Happy day-before-St. Nicholas Day! :) In my family, this is "Black Peter Day" - Black Peter is a little man dressed all in black who sort of heralds St. Nicholas by dropping little presents (which may or may not have been purchased from the dollar store a few days beforehand) in various people's paths the day before his feast.
But I am not here to talk about Black Peter or even dear old St. Nicholas, Puncher of Heretics. (If you don't know that story, you're missing out, let me tell you.) Today I am here to give you yet another poem and meditation. I have this lovely meditation book by the Daughters of Mary which has many beautiful reflections in it, and I found one especially good one about Our Lady in it a couple of days ago while I was looking for something to push me into keeping Advent properly. (If well begun is half done, I haven't even started yet.) I'm not entirely sure that it could be called a poem, but it is formatted like one, so I shall.
It's particularly appropriate to think about Mary during Advent, when she carried Our Lord, and even more so since this Sunday marks one of her greatest feasts, the Immaculate Conception.
By the way, the author of this poem/meditation/thing, Archbishop Alban Goodier, was a wonderful writer of spiritual books, and I definitely recommend anything by him.
Mary
from The Life that is Light by Alban Goodier.
She had been foreshadowed by many,
Yet no one recognized her.
She was conceived immaculate,
And no one knew.
The Angel saluted her "Full of grace,"
And not a soul knew.
He told her the Lord was with her,
Told her she would be the Mother of God,
And not even Joseph knew.
To all she was just "a virgin espoused to a man,"
And her name was Mary.
No more.
Elizabeth saluted her,
"Blessed among women,"
Called her the Mother of her Lord.
Wondered that she should come to her,
Yet no one else knew.
She was only a child of Nazareth,
And "Could any good come out of Nazareth?"
She was the Mother of a Child,
In a carpenter's cottage.
She was that to men and no more.
Men assumed they knew her,
She was easy to know.
"His mother, do we not know her?"
Yet how little did they know!
Mary, "the Handmaid of the Lord"
Mary espoused to the Carpenter
This is one of my favorite Robert Frost poems -- I like poetry that lingers in the back of my mind, and this poem always has. Also, I admit to always being interested in apocalyptic speculations, so when I think of it, I always wonder exactly how the actual destruction of the world will take place. I doubt it will end in ice, but fire of some sort seems likely...or perhaps God will simply stop thinking about it, and it'll blink out like a snuffed candle. That seems most likely to me.
Well, enough rambling. Sorry it's such a short poem!
Fire and Ice
Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
I'm going to honestly confess that, having noticed that I haven't posted in forever, I ambled over to Project Gutenberg and scanned Dickinson poetry until I found something suitable. My life has been pretty full the past few weeks - and it will continue to be so at least until October - hence the neglect of this blog. Sorry about that. But anyway, though I have just discovered it, this is a lovely poem (what poem of Emily Dickinson's isn't, really?) and I'm glad I found it.
Murder in the Cathedral was my last reading assignment in English and my first exposure to T.S. Eliot - and wow. I just wandered around like a zombie after finishing it because I just could not straighten out what I thought of it. I liked it but I hated it, it was perfect but it was awful. In short, it was a very conflicting play. I get the feeling that most of Eliot's work is like this.
Naturally, the plot was very good, but as it is a true story, that is to be expected, (For those who have no idea what the play is about, it's the tale of the murder of St. Thomas à Becket in Canterbury Cathedral.) The atmosphere is what really got to me, though. It was depressing and just really, really dark for most of the play. I think it's just one of those books that you know is good, but is not comfortable, if that makes sense. (Sort of like Gone with the Wind.) It's enjoyable, but one of those things you can't stay immersed in for too long.
The poetry has a strong cadence and almost reads like music; I love strong rhythms in poetry so I definitely appreciated that. Especially in plays or epic poems a prominent rhythm is important, I think, because it makes it easier to get through the often unfamiliar experience of reading a story set in poetry rather than prose.
