smell, sound, movement, object, creature, light and darkness has to undergo evaluation: good, bad, dangerous, hostile, possibly interesting, scary, yummy. Strangely almost everything organic and not alive counts as yummy. Something I will never understand: the taste buds of dogs.

To walk a five-months-old puppy through the world is like a gift of new eyes and ears. The thud of a car door closed makes the puppy shy away. I would not even have noticed that sound. The sound of a pool pump in the neighbour’s garden sounds frightening, indeed, if you listen to it carefully. The speedy  cars and their loud engines are both scarily fast and terribly  noisy, and they stink. The dogs on the other side of the street are very interesting, of course, and so are the blackbirds that are picking worms out of a rain-drenched lawn. Everything is new. I, too, discover the world again.

Today we went to the river. Not for the first time, but I doubt my puppy fully  understands the concept of a river. There is this sound: woosh…woooosh…woosh….. … wooosh. It is not even regular. The smell is strange, very different from what is in her bowl when she drinks, or in the puddle on the path, but still it smells wet. Then there are these things that lick up to the pebbles on the shore, wet them, and withdraw. Licking, wetting, leaving. It is such a tease! It is a game!

My puppy crouches to attack. She jumps into the wave that the last freight ship created, but freight ships are far far beyond her comprehension right now. She jumps into the wave and gets her feet wet. She bites into the water and jumps up at the same time, back to the safe ground of the shore. Overly excited she bites into the grass on the shore. Then she picks up the challenge of the waves again, this time better prepared. She jumps deeper into the water, still not catching the wave but now her belly gets wet and she is totally surprised and scared and cannot believe what she is doing there, chasing phantoms? She turns round and ignores the waves for a while. Shakes off the drops of water and looks at me. Still all ok? I smile and hide my giggle. I nod, yes, all ok. You are doing fine, little puppy.

Category: Story, real life  | Tags: ,  | One Comment

The sunny porch

Thursday, August 12th, 2010 | Author: admin

Life is so easy when viewed from the sunny porch. Stories are told. Scenes and memories come to life.  How intense are they?

It all depends on the imagination of the reader. Your imagination.

As the sun sets, the stories become darker.  Silence follows in the night. Do you hear footsteps? Do you feel  the adventures, the dreams, the desires, the fears?

What all goes into a story?

Want to share your views?

You are welcome to ask questions, to suggest ideas, to make requests, to offer your point of view! Simply register and join or start any conversation.

del

Category: to the reader  | Leave a Comment