Claire's World
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Thursday, January 01, 2004 ( 4:28 PM ) Greg Griffith James Lileks writes that it's a peculiarly American thing to celebrate the eve of New Year's rather than the day itself. He also writes that New Year's is probably the worst of all the holidays we celebrate: New Year’s Eve fails, in the end; it scours the land clean of lingering Christmas, but it has nothing to offer after that. No one wakes up on New Year’s Day thinking warmly of the New Year’s Days they knew as a child. Ah yes, Mom used to make those special New Year’s Biscuits, and Dad always played our favorite New Year’s songs on a comb and a tissue. I still remember his stirring, buzzy renditions of “Yea, We Hobble Toward’st the Tomb” and “The January Jig.” No. Just headaches, a sodden tux wadded in the corner of the closet, cold cereal and Bowl Games. Oh, look. Nevada Tech is playing Oregon U in the D-Con Bowl. Goodie. I prefer to find my melancholy in the fact that this is the third New Year's that has passed since Claire has been born, which seems cruelly impossible when you realize she is the living embodiment of newness and innocence, unravaged by the years in both body and spirit. But we put on the proverbial dog, albeit in our own quiet and introspective way. Yes, we shot a few low-intensity fireworks on the front yard last night (sparklers, Roman candles, bottle rockets and jumping jacks), but inside we cooked a 7-lb standing rib roast to rosy perfection, served with braised carrots and red cabbage, and preceded by a slab of pate and toasted homemade dill bread. We drank a 2000 Whitehall Cabernet, a $40 pomposity given to me in exchange for some computer-type expertise (a huge disappointment, it cowered in mediocrity behind the $15 Leasingham Clare Valley Shiraz we had the night before). At midnight with Claire barely asleep we cracked a bottle of Mumm, which we hadn't had in years, and which was much sweeter than we remembered. We snacked on tiger butter and watched the clowns on every other television channel. Today, after drifting in and out of yet another interminable Rose Parade (brought to you without commercial interruption!... oh God, for the sweet release of a Mentos spot...), we managed to sit down to lunch at about three o'clock, after teaching Claire how to sift for treasure in her sandbox outside. Turnip greens, blackeyed peas, grits and venison grillades. A 1999 St. Supery Cabernet was an improvement over the Whitehall, but made me long for that Leasingham Shiraz again. I'm told there's some football on television, but after watching my Eagles succumb to Utah yesterday, the only game I can muster any interest over is Ole Miss tomorrow in the Cotton Bowl. I plan to lift the stopper on our decanter of bourbon, inhale gently, then sip on some water while Eli picks apart the OSU secondary. -- # Friday, October 24, 2003 ( 10:27 AM ) Greg Griffith The last 18 hours or so have been packed with those little milestones that make it unmistakably clear that We Are Parents. Claire began, with startling speed, to make big long sentences. Last night, holding her stuffed beagle, she said, "He’s the greatest, greatest doggie that I have ever seen in the whole world!" This morning, she said, "Mommy, can my school friends come over to my house and play? Then we can share!" Today was also Stacey's first day to provide the class with a "nutritional snack." Now to be honest, many parents have taken to bringing Krispy Kremes and such, and one parent even brought a bag of suckers. Stacey wanted to take something vaguely nutritional, so she made banana cupcakes with homemade buttercream frosting - orange all over with a sprig of green. When Stacey got back this morning from dropping Claire at school, she had Claire's school pictures - our first. So we are Definitely Parents now. You can find the new picture by clicking the "Pictures" link. -- # Tuesday, October 21, 2003 ( 12:52 AM ) Greg Griffith Claire spent the weekend with the grandparents, which often means going to church with Packy and LouLou. Occasionally, this also means I get tell people she's going to play with Flannery O'Connor. I am not making this up. The curate at St. Paul's is Edward O'Connor, nephew of the legend. His 6-year old daughter is named after her, and happens to be a sweet child who has always taken Claire under her wing. It got me to thinking about other Brushes with Great Southern Writers we've had. They are numerous, and range in character from the charming to the stupid. The longest "brush" in history was the three years I spent in Frederick Barthelme's writing class at USM. Then there was the miserable stint SDG did at the Ole Miss museums department, toiling under Susan, the wretched wife of the formerly drunken but always brilliant Barry Hannah. Then there was the time SDG stepped into Square Books in Oxford to buy a copy of "The Firm" for her dad, and was greeted by a quiet man sitting on the staircase inside the empty store, who poured her a cup of coffee