despedidas

Being back home in Orlando, looking back on my eight months away, I can definitely say my time in Uruguay flew by. Looking through and organizing my pictures for this post was a real pleasure, since it took me back to my last couple weeks in Montevideo, including the CeRP in Atlantida, the Alianza, and my elementary school in Montevideo. Being back home is nice, but in many ways it was only once I returned home that I truly began to appreciate the opportunities and experiences I had in Uruguay.

In all honesty, I couldn’t be happier with the way my time in Uruguay ended. A couple weeks before my departure, I ran the Montevideo Nike 10K through downtown and along the beautiful shore with about 7500 other runners. Here we all are in our blue shirts, waiting at the start on the rambla (I borrowed this picture from Nike's website on the event):



Patricia and Magdalena, who actually run our Fulbright program in Montevideo, invited the teaching assistants to a great retreat in Minas, a state in eastern Uruguay. The site, called Salto Penitente, had all sorts of great activities including horseback riding, hiking, and a zip-line that ran about 200 feet above a ravine. They even served wild boar for lunch, which was great! Although you can't see it, in this picture we are standing in front of a beautiful little waterfall that feeds into a small pool where we enjoyed a swim:



My students at the private institution, the Alianza, invited me out for pizza after our final class. Here we are in our classroom, which was made to imitate an American Airlines office:



The students at the institution for future teachers in Atlantida threw a picnic with chop suey for me, James, and Liz, the other two Fulbrighters teaching there. Here we all are gathered outside on what was really a beautiful day:



And then there was the cherry on top of it all: my elementary school students in Montevideo really know how to throw a farewell celebration! On my last day at the school, I arrived to the sound of a large group of students running through the hallways chanting (loosely based on the rhythm of a frenetic soccer chant), “No se va, Dustin! No se va!” (“Don’t leave, Dustin, don’t leave!”).







Then, when one of my coworkers invited me into her classroom, the students were not only yelling their chant, but also lifting tables and chairs and pounding them into the ground in unison with the chant’s rhythm. It felt like I had just walked into the middle of a huge soccer game.



That display of affection ended when the teachers yelled at the students, but I was equally impressed by another display the students put together for me: they literally covered the chalkboards in chalk proclaiming farewells, thank you’s, and lots of drawings loosely related to our classroom activities.



Then they really impressed me when they put on two short plays about me leaving. One play was about how the main characters, which included a duck and an elephant, were sad I was leaving. Their solution was that they would accompany me to the airport.



It is truly a gift to be able to return home with all these wonderful memories. But they are only the icing on what was a truly amazing eight months.

Although my posts on this blog will most likely become less frequent now that I’m back home, I am planning to post occasional updates, especially so that my Uruguayan students can have an idea of what life in the United States is throwing at me. So while I hope that you all continue to visit my blog, my deeper hope is that you will not hesitate to keep in touch with me via email: dustin.saldarriaga@gmail.com. Thanks for visiting! I’m wishing you all the best!

beach bums

If Uruguayans had a Top Ten list of things to do while in Uruguay, taking a trip along the coast would almost be at the top, falling second only to "Drinking mate." I think locals began recommending that I visit the coast on my first day here back in March.

And it's not only the Uruguayans making the recommendation, either. It seems like every time I go to Buenos Aires I run into a Porteño who asks if I've been to Punta del Este. Hordes of Argentines flood Uruguay's beaches every summer, but they aren't alone. Even in Rio de Janeiro the locals asked me if I had been to Uruguay's beach resorts. They apparently had been there--Uruguayans tell me they can immediately spot who the Brazilians on the beach are, since the men are always wearing Speedos (or "sungas").

Since we experienced an especially long and harsh winter this year, people understood when I explained that I unfortunately hadn't been to the beaches, but I would go there before leaving. That excuse was acceptable in July. Now, spring is here, the weather is heating up, and people are heading to the beach. So when my roommate, Carolina, popped into my room and asked if I would like to take a road trip along the coast with her and a few of her relatives, I didn't have to think long before answering.

On this map you can trace our trip: on Friday we left from Montevideo and Las Piedras (where Carolina's family lives), and had lunch in Punta del Este. The next red dot to the right of Punta del Este is La Paloma, where we rented a bungalow and slept both Friday and Saturday nights. The dot farthest to the right was our final destination, Cabo Polonio, where we spent most of Saturday. On Sunday we drove back to Montevideo.



