Thank you, Nathaniel(s)....

Both of you…. 

On Tuesday, I went to the local AT&T store and purchased my new iPhone 5.  Yes, I know the next version will be out soon—this summer—but I wanted mine now.  After almost an hour in the store, I left with the new phone (and its hot pink cover) in my hand…

We had other errands to run, so I didn’t get a chance to plug the phone into my laptop and download my apps until the early afternoon.  Well, the “quite simple” process became less so: the phone “froze” in the iTunes home screen.

Nothing I did changed anything.  I turned it off, and then back on.  I restarted my computer and plugged the phone in again.  Nothing.  Just the same, stupid, frozen screen….

(I remember when I was four years old and our phone was on a party line.  I didn’t have any trouble with it: I would pick it up and listen, that’s all.  Of course, at four, I didn’t realize that it was rude to listen in on a party line when others were having a conversation.  When the operator called my mother to report my activities, I received a lecture on privacy and respect.  Oh well, nothing “froze”….)

So, the next step was to go BACK to the AT&T store and get them to fix it.  As I walked in the door, the greeter asked me what I needed and I explained that my phone was frozen.  She then asked when I bought it and I told her “three hours ago” and when she asked where, I said “here”….

And so, I met Nathaniel  Number 1.  He plugged my phone into a computer and tried to “unlock” it.  Then he tried another computer.  No luck, still frozen.  He then excused himself and went to talk to his manager.  When he returned, he was on his cell phone, talking to someone about me. It soon became apparent that he was talking to Apple Care….

After the phone call ended, he told me what my two options were:  1) go home and call Apple’s tech line and have them walk me through the process of unlocking my phone; or 2) drive an hour to the nearest Apple Store and have their techs do it for me.

And I was frustrated—and rude—to him.  “How can I CALL tech support when the ONLY phone I have is locked and won’t work?”  He could have been rude right back, but he wasn’t.  He was empathetic and supportive.  I apologized for my outburst and he said he would feel the same way…

And so, I went back home and picked up my laptop and John so he could make the trip to Fresno with me.  Of course, in my frustration/confusion/whatever, I gave him the wrong driving instructions and we drove an extra half hour to get to the Apple Store….

I felt so guilty that I encouraged him to sit in a comfy chair in the mall and have a Starbuck’s coffee while I took care of my phone problems...

Enter Nathaniel Number 2:  a very nice young man in his late twenties or early thirties.  Even though he hadn’t used Windows in fourteen years (he’s a Mac), he was able to help me navigate my laptop to facilitate the process.  Not only was he patient, he taught me some things I didn’t know…and need to know.  It turns out that I have to block my Avast “firewall” in order to download stuff from iTunes…

I explained what was going on with my phone and that I had no intention of going home until it was fixed AND all my apps were downloaded from iTunes.  He apologized for my long trip to the store and agreed to help me do all that before I left.

While my apps were downloading, he went to help another customer.  There I sat, staring at my playlist on iTunes, on an HP laptop!  Right next to me was a Mac.  On the other side of the table were two people with iPads….I felt like a fish out of water.

So, when Nathaniel Number 2 came back, and my apps were all downloaded, I thanked him for not making fun of my weird playlist.  He looked through my songs and mentioned several artists that he liked, too.  He noticed that I have Rufus Wainwright’s version of Hallelujah and he said Leonard Cohen’s versions are his favorites.  I asked if he had heard k.d. lang’s version and he hadn’t:  he plans to download it and listen to it for himself….

As six pm approached, NN2 excused himself: he had to leave because they are not allowed to have overtime.  He found someone else to help me with signing up for Apple Care + and he was off to clock out and go home….

So, what was supposed to be easy wasn’t.  What should have taken about an hour took most of the day.  And yet, what I will remember about the experience, and the day, is the two Nathaniels.  Two very different-looking men who tried everything they could to help me, and finally succeeded.

At my age, days are not to be wasted, and Tuesday certainly was not a waste.  I have my new phone, it actually works, and I met two young men who renewed my faith in “the younger generation”…. As I approach my birthday (Saturday), I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to have many positive experiences in my life….

And thankful for the two Nathaniels….

Cali

Friends....