and made small talk. "I'm John Grisham... thanks for stopping by." Then there was the time Dean Faulkner Wells, niece of the Great One himself, drink in hand, introduced herself and sat down with us for most of the evening as we dined outside in Oxford. And for 13 years, until her death recently, we have lived only a short walk from Eudora Welty, perhaps the most famous resident of our famous neighborhood. -- # Wednesday, October 15, 2003 ( 7:17 PM ) Greg Griffith The new pics in the "Pictures" section are from Claire's first school field trip, this morning, to the pumpkin patch at the Agriculture Museum just down the street on Lakeland Drive. There's a picture of her with her friend Charlie in the patch, and one of some of her classmates next to the hay bales. -- # Monday, October 13, 2003 ( 10:12 AM ) Greg Griffith We just got back from the fair. This morning dawned rainy and gloomy, and SDG and I had to get Claire dressed and to school, so we could make a 9:30 presentation. The presentation couldn't have gone any better, but we spent the whole 90 minutes stealing glances out the window, willing the rain to go away. When we left to get the bug from school, it had at least stopped raining. By the time we got home it had begun to clear up. Half an hour later, the sun was out. But instead of that crisp, mid-October cool that most of the world both expects and steps into, it was that distressingly muggy, warm Indian summer weather that Mississippi is so famous for. Now, in most years past I would go to the fair one day during the week, for no other reason than to get a cheeseburger from Big Jim's on the Midway. Their hamburger patties are hickory smoked and ridiculously good, but during the rest of the year you have to drive 10 miles north to get one. For 11 days during October, I have to drive only 10 blocks. But the reason I went when I did was because parking and admission were free. I've never been to the fair here when I had to pay for either. So in we pull, two adults and one kid, one car - fourteen bucks! Ho-kayyyy.... [peeling off ones and digging for that ten...] And since it's been raining for the last 2 days, the entire Ahh, the fair! Nothing like the smell of cotton candy and corn dogs. The sound of children squealing as they ride the crazy rides. The sight of a fat man with three rotten teeth blowing his nose directly onto the pavement. I got the first foot-long corn dog I could find, and ordered the weenie-meister to slather it with mustard. After that, I pushed on purposefully to Big Jim's for the cheeseburger. Big Jim's is one of the few booths run by locals, not unwashed transients. The friendly lady behind the counter said, "What do you want on it?" I looked at her for a moment, confused. You mean, I though to myself, people may choose what to put on the Big Jim's burger? But that would mean... oh my, the unthinkable - that some people might choose to exclude something. "Umm..." I stammered, trying to understand my creeping indignation, What - are you hoping I'd attempt to list what I wanted, and risk leaving something out, some obscure but crucial condiment that only the Big Jim's staff knows about - brown mustard? vinegar? cumin-dusted capers? - which separates this sublime creation from the culinary abominations that infest this town like the plague? "EVERYTHING." Hmmph. They're not going to play me like a fool. I've been to the fair before. I know your tricks. Glassy-eyed from the Big Jim burger, I shuffled into the path of the hucksters. Hey - you want to do what? Guess my age? Sure, here's three bucks. Why yes, I *am* thirty-sev---- DOH!!! Next was the layup booth, at which I was sure to win at least something. Now, before I go any further, I should explain that as a kid, my dad pleaded with me not to waste my money on those ripoff games. But as luck would have it, one of my friends from school was also the son of the folks who owned the fairgrounds. So for a few years I would meet the kid there, and we would wander around playing games and riding rides, and all for free, because he had a wad of tickets and coupons that would choke a horse. This ingrained in me a sense of entitlement, unburdened by any sense of the money I would have otherwise had to spend had I not been availing myself of my friend's rolls of free tickets. This is important to remember as I relate The Tale of the Layup Booth. The Layup Booth consists of a row of small basketball goals. The metal hoops of the baskets themselves are level with the ground, but the backboards are tilted back slightly. Not slightly as in, optical illusion slightly, but noticeably, obviously tilted back. As the This is impossible to do. First, the small basketball they give you is so inflated that it will easily bounce 20 feet off the pavement if you put a little mustard on it (I know - in disgust afterwards, I tried), so a gentle loft toward the backboard results in the ball's rocketing back toward you. Fine. So the trick is to gently loft it at the backboard. But knowing thiiiiiiis much about