It ain't my problem...Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 3

Pins and needles.  That was our anxiety level this past week.  When last I updated this blog we were awaiting  DWP to arrive and "exhume" the pipe.  There are a number of discomforts one experiences during a journey like this.  Mine has been discussing our waste management issue (aka: poop), saying pipe and pole without a smirk on my face (yes I'm like a teenage boy sometimes) and lastly using the term "exhume".


This word, "exhume", makes me thoroughly uncomfortable.  When I hear it, I immediately envision one of those museum mummies.  Shriveled, grotesque and seemingly pissed off.  They always have a sneer...their upper lip curled in a way that communicates true distaste, dissatisfaction, or even outright angst for those around it.  So like the word "compromised" I only use "exhume" because it is the word DWP has deemed necessary when describing the next step of this long and involved process.

Like I said before, our new pole location has been determined so it was to my utter surprise when Jeff texts to say DWP is installing the new pole.as in "right at this moment...not next week, not next month, now".  It had been a month.  I knew it was coming but this was Goliath...and I didn't feel prepared for the upcoming fight.  There is still a question of who is responsible.  Hence the need to "exhume".  So I hurry over to the house after work just in time to see the crew, all five of them, hauling this massive pole up into the air and down into the hole.  I record the entire event.  As I am recording a DWP worker comes over to where I am standing.  "For legal proof?" he asked.  "No (yes), I've been curious how in the world you guys are going to install this pole." I lied.  "So were we." he laughed...another one joins our team.  It has proven throughout this process the more humor an individual has, the more likely they will be on Team Radue...not team AC-DWP-SUV.

So I watch and wait and watch some more.  The pole is now installed.  I decide this would be an opportune time to ask more about the pipe and when that part of the issue will be addressed.  I walk right up to the one who "caught" me taping for evidence.  He was surrounded by the rest of the crew.
"Excuse me, when do you think you'll be back to finish the job?"
"We'll be moving over the electric and removing the old pole in the next few days...we have a big job tomorrow so it might not be until the end of the week."
"When you remove the pole, is that when you'll replace the pipe?"  My heart is racing, he hadn't mentioned the pipe or any repair.
"What pipe?"  Oh no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Your pole is sitting on top of my pipe.  My sewer-line."
"Wait...that's you?  I mean this is the job with the sewer-line issue.  We've heard about you."

There is a chorus, and I mean chorus of grown men gaffawing over the news that they "get" to work on the infamous "pipe and pole" job.  This means either the job has been circling the DWP rumor mill or the crazed redhead as been discussed around the DWP water cooler.  Either way...I'm a bit famous.  We joke and laugh and they explain that they will be the team to return.  They will be digging the hole to check the pipe and determine what to do next.

So we wait and watch some more...days go by before the crew returns.  This time I more prepared.  I introduce myself to one of the workers and ask what they may have found.  They have exposed the pipe and it is indeed "fractured" in both directions.  This means it should be fixed right?  That DWP is responsible?  I can't get a straight answer out of this guy.  Every answer I get is safe and covers his ass like an adult Depends but I can't blame him nor did I expect anything other than vague formalities.  I decide it's time to turn up the charm.  I make one beeline for CVS and buy their entire stock of Gatorade.  Head back to the house and offer the entire team some refreshing beverages.  I figure it worked for the 50's housewife...why not for the crazed redhead.  These guys work hard, very hard.  When I think of Los Angeles City Workers I always pictured rather lazy employees.  After watching these guys put in a solid 8 hours of distressing work in the hot sun on a hot day I have a new found respect for LA City Workers. 

After delivering the drinks I retreat behind the house...I feel excited that we've come this far but anxious to see the pipe fixed, the pole removed and electricity restored.  As I am walking back around the house I noticed a tall gentleman on the lawn.  The city worker whom I spoke to before tells him, "There she is, that's who you need to speak to."  I cautiously approach the man.  He introduces himself and explains that unfortunately they won't be able to complete the job today.  Uh-oh.

"I'm sorry ma'am.  We'll have to finish the pipe tomorrow." he states.
"Tomorrow?"  This means I have to wait another day before we find out who is going to fix this thing?
"We'll have our engineers here first thing in the morning to replace the fractured pipe but then it'll be a few more days before the old pole can be removed."
"You're going to fix the pipe."
"Yes ma'am."  He says this as though this is the only answer.

