DAY TWENTY-SEVEN - 27 November 2012
Today was a day at odds with itself, with so much good followed by so much not. It has taken a while to get beyond the negative of that day and really embrace that for which I am grateful and about which I am smiling.
It is amazing to realize just how heavy you've been once that weight has been lifted. Regardless of what is causing that weight, be it choices you've made or events beyond your control, I know there are many for whom the weight ceases to be an urgent concern and who instead begin to carry it without realizing it. The only sign of that weight is in the slight stoop in their gait, the downward curl of the corners of their mouth when no one is looking, the watery eyes when someone, in passing, references that which has been making them hurt. It is not until after that weight has been removed from our shoulders that we realize just how heavy it was and how relieved we now feel.
Today I had someone do some weight-lifting for me, as there was something weighing upon me that I alone could not bear. That weight, that burden, was lift not by strength of muscle and nerves of steel, but by one of the most powerful tools we have to help others lighten their loads- forgiveness.
I am not going to spoil or trivialize today by going into the details, as they are personal and do not need to be exploited. However, know that I am thankful today for the opportunity to shut the door on a weight that my heart has been carrying for too long...and thankful for the person who has given me this relief.
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT - 28 November 2012
I grew up in a home with cats and dogs. Most of my relatives and friends have had pets. As a young adult, out on my own, one of the first things I did was bring home a furry little guy of my own (...how I miss you, Garp...). What I am getting at here, folks, is that I have spent my life wiping pet hair off my pants, vacuuming pet hair off my couches, and sweeping up spilled pet food from the kitchen floor. Just like the people in my life, my animals alternately aggravate the hell out of me and make me smile with their mere presence. They drain my wallet and fill my hearts and now the hearts of my children, too.
I have known so many people who haven't had this joy, people who have never known what it was like to get muddy prints all over their clothes when their wet and dirty dog gave them a hug...or have cried into the backs of their warm, purring cat. I feel for these people- adult and child alike- because aside from the love of your infant child, there is no love as unabashed and unwavering as that of a pet.
We found out last night that our oldest dog, Aiko, is dying. It may not be this week, but it will be before Christmas unless we make the choice to have it happen sooner. The children are heartbroken. This is the seventh- yes, seventh!- pet we will have lost in the last 3 1/2 years. Aaron and I adopted our furballs long before we had kids and they are all reaching the end of the road, one right after another. Taidhgin told me that he can't handle it, all the hurting from losing them all. Eibhlin told me that she can't handle knowing that Aiko is hurting the way she is. Connlaodh told me he is okay right now because she is still here but won't be after she's gone. Uilleam told me he loved her- by climbing on top of her and giving her a big hug.
I hurt for my children but am grateful that they have had the chance with Aiko- and all of our pets - to know both the love a pet can give as well as the sorrow at their loss. I don't want my children suffering, but I do want them to know that their love for something or someone doesn't have to die just because that creature does. They love her- have loved them all- and will, always, not only because they had her in their worlds as a young and active pup, but because they are able to give her back so much love at a time when she needs it most.
Our animals can teach us some pretty amazing things about being honest and good and real. If you could have seen Aiko with Uilleam on top of her last night, knowing she just ached and ached but did nothing other than give him a lick of love, you'd see just a little slice of what it means to be right and whole. Thank you, Garp, Booyah, Dallas, Yabo, Plato, Ni, Aiko...for the love, the lessons, and the warmth you have shown all of us.
29 November 2012
26 November 2012
I Love My Job. (No, This is Not a Joke.)
DAY TWENTY-SIX - 26 November 2012
I hated high school. Hated the students, the environment, the rules, the work. I spent four very long years being terribly miserable as a given, occasionally happy, and often-times oblivious. There were a handful of teachers who provided me with lifelines, a handful of friends who weren't dragging me to hell, and a handful of family who forgave me enough to see past my self-imposed angst and to see instead who I was and what I could be.
One evening, in some long-ago manhandled journal, I tore into the page of the night with my pen, underlining, underscoring how one day I would be the adult working with kids like me- kids who didn't want to be worked with. I promised myself then and there that I would never forget what it was like to be the only quiet in the noisy sea of the hallway, what it was like to be the last seat at the cafeteria table and unfortunately surrounded by pom poms and big, feathered hair. I swore that I would some day give to some teenager that which no one seemed to be able to give to me; although at the time I was unsure of what that was, I am fairly certain now I know- rules, structure, motivation, and some room to be what I could be, not what I should be.