physics, I knew that a better approach was to minimize the angle of incidence so as to minimize the angel of reflection: Loft the ball high so it would strike the backboard as close to parallel as possible. But loft it high enough to minimize the angle, and the velocity with which it strikes the backboard was still plenty to send it bouncing well past the front of the hoop. So I lost on the basketballs. I proceeded, though, to pop 3 balloons with 3 darts, and declined the gentleman's entreaty to give him $5 for another 3, with the promise that if I popped ANOTHER 3 balloons, the prize I took away would be even more enormous! No thank you, sir - I appreciate your giving me the razor-sharp darts for the first round; I will not pay you another $5 for the pleasure of getting handed three dull ones. Long & short: I got a small consolation duck and a medium-sized whale for Claire. We stuffed ourselves with fair food, including soft-serve ice cream on the way out, and basically spent $40 faster than I have in recent memory. -- # Thursday, October 02, 2003 ( 9:29 PM ) Greg Griffith Shame on me for not posting in over 4 months. I would say, "It's been a busy summer," as if that's any excuse, but instead I'll just describe the momentous events of the past week, and remind readers that this has been pretty much business as usual around here. Claire has been going to school! Well, it's a cross between mother's morning out and pre-school, but it's far closer to the latter than the former. A week ago, we noticed that something important had happened. Going to school ceased to be a novelty, one to which Claire's reaction was unpredictable. Sometimes she was excited to go, other times she would arrive and not want to go in. Now she looks forward to going, and her mom and I don't think about things to say to make it sound appealing. We just get in the car, go to school, and go about our business. The second thing that happened - yesterday - was school pictures. This being our first child, and this being her first school pictures, it was a big deal. The night before, we had an impromptu fashion show as we decided what to wear. We settled on a long red Hanna Andersson dress ("Keep it simple around the face!" LouLou insisted). Well, it turns out Claire enchanted the photographer, and became his model while he set up the lights and background. Her teachers told us how she smiled and sat with her hands folded while the photographer went about his business. And today, SDG and Claire went to the zoo for the first time. They met one of Claire's friends from school and her mom, and spent the better part of the morning there. They saw a giraffe, elephants, two tigers, monkeys, bears, an owl, an orangutan, a toucan, pink flamingos, swans, a white peacock, two wolves, a big green iguana, a rhinoceros, several ostriches, tapirs, and a pygmy hippopotamus. All this, and a trip to the beach (Seagrove), Claire's first... almost a month ago, which seems impossible. That's where the new picture came from (taken in late afternoon by mom - with a black-and-white disposable camera at that). I made a promise that we would take sunrise walks on the beach, and I made good on 2 out of the 4 mornings we were there. At 5:30am, we rolled out of bed and headed down. The first morning, we saw a man in a little boat rowing across the small lake that came to within a hundred feet or so of the beach. Perched on the bow was a snow-white dog whose name, we learned, was Andy. When on the last morning we took our other sunrise walk, and saw the same man rowing the same boat across the same lake, Claire spoke up and pointed: "There's Andy! There's Andy!" That morning we also met Louie, a frantic little terrier owned by the most talkative man on the beach. By the second day, Stacey's cousin Scott began plucking crabs out of the water with his bare hands. Seeing how plentiful they were, we went and got the net from the beach house's pool, and we were off. We started walking down the beach, and eventually found ourselves a good quarter-mile from where we started. Along the way, people standing on the beach would occasionally get our attention and point excitedly at the water. More often than not, we'd wade over and scoop up a few crabs. Over the next two days, we caught 3 or 4 dozen. The first night we made gumbo. The second we just had a big old-fashioned crab boil with potatoes and corn. These same folks - the helpful beach-bound spotters - would usually come down to the water and ask us what we were going to do with the crabs. "Cook 'em and eat 'em!" was our standard response. They invariably asked us how we did it, and we gave them the standard speech about what to discard (lungs) and what was good to eat (anything that looked like crab meat, plus brains and fat). An older couple asked us how did we know what to eat. I said, "Are y'all from around here?" The woman shook her head and said "Oh, no... we're from Illinois," I said, "Well, in that case, I guess explaining it in terms of crawfish won't help." They were kind of