I barely keep it together as I thank him and ask the standard "cover my ass" questions about pictures and our claim.  This gentleman explains that I can take them now or tomorrow.  Photos taken that afternoon won't adequately show the damage so he suggests waiting until tomorrow and also promised to have the foreman take pictures in the event that I am not here. As we shake hands I look around at the huge crew who's hard at work...I catch a glimpse of one of them as he drinks from the Gatorade.  He tips his hard hat in my direction, a sign of gratitude...I nod and smile hoping to convey my immense thanks for the work they have done.



The following day I hull it to back in time to get pictures.  When I arrive...they're done.  I panic.  Without substantial proof I may not have a legal leg to stand on.  I politely ask where I might find the foreman.  He is sitting in the AC DWP SUV, he can because he's the foreman.  I introduce myself and ask if there are pictures.  He joked that it's "gonna cost me"...I tell him I have a Gatorade with his name on it.  Then this foreman says, "That smile is payment enough."  WOW.  I mean WOW.  I didn't think this fiasco was going to be such a self esteem builder.  Every one of these guys has been a gentleman...it doesn't hurt getting hit on every now and then.  Also, this is LA which means most of these guys are probably aspiring musicians, actors or models.  GORGEOUS.  So if my smile makes this hot afternoon more enjoyable...bring it.  Back to the pictures.  My heart sinks.  Each one merely shows a completed job, the pristine pipe that will carry our waste.  There are no pictures of an exhumed, pissed off pipe...no fractures, shattered bit or pieces. 
"But what about my claim...I need proof."
"Ma'am (I'm getting that more and more these days)...Ma'am, don't take my word for it but if we're out here fixing your pipe and moving our pole...we're as good as guilty.  You have nothing to worry about."

So in the end we got a new pipe and a new pole.  What I have learned most about my city and my new home is that honestly, respect, persistence and a good solid Midwest handshake can get you a lot.  I've also learned that it's the little things.  It's a smile and patience, a polite phone call or a sincere thanks.  It's allowing yourself to be vulnerable without being weak.  And lastly, we're all in this together so if it's hot out there stand in the shade or offer a cool drink.  You'll be surprised what can happen.

It ain't my problem. Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 2

Where did we leave off?  Well, I had just left the DWP's legal office after filing the claim form with our investigator.  Feeling powerful and capable of solving this problem in an afternoon I head to the house to meet the dispatch team.

I waited patiently for a couple hours and then my heroes arrive.  They pull up in the traditional DWP SUV.  I walk right up to these guys, introduce myself with a handshake and look the directly in the eye.  I flash the friendliest and most knowing smile I can fashion.

"Thanks for coming so quickly.  This is the electrical pole and the sewer line that's been compromised runs from this clean-out directly under your pole."  I say "I'm Hubbell Radue."
"Hubble?  That's your first name?"
"Sure is."
"Like the telescope?"
"Guess you'll say "I should have seen this comin'"?"  This evokes a chuckle from Steve, who smiles at my quick wit.  I can tell if I keep this light humor going I might be able to get this guy in my corner.

They survey the pole, they survey the location of the sewer line.  I explain what we discovered with the magical Fisher Price gun from yesterday and I am trying my darndest to get these guys to see my side of the story and fix this "special" problem.  But then they decide to run the pole identification code.

Now, to be clear, there are a number of tags on any given electrical pole.  Our happens to have a tag that read "2008".  We assumed that it had been installed in 2008, that was part of our argument. 

See DWP?  You screwed up three years ago?  It's a miracle it wasn't a prblem before now. 

The reason for the miracle is because this pole was installed in 1989.  Mother-$#*&#@!  Steve explained that the tag was merely an inspection tag.  Inside I am having a little fit but I remember that I still have the wit and humor and power from that red Disney gun.  I turn to Steve with the enthusiasm and charisma of a high school cheerleader.