By no means am I sitting here patting myself on the back for what I do. I know I have erred in my classroom, sometimes more dramatically than others. I know there are students who have forgotten me, who have hated me, who have tried to hurt me, and who have threatened my very being. I also know that there are some for whom I was that adult they could trust, to whom I have been able to give what I never received, by whom I have been regarded as more of a mother than a teacher, with whom I have worked for hours to help them reach their highest goals, about whom I have cried when I realized that there was only so much I can do and, for a few, that just wasn't enough.
I don't love going to work, I don't love that alarm or the hours, and I sure don't love the paperwork, bureaucratic red tape, and political games that are played once I leave my classroom and head to the faculty lounge.
I do love, however, that I get to be a part of what is, for some of my students, the path of success today and in the future. Today I watched a student write a paper so carefully, so intelligently, that any outsider would look at him and at what he wrote and wonder how and why he was in my class at my school and not in an AP class at a traditional campus instead. His work is insightful, thought-provoking, and written on a level beyond that which I usually see in my freshman class. This is him today. Two years ago he barely wrote a word, said a word, read a word. He refused to put in any effort, make any gains, and, for all intent and purpose, presented himself as a complete and utter dunce.
I get to see this change, something that not the rest of the world doesn't always get to see. I get to smile inwardly as this student - the same one who would put his head down and sleep for days and then bitch about the fact that I woke him up - this student now questions what he reads, reads beyond the words, and asks for more so that he can truly understand. He is one of many who, over the years, I have had the good fortune to see embrace young adulthood and turn around for the better. He is one of the many who make my job worth the politics and bullsh*t, because the knowledge that he and the others like him will be okay is more than enough. I don't know if I have necessarily accomplished what those adamant pen-strokes intended back in the day, but I am glad to at least be able to say I am trying.
I hated high school. Hated the students, the environment, the rules, the work. I spent four very long years being terribly miserable as a given, occasionally happy, and often-times oblivious. There were a handful of teachers who provided me with lifelines, a handful of friends who weren't dragging me to hell, and a handful of family who forgave me enough to see past my self-imposed angst and to see instead who I was and what I could be.
One evening, in some long-ago manhandled journal, I tore into the page of the night with my pen, underlining, underscoring how one day I would be the adult working with kids like me- kids who didn't want to be worked with. I promised myself then and there that I would never forget what it was like to be the only quiet in the noisy sea of the hallway, what it was like to be the last seat at the cafeteria table and unfortunately surrounded by pom poms and big, feathered hair. I swore that I would some day give to some teenager that which no one seemed to be able to give to me; although at the time I was unsure of what that was, I am fairly certain now I know- rules, structure, motivation, and some room to be what I could be, not what I should be.
By no means am I sitting here patting myself on the back for what I do. I know I have erred in my classroom, sometimes more dramatically than others. I know there are students who have forgotten me, who have hated me, who have tried to hurt me, and who have threatened my very being. I also know that there are some for whom I was that adult they could trust, to whom I have been able to give what I never received, by whom I have been regarded as more of a mother than a teacher, with whom I have worked for hours to help them reach their highest goals, about whom I have cried when I realized that there was only so much I can do and, for a few, that just wasn't enough.
I don't love going to work, I don't love that alarm or the hours, and I sure don't love the paperwork, bureaucratic red tape, and political games that are played once I leave my classroom and head to the faculty lounge.
I do love, however, that I get to be a part of what is, for some of my students, the path of success today and in the future. Today I watched a student write a paper so carefully, so intelligently, that any outsider would look at him and at what he wrote and wonder how and why he was in my class at my school and not in an AP class at a traditional campus instead. His work is insightful, thought-provoking, and written on a level beyond that which I usually see in my freshman class. This is him today. Two years ago he barely wrote a word, said a word, read a word. He refused to put in any effort, make any gains, and, for all intent and purpose, presented himself as a complete and utter dunce.