I am sitting here looking at a photo of a long-time friend.   I can see her, and hear her, as I look at the photo.  She had an infectious laugh, a heart of gold, and she never met a stranger.  Unfortunately, the photo is on the front of the program for her memorial service: she died March 25^th.

We became friends in high school.  I loved being around her because she was always so upbeat.  She had that kindness that many espouse but few really practice in real life.  She was only a stranger for ten seconds after you met her, and then she was a friend for life…..

Our children were just about the same age: the oldest being a girl, followed by two boys.  I remember when she used to come visit me at my home and bring her kids.  All the kids got along well and played together so we could sit and talk.  I remember, too, that her daughter taught my daughter the names of all the colors, or at least, all the colors that M&Ms came in….

A lot of stuff happened in her life that could have made her angry, or sent her in a downward spiral, or caused her unbearable bitterness.  But she wasn’t that way.  She was resilient.  She had an abiding faith in God and in her ability to bear anything that happened to her through His Grace.

I didn’t want to go today.  I am not a fan of funerals, but then, who is?  I asked John to go with me and, of course, he did.  The church is just two doors down from our home, so we walked.  And in the warm sunshine, I felt a shiver.  Regret? 

Perhaps.  I know that the last time I talked to her on the phone was too long ago, and I was calling to cancel a lunch date.  She lived at the coast and I was vacationing there and wanted to see her, but life intervened and I had to come home early.  I never, ever thought that I would never talk to her again.

But life is like that, isn’t it?  We postpone things we ought to do until “another day” and that day never comes.   And today, that feeling would not leave me until I got into the church and saw her smiling face in the photo slide show.  And I know now that she thought of me as often as I thought of her, and that we could get together tomorrow and it would be just like old times.

But there won’t be a tomorrow with her.

As we walked in the church, we were greeted by another friend from high school days.   She approached me, smiled, and gave me a hug.  I heard someone else say my name and I turned around to see another friend from high school.  And I got another hug.

As we were trying to decide where to sit, I saw more friends, and decided we would sit right behind them.  And there were more hugs.  And introductions, although they all knew about John and our “adventures” from my posts on Facebook.

The service was amazing.  The eulogy caused many, many tears in the church.  And the testimonials from all those high school friends made us all smile and laugh despite our tears.

Is it possible to learn lessons from someone who is dead?  Or maybe it’s lessons from the exemplary life she led…. She reminded me to stop having regrets and to act on my instincts.  “Get out there and live and stop being so introverted!”  I can hear her saying that to me and then laughing.

The tragedies that befell her in her life were terrible, but the joy she brought to each and every day of her life was inspiring.  She never felt sorry for herself, and she never stopped trying to find the good in everybody and everything.

After the funeral, we walked home and I cried.  I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness and the hugs I received.  I was deep in thought about my friend and wondering how to deal with my thoughts.  I decided to go shopping….

Retail therapy?  No, not really.  There are two new babies in our family and we want to send them gifts to let them know how happy we are to have them in our lives.  No more assuming that they will know how much we care.

I have to tell them…..

I was shopping in a craft store when I saw someone I used to work with in the operating room.  Being somewhat introverted and socially awkward (in my opinion), I would normally have just kept going and assumed that she was too busy to talk to me or she wouldn’t remember me.

Not today: I walked right over to her and said “hi!”  We spent almost 45 minutes “catching up” on what has been going on in our lives.  It was good to see her again, but it was great that I didn’t just walk away, knowing that she didn’t see me…..

And tonight, I will wrap baby gifts and address the boxes, then mail them in the morning.  I think I will also send an email to each of my kids and remind them that I love them and I’m thinking about them.  And I think I’ll send messages on Facebook to the friends I saw today and tell them how good it felt to see them again.

Thank you, Jeannie……

Cali

Out of the Dark

It’s hard to describe how I feel today.  It’s beyond hopeful, more like joyful.  As I have been saying for almost a year now: I am on my way.

Where?  You ask.  There is no easy answer but, “out of the dark” describes it to me.  Out of the dark that was my life last year.  For a year after I retired, I was in daily pain, spiraling into a deep depression, and full of self-doubt and self-loathing.

During the time that my back injury was treated as a Workers’ Comp issue, I had physical therapy and several spinal injections.  The first two spinal injections provided some relief for a few weeks.  The final injection was terrifying, merciless, and of no use: the pain was greater, not lessened.

