Book Bouquets

I spent the afternoon with my sister and she taught me how to make book bouquets. All I need now is a glue gun and some plastic flowers. Heaven knows I have plenty of books! 

My Big Adventure Comes to an End...I'm Home

Steven picked me up at the station, and I was so happy to see him. He asked if I needed to stop anywhere. I told him I’d gladly commit murder for a decent cup of coffee. “No need to kill anyone, Bunny,” he said. “Tim Horton’s is right around the corner.” I told him all about my adventure, barely pausing for air, while he drove.

It’s a strange feeling, this conflict within. I’m so sad to leave Michael and Camille and wish they lived closer. But I’m also so glad to see Steven and the kids and to sleep in my own bed.

I let Michael know I got home safely. He congratulated me on my journey and quoted John Howard Payne: “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” So true. I can’t find a roll of paper towels and my indoor plants are half-dead, but the kids kept Ernie the Kitty alive, and that was most important.

I’m going to save my pennies and hope to take this train trip again in three years. It was restful, peaceful, and gave me the quiet I needed. I spent real quality time with my big brother, who I cherish more than he knows, and would gladly help clean his garage again.

In the meantime, I’m going to practice the new dishes Camille taught me and start the new school year rested and clear-headed. Or at least rested.

Home Sweet Home

Leaving Washington

Time to go home. Heavy sigh.

I’ve really enjoyed spending time with Michael and Camille. Their house is so peaceful. Camille is so kind and generous, especially with her culinary knowledge, and Michael… well, Michael is the big brother everybody just wishes they had. I am so very, very lucky.

After I dragged my lazy butt out of bed around 10, I packed up my things and had a cup of coffee. I started browsing for audiobooks for the trip home while I ate an English muffin topped with the last of Bonne Maman’s strawberry preserves.

Then Michael and I sat on the deck, laughing at TikTok videos and chatting for a while. Truth be told, I can’t remember exactly what we talked or laughed about, but it was quiet and simple and memorable for the time spent together.

I had my leftover lasagna from Grazie’s for lunch, did a final sweep to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and before I knew it, it was time to head to the train station.

It took about half an hour to get to the Everett station through rush hour traffic, but we got there with time to spare. Michael waited with me until the train arrived—much too soon, if you ask me. I really didn’t want to leave, but I’ve got the cardiologist on Monday, so staying longer wasn’t an option. I really need to get to the bottom of the whole heart attack thing.

This time, my roomette was on the north side of the train, so the scenery was a little different on the way back. Greg, my car assistant, stopped by to let me know I had the 8:00 p.m. dinner reservation in the dining car.

And just like that, I was headed home.

Strawberries, Sauces, and Lemon Drops

Michael, Camille, and I went out to dinner tonight at Grazie in Bothell. I had never had lasagna before and now I know what I’ve been missing.

Michael said Grazie does lasagna right. I may have good lasagna in the future, maybe even one made from someone’s treasured family recipe, but it will never be as good as the lasagna I had there. They topped it with three sauces arranged to resemble the Italian flag: a red meat sauce, a white béchamel, and a green pesto cream. It was rich, filling, and absolutely wonderful … and I have plenty left for lunch tomorrow.

For dessert, Camille and I shared Strawberries Marsala: fresh strawberries nestled in a cloud of whipped cream, mascarpone cheese, vanilla, and marsala wine. I’ve never had anything like it, but I’ll definitely be on the lookout for it from now on.

Michael and I both ordered Lemon Drops—lemon juice, vodka, triple sec, and simple syrup served in sugar-rimmed martini glasses. Who knew lemon anything could be so good?

I am full, happy, and looking forward to sleeping very well tonight. Also known as “the food coma.”

Shower Time and Smoked Meats

When I first arrived, Camille casually mentioned that she forgot to tell me we were going to a baby shower. Well, that day has arrived!

Camille’s youngest sister, Alexis, has a son named Colby, whose wife, Natasha, is due at the end of September. Alexis is married to Doug, and Doug’s brother, Matt, and his wife, Darcy, built their own house; that’s where the shower was held.

It was a combination baby shower and family get-together, so men and children were also there, something that never happens at showers on the East Coast. It was fun!

Doug worked some magic with a smoker and made pulled pork the day before, then grilled hamburgers the day of. Potato salad and all kinds of chips and dips rounded out the menu. Everything was delicious.

Natasha was glowing and beautiful while opening gifts, and Colby read each of the cards aloud. They were very cute together, and you could tell how excited they were. It will be a girl named Juniper.

