A Strange Saturday

Dear family, friends and fearless readers,

I hope this gray, frozen, snowy day finds you well fed, warm and in good spirits.  As a spell of remarkable luck, the hot water in my shower came back this morning.  It wasn’t as hot as usual, but it was warm enough and I took advantage of the opportunity.  I’m sure Zhmerynka appreciates the hopefully permanent reprieve from my musk.

A week or so ago I wrote an entry entitled: “My Best Laid Plans.”  The post was a short bit about my future plans and intentions.  The literati among us will recognize the title.  This title comes from an old Scottish poem, the same poem from which Steinbeck took the name of his seminal work Of Mice and Men (not that I’m comparing my blog post to a book in the canon of American Literature).  The more astute among us will know how this line ends:  “the best-laid plans of mice and men / often go awry.”  And, to be honest, I’d be a naïve Peter if I had expected the plans to come to fruition as intended.  Luckily, I wasn’t disappointed when that first spanner was thrown into my gears.

After lengthy searches online, and considerations as to which train would best suit our timetable, I got frustrated not being able to find game time, and ticket prices for the Ukraine – Romania rugby game.  The only thing listed online was that the game would be held in Odessa.  So, after a final look online I called the Ukrainian Rugby Federation.  The girl on the other end of the line was surprisingly helpful (especially considering the fact that customer service doesn’t really exist here).  She told me the game would start at 2:00 pm.  Reasonable enough, I though.  She told me admission was free.  I was astonished, but in a good way.  Then, right before disconnecting the call I confirmed the venue:  “Very good, so 2:00 on Saturday, Spartak Stadium in Odessa?”  Response:  “No, no.  2:00 pm Saturday, Spartak Stadium, Kyiv.  Fortunately, my train tickets to Odessa had not yet been purchased.

Admittedly disappointed, I gathered my resolve for a trip to Kyiv.  Other than the rugby, I was less than enthused about going back to Kyiv.  As I’ve written elsewhere, and earlier, I like Kyiv about as much as I like New York City (read:  not at all).  I painted it in rosy colors when it was the only city in Ukraine I had been to, but in comparison to Odessa, or my favorite, Lviv – Kyiv leaves much to be desired . . . (if this weren’t a family atmosphere, I’d make a caustic and harsh statement right here!).

Saturday morning came and dressed warmly to brave the 10ºF temperatures.  The train left, and arrived and brought me to my requisite McDonald’s lunch.  Fully sated, takeaway McCoffee in my hands I headed down to the Metro and started my cross-town expedition:  Metro to Petrivka, followed by bus to Moskovsky.  Get off the bus at Frunze, and find the Hotel Spartak, the field is right next to the hotel.  Do all of this, while trying not to freeze, and if a grocery store or produkti (mini-mart), be sure to get refreshments for the game.

A bit of a miscommunication with the driver caused me to go about two miles out of the way.  I had asked him to shout when I needed to get off, but he determined that my knowledge of the city was sufficient enough that I did not need any special treatment.  Expert navigator that I am, I didn’t let this bother me.  I just trekked through the spitting snow towards the stadium.  I’m embarrassed to admit, but I was on the phone during this time, and I didn’t even think to take the tram.  The tram line was literally right next to me, and would have saved me at least 10 minutes.  But, we’ll just say that the walk was good exercise.

I arrived at the stadium about three minutes after the scheduled kick-off.  I was nervous I had missed the kick-off, so I was relieved when I saw that rugby games start with the same punctuality as everything else.  There was a smattering of people at Spartak Stadium.  I’d say at least a hundred.  After about 5 minutes with no news, no players on the field and no referee, I went to the grocery store across the street to get some snacks.  Prepared for an afternoon as a spectator it was back to the stadium for me.

No sooner had I sat down, than a young guy close to me said, in English (surprisingly) “the game’s been declined.”  I asked him if it would be later, or if it wouldn’t at all.  He said it wouldn’t happen at all and we shared a bit of disappointment.  He must have noticed the cold on my face because he followed this statement with:  “have some cognac with us; it is helping you to keep warm.”  Never one to disappoint I made my way over and introduced myself.  There were four of us total, myself, Dima (the guy who had invited me over), Alex/Sasha (another rugby player that lived for 6 months in Arizona, and speaks near fluent English, with a spot on English accent) and Sergey.  Poor Dima, the scrumhalf found himself surrounded by three front-rowers.  After some pleasantries, talking about how we’ve all played in worse weather, and there is no reason for the game’s cancellation we had finished the bottle of cognac.  Sufficiently warm, and satisfied that no one had lied, there would, indeed, be no game we decided to find some more cozy confines.  This took us to a small café/bar about a block away.