From this image of Uruguay and Buenos Aires, you can understand why people from Montevideo and Buenos Aires go to the beaches along Uruguay's coast. As you can see, the water near both Buenos Aires and Montevideo is brown freshwater, flowing into the Atlantic from the Rio de la Plata. Just past Montevideo, the muddy freshwater becomes clear as the salt water from the Atlantic mixes with it. Thus, by the time we arrived at Cabo Polonio (our final destination, which is the easternmost red dot on the image), the water was blue, crisp, and clear.



Carolina and I were joined by Carolina's cousin (Elisa), Elisa's son (Nacho), and a 16-year old exchange student from Germany who lives with Elisa and Nacho (Manuel). Here we all are eating lunch en route, in Punta del Este (from left to right is Elisa, Carolina, Nacho, and Manuel):



Departing from Montevideo, Punta del Este was our first stop. This beautiful city that slightly resembled a mix of Miami and Chile's Viña del Mar seemed to be entirely based around tourism--enourmous, glamorous hotels abound, as do nice restaurants and fancy cars. Interestingly, most Uruguayans I've talked to about Punta del Este claim it is owned by wealthy Argentines who have invested in these ritzy sites. Carolina and Elisa echoed these opinions and explained to me that Punta del Este is really for tourists, and doesn't reflect Uruguay or the Uruguayan way of life at all. It wasn't until later in the trip that I understood what they meant.

Several hours after leaving Punta del Este, we arrived at La Paloma, where we rented a bungalow and immediately headed out to the beach:



The feeling in La Paloma was completely different from Punta del Este. The town was much smaller, containing the local bakery and grocery store, and lots of modest but beautiful houses. Along the beach, fisherman rested and drank mate. Whereas in Punta del Este I felt as though I had been transported back to the United States, in La Paloma I felt like I was back in Uruguay. There were no enormous and gaudy hotels overlooking the sea, and scooters outnumbered sports cars.

Carolina, Elisa, Nacho, Manuel, and I had a good time resting and strolling along the beach in La Paloma:









As you can see from the pictures, Manuel and Nacho have become pretty good friends since Manuel arrived a few months ago. It was great getting to know these two; Manuel's ability to speak Spanish, English, German, and French was useful and entertaining, and I felt like Nacho was my little brother since we both share a passion for dangerous activities like motorcycle racing.

The next day, we hopped in the car and drove a few hours farther east, to Cabo Polonio. I had heard from many people that Cabo Polonio is a very unique place, and it definitely was. This beach town is not accessible by car--you must hire people with enormous 4x4 trucks to drive you through the sand dunes to get there. A couple pics from the ride:





Once I arrived in Cabo Polonio, I found myself in the middle of a community of colorful homes and a few shops selling groceries, food, and jewelry made of seashells. To me, Cabo Polonio felt like an entirely different world, and I find it difficult to explain exactly why. I felt unhurried, like time stood still. And it was inspiring to see a community that lived as if it existed outside time, as if all that mattered was family and the ocean.









Nacho found some dried "witch fish" being sold as decorations:



This boy was carefully painting a local store:



The magical feeling of Cabo Polonio was greatly enhanced by the presence of sea lions along its shores. I picked out a rock not far from them and sat for several hours reading and taking in the scenery.







One of the things that struck me most about Cabo Polonio was how the colors of the sea, the shore, and the houses contrasted. This effect was only amplified by a storm that arrived just as we were leaving.











Even with a sunburn, I arrived back to Montevideo refreshed and very impressed by the beautiful places I had visited. With only a week left, I'm very glad I was able to experience Uruguay's coast--I only wish I had more time to spend there!

applying to law school: an introspection

I've now completed all but two of my applications to law school. Essentially all of my application materials are finalized. Like many things in life, though, while you're busy completing something, you are blind to its mistakes. It's only after you've finished it that you begin to see the glaring flaws it has had all along.

Compared to other graduate programs, like medical school and PhD programs, applying to law school is pretty easy. There's no eight-hour MCAT, no required sample of your academic writing, no required work experience. You just have to graduate from college, take the three-hour standardized test (the LSAT), get a few recommendations from your professors, type up a resume, fill out some general information about yourself on applications, and write a personal statement on what you want the law schools to know about you. This last part, though, is driving me nuts.