And so, I retired.  To what?  A loving husband, a nice home, and a constant state of pain.  I couldn’t take a step off a curb without serious pain in both my knees and one or both hips.  I couldn’t walk very far without becoming winded.  I was eating the same as I did when I was healthy, active and pain free and the pounds were adding up.

I couldn’t look in the mirror.  And I made jokes about my wardrobe: “it’s not hard to find something to wear because very few of my clothes fit!”   Hahahahahahahaha…..

Or not….

My physician sent me to a rheumatologist: he offered suggestions that were immediate and addressed the “now” and not just the future “when you lose all this weight.”  And I was humiliated beyond belief: I hadn’t weighed myself in years and the numbers on the scale were frightening.

I came home resolute: I will get beyond this place and get my life back again.  I signed up for Weight Watchers Online the very same day.  I was overwhelmed by the task at hand and the changes I had to make.  At the same time, I was determined to do something for myself so that I didn’t have to be ashamed of how I looked and felt.

It’s been a slow process: ten months and counting, so far.  But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and, if it’s not just a freight train, I will keep heading toward it.  One day at a time, one step at a time, one meal at a time, and one pound at a time….

I have lost more than forty pounds.  I am four sizes smaller than last summer, and I have LOTS of clothes to wear.  In fact, there are so many choices that I don’t know where to begin sometimes.  And isn’t that a lovely dilemma?

Out of the dark and into the light.  It’s a glorious feeling.  My depression is mostly gone, my activity level has improved: going to the gym, hiking in the mountains, and walking any chance I get has helped me realize the progress I have made.

There is no magic pill.  No diet.  No sacrifice.  What little I have had to give up (Diet Coke and sweets come to mind) is far outweighed by my sense of well-being and my ability to move and do and be, once again.  

The darkness that was retirement life in pain has given way to the light that is enjoying every day for what it is and smelling the roses along the way.  As Nora Ephron admonished: I am once again the heroine of my life and not the victim…

And it feels good….

Cali

Gym Tales

(Another blog from my archives...)

He walked out of the elevator with his wife by his side.  Gripping his walker, he willed his weak left leg to move forward.  Each step took time.  His wife looked as if she had all the time in the world….  Wearing a ball cap, backwards, he looked straight ahead as he walked.   There were no emotions visible on his face, just determination…

Probably in his mid-fifties, he thin and muscular, as if he was very active—physically—before his stroke.  His hands grip the walker as he moves, his knuckles white from the effort.  At last, he reaches his destination: a weight machine that will firm and strengthen his triceps. 

Slowly, thoughtfully, he moves as close to the seat of the machine as his walker will let him.  Finally satisfied that he can make it, he grabs the machine and plops his rear end in the seat with a thud.  Hovering nearby, but not “babying” him, his wife moves the walker out of the way.

She pulls the handgrips up toward him so he can grab them.  He moves quickly to place his right hand on the grip, firmly holding the machine.  His wife picks up his left hand and places it on the grip, smoothing his fingers around the rubber grip.

He tries to life the weights, but it is too heavy.  His wife reaches down and moves the pin, decreasing the resistance on the machine.  Again, he tries to lift the handlebars and he is successful.  His right arm bicep and triceps are flexed and doing most of the work.  His left hand stays in place on the left grip.

His wife walks over to the nearby chairs and sits down, waiting for him to finish with the machine.  This is repeated many more times as he works on other machines in the gym.  I have seen him at the gym many times, and he uses the machines that strengthen his core and his upper body. 

As I watched him, I was awestruck.  I have cared for so many stroke patients in my life, but few with this level of determination.   Few who have continued to work out after finishing physical therapy.  Few who had a wife who would help.  Few with a caregiver who could assist without taking his dignity away….

There are many other “tales” at the gym.   Tales of overcoming debilitating physical conditions.  Tales of triumph after tragedy.  Tales of determination, and will, and hope. 

Tales that make me smile…..

Cali

Fruit Loops...Redux

(I've decided to share some "oldies" with you.  Blogs I wrote a while back and am revisiting today.  This one is from a couple of years ago, maybe more.  And it was summertime when I wrote it.  Warm weather sounds good, doesn't it?)

Fruit Loops....

So, just to make your day: the generation gap is alive and well. I thought you might like to know.