Two rounds and about an hour later I was invited to O’Brien’s, an Irish pub, in Kyiv.  They were planning on watching the Rugby 6 Nations matches of the afternoon, Italy – England, and Wales – Scotland.  I gladly accepted.  I was in Kyiv, after all, a small town boy in the big city.  And so, following a fruitless search for a bus to the center, we grabbed a cab down to O’Brien’s.  It was a longer distance than I had anticipated, and I saw a good deal of the city that I had not seen prior.  These areas were more residential, none of the imposing touristy buildings of downtown, the nitty-gritty of Kyiv.

O’Brien’s is generally a haven for expats.  It is a bit out of the price range for Peace Corps volunteers.  So it was a chance to treat myself.  But we spent the rest of the day and evening there.  The place was full of Americans, Scots and Welsh.  I’d imagine the other British Isles were represented as well, but I didn’t meet them.  Around halftime of the first game, someone came and sat down in the open seat next to me.  I didn’t recognize him, but introduced myself, with the usual “where’re you from?  What are you doing in Ukraine?”  It turns out the guy next to me was not only from the Boston-area, he was from Rhode Island.  A graduate of Bishop Hendricken High School, and had been teaching there when I was at school.  Absolutely wild, and completely unforeseeable, that’s the first time I’ve ever met someone from my high school abroad.  We’ll also have another product of the Irish Christians brothers coming to Ukraine this coming March.  The Hawks are well-presented in the Eastern Bloc, that’s the only conclusion I can draw from last weekend.

In terms of the rugby, I’m told there will be a game between Ukraine and Russia on March 12^th in Odessa.  I’m putting my faith in that, and hopefully my trip to a city by the sea won’t be foiled by another unexpected venue.

This is all I know for now.  One other thing, Friar Fans:  make sure Coleman is taken off the floor whenever something important is happening.  He made a crucial mistake against Pitt, and now cost us the DePaul game.  Awful, awful, awful.

Be good,

Pete  

The Banya – баня

Dear Friends:

As we volunteers always say:  Everybody’s Peace Corps experience is difference.  With that disclaimer out of the way, I’d be shocked if I heard of a volunteer that went a full two years in Ukraine without a trip to the sauna, or the banya.  The following is an account of my second trip to a banya in Ukraine, and my first time with Ukrainians.  The trip happened towards the end of November.  Actually, it was on November 18.  I remember the day quite clearly.

Following the birthday of my good friend Sergiy (Seriozha), I was invited to the banya in a village close to my town, Martynivka.  The invitation was extended by Seriozha’s father.  I gladly accepted.  This is the type of opportunity that does not come about everyday:  immersion into the trenches of traditional activities and pastimes, especially when one does not live with a host family.  When I am part of a large group, or at a big social event, there is usually someone with me that serves as a translator for me (not a hired translator, just friends that are far more proficient in English than I am in Ukrainian).  It is my own damn fault, but my Ukrainian proficiency certainly leaves a lot to be desired.  This fact definitely made the event more interesting, and perhaps more enjoyable, and definitely funnier.

The night started like most in November.  It was raw, windy and cold; already very dark at 5:30 in the evening.  I met up with Seriozha’s father, and we headed down to the village.  If I could use one word to describe driving (or more accurately being a passenger) in a Ukrainian car, I’m not sure scary would precisely describe the level of the emotion.  But, as per usual, we made it there unscathed, and I was only a little bit frazzled by the arduous (15 minute) journey.