I mean "nuts" in a good way and a bad way. A bad way because I am obsessing over it. I've written about ten drafts of my personal statement, and have had five very good writers edit it. Nonetheless, and even though I've already submitted it, I still know my statement can be improved, and how. After four months of writing it, though, (my statement is two pages, double-spaced, by the way), I've accepted that I just need to say "that's it" and submit it--flaws and all. Writing samples can always be improved--it's just a matter of saying "when."

I mean "nuts" in a good way because this little, two-page snapshot of my life is causing all kinds of criticisms, speculations, and general introspection into my experiences, goals, and motivations. It's because of this that I've decided sharing with all of you may just be the therapy I need. So someone start the timer. My therapy session begins...now.

If someone asked you to tell them the most important thing there is to know about you in two pages (double-spaced) what would you write?

I thought deciding what to write in my personal statement would be the easy part. I wrote outline after outline on working in microfinance in college and in Chile, traveling with nomads and living with Buddhist monks in Mongolia, teaching here in Uruguay, and even overcoming struggles within my family. I settled on a specific experience in Mongolia that initiated my interest in human rights work and poverty alleviation, and I began writing. I thought things were going really well--I had picked a topic that revealed my love of travel, my consciousness of international interdependency and cultural diversity, my questioning of my religious convictions, and even the reason I want to go to law school in the first place: human rights. Several people edited it, I edited it, then I sent it to law schools. Then I read it again.

I realized, for the first time, that what I had typed onto the pages was void of the essence of the experience--void of the passion that has initiated and guided my commitment to social work the last three years. The experience I had described--the experience that is so important and personal to me--had become a story that anyone could tell. It had become a cheap short story. Taking it from my memory and putting it into words had ruined it.

While preparing to write my statement, I had read personal statements of other people applying to law school, just to be aware of what styles and topics other people were using. I soon discovered that it is very, VERY hard to find a quality personal statement; most of them are absolutely horrible. Most applicants tried to link their life-changing experiences to a universal lesson using clumsy statements that were so vague they ultimately became meaningless: "I will fight for a better tomorrow;" "I will share my blessings with those who have nothing;" "I believe everyone deserves a chance." It was only after I looked back at my statement that I began to wonder whether these statements were so terrible because their authors were trying to put the unexplainable into words.

But are these experiences really so deeply held and personally significant as to be unexplainable? I wonder how "Casablanca," portraying a simple relationship between a man and a woman, has succeeded in captivating generations of audiences who never personally knew--and can probably hardly relate to--Humphrey and Ingrid. Anyone can tell a story about a man and a woman loving each other. What made "Casablanca" and its storytelling so special? What was the essence "Casablanca" captured, and how did it do so?

And there's also Vladimir Nabokov. Anyone interested in reading an author who can turn the mundane into the magical should read a few of Nabokov's short stories. A piano recital becomes the focus of the universe when a man in attendance sees a beautiful woman. The protagonist of another story captures the essence of living a full life while waiting at a bus stop for a woman who dumped him. So what does Nabokov do in his short stories that I can't in my personal statement?

Every once in a while, I do find a well-written and captivating personal statement. The characteristic that usually makes these statements stand out is that they portray the overcoming of an authentic and significant personal struggle. These people are not describing how in Mongolia they were moved by a starving person begging for food. They aren't talking about how their socioeconomically disadvantaged students are physically abused. They are writing about how THEY went hungry after their father abandoned his family. They are describing how THEY learned to find meaning in their lives after having been abused.

And again the introspection comes. I wonder if I have been nothing more than an observer all this time--observing children who live in the street in Mongolia; observing families in wooden shacks in Chile; observing students who are abused by their parents in Uruguay. Sure, I've tried to make a difference in the lives of these people. But one of the haunting questions that essentially all social workers must face is "what difference am I really making?" Or, in other words, "when do I move past being an observer, and become an influence?"