I get to see this change, something that not the rest of the world doesn't always get to see. I get to smile inwardly as this student - the same one who would put his head down and sleep for days and then bitch about the fact that I woke him up - this student now questions what he reads, reads beyond the words, and asks for more so that he can truly understand. He is one of many who, over the years, I have had the good fortune to see embrace young adulthood and turn around for the better. He is one of the many who make my job worth the politics and bullsh*t, because the knowledge that he and the others like him will be okay is more than enough. I don't know if I have necessarily accomplished what those adamant pen-strokes intended back in the day, but I am glad to at least be able to say I am trying.
25 November 2012
Yes, Eibhlin, There is a Santa Claus.
DAY TWENTY-FIVE - 25 November 2012
There are so many ways in which my seven year old is a mini adult, it's scary. She thinks like one, analyzes like one, can synthesize like one, perceives the world like one, reads like one, has attitude like one, and then some. I know we've pushed her and expected more of her during her life because she is capable of so much, but I also know we've tried very hard to allow her to be a child instead of a very small 40 year old woman. In some ways we've been very successful; she has an 8 pm bedtime, sleeps with a nightlight, and cuddles with stuffed animals as she drifts off to sleep. In other areas, well, we haven't been able to keep that internal ancient from rearing its omnipotent head as she speaks. However, as any good adult does, Eibhlin has tried to convince herself of many things that are not real-- including Santa Claus.
As a first grader, she told me it was absolutely impossible for Santa to exist, that there is no such magic that would allow his annual travel to occur. She told me that there is no way Santa could be real, because if he was real, then all children would have presents under their tree each year and, well, that's not the case. She told me that reindeer are just caribou, that elves are imagined, and that surely it must be the parents who gave presents and ate the cookies left out with care. To this I replied, "Is that what you believe?", to which she answered, "Yes." I said, "Okay," she gave me a wise look and smiled, and that was the end of that.
As a second grader, she remained mute on the subject, silent in response to questions about Santa and what he would bring her. She remained a passive receiver of gifts under the tree and candy canes from the Santa at Cabela's. She made lists for us and for her grandparents-- but put nothing on one for Santa. Unconscious omission? Perhaps, though I think it more likely that she just wasn't making a scene about the fact that Santa was us, we are him, and really, we know what's on the list anyway.
As a third grader, Eibhlin has a renewed passion for Mr. Claus and his occupation. She has written several letters, none of which I have been allowed to read, and mailed them with great care and extra stamps. She wants to see him at Cabela's, leave for him some cookies, and she told me that she even asked in one of her letters if he preferred soy milk to cow's milk so that we could be sure to get which one he prefers. Today, she most adamantly said, " I DO BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS." She does believe. She does want to believe. And for this season, those two sentiments are one and the same.
I promised myself I would never lie to my children about Santa and I haven't yet. If they ask me point blank for the truth, I give it to them. However, if they walk the line, dabble in the gray area of hope versus reality, then who am I to kick them in the knees? There is plenty of time for our children to grow up and away from the hearts of childhood and the imagination of youth. If she needs to believe just this one last year- needs it so much that she is convincing herself day after day after day that he is real and he loves her and all of the other children in the world- then that is enough for me. I love that she is so much an adult that a part of her realizes that this belief in Saint Nick is one of the last strongholds in childhood, that after Santa goes then so does so much more.
I am thankful that she is wise enough to have rekindled her own hope and belief, that she wants it badly enough to work for it, that she isn't ready to give up her giggles and snuggles and littleness just yet. I am not sure how much longer she will allow herself to be so young and naive, but for the few more days or weeks or minutes that she is embracing her child-self, I will smile and thank her for being who she is, regardless of how old she feels that day.
There are so many ways in which my seven year old is a mini adult, it's scary. She thinks like one, analyzes like one, can synthesize like one, perceives the world like one, reads like one, has attitude like one, and then some. I know we've pushed her and expected more of her during her life because she is capable of so much, but I also know we've tried very hard to allow her to be a child instead of a very small 40 year old woman. In some ways we've been very successful; she has an 8 pm bedtime, sleeps with a nightlight, and cuddles with stuffed animals as she drifts off to sleep. In other areas, well, we haven't been able to keep that internal ancient from rearing its omnipotent head as she speaks. However, as any good adult does, Eibhlin has tried to convince herself of many things that are not real-- including Santa Claus.