taken aback at the explanation of how to cook and eat them (drop them into seasoned boiling water, but only if they're still alive... crack them open with your bare hands or the back of a knife... look for stuff that looks kind of like crab meat, but not quite - those are the lungs - don't eat them... but most anything else is good to eat). Later, as I thought about the sight Scott and I must have made - me plunging the net into the water and scooping up crabs, Scott bringing them in from further out, holding the claws together with his bare hands, both of us looking like Tom Hanks in Cast Away - we must have gone a long way toward perpetuating the image of Southerners as half-wild neanderthals who get their food straight from the land - or in this case, the ocean - and view the killing and cooking of their catch simply as nuisances that stand between them and supper. -- # Saturday, May 24, 2003 ( 11:40 PM ) Greg Griffith Ever since my birthday (May 12) I've been meaning to write about what happened that day, but life since then has seen a couple of trips out of town, a few visits from both sets of grandparents, new paying work and even more potential work popping up. The 12th was a Monday, and since I had spent the weekend celebrating Mother's Day with the Keatings in Mandeville, I got up Monday morning pretty much having forgotten it was my birthday. I shuffled into the sunroom/office, turned on my computer, and sat down to a new week. A few minutes later, I hear the toonk-toonk-toonk of little feet on wood floors thumping toward me from farther rooms. Then Claire appears, and circles around behind my desk. I spin in my chair to face her, and she's holding a big card the size of her head. With a big smile on her face, the kind that's impossible to restrain, she says, clear as a bell, "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" There are times when she says things and does things that make SDG and me look at each other with a combination of frown and smile, a look that says, "That's not normal, is it?" or "Isn't it a bit early to be saying 'telescope'"? At 21 months, she can identify several letters of the alphabet, and recites numbers - one through eleven, and today, not for the first time but for the first time with such confidence, said "16, 17, 18, 19." Things like that keep our brows furrowed more and more often as we think about schools and starting them early, but her ability to do that also makes for priceless moments like being wished happy birthday in perfect English by a toddler who stills drools from time to time. There are a thousand times every day when we marvel at this child, but there are 999 times a day when the strain of both of us being self-employed and working from home shows. But every time it seems that strain threatens to make us question what we're doing, we're reminded of how lucky we are. Every so often, we have an opportunity to see other children her age at play with her and around her. A couple of weeks ago was one such time, and we came away more confident than ever that, despite how hard it's been sometimes, we made the right decision in keeping her out of daycare. The benefits just seem to feed on each other: By not spending every day in the petri dish of daycare, the only illness she's suffered is a day here or a couple of days there with a slightly runny nose or a cough. A day or two of a slight fever. But it's been months since the last sign of a cold, and it was brief. Most other children her age who are in day care are constantly sick, and it seems like all of them have tubes in their ears. Because impaired hearing frequently precedes and sometimes follows tubes, and because daycare kids spend their days around other children with similar problems - instead of around intelligent adults who engage them every few minutes - their vocabularies, compared to Claire's, are pitiful. The words can be counted on fingers and toes. Claire speaks in complete sentences and says "please," "thank you," and "you're welcome." We worry sometimes because she still likes her pacifier. She asks for it often in the middle of day, even though we've restricted it to bedtime, naptime, and long car rides. Sometimes she'll find one lurking in some place we didn't know about, and other times we'll give one to her the way we might click the "mute" button during a "PODS" commercial. But usually when we hold out a hand and ask her to surrender it, she does so instantly and politely. But we see 2-year olds, 28-month-olds, and older, walking around for hours at a time in the middle of the day with pacifiers in their mouths. Claire swings on the swing, looks around and says, "Bird flying... in the sky"... the other kids look down at the ground and say nothing. Claire looks at the floaties and squirt guns floating in the pool and says, "Baby's toys in da water." On the other hand, she's shy around many kids, and doesn't know what to make of the seemingly random and borderline hostile outbursts of many kids who spend all day competing with others for