"Well, certainly the installation of this pole could have done subtle damage that over the years has 'compromised' our pipe."  Smile.  A big toothy smile.  I'm a cute girl.  Not gorgeous like most LA women...but unassuming and darling when I need to be.  I hope that doesn't sound conceited.  I'm like a Tina Fey but not as funny.  I'm like a Sesame Street character...the pink one with overalls and pigtails.  I'm the "cute" one.  Never the "it" girl but her friend who's there to make her prettier friend look gorgeous.  "Gosh Suzanne, how do you get that french roll cuff so perfect?  Do you use Herbal Essence?  I like how it smells but it makes my head itch."  Okay, I'm really just a glorified nerd.  A cute nerd.

I digress. 

Steve sees the enthusiasm and proceeds to assure me that when he was installing pole [insert sexual innuendo] he would occasionally damage existing pipe. While he would always call in for repair, there are other guys in the field who might damage a pipe and leave it be.  And there is always the possibility to cause unseem damage.

Clearly this is still a matter for DWP...don't you think Steve?  Smile...always smiling.

He decides to call for another dispatch team to come out.  Steve doesn't "load pole" anymore, he's purely "wire".  I nod like I'm one of the guys.  I ask him to give dispatch my number and to call when they are on their way.

When he hangs up he asks, "What area code is that?"
"Chicago.  My husband and I can't quite give up our Midwest numbers."
"You're a Chicago gal?  I'm a Chicago gal!"  You read that right, kids.  G-A-L.  I hop on this comment like a tick on a bull.
"I'm sorry, you're a Chicago GAL?" Smirk, smile, toothy grin.  I've got this in the bag!
"You hear this Anthony?"  He calls to his partner, "She's bustin' my balls!"
"Well, what do you expect?  You busted my pipe!"  AHAHAHAHAHA

I wave as they leave.  Then I wait.  The second dispatch team arrives.  Great!  By now I am pretty impressed with myself having managed to get, not one but two, DWP teams to come look at my sewer line.  I walk over with exuberant confidence.  As I am introducing myself and motioning to the pole and the pipe this uninterested DWP worker asks if we can stand in the shade while we talk?  LA-DWP-WUS!  I quickly see this high-maintenance city worker isn't going to be in my corner and I need to cut to the chase.  I hike up the haggle pants and explain for the umpteenth time that day the lurid story of the pole and the pipe.  He explains that he is "water-in" of DWP, not "water out".  Clearly this "ain't my problem".  So he gets out his little Mead notebook, the kind my five year-old self would've used to scribble copious notes, he takes my contact info.  I should get a call the following morning from the Superintendent.  They leave.  I didn't wave.

The following day I hear from the Superintendent.  His name is Thomas, not Tom (note to self, this could be very important to him so call him Thomas, not TOM!!!)  We schedule to meet at the house at 1pm. 

As I am driving from work our contractor calls.  The inspector showed up and photographed the pole.  He made it clear that he thought we had no case.  "That pole was installed in '89, you know."  Wonderful. 

Then Thomas calls to say that he is at the house already and has inspected the pole and pipe location. I appeal to Thomas to wait that I would prefer to speak to him in person.  I know my nature in person is more convincing than on the phone.  My tone is adult, my physique less so...like Meg Ryan in French Kiss, her walk described as that of a woman and also a little girl.  Me.

I arrive and shake hands, smile, thank him for waiting.
"Would you mind if we talk in the shade?"  Uh oh...another one.  CRAP!  We talk and he mentions the age of the pole.
"I understand, Thomas.  But is it not possible for damage to be done?  Even a little bit of damage that might, in fact, "compromise' the pipe."
"Well, anything is possible."
Do I have this man in my corner?  Will he help me?  God help me!!!!  And then...Thomas asks about my area code.
"Chicago." I say...please, please please let this mean something.
"Oh.  I'm from Michigan, originally."
"Really.  What part?" I wait...hoping it's somewhere, anywhere close to Traverse City.
"I little town outside of Traverse City."
YES!
"Do you happen to know Old Misson..." 

Turns out, Thomas' parent live in a little town I always drive through on my way to Neah-ta-wanta (a place my family vacations).  I mention some landmarks along Front Street including a new store friends opened featuring M-22, one of the most beautiful roads along Lake Michigan.  Thomas had a long conversation with his parents trying to determine what it meant.  I explained and encouraged him to stop in the store to say 'hi' to my friends.