I would never have guessed a two-page paper could cause me so much turmoil. If that's the goal of law schools in assigning a personal statement, well, they have succeeded. It's just unfortunate that my personal statement probably didn't contain half the raw emotion I've included here. Don't get me wrong--I'm proud of my personal statement, and I consider it to be a great piece of writing. The problem is that I know it doesn't reveal the most important aspect of me...at all. That aspect will have to remain inside me, kept snugly in my memory, free from all the questioning and criticisms in the world...except my own.

giving more than they had, they lifted up the sun

Yesterday I went for a 10 kilometer run along the coast in preparation for the Nike 10K that will take place here on November 11th. In addition to finding some beautiful new beach spots where wind and kite surfers congregate, I had some time to let my thoughts wander. I found they wandered toward a topic that has been following me quite a bit lately: my responsibility to those who suffer due to factors outside their control. It seems that the songs I've been listening to, the articles I've read, and the movies I've watched over the past few weeks have all been trying to reinforce the idea of "helping those who can't help themselves."

These songs, articles, and movies picked an opportune time to start reinforcing--I've noticed that, since coming to Uruguay, I've let myself increasingly slip into dreaming about starting salaries, penthouses, and sports cars. Perhaps this happened because I've been thinking about law school so much lately, or perhaps becuase I'm missing those luxuries that are rare in Uruguay but all-too-common in the United States--I'm really not sure. The fact of the matter is that all my daydreaming about speedboats and fast cars has distracted me from the issues and ideas that not only make my heart beat faster, but also fill me with a feeling of purpose.

I put on my headphones the other day, and these were the words that quietly screamed in my ears:

"And though they were sad
They rescued everyone
They lifted up the sun
A spoonful weighs a ton

Giving more than they had
The process had begun
A million came from one
The limits now were none

Being drunk on their plan
They lifted up the sun"

And with these words I was reminded of a belief I hold that has, in recent months, been mitigated from a fundamental motivation to an occasional interest: the belief that we are not constrained by the limits of the past; that today we have resources to counter our world's most serious injustices that were never available before; that ending these injustices is possible; and that we, the most fortunate and able of our generation, are the ones who have the most responsibility to end them.

Several days after first listening to the lyrics above, I was sitting in front of my computer screen while eating a late-night salad. For reasons unknown, I decided to type "Harvard commencement address" into the Youtube search box, and I proceeded to listen to the speech Bill Gates gave to Harvard's Class of 2007 last June. I found its relevance to the song lyrics to be uncanny. In his speech, Gates said, "When you consider what those of us here have been given – in talent, privilege, and opportunity – there is almost no limit to what the world has a right to expect from us." The following several paragraphs are pieces of what preceded and followed in his speech:



"Humanity’s greatest advances are not in its discoveries – but in how those discoveries are applied to reduce inequity. Whether through democracy, strong public education, quality health care, or broad economic opportunity – reducing inequity is the highest human achievement.

If you believe that every life has equal value, it’s revolting to learn that some lives are seen as worth saving and others are not. I asked: 'How could the world let these children [dying of preventable diseases such as malaria] die?'

The answer is simple, and harsh. The market did not reward saving the lives of these children, and governments did not subsidize it. So the children died because their mothers and their fathers had no power in the market and no voice in the system.

But you and I have both.

We can make market forces work better for the poor if we can develop a more creative capitalism – if we can stretch the reach of market forces so that more people can make a profit, or at least make a living, serving people who are suffering from the worst inequities. We also can press governments around the world to spend taxpayer money in ways that better reflect the values of the people who pay the taxes.

If we can find approaches that meet the needs of the poor in ways that generate profits for business and votes for politicians, we will have found a sustainable way to reduce inequity in the world. This task is open-ended. It can never be finished. But a conscious effort to answer this challenge will change the world.

I talk to skeptics who claim there is no hope. They say: 'Inequity has been with us since the beginning, and will be with us until the end – because people just ... don’t ... care.' I completely disagree.

I believe we have more caring than we know what to do with.

All of us here, at one time or another, have seen human tragedies that broke our hearts, and yet we did nothing – not because we didn’t care, but because we didn’t know what to do. If we had known how to help, we would have acted.

The barrier to change is not too little caring; it is too much complexity.

To turn caring into action, we need to see a problem, see a solution, and see the impact. But complexity blocks all three steps.

I’m optimistic. Yes, inequity has been with us forever, but the new tools we have to cut through complexity have not been with us forever. They are new – they can help us make the most of our caring – and that’s why the future can be different from the past. The defining and ongoing innovations of this age – biotechnology, the computer, the Internet – give us a chance we’ve never had before to end extreme poverty and end death from preventable disease.