toys and attention. But at least with some kids she seems to take an instant liking, sometimes walking right up to them and touching them or kissing them. Most of them look at her with the same strange mix of confusion and wariness that she often exhibits. For well over a year now she's occasionally woken up from a nap crying, as if she's had a nightmare or was startled awake by something real or imagined. In the past couple of months it seems to have gotten a little worse, with the crying fits more intense and longer-lasting. It was different when she was still a "baby," when inexplicable crying was common, but now that she's more of a gangly and mobile little kid with a long and precise memory and a well-formed vocabulary, it's more confusing for us, and more of a challenge. Dozens of times a day she tells us what she wants, or where she's hurt, what video she wants to see or what book she wants us to read to her, so the fact that she can't explain why she's crying so intensely for so long is particularly frustrating for us. This happened the other day during an afternoon nap, and after a cup of apple juice and some cuddling, she went back to sleep in the little nook that SDG builds for her on the couch in the afternoons. Those episodes are always a little stressful and more than a little distracting, but before we had had a chance to re-heat our coffee and get back into our work routine, she let out a throaty giggle - entirely in her sleep - and we smiled big smiles and gently shook our heads, and everything was better. Not just better than bad. Just better, in the way that only hearing a little kid laughing in her sleep can make things better. I love her more than I ever imagined was possible. -- # Thursday, April 24, 2003 ( 11:06 AM ) Greg Griffith Last year Claire moved very quickly from bottles to sippy cups, and we were encouraged. A few weeks ago I bought her something that falls somewhere between the run-of-the-mill sippy cup and real cups. It's made of plastic, and the same form factor as a real glass. The top is like a disc that completely covers the opening of the main cup. It's on a spring-type bottom, so it keeps liquid in when the cup is turned over, but a little pressure - exerted by the top lip when you put it to your mouth - creates a gap that allows liquid out. Claire has not exactly taken to that like we had hoped, and we were discouraged. For first-time parents, of ocurse, we fear that she'll be in junior-high, still taking sippy cups to school in her lunchbox. So along comes the big Easter Sunday dinner last week, and SDG gets out Claire's silver porridger and cup. The cup has a little handle, but other than that it's just a regular little open cup. There were no objections, but there wasn't a lot of elan, either. Claie was very good at lifting the cup to her mouth, tilting it toward her, and drinking, but when she took it away from her mouth, she didn't tip it back upright, and apple juice went everywhere. This went on several times before we decided it was best to go back to the sippy cup for the reat of the meal. Well, we've had the silver cup on the table at every meal this week, and this is what bug has been drinking from. It's still a little messy, but she's gotten the hang of tilting, and tilting back. She's still not ready to run around the house with it, so we keep the sippy cups around for mobile operations. But we're very encouraged again; thus are the ups and downs of childhood beverage consumption development in the Griffith household. -- # Monday, April 21, 2003 ( 8:42 PM ) Greg Griffith :::::::::::::::::::: In the past couple of weeks, Daddy and Papaw - especially Papaw - have been busy putting up Claire's playhouse in the backyard. You can see a coupe of pics of it in the "Pictures" section. Originally built for Lulu when she was a little girl, the playhouse has for years sat in Packy and Lulu's back yard, where it's been used by several of the other grandchildren. Recently Lulu decided that it should live in our back yard, so it was disassembled in Meridian and hauled over here by Papaw. Daddy and Papaw spent the better part of Saturday before last putting it back together, and much of last Saturday putting a new roof on it. It's a pretty serious playhouse - built much like a real house in terms of its materials and construction (and weight). It's a law of nature that if you're going to be part of the Deen family, at one point in your life you're going to have to cut a house apart and move it. -- # Wednesday, April 09, 2003 ( 9:15 PM ) Greg Griffith This afternoon was unseasonably cool - in the mid-40's - and suppertime sneaked up on us. So we bundled up the bug and went down to Soulshine Pizza, which is next to Hal and Mal's. There was only one couple over in a dark corner, so bug got to run free without bothering anybody. We got an unexpected surprise - a free small pizza. We chose portabello mushrooms as our one topping. We brought the pizzas home.and Claire dug in, finishing two pieces. "Daddy? I eat a pizza!" # Wednesday, February 26, 2003 ( 4:53 PM ) Greg Griffith :::::::::::::::::::: Yesterday was a BIG day in Claire's world. After dinner is when she's most often struck by creative urges. Out come the crayons and paper. She scribbles while SDG and I finish eating. Well, after a few minutes she pipes up and says, "Rainbow!" SDG and I look, and here's what we see: 