I should give an explanation of the banya.  They banya is an ancient Slavic tradition.  If you read any travel guide for Russia or Ukraine, you should demand a refund if it doesn’t include a section, or at least a blurb on the banya.  The time-honored tradition hearkens back to the days of public bathing, and baths being uncommon at home.  The banya is a group ritual.  If it’s going to be done properly, one needs at least one partner.  The process goes: shower, steam, jump in cold water, rest, repeat.  During this process it’s expected that you will have your body beaten by birch branches, and likewise you will beat your partners with birch branches.  The birch branch beating is not meant to improve your toughness, but actually to improve the body’s circulation.  While reading about the banya ritual and history, I found the following passage from St. Andrew in The Tale of Bygone Years, this passage being about 900 years old:  “Wondrous to relate.  I saw the land of the Slavs, and while I was among them, I noticed their wooden bathhouses. They warm them to extreme heat, then undress, and after anointing themselves with tallow, they take young reeds and lash their bodies. They actually lash themselves so violently that they barely escape alive. Then they drench themselves with cold water, and thus are revived. They think nothing of doing this every day, and actually inflict such voluntary torture on themselves. They make of the act not a mere washing but a veritable torment.”  A bit extreme, to be sure, but it is not all that far off.  I found the jump into cold water barbarous beyond words.

So, after the banya explanation, I’ll tell about my time in the banya.  My first banya experience started on the right foot.  (In honesty, it never got off the right foot, but it started on the right foot, too.)  When I entered I was introduced to the manager.  I was introduced as Zhermynka’s American English Teacher.  And, if I remember correctly, I was/am the first American the manager had ever met.  It’s always heartening to receive a warm welcome from an older person.  This is especially true knowing the person grew up during the days of the Cold War, learning that I am from the other Evil Empire.  We shared a beer while we waited for the rest of the Thursday night banya crew to arrive.  The banya is opened every Thursday night specifically for the employees of the factory that used to be open in Martynivka.  It was a vodka factory.  

The banya procedure is one that is generally done (when in single-gender groups) in the nude.  That means we prudish New Englanders would have to leave our comfort zones, and immerse ourselves without concern for modesty.  As one never overcome with too much modesty, this was not much of a problem for me.  So, after disrobing, folding my clothes, and slowly shutting the locker (read: delaying) I entered the formidable chamber.

The first step, once you’ve entered the banya is a shower.  In the company of new friends, I showered, and I had my back washed for the first time since I was a child being bathed by my mother (. . . memories!).  After washing up, and clearing my pores I entered the steam room.  If you are doing the steam room right, you stay in for a full five minutes, or at least as long as you can.  The bolder among us even dump more water over the coals to make the air even thicker, and for those not given the pulmonary strength of your humble narrator:  harder to breathe.  I’d be lying if I told you, dear readers, that I was fully comfortable, and stayed in for the total five minute period on my first entrance.  Even more embarrassing than my early exit of the steam room, was how quickly I left the cold pool after jumping in.  It was so cold; I was out about as soon as I touched the surface.

As I mentioned above, the steps are repeated as long as one deems necessary.  I have read that the showers that start off each round should be taken at different temperatures.  That was one of thing I neglected.  I also omitted the jump into the freezing pool after the steam room on the next rounds.  After the first round, for me, it went: shower, steam room, hang out, repeat.  If there is one thing I’m slightly disappointed with, it is the fact that there were no birch branches, or branches of any kind in the banya.  That is something I would still like to try, and there will be plenty of time in the future, and plenty more Thursdays, to try to ingratiate myself.  But, it is important to recognize the benefits received.  And, following the second to last round I was on the receiving end of a sweet massage.  Very thorough, and very relaxing, it let the steamy air really seep into my muscles and joints and I felt tremendous when it came time to put my clothes back on and get on with it.

And get on with it, we did!  By get on with it, I do not mean we left.  After steaming, freezing, lukewarming, and repeating it was time for the true test of endurance:  the meal.  In large groups I am frequently told I do not eat enough, I suppose this was no exception.  Following my second plate, I wasn’t able to cram any other solid foods into my stomach.  The table was full of delicious, though.  There were grilled rotisserie chickens, pickles, various salads, bread, pickled tomatoes, sausage, salo (bacon minus the meat; yes, that does mean pure pig fat), pork.  I am sure I am forgetting things, as well, but I can say that there was barely room to place a cup down on the table, so it’s a lucky thing that shot glasses are so small.  Toasts, as usual, accompanied the meal.  In passing, recently, I have heard my strong stomach mentioned in conversations I am not a part of.  This topic of discussion comes from my performance at this table, specifically.  I was able to hold my own, and the total physical relaxation that had permeated my body, was met with an equally powerful ally in the form of that sharp potato juice.  But, this revelry, I must say, was performed in a controlled, and responsible manner; truly being used as the oil of conversation.