Of course, I have a reason for saying that. La Belle Noelle, Princess of Quite a Lot, is spending the weekend with Grandma. So far, we've had a lovely time. Mostly playing but hey, that's okay, too.

We went to the grocery store this morning. Bought everything we need for the weekend: Fruit Loops, potato chips, and stuff to make ice cream. We're going to make “cookies and cream” ice cream by following the recipe for vanilla ice cream, then adding chopped Oreos to the mix for the last five minutes.

I think it is very important to eat healthy, nutritious meals, don't you? As far as Noelle is concerned, we have three of the food groups covered: dairy products, Fruit Loops and Oreos. I think I'll make sure she takes a daily vitamin today and tomorrow and hope for the best.

We also went shopping for “accessories” this morning. There is a store in the mall that she loves to look in, and found several things she thought she had to have. I asked her to wait and look at Penney's, since I had to go there, too. She agreed.

And then, an “aha” moment for her: Grandma did NOT buy her everything she wanted. I explained that I cannot spend that much money on her when it is not Christmas, not her birthday, and she didn't do anything to earn the money.

Apparently, that got her thinking.... She did choose a couple of items, which I did buy for her, but she had to choose, and she had to put several things back that she really, really wanted....I wouldn't buy them. If you know me, you know how hard it was for me to deny her anything.

But I did....

And so, she thought about what I said. “You didn't earn the money...” must have stuck in her head. Just a little while ago, she came to me with a proposition: she would do some chores around the house and I could give her some money for her efforts. Okay, fair enough.

And then, the generation gap reared its ugly head. She offered to clean the kitchen counter, dust the family room, and fold clothes. She wanted $25.00 for her efforts. Uh, NO, I don't think so. I tried telling her about the state workers who have had their pay reduced to minimum wage. I got a blank look...

In my head, I'm adding up all the money I have spent today.....No way is twenty minutes' worth of fussing around the house worth what I have spent already. So I stood firm. No. No $25.00 for work I do for free. For myself.

She has now been working for an hour and 10 minutes. The last chore was to use the Swiffer Sweeper on all the wood floors. This is a big house, so that was a big job. She also watered the container garden and swept the kitchen floor....

She offered to “rearrange” the stuff on the bathroom counter and make it look better. I said no: I wouldn't be able to find things after she leaves. She offered to dust the inside of the car. I said no: it's in the triple digits outside, and even more inside the car. I don't need for her to get sick.

Ah, she's straightening up the family room now, putting all the Wii stuff away. By the time she's through, it will have been an hour and a half, almost, that she's been working. I will split the difference with her and give her ten dollars.

Ten dollars for the opportunity to learn one of life's important lessons: nothing's free.... 

Cali

Cali Explains Painting...Or: If You're Wearing Honest-to-Goodness Carhart Painting Overalls, You Must Be an Expert.

So, no more than a month ago, I had a brilliant idea: turn the little-used guest room into my very own craft room.  I have been poring over the IKEA catalog, drawing plans, and dreaming about it since then. I know what I want in the way of furniture and what I am going to put in each drawer and on each shelf.

As OCD as that might sound, I think I have a good reason: I am currently crammed into a little space in our home office, having commandeered several shelves of the bookcases.  I know what I use to scrapbook and where/how I would like to store it.  By drawing the furniture and assigning my scrapbooking supplies to each space, I was able to determine how much (or how little, if you prefer) furniture I would need.

Somewhere along the way, in the last week or so, I decided that I HAD to paint the room.  And why not?  It’s completely empty right now, as the thrift store people hauled off all the furniture a week ago…  Perhaps it’s because the room looks dirty and disheveled without furniture.  Or, perhaps, the furniture was hiding a litany of sins…

Several years ago, I painstakingly scraped all the wallpaper off the walls in my soon-to-be craft room.  Then I painted the walls in a faux denim finish that I liked for a couple of years…. No more.  Time for a change….

And so, after countless hours of prep (which I HATE to do), I was able to put some “Cotton Grey” paint on the walls.  As I started, it looked beige, not gray, but after the blue was all covered, it was the color I had hoped for….

This room was my brothers’ room when they were growing up.  Boys are hard on furniture and walls.  Thanks to years of putty repairs and millions of coats of paint, the walls are uneven and difficult to paint.  The roller rolls right over some of the deeper recesses, and going back over the wall with a brush is a necessity….