Now, many of us know that Eliot is often considered one of the fathers of modern poetry. I, personally, am not fond of most modern poetry. Therefore I had rather a bias against the man, fair or not; but while I could see that modernity and how it could have influenced poetry today, it didn't bother me too much - it was still very good. Because of the leaning towards modern poetry, the lines are simpler, direct, and strikingly forceful. BUT. One can feel the taint of it, not only in the poetry itself but in the overall feeling of the work. If you pay attention when you read or listen to music you will probably know the feeling of modernity: a sort of empty, despairing taste it leaves in your mouth. It is well-mixed with other elements in Murder in the Cathedral and so was not so overwhelming, but I still detected its presence.
Now, the Chorus. I usually don't really understand choruses in general (in plays, I mean), but this one takes the cake. It's made up of the Women of Canterbury, and they seem a pretty miserable lot. Also, I can't imagine how their lines are supposed to be said in a performance - are they supposed to be said naturally, or sort of chanted? Especially since it's a whole group of women... If by chance their lines were chanted, it would make a pretty creepifying spectacle, because they provide a lot of the darkness of the play. Imagine a group of female voices in unison, sort of deadpan-chanting the following lines: The agents of hell disappear, the human, they shrink and dissolve,
Into dust on the wind, forgotten, unmemorable; only is here
The white flat face of Death, God's silent servant,
And behind the face of Death the Judgement
And behind the Judgement the Void, more horrid than active shapes of hell;
Emptiness, absence, separation from God;
The horror of the effortless journey, to the empty land,
Which is no land, emptiness, absence, the Void.
I'll say this for Eliot: he knew how to create emotions. Only, the emotions he creates are mostly negative, like terror and fear and despair, so no credit for him, really. Flipping through the book to find that passage, I found a word to describe the element combating the dreariness of modernity: richness. Eliot's writing has a richness which, though not at all like the color-drenched richness of Chesterton or the spiritual richness of St. Teresa, is essential to the impact his poetry makes, and saves it from being entirely modern. Modern poetry is generally too concerned with being abstract and pressing the "enter" button as much as possible to have any element of richness.
And do note that I chose the most depressing lines I could find to highlight my point in that excerpt. There is much heroism and even beauty in the play, being as it is a very Catholic story, though T.S. Eliot himself was not a Catholic, as far as I know. I find the interest of secular writers in Catholic martyrdom very intriguing - you have this, A Man for All Seasons, various movies made about St. Joan of Arc over the years, etc. Perhaps it is simply the sensational element in martyrdom that appeals to them, but I like to believe it is something deeper. The Catholicity in Murder in the Cathedral is strongly present, from the perfectly-handled Tempters (and Thomas' refutation of them) to the lines of the Dies Irae in the Chorus to the Archbishop's last words: Now to Almighty God, to the Blesssed Mary ever Virgin, to the blessed John the Baptist, the holy apostles Peter and Paul, to the blessed martyr Denys, and to all the Saints, I commend my cause and that of the Church.
It is a very true play, and is certainly worth taking the time to read. It's a lot to process - so sorry if I have rambled unnecessarily here, especially about modern poetry! As you may see, I have still not entirely made up my mind about it, though I am recommending it. If you have read it, tell me about it so that we can discuss its relative merits and demerits. It's the sort of book that must be discussed to be understood properly, I believe.
Recommended for ages 16+, unless you are especially mature. No star rating because I just can't decide!
As promised, here is the rest of the poem. Please do read both parts! (Last time I did a two-part post, the second one got way less views than the first.)
In honor of the month of the Sacred Heart, I thought I'd post a bit of this very special poem apparently composed for the feast, which, by the way, is this Friday. It is very long, so I won't post all of it today - I know that you people grow faint of heart at the prospect of very long pieces of writing. (And I'm not necessarily blaming you - I get the same way sometimes.) So I shall post some of it now and then the rest on Friday.
As I was writing it out, I was reflecting that non-Catholics or weak Catholics might find it a bit bizarre or over-the-top. Well --- all I have to say to that is: let no one say that Catholicism is cold, sterile, or repressive. You can't read this and tell me that the religion inspiring it is repressive.
I think it's one of those poems that have to be pondered - I know a priest who made it the subject of his daily meditations, a stanza every day. That's my favorite kind of poetry. And its imagery is just perfect. Agh, just read it already. More coming on Friday.