The topics of conversation were the usual topics that are broached when I meet people for the first time.  Where my wife and kids happen to be is always first.  After finding out that such a seasoned veteran, like myself, is still single I was advised that I can always find a good girl in Ukraine.  And now, another important topic was brought up with much gravity.  Which country has better, more beautiful girls?  Ukraine or America?  Always the diplomat I gave a relatively stock answer about how beautiful Ukrainian women are, and how there are many beautiful American women, too.  I even dispelled the myth that American women only eat McDonald’s.  While dispelling that myth, I did admit my affinity for the golden arches.  The topics were fast and furious, and I’d say my understanding was probably between 40 – 60 %.  So, it is possible that I’m recounting a whole group of questions and answers that never happened.  On a lighter note, and perhaps what I should leave you with:  As I’ve mentioned before, my language skills are not stellar.  This usually iblem, as I can do everything I do on an everyday basis with the words I know.  I can have my general conversations without problem.  But, at the table, I was a bit over my head.  At one point, there is a chance I agreed to be the godfather of one of the men’s daughter.  I haven’t heard anything else in this regard, but it is, possible.  I may just have said that I will be a Christian, though.  The words are very close.

I’m looking forward to my next visit.  It was a blast, and I’d like to do it again.  I’ll make sure to find the birch branches, as well.  For now, though, that’s all I know.

Be good, and be well.

Pete

The Banya – баня

Dear Friends:

As we volunteers always say:  Everybody’s Peace Corps experience is difference.  With that disclaimer out of the way, I’d be shocked if I heard of a volunteer that went a full two years in Ukraine without a trip to the sauna, or the banya.  The following is an account of my second trip to a banya in Ukraine, and my first time with Ukrainians.  The trip happened towards the end of November.  Actually, it was on November 18.  I remember the day quite clearly.

            Following the birthday of my good friend Sergiy (Seriozha), I was invited to the banya in a village close to my town, Martynivka.  The invitation was extended by Seriozha’s father.  I gladly accepted.  This is the type of opportunity that does not come about everyday:  immersion into the trenches of traditional activities and pastimes, especially when one does not live with a host family.  When I am part of a large group, or at a big social event, there is usually someone with me that serves as a translator for me (not a hired translator, just friends that are far more proficient in English than I am in Ukrainian).  It is my own damn fault, but my Ukrainian proficiency certainly leaves a lot to be desired.  This fact definitely made the event more interesting, and perhaps more enjoyable, and definitely funnier.

            The night started like most in November.  It was raw, windy and cold; already very dark at 5:30 in the evening.  I met up with Seriozha’s father, and we headed down to the village.  If I could use one word to describe driving (or more accurately being a passenger) in a Ukrainian car, I’m not sure scary would precisely describe the level of the emotion.  But, as per usual, we made it there unscathed, and I was only a little bit frazzled by the arduous (15 minute) journey.

            I should give an explanation of the banya.  They banya is an ancient Slavic tradition.  If you read any travel guide for Russia or Ukraine, you should demand a refund if it doesn’t include a section, or at least a blurb on the banya.  The time-honored tradition hearkens back to the days of public bathing, and baths being uncommon at home.  The banya is a group ritual.  If it’s going to be done properly, one needs at least one partner.  The process goes: shower, steam, jump in cold water, rest, repeat.  During this process it’s expected that you will have your body beaten by birch branches, and likewise you will beat your partners with birch branches.  The birch branch beating is not meant to improve your toughness, but actually to improve the body’s circulation.  While reading about the banya ritual and history, I found the following passage from St. Andrew in The Tale of Bygone Years, this passage being about 900 years old:  “Wondrous to relate.  I saw the land of the Slavs, and while I was among them, I noticed their wooden bathhouses. They warm them to extreme heat, then undress, and after anointing themselves with tallow, they take young reeds and lash their bodies. They actually lash themselves so violently that they barely escape alive. Then they drench themselves with cold water, and thus are revived. They think nothing of doing this every day, and actually inflict such voluntary torture on themselves. They make of the act not a mere washing but a veritable torment.”  A bit extreme, to be sure, but it is not all that far off.  I found the jump into cold water barbarous beyond words.