"Well Hubbell", he said, "Here is what I'm going to do.  I'm going to move that pole and I'm going to fix your pipe."
OMG.  OMG.  OMG!?!?!?!
He had to say it a few more times as I peppered him with "what if" questions.  We shook hands and I smiled.  A genuine smile that exuded gratitude and awe.
"Oh!  The inspector."  I started to explain.
"What's his name?  I'll shoot him a call and tell him we're taking care of it."

So here we are.  It has been exactly one month since Thomas came out.  The location for the new pole has been marked and ground should break this coming week.  The inspector has requested to be present to take photographs and Thomas will oblige.  So we wait...and when they pull up, we'll shake hands, look them in the eye and smile.

That's a whole lotta....

 What do a large truck, an elephant, a baleen whale, three walrus, and ten horses have in common?

They all weigh approximately six tons.  How does this relate to home improvement?  Well...over the last nine days Jeff, Roger and I have removed six tons of plaster, lath and other debris from our home.

That means we lifted six tons, dragged six tons, threw six tons, hauled six tons or loaded six tons into our PURPLE dumpster.

I can tell you that our home looks bare and almost naked without the plaster lath overalls.  But like a newborn babe this house is going to be wrapped in new, new, new.

Now the headache of prioritizing comes into play.  Our to-do list seems epic so maybe you'd like a glimpse...
 
1.  New wiring/electric throughout the house  (we've hired someone since we don't want anymore "excitement" in our lives)

2.  Insulation of the exterior walls, ceilings and any interior wall needing an extra sound barrier (We are doing this...imagine yourself on a ladder, 9 feet in the air, on a hot July day with fists full of itchy installation.  Volunteers??????  Didn't think so.)

3.  Drywall (My boss' husband and his crew are swooping in to save the day!)

Not to mention:  In the bathroom... -Flooring (sheet rock or another durable and water resistant membrane
-Floor tile
-Frame out wall for shower
-Installation of the tub
-Drywall with water-resistant membrane
-Strip and paint cabinet

-Replace or refurbish cabinet hardware
-Strip and paint built-in medicine cabinet
-Tile wall
-Paint walls (color...I hope)
-Install light fixtures
-Replace vent cover

There's also...

-Purchase and install a new hot water heater
-Sand floors
-Stain floors
-Polyurethane floors
-PAINT INTERIOR OF THE WHOLE  *&#$%#(#)  HOUSE!

And much much more.  Oh!  Did I mention that I accidentally broke a window that will need to be replaced?  WHA!?!?!?!?!  This has been, what many may call, an education.  MAMP!  The flip-side:

-I'm sleeping like a baby.
-My biceps and triceps look HOT!
-I'm coming home cleaner than I have in the past few days since the ceilings came down.
-A day off seems deserved.
-And finally, I am humbled.

The Wall...

This title is both figurative and literal.

Marathon runners will often refer to "the wall".  This is the moment when the runner questions his/her ability to continue or the ultimate fatigue during a race sets in.

I consider this renovation a marathon of sorts; complete with the aforementioned "wall" .  Like a runner, I have moments of euphoria.  As I tear the place apart I feel a sense of "I can do this, I am doing this".  Surely those competitive runners have moments of despair.  Maybe the onset of a blister or a nagging ache that won't quite quit.   I too have those emotions when I find yet another repair that is required.  And, of course, there is the onset of fatigue.  This house is no newborn baby or the 24th mile of the 26.2 mile race but it is mentally and physically tiresome.  So last night I experienced what I would like to deem the "home-renovator's-wall".  I hit that thing like a highway bug on the windshield.  SPLAT!!!!  The figurative title is now in play.  Now, it may very well have been the mounting realization that there is still so much to do.  It may also have been the lack of notable progress.  It's easy to see accomplishment when you open walls and see one another across the 1400 square feet house.  But when you're  stuck in the same 6x6 foot hallway and turn around on yourself again and again like a clumsy ice skater...that, my friend, is not progress.  That spells B-R-E-A-K-D-O-W-N.  I tend to have these moments occasionally.  Jeff says I don't do well in "limbo".  This is not limbo in my opinion.  This is an abyss between start and semi-homemade. 