Okay, okay, you know how to paint, enough of the details.  But do you know all of the little nuances of painting?  I know I didn’t…..until now.

For instance, did you know that no matter how many times you paint gray over blue, you will still see blue wherever you look?  Some of it I really did see, and I hit it with a brush-full of gray paint….

Did you know that, after sanding the baseboard a hundred times, you STILL won’t see all the remaining carpet fur until you have given it a coat of paint?  So you sand it again.  And again.  No, the carpet is long gone, but not the fur, apparently….

Did you know that you can go from excited to get started to ready to be done with it in a matter of moments?  And boy, have I had my moments…..you should see the floor…

No longer my entree into "High Society", my Crocs are now
relegated to my "paintin' shoes"...

I also think, but I could be wrong, that the doorway has shrunk due to the 15+ coats of paint that it has had in the past 62 years.   I know that I have given it three coats this week myself, and I’m wondering if the new furniture will fit through the door…

I’m down to the last chore: the touch-up detail.   It’s really quite simple: you have a small paint brush with the wall color on it and another one with the trim color on it.  You touch up the trim where you got the wall paint on it and then you touch up the wall where you just got trim paint on it.  It can go on for hours.  And hours…

And then it suddenly hits you:  “it looks great” you tell yourself.  Does it really?  Doesn’t really matter, in your mind, you’re DONE!

And, if you are unfortunate enough to be asked by the painter:  “how does it look?”  do NOT blurt out that it looks perfect!  We both know it isn’t perfect and painters don’t appreciate being patronized.

To a point…. 

When asked that loaded question, take your time answering it.  Look up curiously at the freshly-painted walls and trim.  Squint one or both eyes to denote that you are really working at this, then sigh softly and prepare your answer. 

The answer HAS to be positive.  I have worked much too hard to have someone, anyone, point out what is wrong with the work that I did.  So be charitable.  Use a word that doesn’t tell me that you’re lying through your teeth.  If you’re a gusher, tell me it looks “fabulous!”  If you’re not, just say it looks “great” and pat me on the back…..but not too hard because I’m sore all over…

I may not be the best painter, but I DO make the best messes!

Cali

Telling Stories....

When I started blogging five years ago, I frequently wrote about my experiences at work.  Or family life. Or something I saw and wanted to comment about.  I used a photo to illustrate the blog and that was it. Ever since I started, I have always hoped that my words would make my readers think and relate what I have said to things in their own lives…

A little more than a year ago, I started scrapbooking again.  Things have changed in the scrapbooking world: it’s not just about photos cut into cute shapes and lots of stickers to decorate the page.  Somewhere along the line, people figured out that pasting photos on a page wasn’t enough.  And cutesy stickers didn’t add much to the story of when, why, and where the photo was taken.

And so, scrapbooking (in whatever form you choose) has become a method of telling our stories about our lives, our families, and our adventures.  Photos are accompanied by “journaling cards” that recount what happened, or was going on, in each photo.  Sure, there are still stickers and other ephemera but they are an adjunct to the story, and a small one at that.

Currently, I am doing Project Life for the second year in a row.  It’s a system of telling our stories in an easy-to-do format, with pockets for photos and other souvenirs of everyday life. Becky Higgins

What I like about Project Life is that it makes me focus on today.  Sure, yesterday and tomorrow were, or will be; important in their own time, but today is what I have right now.  In other words, I live in the moment, recording life’s ups and downs as they happen.  The only thing better than living in the moment is being able to go back and look at those moments later…

My just-completed first page from last week.

And my second page from last week.

I bought in to the project, literally, and purchased a “core kit” from Becky Higgins.  This year, I have been making some of my own journaling cards to add to the core kit.  I want to personalize my story, after all, as I am the only me around…

A few of the journaling cards I have made...

Whether the photos show snow-capped mountains or mountains of laundry in front of the washer, there is a story there.   Not a what-I-did-last-summer story but the story of everyday….. And that is what matters: telling our stories.

 

So, though the format and content of my blog may seem different, it really isn’t.  I am still focused on telling my own story but I am using several modalities and not just writing.  The important thing is that, someday, someone who knew me and loved me will have a better glimpse of who I was and what I did.