            So, after the banya explanation, I’ll tell about my time in the banya.  My first banya experience started on the right foot.  (In honesty, it never got off the right foot, but it started on the right foot, too.)  When I entered I was introduced to the manager.  I was introduced as Zhermynka’s American English Teacher.  And, if I remember correctly, I was/am the first American the manager had ever met.  It’s always heartening to receive a warm welcome from an older person.  This is especially true knowing the person grew up during the days of the Cold War, learning that I am from the other Evil Empire.  We shared a beer while we waited for the rest of the Thursday night banya crew to arrive.  The banya is opened every Thursday night specifically for the employees of the factory that used to be open in Martynivka.  It was a vodka factory. 

            The banya procedure is one that is generally done (when in single-gender groups) in the nude.  That means we prudish New Englanders would have to leave our comfort zones, and immerse ourselves without concern for modesty.  As one never overcome with too much modesty, this was not much of a problem for me.  So, after disrobing, folding my clothes, and slowly shutting the locker (read: delaying) I entered the formidable chamber.

            The first step, once you’ve entered the banya is a shower.  In the company of new friends, I showered, and I had my back washed for the first time since I was a child being bathed by my mother (. . . memories!).  After washing up, and clearing my pores I entered the steam room.  If you are doing the steam room right, you stay in for a full five minutes, or at least as long as you can.  The bolder among us even dump more water over the coals to make the air even thicker, and for those not given the pulmonary strength of your humble narrator:  harder to breathe.  I’d be lying if I told you, dear readers, that I was fully comfortable, and stayed in for the total five minute period on my first entrance.  Even more embarrassing than my early exit of the steam room, was how quickly I left the cold pool after jumping in.  It was so cold; I was out about as soon as I touched the surface.

            As I mentioned above, the steps are repeated as long as one deems necessary.  I have read that the showers that start off each round should be taken at different temperatures.  That was one of thing I neglected.  I also omitted the jump into the freezing pool after the steam room on the next rounds.  After the first round, for me, it went: shower, steam room, hang out, repeat.  If there is one thing I’m slightly disappointed with, it is the fact that there were no birch branches, or branches of any kind in the banya.  That is something I would still like to try, and there will be plenty of time in the future, and plenty more Thursdays, to try to ingratiate myself.  But, it is important to recognize the benefits received.  And, following the second to last round I was on the receiving end of a sweet massage.  Very thorough, and very relaxing, it let the steamy air really seep into my muscles and joints and I felt tremendous when it came time to put my clothes back on and get on with it.

            And get on with it, we did!  By get on with it, I do not mean we left.  After steaming, freezing, lukewarming, and repeating it was time for the true test of endurance:  the meal.  In large groups I am frequently told I do not eat enough, I suppose this was no exception.  Following my second plate, I wasn’t able to cram any other solid foods into my stomach.  The table was full of delicious, though.  There were grilled rotisserie chickens, pickles, various salads, bread, pickled tomatoes, sausage, salo (bacon minus the meat; yes, that does mean pure pig fat), pork.  I am sure I am forgetting things, as well, but I can say that there was barely room to place a cup down on the table, so it’s a lucky thing that shot glasses are so small.  Toasts, as usual, accompanied the meal.  In passing, recently, I have heard my strong stomach mentioned in conversations I am not a part of.  This topic of discussion comes from my performance at this table, specifically.  I was able to hold my own, and the total physical relaxation that had permeated my body, was met with an equally powerful ally in the form of that sharp potato juice.  But, this revelry, I must say, was performed in a controlled, and responsible manner; truly being used as the oil of conversation.

            The topics of conversation were the usual topics that are broached when I meet people for the first time.  Where my wife and kids happen to be is always first.  After finding out that such a seasoned veteran, like myself, is still single I was advised that I can always find a good girl in Ukraine.  And now, another important topic was brought up with much gravity.  Which country has better, more beautiful girls?  Ukraine or America?  Always the diplomat I gave a relatively stock answer about how beautiful Ukrainian women are, and how there are many beautiful American women, too.  I even dispelled the myth that American women only eat McDonald’s.  While dispelling that myth, I did admit my affinity for the golden arches.  The topics were fast and furious, and I’d say my understanding was probably between 40 – 60 %.  So, it is possible that I’m recounting a whole group of questions and answers that never happened.  On a lighter note, and perhaps what I should leave you with:  As I’ve mentioned before, my language skills are not stellar.  This usually isn’t a problem, as I can do everything I do on an everyday basis with the words I know.  I can have my general conversations without problem.  But, at the table, I was a bit over my head.  At one point, there is a chance I agreed to be the godfather of one of the men’s daughter.  I haven’t heard anything else in this regard, but it is, possible.  I may just have said that I will be a Christian, though.  The words are very close.