Litany for the Feast of the Most Sacred Heart
by Gertrud von Le Fort
Now I will pray the ardour of the soul as a great litany is
prayed. Now I will raise the song of praise that is not sung
but loved. Blood-red secret of all that is:
Holy Heart, divine Heart, almighty Heart.
Be loved, Love, eternal Love, be thou eternally loved.
Hearth in the dark of the frozen world,
Be loved, Love!
Flame-shadow over all the false brightness of the world,
Be loved, Love!
Burning sign in all the false rest of the world;
Lonely Heart, flaming Heart, unquenchable Heart:
Be loved, everlasting Love.
Heart deep as the nights that have no face:
Be loved!
Heart strong as the waves that have no shores:
Be loved!
Heart tender as little children that have no bitterness:
Be everlastingly loved.
Rose from the flower-beds of the invisible,
Rose from the chalice of the humble maiden,
Blossoming rose-bush, in which heaven and earth are entwined,
Be loved, everlasting Love!
Royal Heart in the flowing mantle of Thy blood:
Be loved!
Brother-Heart in the wild mockery of the thorny crown:
Be loved!
Breaking Heart in the stark ornament of Thy death wounds:
The lovely Elizabeth of The Country Handmaiden recently posted a roundup of her favorite musical artists, and I thought "ooh, I like this idea," and so am copying her. With permission, of course.
You already know a bit about my musical tastes from my long-neglected Song Saturday series, but I've sort of changed a bit since then. I think. Do you ever find that after a while you just get really tired of hearing the same music over and over again? I do. And then I take a nice long break from it, and sometimes I start liking it again afterwards. Sometimes not. It depends. (Oh frailty, thy name is Victoria.)
Cécile Corbel
She's from Brittany in France and sings in many languages, including French, English, Breton, Spanish, and even Turkish. I'm kind of in awe of her command of languages, and I love her accent. She's definitely my favorite singer - for now.
I had a really hard time choosing a song to embed here. "Maybe I should do one in Breton so they can see how intriguing that language is...nah, that might be too weird for an introductory song. I wish My Lullaby was on Youtube. Should I do one with a video? Sometimes music videos actually spoil the effect..." One of her songs, En La Mar, has a video which I quite like, but I think the song may have some inappropriate lyrics, so I didn't want to do that one. It's in Spanish, which I cannot say that I speak, so I'm not entirely sure, but I can pick up a few words...I dunno. I should just ask a Spanish-speaker to tell me. Anyway, the one I did post, Sweet Song, is one of the first songs of hers that I heard, and every time I hear it I just really want to write a fairy-tale story. The lyrics suggest it. Only I've never tried a fairy-story and don't think I'd be good at it.
Some other favorite songs of hers are My Lullaby, C'hoant Dimien, The Great Selkie, and Mary. Oh, forget it, I like basically all of her songs.
Regina Spektor
You might know her from the film adaptation of Prince Caspian, where her song The Call was used in the last scenes and into the credits. It's a lovely song, almost certainly her most beautiful.
I do have to put a warning here, though. Not all her songs are good, by far. I've come across some with swearing, and one or two with immoral subject-matter. So just be aware of that if you search her on Youtube or anything. Once you find the good ones, though, she's an interesting artist. Very quirky, and her songs never really quite make sense. She can do pretty amazing things with her voice, and she too has a cool accent - she's Russian-born, Jewish, and lives in New York. That makes for an intriguing pronunciation. Oh, and you want to talk about weird music videos? SHE has WEIRD music videos.
(This song, Eet, is definitely the least-weird music video of hers.) Other songs of hers that I like are Fidelity, The Calculation, Us, Folding Chair, Time is All Around, and How, for starters.
Anúna
Anúna is an Irish choral group and is awesome. (You might remember them from my first Song Saturday.)Besides having gorgeous voices, if you go to their Youtube channel and read the comments you will see how snarky and humorous they are. That might not be a good thing to everybody, but I really get a kick out of it.