Proof of Love: Salmon and Smoke

Today we finished clearing out Camille’s side of the garage. She was very happy; she now has more room to get in and out of her car. It took a couple more hours, and there are still a few things that need to be ‘gotten to’, but overall, Michael has a solid head start and may be able to keep his momentum going with the other garage bay.

I had a blast helping him. As we sorted through things (putting stuff away, tossing junk, and fixing a few odds and ends) I learned about tools, saw blades, and how to use a utility knife. I even got to show off a little when I used the power washer. That was fun. I managed to spray most of the cherries off the driveway… at least for now.

After all that, Camille made salmon for dinner again. She loves me. She doesn’t say it, but I know she does.

This time it was King salmon. We had jasmine rice and a Caesar salad alongside, and she baked a blueberry crumble using fresh blueberries from Jeff’s garden. It was wonderful.

She grills the salmon on cedar planks. When I told her Wegmans was all out, she told me I could just order them on Amazon. (Honestly, is there anything Amazon doesn’t have?) Once the grill is preheated to about 400°, you place the fish on the cedar planks, close the cover, and keep an eye on the smoke. You don’t want it to burn. It takes about 15 to 25 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fish.

Yep. Another culinary lesson. She loves me.

Grilled, Chilled, and a Little Tipsy

 When I arrived, Michael and I talked about a few things he wanted to get done during my stay, since he was on vacation. One of his goals was to clean out the garage. We decided to start on the bay beside Camille’s car and see how it went.

We definitely underestimated how long that would take. Like most people, he had a number of little projects that had been set aside with the usual promise: “I’ll get to that later.” In a few cases, “later” turned out to be today, more than ten years later.

Since I had no idea where things belonged or how to fix anything, the easiest way for me to help was to be his gopher. I brought things to him, put things where he directed, helped lift awkward items, and vacuumed where needed, things like that. We worked for about four hours, then called it a day. My highlight was getting to work the power washer. 

In the evening, we went to see Jeff. As it turns out, Jeff’s mom, Linda, was in town from Buffalo too! It was great to catch up with the two of them, and I finally got to meet Raquel, Jeff’s girlfriend. Camille grabbed a chilled bottle of Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc, and off we went!

Jeff said he was going to throw some things on the grill. Turns out it was Aidells Pineapple and Bacon Smoked Chicken Sausage. I have died and gone to heaven. He served it with Linda’s potato salad, and let me tell you, the potatoes were cooked perfectly. Linda makes amazing potato salad, and one of these days, I’m going to have to ask her for a culinary lesson.

Raquel brought out a bottle of Stella Rosa Black Cherry wine, which was also very good. It’s a sweet dessert wine, but it was the perfect finish to the evening. Camille and I both had a wee bit too much to drink, but hey, we weren’t driving, and Michael was fulfilling his Big Brother Duties.

Camille’s Leftover Magic

Well, before we get to Camille's Leftover Magic, we have to show Michael's Breakfast of Champions: 

I almost forgot to take a picture! This was the most moist cake I've ever had. The perfect way to start your day! 

Now. Camille's Leftover Magic. 

Fish tacos.

I had never had one before, but I’ve discovered that Camille is the master of turning leftovers into something that feels downright gourmet. And this was so easy!

On three 6” tortilla rounds, she added some broken-up leftover swordfish, a bit of leftover coleslaw mix (just cabbage and shredded carrots), some salty sheep or goat cheese (with the texture of feta), sliced avocado, and maybe a few chopped scallions. She served them with peach salsa and sour cream on the side.

Serving size was three tacos, and she was able to make nine total with what was left in the fridge. They were wonderful—simple, satisfying, and a great way to use up leftovers.

I will definitely be making these at some point for dinner. Or if I have leftover fish from dinner, lunch the next day!

Gimlets, Gratitude, and Golden Crusts

Today was a day to relax. (Not that I haven’t already been doing that, but I’ve got a good thing going here.) Michael decided he’d be falling down on his Big Brother Duties if he didn’t get me a little sloshed while I’m out here on vacation. So ta-daaa! Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets, here we come!

 

Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets (makes two):

Pour 2 oz. of fresh-squeezed lime juice and 2 oz. of vanilla-flavored simple syrup over ice in a cocktail shaker. Add 3 shots of Absolut Pear Vodka. Shake to chill, strain into martini glasses, and garnish with a compressed rosemary sprig. (To compress rosemary: place the sprig in your palm and clap once—hard. It releases the scent.)

You have not lived until you’ve had one of Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets. I’m seriously going to have to do some shopping when I get home.

For dinner, Camille showed me how to make her homemade pizza. There’s a little forethought involved, but it’s well worth it.