As a first grader, she told me it was absolutely impossible for Santa to exist, that there is no such magic that would allow his annual travel to occur. She told me that there is no way Santa could be real, because if he was real, then all children would have presents under their tree each year and, well, that's not the case. She told me that reindeer are just caribou, that elves are imagined, and that surely it must be the parents who gave presents and ate the cookies left out with care. To this I replied, "Is that what you believe?", to which she answered, "Yes." I said, "Okay," she gave me a wise look and smiled, and that was the end of that.
As a second grader, she remained mute on the subject, silent in response to questions about Santa and what he would bring her. She remained a passive receiver of gifts under the tree and candy canes from the Santa at Cabela's. She made lists for us and for her grandparents-- but put nothing on one for Santa. Unconscious omission? Perhaps, though I think it more likely that she just wasn't making a scene about the fact that Santa was us, we are him, and really, we know what's on the list anyway.
As a third grader, Eibhlin has a renewed passion for Mr. Claus and his occupation. She has written several letters, none of which I have been allowed to read, and mailed them with great care and extra stamps. She wants to see him at Cabela's, leave for him some cookies, and she told me that she even asked in one of her letters if he preferred soy milk to cow's milk so that we could be sure to get which one he prefers. Today, she most adamantly said, " I DO BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS." She does believe. She does want to believe. And for this season, those two sentiments are one and the same.
I promised myself I would never lie to my children about Santa and I haven't yet. If they ask me point blank for the truth, I give it to them. However, if they walk the line, dabble in the gray area of hope versus reality, then who am I to kick them in the knees? There is plenty of time for our children to grow up and away from the hearts of childhood and the imagination of youth. If she needs to believe just this one last year- needs it so much that she is convincing herself day after day after day that he is real and he loves her and all of the other children in the world- then that is enough for me. I love that she is so much an adult that a part of her realizes that this belief in Saint Nick is one of the last strongholds in childhood, that after Santa goes then so does so much more.
I am thankful that she is wise enough to have rekindled her own hope and belief, that she wants it badly enough to work for it, that she isn't ready to give up her giggles and snuggles and littleness just yet. I am not sure how much longer she will allow herself to be so young and naive, but for the few more days or weeks or minutes that she is embracing her child-self, I will smile and thank her for being who she is, regardless of how old she feels that day.
FLYING, RUNNING, FOOD, AND MORE FLYING.
DAY TWENTY - 20 November 2012
Tuesday was a busy day, even by our standards. We had work and school, packing to do, dogs to drop off, a house to close up, and an early flight to Boston to catch. The kids were running ragged, we were exhausted, and, as we sat in row 16 of our Jet Blue flight, we realized that we had four very long hours ahead of us during which we had to keep the children entertained.We had high hopes that Jet Blue's in-seat television setup would be all we need, but with the glitches and the lack of sound (who the hell forgot to pack the headsets?), that reprieve last about 10 minutes. Fortunately, the boys didn't really care and after a while they just stared at the screen, lost in their own inner dialogues. Uilleam kept himself busy by ripping apart magazines and climbing all over us. Eibhlin was a different story; she was bored, so bored, and was trying so hard to behave. Fortunately for her - and for us - her seatmate was a saint!
This young man, a freshman at TCU this year and self-proclaimed "Chatty Chris", was on his way home to Boston for the holidays and was just thrilled to make the acquaintance of one very verbose little 7 year old. They talked about the ocean and how sharks were scary, about TCU and Rice University and about how Eibhlin can't wait to be an owl, about "iCarly" and "Good Luck, Charlie" and a host of other tween shows. They talked birthdays and holidays, favorite colors and vacation destinations, and so much more. Eibhlin couldn't have been happier and this young man couldn't have been kinder. Thank you, Chris, not only for making our lives easier by keeping Eibhlin entertained, but more for making one little girl's evening just perfect...which we could tell it was, based on how red she turned when we mentioned your name later on.
DAY TWENTY-ONE - 21 November 2012
The day began with a run. I hate running. I really, really do. It is boring and miserable and painful and not at all the "freeing" sport people claim it is. Personally, I think those people have themselves completely deluded; I cannot see how anyone can consider running fun and exhilarating instead of what it really is -- insane. It does do amazing things for one's thighs and calves, but aside from that- blech. However, this morning's run in the 35-degree MA morning was sunny, relaxing, and worth every OMFG-what-am-I-doing minute of it. For a brief moment (or 29), my mind was clear and all I thought about was the next hill, the next turn, the next mile. A little bit of clarity is a good thing; it almost makes the running bullsh*t worthwhile...sometimes.