Ahem. Anyway. They sing mostly traditional pieces in English, Gaelic, and Latin - often medieval religious texts set to music by Michael McGlynn (the one kneeling down in the picture), or pieces written entirely by him. Their music is just so peaceful and lovely.
This is The Wild Song, which I like to lie on my bed and listen to with my eyes closed, just imagining out the mental images suggested by the lyrics. (Don't I have constructive hobbies?) Other good songs are Siuil a Ruin, The Rising of the Sun (Eiri na Griine), Pie Jesu, Greensleeves/Scarborough Fair, Dulaman, etc. etc. etc. (Sorry, getting a bit bored typing it all out and remembering the names of things!)
Loreena Mckennitt
Unfortunately I must once again put a warning here. This time it's religion. Though after research I found that Loreena McKennitt herself doesn't practice any religion, a lot of her songs are very pagan. So just keep that in mind.
She sings a lot of poems and old folk songs (or songs based on folk tales), often with unusual instrumental accompaniment such as Eastern instruments or electric guitar. She also does some Turkish/Middle-Eastern type pieces and, as I mentioned, New Age-y things, which I'm not fond of.
This is The Highwayman, one of my absolute favorites. I really don't know why, but I am fascinated by the legend(s) of the Highwayman. I usually turn away in disgust from "bad boy" heroes, but I find the various incarnations of the highwayman mesmerizing. Help?
Other favorites are The Lady of Shallot (which I have posted about before), The Bonny Swans, Dante's Prayer (which makes me want to lie on the floor and sob every time I hear it), and The Mummers' Dance, which hopefully is not pagan. I can't figure that one out, but I think it's okay. (Also right now I'm listening to Caravanserai, which is pretty good.)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
I know, it's totally typical to like Mozart. Why couldn't I like some cool obscure composer? But, to be honest, I have trouble appreciating classical music (which is shameful), and somehow I've don't have trouble with Mozart. I always think of him as the Baroque Taylor Swift, which I suppose is highly insulting and probably not true.
Piano Concerto no. 21 is probably my very favorite piece - and since we're doing Victoria Confesses To Being A Snob I will admit that I very much enjoy saying airily, "Oh, yes, my favorite Mozart piece is his Piano Concerto no. 21. Oh, you've never heard of it? You should look it up." Yes, bad me. Sorry.
My other favorite Mozart pieces are Exsultate Jubilate,Serenade no. 10, Symphony no. 40, Horn Concerto no. 4, and, possibly second favorite of all, Requiem in D minor. I do not think it's morbid to like requiems.
Well, I do believe that is enough for one post. I left out strictly religious music, which seems like it shouldn't really be mingled with the common crowd. That'll have to be its own post someday.
Tell me all about your favorite music, or better yet, do your own post about it! I love discovering new things. Also tell me what you think of my selection. Did you discover something you liked? Something you disliked? (I'm fine with criticism.) I'd love to know.
While doing English 12 work today I learned about John Donne, about whom I had previously known very little. I was struck with the selections of his poetry in my textbook, though, and I think I shall look for more.
This particular poem I especially liked for its intensity, almost violence. I also love the marriage/love imagery - as a "wannabe nun," I'm always a sucker for lovers' terminology applied to the spiritual!
I could almost use this poem as a prayer. Is that "allowed," do you think?
via Google Images
Batter My Heart
By John Donne
Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprision me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Isn't it striking? *sighs in poetical bliss*
Incidentally, do any of you know anything about Donne? Have any favorites you could recommend to me? Do tell!
Once again, this is a post which I begansome time ago and never finished. I am no longer writing the essay in question - it has long since been graded, and I got an A, so you should listen to me when I talk about it.
The eponymous White Horse. (via google images)
I am continuing my time-honored tradition of procrastinating on English essays by writing about the subject of the essay here on my blog. (See here, here, here, and here.) It's like a passive-aggressive reaction or something. I dunno.