Remember how I said home renovation can be tiresome?  I don't feel tired...I feel utter exhaustion.  During the day I work as a sign language interpreter at a high school.  Summer school is now in session so my hours are part time.  I rise at 6:30 a.m., out the door by 7:10 and in class by 8...work, work, work and head for the house. It's important to clarify that interpreting is a physical job.  Moving your hands and arms around requires a level of exertion...not to mention the same muscles and joints required in home renovations.  So, like I said, I finish up at school and drive straight for the house.  I get there around 1pm and work until 7 or 8 at night.  If you did the math this amounts to roughly 12 hour days.  I am, by no means, complaining.  This analysis is pertinent when we explore the literal mean for "the wall".  Fatigue has a way of affecting your judgment.  That judgement can be anything from over-exerting yourself or, like me, pinching my index finger between "the wall" and the sledgehammer.  The literal interpretation of this wall is what sent me over the edge today.  I hit the wall literally and figuratively.

Jeff knows my temper.  Bless this man for marrying me...but my father-in-law hasn't seen the wrath that will erupt when I have done something stupid.  My true colors came out.  No expletives, no crying, no screams or wailing...it was a silent, white hot temper that festered as I walked out to the front porch to access my injury.  Like a wounded animal I like to be left alone.  I don't want to be coddled or consoled...I want to berate myself for the stupid move and fester.  Jeff knows to just leave me alone and let me be.  Roger, my father-in-law, didn't know of this.  I didn't snap or yell at him but merely shrugged it off and went back into the house. It was only then that he saw the rage as I kicked the sledge into the air and across the hallway smack into the "wall".  I didn't care that this hurt my foot...this damn inanimate object was partially to blame.

What have I learned from this moment.  At times I'm like a splattered bug, a clumsy skater, or an animal.  More importantly I've learned that you can hit a wall but it is also there to lean on.  A wall can also be something to hold you up.  It carries the weight to the foundation.  Instead of hitting the wall I need to remember sometimes I need to know when enough is enough, pack it in and head home.  It also help to have a cold beer in the fridge...works wonders on all accounts.

I'd love to post the second installment of the sewer-line fiasco but we are going to hold off until more has transpired.  Instead we have decided to load a photo archive of all the shenanigans we have be up to.  Hold on to your hats folks...this is gonna be a bumpy ride.

Remember the nasty carpet and faux wood paneling? 






GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But now we have crumbing plaster lath, circa 1911 and some questionable wall paper.  So naturally our next step is to tear that sh*t apart.

Hi Karyn.  I see you!

Our amazing friends Karyn and Michael show up to give us a hand.            

Trash.  We hate dumping this in a landfill so we decided to keep it out of plastic bags so that it would break down over time.

It ain't my problem. Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 1

When your toilet doesn't work and your sewer-line isn't passable, you have what one might call, "A problem".  So Mr. Rooter came out a couple nights ago to clear our line and make this blockage a thing of the past.  Eddie, our trusty "cleaner-outer", worked diligently but to no avail.  I was busy keeping company with Mark's wife when I looked out the window to see Eddie shaking his head while speaking to Jeff about the line.  His body language and gestures saying, "You've got a problem."  We know, we were told and that is why we called.  But this is no ordinary problem.  This is a unique problem. I feel like a parent might when their kid is labeled "special".  You know the label...the kid has something to work on, nothing permanent but requiring immediate attention and maybe expensive therapy.  Well, my kid and his problem are "SPECIAL".  Maybe you are asking yourself why...just like we did.

Eddie couldn't get through the guk, try as he might.  So he had to call in the big guns.  His boss. Oscar.  You see, there is this device that they can use to pinpoint the problem area and determine how deep the problem goes...literally. I was expecting to see a sophisticated, massive mechanical tool with all the bells and whistles.  Oscar pulls out a bright red "gun" that looks like something Disney would market a 6 year old for a film like The Incredibles.  There are no bells and certainly no whistles but it "sings" when you get close to the problematic area.  At this point the entire household is on the front lawn watching Oscar locate this "unique" and "special" problem.  Wait for it....

The Department of Water and Power installed a 65 foot electrical pole atop our 100 year old sewer line. 

What this means folks is that LA needs to fix our problem.  But we need to convince them that this is in fact their fault. 
As Oscar explains the logistics of our situation he throws around the term "compromised" like it was the word of the day. 
"When your pipe has been compromised..."
"It appears the pipe was possibly compromised..."
"If a pipe of this age is compromised..."