DAY TWENTY-TWO - 22 November 2012
Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful to again be able to sit back and take in all that the world has to offer, all that my head and my heart and my spirit can hold, all that is available to be seen and loved and appreciated and witnessed. Family, friends, warmth, love, forgiveness, rebirth - I am so fortunate to have the world that I have, the world in which I live, love, and am loved. I have more than I ever could have imagined in so many aspects of my life and for that and more, on this day, I am truly thankful.
DAY TWENTY-THREE - 23 November 2012
After a whirlwind week of food, family, fun, flying, etc., it is time to head back home to Arlington. I can't come up with a singular thing to be thankful for on this Black Friday. All I can think of is how wonderful it is that between Logan and Atlanta, everyone got a meal they liked and were willing to eat, full enough so that they all slept quietly for most of our trip home. Peace and quiet at last.
DAY TWENTY-FOUR - 24 November 2012
I am thankful for my family's willingness to take on a little adventure when I get a wild hair up my ass. I don't sit still well and so find myself coming up with little trips to take, projects to take on, groups to join, etc. all in an effort to quell the gypsy inside when she gets too loud (she is great and is the reason I have lived the life I have, but sometimes she moves around too much for my own sanity).
My family has graciously gone along with the vast majority of my schemes and plans, even the ones that involves hours on the road for minutes of amusement. They even came up with a motivating cheer, "What stops this family? NOTHING (except volcanoes, tornadoes, and maybe hurricanes)!" in support of my drive to go, go, go. I am so thankful for them and their thoughtful and smiling participation in all of my wild exploits. Without them, none of it would be anywhere near as much fun as it is.
Tuesday was a busy day, even by our standards. We had work and school, packing to do, dogs to drop off, a house to close up, and an early flight to Boston to catch. The kids were running ragged, we were exhausted, and, as we sat in row 16 of our Jet Blue flight, we realized that we had four very long hours ahead of us during which we had to keep the children entertained.We had high hopes that Jet Blue's in-seat television setup would be all we need, but with the glitches and the lack of sound (who the hell forgot to pack the headsets?), that reprieve last about 10 minutes. Fortunately, the boys didn't really care and after a while they just stared at the screen, lost in their own inner dialogues. Uilleam kept himself busy by ripping apart magazines and climbing all over us. Eibhlin was a different story; she was bored, so bored, and was trying so hard to behave. Fortunately for her - and for us - her seatmate was a saint!
This young man, a freshman at TCU this year and self-proclaimed "Chatty Chris", was on his way home to Boston for the holidays and was just thrilled to make the acquaintance of one very verbose little 7 year old. They talked about the ocean and how sharks were scary, about TCU and Rice University and about how Eibhlin can't wait to be an owl, about "iCarly" and "Good Luck, Charlie" and a host of other tween shows. They talked birthdays and holidays, favorite colors and vacation destinations, and so much more. Eibhlin couldn't have been happier and this young man couldn't have been kinder. Thank you, Chris, not only for making our lives easier by keeping Eibhlin entertained, but more for making one little girl's evening just perfect...which we could tell it was, based on how red she turned when we mentioned your name later on.
DAY TWENTY-ONE - 21 November 2012
The day began with a run. I hate running. I really, really do. It is boring and miserable and painful and not at all the "freeing" sport people claim it is. Personally, I think those people have themselves completely deluded; I cannot see how anyone can consider running fun and exhilarating instead of what it really is -- insane. It does do amazing things for one's thighs and calves, but aside from that- blech. However, this morning's run in the 35-degree MA morning was sunny, relaxing, and worth every OMFG-what-am-I-doing minute of it. For a brief moment (or 29), my mind was clear and all I thought about was the next hill, the next turn, the next mile. A little bit of clarity is a good thing; it almost makes the running bullsh*t worthwhile...sometimes.
DAY TWENTY-TWO - 22 November 2012
Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful to again be able to sit back and take in all that the world has to offer, all that my head and my heart and my spirit can hold, all that is available to be seen and loved and appreciated and witnessed. Family, friends, warmth, love, forgiveness, rebirth - I am so fortunate to have the world that I have, the world in which I live, love, and am loved. I have more than I ever could have imagined in so many aspects of my life and for that and more, on this day, I am truly thankful.