That’s telling my story…

Cali

Going Home Again...and Again

Then

In an unexpected turn of events, we traveled 25 miles southeast of Podunk to another, even smaller, Podunk…  Having been sick with a cold for more than a week, I was glad to get out of the house and “see the world” as it were…

We traveled to a quaint little town east of Podunk to visit my favorite antiques shop.  Afterwards, we stopped in at the hardware store.  Truly, a hardware store, with creaky wood floors, items displayed in divided shelves, and an old-fashioned heater grate in the floor.

Ever solicitous about my health, he asked me if I wanted to go home…. I said “no” because I was enjoying being out in the sunshine.  And so, he had an adventure in mind: “let’s go to Lindsay (an even smaller Podunk) and find the house you lived in….”

I don’t know why, all these years later, that I remember the name of the street we lived on….But I do.  And I found it on my iPhone’s Google Maps app.  As we drove through town, the little blue dot on the screen was moving with us, ever nearer to Linda Vista Drive.

I remember what the house looked like because I have several photos of family in front of it.  My mother told me once that the house was featured in Sunset Magazine in 1947.  I don’t know if that is true or was invented by a realtor who wanted my parents to buy the house.  I think I may have to look into that at some point…

I felt a lump in my throat as we drove down the street…..and there, at the turn in the road, was the house.  I remember it as being gray—the color of the kitschy cinder-blocks used to build it—and now it is a beigy-gold paint color.  The window frames are still hunter green, and the windows are original, too.  A cooler is precariously perched in one of the bedroom windows, and the lawn is winter dead.

Now

Although we only lived in that house for a couple of years, and I was VERY young, I do remember lots of things about it.  For instance, the bathroom floor was black marble.  Why do I remember that?  Perhaps because I spilled my mother’s face powder on it and she thought she would never get it all cleaned up…

My favorite spaces in that house were all outdoors.  There was a screened-in sleeping porch along the entire back of the house and I would sleep there at night during the long, hot summers.  Just beyond that porch was the back patio, which was huge.  It was angled and free-form to make it blend into the back lawn in a pleasing fashion. 

One of my favorite things to do (remember: I was VERY young) was to push Daddy’s push mower across the patio, delighting in the clackety-clack sounds it made on the cement.  I do remember the last time I did that, too, as Daddy was home for lunch and came outside to ask me to “stop doing that!”

I remember the houses on each side of ours, too.  On the one side was the “elderly” neighbor with the apricot tree.  I amazed my neighborhood friends by being brazen enough to sneak into her back yard and steal an apricot from her tree.  Not only that, I stopped at the faucet under her kitchen window and washed it off before running out front to eat it in front of my cohorts…

On the other side of our house was the home of my best playmate and friend.  She and I had some great adventures, such as painting her porch red with the blooms on my mother’s rose bush.  Also not a popular pastime with adults…

That relationship had its ups and downs, too.  When I was allowed to paint the picket fence on her side of the back yard (remember, I was too young to have read “Tom Sawyer”), she was upset that I wouldn’t let her help me.  I tried to explain that my mother told me just to paint our side of the fence, and that she had to ask her mother before she could paint her side of the fence…..  She was frustrated and slapped me—hard—on my cheek.  Without thinking, I ‘slapped’ her with my paintbrush across her cheek.  After hearing both of us shriek, our mothers both came out of the house and, needless to say, neither one of us got to do any more painting….

We had moved to that little town because that’s where Daddy found a job after the war.  I also remember why we left that house and that town….

It was Christmastime, 1950, and my mother was busy getting ready for Christmas.  One of the things she did to “get ready” was to take down the living room curtains and wash and iron them.  It was a whole day’s chore, I’m sure.  And then, on Christmas Eve, the weather dropped to below freezing.  Since that little town is situated in the middle of miles and miles of orange groves, the night air smelled of the smudge pots burning all around us, keeping the oranges from freezing.

Perhaps it worked, and the crop was saved.  I really don’t know.  What I DO know is that, on Christmas morning, my mother shrieked when she saw her newly-washed and ironed curtains: they were now charcoal gray, thanks to the freezing temperatures and smudge pots…

By the next Christmas, we had moved here, to Podunk, to the very house where I am writing this…

We had prolonged freezing temperatures here in Podunk last night….maybe that’s why I was thinking about that house in that even smaller Podunk, 25 miles away…

Cali