This time the essay - and thus the blog post - is about my favorite epic poem in the history of ever - namely, The Ballad of the White Horse. What's so great about it, you ask? Well, first and foremost, IT'S CHESTERTON. I have about as much respect for him as I do for Tolkien, though in rather different ways. Chesterton's intellect is intimidating, but that doesn't mean he's difficult and boring. Au contraire. His writing is the most hilarious, colorful, gorgeous thing that you can imagine. But anyway, back to the the Ballad. Just in case you don't really know or "get" what it's about, I'll give you a bit of a synopsis.
The Ballad of the White Horse is the tale of King Alfred the Great of England and his battle against the Danish invaders in the ninth century. On a greater scale, however, it is the endless story of the struggle betwixt good and evil, Christian and pagan. Religion, history, legend, and myth blend seamlessly into an epic poem deserving of the name.
There. Publishers should totally employ me to write their blurbs.
Really, I hardly know what else to say. Does that every happen to you, where you like something so much that you don't know what to say about it? Maybe not.
I suppose the best thing is to let it speak for itself. Here's my favorite part, which also happens to be the most famous, thanks in part to a certain Regina Doman, whose novel The Shadow of the Bearincluded the first stanza about the Men of the East. That was actually the way I was introduced to the poem, and as it is quite lovely, it sparked my interest, so thank you, Mrs. Doman.
To give you some background, this is Our Lady speaking to King Alfred in a vision.
"The gates of heaven are lightly locked,
We do not guard our gold,
Men may uproot where worlds begin,
Or read the name of the nameless sin;
But if he fail or if he win
To no good man is told.
"The men of the East may spell the stars,
And times and triumphs mark,
But the men signed of the cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark.
"The men of the East may search the scrolls
For sure fates and fame,
But the men that drink the blood of God
Go singing to their shame.
"The wise men know what wicked things
Are written on the sky,
They trim sad lamps, they touch sad strings,
Hearing the heavy purple wings,
Where the forgotten seraph kings
Still plot how God shall die.
"The wise men know all evil things
Under the twisted trees,
Where the perverse in pleasure pine
And men are weary of green wine
And sick of crimson seas.
"But you and all the kind of Christ
Are ignorant and brave,
And you have wars you hardly win
And souls you hardly save.
"I tell you naught for your comfort,
Yea, naught for your desire,
Save that the sky grows darker yet
And the sea rises higher.
"Night shall be thrice night over you,
And heaven an iron cope.
Do you have joy without a cause,
Yea, faith without a hope?"
Isn't it just lovely? Maybe it's just me, but I think it makes you feel very strong and fearless, like you could withstand anything in the strength of the Faith . I don't know why. Paradoxes (like "joy without a cause" and "faith without a hope") just really appeal to me.
Now to make this a proper book review. I give it 5 out of 5 stars, suitable for....erm, anyone who can understand it, really. In general, I'd say highschool level.
Have you read The Ballad of the White Horse? (If you haven't, go get it now. You can read it on Project Gutenberg here, if you like.) What did you think of it, if you did read it? And have you read any of Regina Doman's books?
My guest post for Shaylynn's Tolkien Month got published on her blog this morning! Eeeee! I'm super excited - this was my first guest post ever, and on Shealynn's Fairy Shop, which is a long-time favorite of mine. It was one of the very first blogs I ever discovered! I am honored.
Check it out here, and be sure to read the rest of the Tolkien Month posts as well.
Well, I've finally gotten around to posting again. You can thank frustration with a certain research report for that...anyway, before I begin, I just wanted to thank Katie of Whisperings of the Pen for being my 50th follower! Thank you, Katie, and thanks for your lovely comment on my last post, as well. I'm up to fifty-one now - I feel super special!
Now for the poetry. This is one of the first Chesterton poems I was exposed to. I find the combination of flippancy and urgency quite striking, and so it sort of imprinted on my brain and is one of the few poems I've actually got memorized. Chesterton portrays the enticement that evil can have, and then warns us of it's consequences, all in his typical entertaining style. It must be noted that Chesterton is using the term "gentleman" in the sense it was often used in during his time - not in a positive way, to describe a man who upholds chivalry, honor, and intelligence, but in a negative way, to indicate a sort of - oh, this is hard to explain - a sort of dissipated, good-for-nothing person. Eh, close enough. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. And do think about what the poet's trying to say, please. If there's something that you don't get that you'd like to have explained, leave a comment. I may have an answer.