Use ready-made dough. Wegmans sells it near their café or bakery section. On the morning of pizza night, rub a light coat of olive oil on the dough ball and place it in a bowl. Cover it loosely with plastic wrap. The oil keeps it from sticking to the bowl and wrap. Leave it at room temperature to rise. When you get home from work, it’ll be ready to go.

Preheat the oven to 425°. Shred some Pecorino Romano. Dice up some fresh whole-milk mozzarella. Camille uses the pre-sliced kind because it’s just easier.

Flatten the dough into a 13x9 baking sheet. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but aim for a uniform thickness so it bakes evenly. Spread the dough with Rao’s Homemade Pizza Sauce. Michael has conducted extensive taste-testing, and this one is the winner. (I can confirm Hunt’s and Ragu are not in the same league.)

Spread the cheeses generously over the sauce, then top with sliced Margherita pepperoni. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the cheese is melted and the crust turns golden brown.

As I discovered, it also reheats beautifully! Just place a slice on parchment paper on a baking sheet, put it in a cold oven, and turn it to 350°. By the time the oven reaches temp, the pizza is nearly ready to eat.

From Mocha to Mayhem: A Day Beneath Seattle

Today, Michael and I did the Underground Tour. We left the house at 10:00 a.m. for our 11:00 walking tour in downtown Seattle and arrived just in time… only to be shown to the waiting area where we did just that: waited.

11:15. Still waiting.

11:30. Michael got up and asked the desk what was going on. Apparently, there weren’t enough people scheduled for the 11:00 tour, so they bumped us to the 1:00 tour.

Why on earth didn’t they tell us? I failed Mind-Reading 101 miserably! Turns out they don’t do that kind of communication here—it’s a Seattle thing. No one really talks to each other. There’s even a name for it: The Seattle Freeze. In this situation, it meant we had an hour and a half to kill.

So we did what all self-proclaimed foodies do: we found a cute little café we’d never been to. It was a French café called Mirabelle by Orphée, complete with a gorgeous mural of a Parisian café and the Eiffel Tower in the background. 

Michael had the Madison chicken salad—arugula, chicken, caramelized onion, sesame seeds, mint, and a sweet-and-sour dressing. I went simpler: a baguette with salted French butter and Bonne Maman strawberry preserves. Very yummy!

We both ordered mochas, which were rich and creamy. Before we left, I used the restroom and saw a hilarious sign and poster that made me laugh out loud:

 Still with some time to spare, we stopped at another coffee shop across the street. Michael ordered another mocha for comparison purposes (purely scientific, of course). We honestly couldn’t say which one we liked better. They were different but equally delicious. I think I’ve officially become a mocha fan.

We got back to the Underground Tour HQ at 12:45, just in time for… more waiting. But then the fun finally began.

Apparently, they didn’t exactly do things smart in Seattle back in the late 1800s. For starters, they built their city using measurements taken at low tide. Genius. Naturally, flooding became a problem, not to mention fires, mud churned up by horses and wagons, and sinkholes the size of swimming pools.

The holes began forming so rapidly that instead of fixing them, they just started naming them. According to our tour guide, they often made things worse on themselves, like using sawdust as a primary fill material. (It was cheap. So was their judgment.)

Then there was Henry Yesler, an opportunistic machinery man who set up a mill in Seattle. Within six months of arriving, some questions came up suggesting he hadn’t exactly acquired the land legally. But did that stop him? Nope.

Henry was a scoundrel, utterly lacking in morals or ethics. So naturally they made him mayor. Back then, the mayor had the power to settle lawsuits. Henry, being Henry, would sue the city as a private citizen and then settle the lawsuit as the mayor.

By doing this, he drained the city coffers twice, and that was just during his first term! The good people of Seattle rewarded him with two more terms.

Apparently, when we do something stupid, we double down on it.

Here are a few photos Michael took during the tour:

Tour Guide

Broken Concrete

Watercloset

Steel Beams supporting the sidewalk and street above

Tourist walkway. Very humid here, with a strong smell of mold.

Discarded building materials. Some of this is sure to be cut from old growth trees.

Lighting for the underground

Lighting Panel from below.

Before the 1889 Fire

Exit Sign

Roots growing down from street level

Bathtub that was discarded into the street during construction. Also discarded during construction were hundreds of dead animals and general garbage.

Please don’t lean

After the fire, trolley rails are deformed from the heat

“Sanitan Washdown Closet.”

Late 1800s letterpress with an old manual typewriter sitting on it.

After the fire. Michael thinks the building in the distance was the first building constructed for the University of Washington.