I quickly realize that this word is going to become my word.  My stone that will hopefully take down Goliath.  It is a precarious predicament when one needs to prove that an entire Department, run by a city, is responsible for an OLD pipe that is no longer working.  Hence the dilemma.  We have to prove that the city is responsible for the repairs that have been estimated around $6200.  That's not chump change, that's a sh*t load of dough.  As a result I was given explicit instructions to go directly to the Public Works building and contest this development, demand repairs to be done by city, and get it done asap so we can flush our toilet because our sewer pipe has been "compromised".

So that is what I did, the next afternoon I headed straight downtown from work.  I pulled a ticket to wait for a verdict that might change the trajectory of this entire adventure.  Unlike the DMV I was called within minutes of arrival but quickly told that it wasn't Public Works' responsibility to fix my pipe but the DWP.  So naturally that would be my next stop.  Memories of college registration and dealing with the Bursar came flooding back and instinct kicked in.  Gotta find who can fix this and hound them 'til they do.

DWP customer service was helpful.  Surprisingly so.  An "emergency" dispatch was called to head to the house and would arrive during a four hour window.  Awesome!  I was also asked to fill out the claim form and send it to the address listed along with any pertinent information to help the investigation.  THE INVESTIGATION?  Your pole is sitting on my pipe.  My pipe that is 100 years old.  Never mind the age, this stuff lasts a lifetime when you don't "compromise" the pipe.

I thank this woman and turn to leave.  Before leaving the building I noticing the claim form address is in this building.  I decide to fill it out and hand it over.  I want to flush my damn toilet.  Within minutes I had the entire security team helping me fill out this claim form.  All six of them put in their two cents.  Who to talk to, how to phrase my problem and then a chorus of "good luck".  I head upstairs to the 3rd floor and enter the legal office for the DWP.  My knees are shaking because I fear I will open my big mouth and say something, anything that might prevent us from getting this sewer pipe fixed. 

Now, I don't know what happened that evening with the red gun or the news that this would cost us $6200, but something happened.  It turns out I have a super power.  I can convince anyone to do anything and do it with a smile on their face.  I'm like a redheaded Christopher Reeves, a shorter version of Ironman.  Maybe the potential of sewage in my home is enough of an incentive but I have a gift and I am going to use it.  Proof, you ask?  I left the office with three things in hand.
1.  A direct contact of the person who will be handling my claim.
2.  A promise from the inspector that he would make immediate calls to get someone over to the house asap.
3.  And a restaurant suggestion for the best Mexican food in Highland Park.

I'm golden.  Not so fast Red, now the real fun begins....

Down under for the big dig...maybe we'll hit China.

I think it is safe to say these last few days have been "productive".  Our amazing contractor, Mark, completed the our problematic sewer-line.  We now have new ABS piping that has replaced all of the old bathroom cast-iron.  The previous owner did replace the clean-out and sewer piping that runs the length of the house down to the street...we will give them credit for this proactive choice.  Well done, previous owners.  As most of you have gathered we are not fond of the multitude of choices these people made or neglected to make over the years.  So the adventures continue.

Jeff, my darling husband, diggin' in for the long haul.  Also know as the poop-shoot, loo-line, sh*tter or  sewer-line.  He's my hero.




So from the looks of this picture, it's hard to get down in there.  Both Jeff and Mark spent the better part of two days in the bowels of our abode.

Mark told Jeff that he needed to demo the wall in our bathroom and clear out the old cast-iron pipes.  No sooner had Jeff heard these sweet, sweet words and he was off like a folly at the race track.

                                                  
And this was the intended damage done. Bu-bye.

This is one of the two clean-out locations on our property. A feature to ensure we have a functioning line.  Unfortunately, this line was still connected to the old system.  It took some digging but eventually the boys hollowed out around the culprit, tied off the old and married in the new.  

Crawl-space, aka: the gnome-hole.    

Supplies.  I have now befriended the local hardware store owner.  Jim and I became better acquainted during an emergency visit.  We needed a plunger; this puts us past the awkward stage.





The next phase to this project was to have a plumbing company come out and clear the line.  We were told by an inspector that the sewer-line closest to the street is clogged, common when an older house sits vacant for a period of time.  We have spoken to our neighbors who have had to do this periodically.  The events that unfolded warrant another blog post.  Coming soon!!!!!