DAY TWENTY-THREE - 23 November 2012
After a whirlwind week of food, family, fun, flying, etc., it is time to head back home to Arlington. I can't come up with a singular thing to be thankful for on this Black Friday. All I can think of is how wonderful it is that between Logan and Atlanta, everyone got a meal they liked and were willing to eat, full enough so that they all slept quietly for most of our trip home. Peace and quiet at last.
DAY TWENTY-FOUR - 24 November 2012
I am thankful for my family's willingness to take on a little adventure when I get a wild hair up my ass. I don't sit still well and so find myself coming up with little trips to take, projects to take on, groups to join, etc. all in an effort to quell the gypsy inside when she gets too loud (she is great and is the reason I have lived the life I have, but sometimes she moves around too much for my own sanity).
My family has graciously gone along with the vast majority of my schemes and plans, even the ones that involves hours on the road for minutes of amusement. They even came up with a motivating cheer, "What stops this family? NOTHING (except volcanoes, tornadoes, and maybe hurricanes)!" in support of my drive to go, go, go. I am so thankful for them and their thoughtful and smiling participation in all of my wild exploits. Without them, none of it would be anywhere near as much fun as it is.
20 November 2012
Youth-Tinted Glasses: Get Yourself a Pair.
DAY NINETEEN - 19 November 2012
I am so grateful for what my children help me to see. Through their eyes I get to experience so much I had forgotten about, ideas and thoughts that wasted away along with my childhood and early adulthood.
Do YOU remember how much fun it is to run around and play tag for hours, with kids you may not even know, screaming across the playground and school yard with reckless abandon?
Do YOU remember how nervous, exciting, exhilarating, nauseating, embarrassing, amazing it is/you are when you perform in front of your classmates and family?
Do YOU remember how awesome you feel when you have figured out that all of those letters make sounds, those sounds make words, those words make thoughts and now you- yes, you!- are among the inner circle who understand what goes on inside of books?
Do YOU remember how warm and comforting it is to sit down with your dog, scratch his belly and rub his ears, receive licks and give hugs, all without care for your clothes or your hair or anything else in the world?
Do YOU remember what it felt like to throw a ball with all your might, watch it fly through the air and bounce off the wall, the couch, the floor, your brother, whatever...then chase it and do it all over again?
Do YOU remember how exciting it was to pack your suitcase full of fun and books and toys and ideas, all to be used with complete joy at your destination?
Do you?
I can't imagine being my age now and not being asked to remember those feelings, those moments of utter peace and joy that children embrace every day. It's a lot to ask as adults that we spend our time being as carefree and wonderstruck as children, but it would be a shame to not at least try for a few moments of that, if only in what we see through the eyes of those far wiser than we.
I am so grateful for what my children help me to see. Through their eyes I get to experience so much I had forgotten about, ideas and thoughts that wasted away along with my childhood and early adulthood.
Do YOU remember how much fun it is to run around and play tag for hours, with kids you may not even know, screaming across the playground and school yard with reckless abandon?
Do YOU remember how nervous, exciting, exhilarating, nauseating, embarrassing, amazing it is/you are when you perform in front of your classmates and family?
Do YOU remember how awesome you feel when you have figured out that all of those letters make sounds, those sounds make words, those words make thoughts and now you- yes, you!- are among the inner circle who understand what goes on inside of books?
Do YOU remember how warm and comforting it is to sit down with your dog, scratch his belly and rub his ears, receive licks and give hugs, all without care for your clothes or your hair or anything else in the world?
Do YOU remember what it felt like to throw a ball with all your might, watch it fly through the air and bounce off the wall, the couch, the floor, your brother, whatever...then chase it and do it all over again?
Do YOU remember how exciting it was to pack your suitcase full of fun and books and toys and ideas, all to be used with complete joy at your destination?
Do you?
I can't imagine being my age now and not being asked to remember those feelings, those moments of utter peace and joy that children embrace every day. It's a lot to ask as adults that we spend our time being as carefree and wonderstruck as children, but it would be a shame to not at least try for a few moments of that, if only in what we see through the eyes of those far wiser than we.
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