The Aristocrat
by G.K. Chesterton
The Devil is a gentleman, and asks you down to stay
At his little place in What'sitsname (it isn't far away).
They say the sport is splendid; there is always something new,
And fairy scenes, and fearful feats that none but he can do;
He can shoot the feathered cherubs if they fly on the estate,
Or fish for Father Neptune with the mermaids for a bait;
He scaled amid the staggering stars that precipice, the sky,
And blew his trumpet above heaven, and got by mastery
The starry crown of God Himself, and shoved it on the shelf;
But the Devil is a gentleman, and doesn't brag himself.
O blind your eyes and break your heart and hack your hand away,
And lose your love and shave your head, but do not go to stay
At the little place in What'sitsname where folks are rich and clever;
The golden and the goodly house, where things grow worse forever;
There are things you need not know of, though you live and die in vain,
There are souls more sick of pleasure than you are sick of pain;
There is a game of April Fool that's played behind its door,
Where the fool remains forever and the April comes no more,
Where the splendour of the daylight grows drearier than the dark,
And life droops like a vulture that once was such a lark:
And that is the Blue Devil that once was the Blue Bird;
For the Devil is a gentleman, and doesn't keep his word.
Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite poets. I quite envy her ability to express herself in such short poems. I read once that she wrote all these little pieces during her life and locked them in her desk drawer, where they were found and published after her death. She never knew she would be famous.
Since they are so short, I'm posting two at once.
This one particularly struck me when I first read it. I had never thought of victory or success in the way Emily Dickinson portrays it before.
I couldn't find a picture to go with this piece, so I made this with Pixlr.
Success is Counted Sweetest
By Emily Dickinson
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires the sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today,
Can tell the definition,
So plain, of victory,
As he defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonizing clear.
It took me a couple re-readings before I understood the point of this second one. It's the essence of poetical thinking, really.
I thought this poem of Chesterton's was appropriate for Lent, since it's about the Crucifixion. If you don't understand it all, don't fret - I first discovered this lovely piece of poetry when Fr. Beck explained it to us at the Catholic summer camp for girls that I've gone to for the last three years, and I would never have gotten it without his help. It's even more beautiful when you completely understand, but alas! I'm not as good at explanations as Fr. Beck is, so I'm afraid you're on your own. Take time and think about each section. It makes a beautiful meditation.
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn. In joy and wo, in good and ill
Mother of God! be with us still.
When my hours flew gently by,
And no storms were in the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be -
Thy love did guide to thine and thee.
Now when clouds of Fate o'ercast
All my Present, and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine.
NOTES: "wo" is not a typo. That's the way Poe wrote it, and apparently it's just a shortened form of "woe", though why he couldn't put the e on the end is beyond me.
Poe was not a Catholic. This poem is recited by one of his characters in a story. It's very interesting to study Poe's Catholic sympathies, though. I've been looking it up on the internet.
I love good poetry, and so I thought I'd post some of my favorites here as I come across them. I think it would be a good way to fill space when I don't know what to write about introduce you to some poetry you may not have heard of before, as well as cementing the poetry I like into my mind. If you don't like poetry - well, too bad. Read it anyway, it's good for you. And really, most people don't care for poetry because they don't know anything about it. I'd bet that if one really tried, he/she would end up liking it as much as I do. It just has to be the right kind.
To my fellow Seton students, I do apologize. A good deal of my favorite pieces of poetry have been discovered through the 11th-grade American Literature textbook, so Setoners will probably have seen them before, and will groan instinctively at anything reminding them of the dreaded schoolwork.
NOTES: Silentium Altum means "High Silence" in Latin. The "Ostian window" refers to an episode in the life of St. Augustine. Once he and his mother, St. Monica, were discussing the nature of eternal life, and as they stood at the window of their house in Ostia, they were granted a vision of the joys of heaven.
included the first stanza about the Men of the East. That was actually the way I was introduced to the poem, and as it is quite lovely, it sparked my interest, so thank you, Mrs. Doman.