When you consider what those of us here have been given – in talent, privilege, and opportunity – there is almost no limit to what the world has a right to expect from us.

I hope you will come back here to Harvard 30 years from now and reflect on what you have done with your talent and your energy. I hope you will judge yourselves not on your professional accomplishments alone, but also on how well you have addressed the world’s deepest inequities ... on how well you treated people a world away who have nothing in common with you but their humanity."



After listening to the speech, I went to sleep reminded of the humanity we share with every individual in this world, and our responsibility to never overlook this common humanity, but to let it be the basis of our actions. But I didn't fall asleep feeling burdened by this responsibility; I was elated. I was filled with optimism by the prospect that we possess this burden because we are able to finally discard it. It is truly inspiring to think that during our lifetimes we may see the widespread alleviation of the worst problems that have plagued the world since its beginning and confounded even our most distant ancestors. It is even more inspiring to realize that this alleviation can happen because of you.

===================================



By the way, the song lyrics are from "A Spoonful Weighs a Ton," by The Flaming Lips.

I encourage you to visit Youtube and watch the speech Bill Gates gave in its entirety. It's divided into five parts and can be found at:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=AP5VIhbJwFs

Saldarriagas in the Southern Cone

I’m still alive! Life has been good lately—I’ve settled into a quiet routine that presents few surprises. It’s largely for this reason that I haven’t been updating my blog as much as I should. For that I apologize. To briefly summarize, I have been working two days a week at the institution for professors in Atlantida (where future teachers are trained), and two days a week at the public elementary school here in Montevideo. I recently led a couple classes at the institution that I especially enjoyed: one on differences between British and American English, and the other on Ebonics and its historical and social context. I learned a lot from preparing both classes. At the public school, I generally assist with activities in various classrooms and grade levels. These activities range from reading stories to playing hangman or vocab tic-tac-toe. I’ve also given a few presentations on life in the US of A, and my experiences living abroad. Since these presentations are often targeted at older students who aren’t taking English, I’ve become good at giving these presentations in Spanish.

By the way, the 1.5 hour trip out to Atlantida is still draining, but I am getting used to it. Plus, I’ve found it’s a great opportunity to catch up on reading “El Viejo y El Mar” (good practice!), watching episodes of Lost on my laptop (I finished all three seasons, so the addiction has resided until February), or listening to my new Flaming Lips CDs ("Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" is especially good).

In addition to working at the teachers’ institution and elementary school, I’ve begun leading conversation classes at a local private institution called La Alianza. This is a well-respected school that has a close relationship with the US embassy. I work there once a week, leading discussions on various topics from David Sedaris’ “Me Talk Pretty One Day” to what my students did the day before. This week I’m going to base the discussion around the theme of dissent; I plan to share some Neil Young and Rage Against the Machine lyrics, and also to look at parallels between society’s reactions to Vietnam and Iraq.

That reminds me to mention something that struck me before, but that I forgot to mention: I have been shocked by just how deeply Uruguayans (and, by extension, foreigners in general), were struck by 9/11 as it was happening. All my students—in both Salto and Montevideo—remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when the towers fell. Oftentimes I feel as if I’m talking to a fellow US citizen while I listen to the Uruguayans’ memories of the event.

To break up the little routine I’ve developed here in Montevideo, Tía Maria and my dad, Al, traveled all the way from Florida a couple weeks ago, just to say hi! And, of course, to take me around the Cono del Sur as their private tour guide. We spent two weeks together, having a great time traveling around Uruguay (Montevideo, Salto, and Colonia del Sacramento), Buenos Aires, and the waterfalls at Iguazu. One of the most effective ways to change one’s perspective on a place is to change roles from resident to tour guide. Taking my family around Uruguay and introducing them to my home for the past seven months was a ton of fun (and a bit surreal), but it also opened my eyes to many aspects of Uruguay that I hadn’t noticed before.

Our trip together began in Montevideo, where we visited my schools, the Fulbright office, and, of course, El Mercado del Puerto. What’s “The Port Market”? Well, it’s where you can find the best food in Montevideo, especially if you have cravings for seafood, chorizo (sausage), morcilla (blood sausage), riñones (kidneys), molleja (salivary glands), chinchulin (intestines), or just good old-fashioned beef (trust me, all this is more appetizing when it’s sitting on a plate in front of you, and you don’t know what is what). Needless to say, we ate a lot, and sampled Uruguay’s finest beers and the famous “Medio y Medio” (a sweet mix of champagne and white wine).