            I’m looking forward to my next visit.  It was a blast, and I’d like to do it again.  I’ll make sure to find the birch branches, as well.  For now, though, that’s all I know.

Be good, and be well.

Pete

My Best Laid Plans

Dear Friends:

I’m well aware of the statement about the best laid plans of mice and men, but planning little outings for the near future is a nice way to add a momentary respite of escape to every day.  That’s what the following is: a brief syllabus of the little trips I have planned for the near future.  This will not take us too far, simply to the middle of May, and perhaps it is not even an exhaustive syllabus, but a recount of what currently lies on my agenda.

In the States, I’m often surprised when a tourist from abroad tells me about all the great places they have visited.  It is not rare that they have gone to, and seen more places and landmarks than myself, a lifelong resident.  I’ve noticed that this is similar in Ukraine, at least among Peace Corps Volunteers currently living here.  I suppose it’s typical that a tourist, traveler, or transient tries to maximize its time abroad.  I’m certainly hoping to do so.  I am sometimes a bit surprised that in the time I have been in Ukraine (15 and a half months), I have been to a number of places that my friends in town have not been able to visit.  I suppose not having a family here makes that easier, also.

As I mentioned, the near future will find me making some new trips to “exotic” local locales.  First, this coming weekend I will make my second visit to seaside city of Odessa.  We’ll (I know for sure my sitemate, Lindsey, and our friends Yana and Seriozha, and perhaps more) will take an overnight train from Zhmerynka on Friday night, and spend Saturday, and maybe Sunday in the city.  My main motivation for the journey is a rugby game.  The national teams of Ukraine and Romania will be playing.  I’m really looking forward to seeing the game.  Any Michigan fans out there will be happy to hear me say:  Go (sky) Blue (and yellow)!

But, while in Odessa, I’m going to take advantage of my proximity to the water, and spend some time walking near the Black Sea’s shores.  I really enjoy (and miss) being near the water constantly, and it’ll be good for the soul to be by the beach.  Hopefully I’ll even get to eat some Georgian food.  But, I’m not ruling out stopping by a Mexican restaurant.  Ethnic food is something that it is important to take advantage of when the opportunity arises.

In about a month and a half, on March 25^th, I’ll take my second trip.  This will channel the alpine adventurer in me.  I’ll be climbing (read: hiking) the highest mountain in Ukraine, Hoverla.  Hoverla is not very high.  It is only 6,762 feet, but it should be an enjoyable climb.  The climb is part of an organized event, being hosted by the partner-organization of a Peace Corps Volunteer.  There will be a large number of both Americans and Ukrainians making the trek.  We will even be having a picnic at the top.  I have rarely met a picnic (or any meal) that I didn’t like.  I have wanted to climb Hoverla for awhile, now.  I’m glad that I have found a way to do it in a large group; the more the merrier, eh?  Here’s hoping for a mild end of March, so I don’t freeze my toes off on the hike up.

Finally, and a bit further afoot, is a trip to a site with UNESCO World Heritage Site aspirations:  Kamyanets-Podilsky.  Kamyanets-Podilsky is a castle complex in relative proximity to where I currently live.  The castle complex is over 600 years old.  It has a history of repelling attacks from Tatars, Cossacks, and Ottomans.  There is another castle complex close by, called Khotyn.  We will be seeing Khotyn, as well.  While I know Kamyanets-Podilsky is home to a magnificent castle, I know Khotyn is home to a castle, but I must plead ignorance to the magnificence, but I have heard good things about it.  Our tentative dates are May 14^th and 15^th.  We’ll be camping out, as well.  Hopefully, this is indicative of an opportunity to shashlyk (our version of bar-be-que).  If tomatoes are in season by then, I might just be the happiest person in the world, at least for a weekend.  After a long, gray (and relatively mild) winter, I’m eager to get outside, and am looking forward to these trips.  Maybe, just maybe, I’ll even get good weather, too.  A boy can dream.

Hope things are well with all of you.

Be good,

Pete.