Now, I drew the purple arc, but only after she had drawn the orange and yellow arcs, and the red arc on the side. We don't know if this is particularly remarkable for an 18-month old, but we're sure impressed. Also, Claire ACTUALLY TINKLED IN THE POTTY last night - twice! And again this morning! -- # Wednesday, February 19, 2003 ( 11:18 PM ) Greg Griffith :::::::::::::::::::: Some of Claire's latest sentences: "I drawing Crayons" "Hey Irv, hey Seven" (her morning greeting to the cats when they come in for breakfast) "I watch Pooh bear movie" "Woody sad" (when Sheriff Woody from Toy Story 2 agnonizes over his decision to stay with Jesse, Bullseye, and Stinky Pete) "I dancing" (by "dancing" she means spinning around in circles) "Ajoo ajoo ajoo" (she wants to watch the scene in "Sound of Music" where the children sing their goodnights... "Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you...") And tonight, for the first time ever... "Tinkle potty? Tinkle potty?" Mirabile dictu! This is huge, folks... gigantic... colossal. After 18 months, changing diapers becomes as much a part of your life as TV and doing laundry. It seems that it's always been there, and always will be there. Well, tonight (I was in an edit, so I'm passing this along, so to speak, from SDG) after her bath, naked as the proverbial jay bird, Claire ran to the corner of the rug in the study, and with a mischievous grin, said "Tinkle potty? Tinkle potty?" SDG scooped her up and took her to the potty and sat her on it. Claire grinned and looked down into the water several times, but did nothing. This is not a failure. This is progress, and at 18 months, blessed progress. -- # Thursday, January 30, 2003 ( 11:36 AM ) Greg Griffith :::::::::::::::::::: Several weeks ago Claire progresed from saying "book-a book-a" when she brought us a book she wanted read to her, to saying "Ree dree dreed." This morning, she took the next step: Taking "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" to SDG and saying "Bissy bissy cider." -- # Tuesday, January 21, 2003 ( 11:06 PM ) Greg Griffith :::::::::::::::::::: Today Claire was in fine form. She's had a little cold lately, no fever, just congested with a runny nose, but you wouldn't know it by her behavior. She's been very mischievous today, hiding behind the curtains more than usual. Tonight SDG had just finished running her bath and turned around to grab a towel. When she turned back around, Claire was standing in the middle of the tub full of water - fully clothed and grinning from ear to ear. We fished her out, stripped her down, and proceeded with bath time. Earlier tonight, after having heard "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for the thousandth time, she started singing along for the first time ever: "Tinkle tinkle lih stah... how wondah ahh... up avuvh..." Regular followers of this blog will notice that it's been a while since I posted anything about her vocabulary. There's a reason: It would have taken every minute of every day to document and discuss the new words she's learned. Besides, we're no longer that surprised when she picks up a new word. What we're paying attention to now are the sentences she's beginning to string together. She's had a few sentences in the bag for a while now, but they've been very simple: "Kitty cat knocking," for example. She's also made good use of the word "more," saying things like "more milk," "more juice," "more apple juice," "more bells" (which means "more 'Jingle Bells'"), "more singing," "more bubbles" (we keep a little jar of bubbles on the table, and often blow bubbles after we're finished eating), and lately, during tickle-fits, "more ticking" and "more laughing." She's also been adding some more complex sentences: "I kiss it." This is when she hurts herself on something. SDG and I tell her "Come here, Claire - I'll kiss it." "Bye bye see you little while." I guess she's heard us say this on the phone a few hundred times. "I see baby" Then there are the roll-calls. We'll be eating a meal and she'll say, "Mama daddy eeyore pigget shell gigi papaw red shirt." In order, that's Mama, Daddy, Eeyore, Piglet, Aunt 'Chelle, Gigi, Papaw, and a reference to Papaw's red shirt, which he wore on his last visit, and by which Claire was fascinated. One of the funniest things she's been doing lately is using "okay" to answer "yes" to a question. "Milk-a milk-a milk-a," she'll say. "Do you want milk?" we'll ask. "Ho-kee." She loves for us to tickle her until she goes into hysterics. We'll stop and she'll say, "more?" We ask her, "More what?" And she says, "More laughing!" "More laughing?" "Ho-kee!" -- # |
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