Following Montevideo, we took a bus north to Salto, the town that turned me from a gringo to an Uruguassshhhho (as Tía Maria pronounces it). Aldo, my good friend and Spanish teacher, took us on a tour of the city, then we visited the teachers’ institution where I worked. There, my family had a chance to chat with all thirty of my students. When I first arrived in Montevideo from Salto, I kept seeing the faces of my students in Salto at my new schools, so actually seeing my students in Salto was a wonderful (and, again, slightly surreal) experience! Also, in Salto I experienced what was definitely one of the highlights of the trip for me when I took my family to the public school where I worked. Olga, the headmistress, took us around the school, then the teachers welcomed us with a roasted chicken lunch—exactly the kind of delicious food I had become accustomed to at the school. After lunch, I visited each classroom to share my email address (the school recently got a connection to the Internet). Al and Maria got a chance to say “hello” as well. The children responded with big smiles, and by smothering us with hugs and kisses. It was a wonderful but very bittersweet experience…much sweeter than bitter, though.

From Salto, we boarded another bus for a tiring, nine-hour trip to Colonia del Sacramento. The well-preserved colonial town was beautiful, but rainy weather made it a bit difficult to appreciate it in all its glory. Nonetheless, it was great to take it easy and sit around some quiet coffee shops and restaurants. It was here in Colonia that I had an arugula salad, and my addiction for arugula was reignited (and soon receded once I realized I am allergic to it). A few shots of Colonia:







From Colonia, we took the ever-popular Buquebus, a high-velocity ferry, to Buenos Aires. As always, Buenos Aires was a pleasure to visit, in spite of the grumpy taxi drivers. My dad pointed out how much cleaner the city was than when we last visited two years ago. Much of the graffiti that had been painted on statues and buildings had been removed, for example. In addition to strolling around the city with the family, I have to list two additional experiences that were highlights, the first being a Boca Juniors soccer game.

While talking to the hotel concierge about good Italian restaurants, I noticed a poster advertising a soccer game between Boca Juniors (arguably Argentina’s best, most popular soccer team) and the São Paulo Futebol Club (arguably Brazil’s best soccer team). In spite of Al and Maria’s decision to go to what was expected to be an exquisite Italian restaurant, I decided to embrace a hamburguesa and chori-pan and head to the soccer game. It was a great decision. The energy at the game was incredible, with fireworks going off (set of by the crowd), constant chants, and incessant yelling. The fans seemed to be manic depressive, praising their players one moment and cursing them the next. In the end, Boca defeated Sao Paulo 3-2. Leaving the stadium thirty minutes after the game, I noticed the fan section of the stadium was still inside, banging drums and singing chants. Come to find out, the fan section is locked in the stadium until everyone else has exited—apparently the stadium’s managers found this effective to stop the post-game riots and fighting. Indeed, Boca Junior soccer games are known to be some of the most violent in Latin America.

I will sum up the second highlight in five words: LA CABAÑA DE LAS LILAS. Universally and unanimously recommended; best steak you will have in Argentina. It's in Puerto Madero.

Some images from our time in Buenos Aires:

Maria posing with one of the ancient trees:



Inside a cathedral:



Recoleta cemetery:



A church in Recoleta:



Caminito!:



Taking it easy in front of the Casa Rosada:



Returning to the waterfalls at Iguazu was also great. It’s funny to think that the last time I was there (last May), I asked myself if I would ever have the chance to see the Falls again. [Brief interjection here: I just looked at the man sitting at the table next to mine, and he is reading a newspaper, looking at a full-page image of the Falls. Coincidence?] Anyway, the Falls, as always, were gorgeous, and unable to be contained in a description or a photograph.

The moment my dad was almost eaten by rabid coatis:



Crossing borders at the Itaipu Dam:





An image of a turbine from the tour I wasn't able to do the first time I visited the Dam:



Al's first time in a helicopter:



Back at the cataratas!:













Al and Maria returned me to Montevideo refreshed and ready to finish my last couple months strong. It’s hard to believe time has passed so quickly. Until the next post, good night and best wishes!