Later that evening, Camille made swordfish for dinner. It was AMAZING. I’d never had swordfish before, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Here’s her recipe in case you want to impress someone:

 Camille’s Grilled Swordfish

• ¼ cup olive oil
• Juice from 1 lemon
• Zest from 1 lemon
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 3 cloves minced garlic
• ½ teaspoon salt
• ¼ teaspoon pepper

Marinate serving-sized pieces of swordfish for at least 8 minutes but no more than 20. Grill on high for 5–6 minutes per side, or until internal temp reaches 135–145°F.

Serve with salad and Jasmine rice or rolls.

Grill Master in Training

 I’m continuing my trend of resting, sleeping, and writing. Teri’s travel journal is coming along nicely.

And so is my culinary education. Today’s lesson? Burgers don’t have to be hockey pucks. Or gourmet science experiments with a list of ingredients longer than a CVS receipt.

Camille made burgers that were juicy, flavorful, and—most importantly—not dried out to the consistency of sawdust. Here's the method:

Camille’s Simple (but Not Sad) Grilled Burgers

• Heat the grill to about 350°–400°F.
• Form the patties. About 3 burgers per pound works well. Poke a few shallow holes in each—this helps them cook evenly.
• Use 80/20 ground beef. You need a little fat to keep the burgers juicy. No need to mix in eggs, breadcrumbs, onions, herbs, or secret family recipes—just shape and go.
• Place the burgers on the grill (avoid the cross grates—they’re notorious for sticking). Turn the heat down to low and close the lid.
• Cook time: Check after 5–10 minutes. They’ll need at least 6 minutes per side, depending on thickness and grill heat.
• Top as you please: Salt, pepper, ketchup, mustard, mayo, lettuce, tomato, relish—whatever your heart desires.

Simple. Delicious. And no one broke a tooth.

Side Note to Remember: Grilling low and slow wins the burger game.

Omelet School and Gourmet Sandwiches

 It’s Sunday—time for Michael’s Amazing Omelets!

Before I came out here, I asked Michael if I could have another omelet lesson. I had a feeling I was forgetting a step or two because mine just weren’t turning out right. Sometimes they were overdone, sometimes underdone; I was definitely missing something. So as a bonus (even though he was half asleep—and trust me, he is not a morning person), he let me video him in action. Now I’ll always have Michael’s Omelet Lesson to refer to.

Turns out I was forgetting a few key things:

• Add a little water to the scrambled eggs.

• Beat the chives, scallions, and peppers directly into the egg mixture—it helps evenly distribute everything.

• Heat the bacon bits in the microwave for about a minute before adding them. That way, they don’t cool the eggs down.

• Preheat the pan! (How did I forget that?)

He also uses a dedicated omelet pan with rounded sides, which makes it easier to work the eggs. I need to get one of those. Pronto.

Camille made sandwiches for lunch, but not just your basic slapped-together deli stack. Instead of regular bread, she used rolls—toasted with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, seasoned with salt and pepper. So much better than plain old butter.

The stuffin’s:

• A slice of turkey
• A slice of ham
• Two thin rounds of hard salami
• Swiss cheese
• Lettuce
• Thinly sliced tomato

Seriously—restaurant-quality food. And so delicious!

A note about balsamic vinegar: Michael once did a little experiment. He’d heard you should always buy the highest-quality balsamic you can afford (read: the most expensive), because the taste is totally different. So he bought three bottles: a cheap one, a mid-priced one, and a $30 tiny bottle.

Turns out the rumor was absolutely true. He said you could put that fancy balsamic on ice cream and it would taste amazing.

Personally, I never knew balsamic vinegar could taste so good—so I’ll definitely be upgrading my shopping list when I get home.

Calm and Crispy Pizza

I am continuing to rest and write. I can feel my breathing slowing, and there’s a calmness washing over me that I’ve desperately needed. There is nothing to be anxious about here.

For lunch, Michael and I had reheated pizza. But not just any pizza—Camille’s homemade pizza. It was delicious, and I learned a new trick for reheating pizza so it actually tastes good and doesn’t turn rubbery or soggy. 

Here’s the method:

• Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper (this keeps the pizza from sticking and soaks up any excess grease).

• Place your pizza slices on the parchment-lined pan.

• Put the pan in the oven before turning it on. Set the oven to 350°F.

• By the time the oven reaches temperature, the pizza will either be ready or will need just 5 to 7 more minutes.

The result? Crispy crust and melty cheese—like it was just made. This is going to save me SO much money.

For dinner, we had Camille’s Quesadillas:

Ingredients:

• Extra-sharp cheddar, freshly shredded
• Chicken, cut into smaller-than-bite-sized pieces
  (Camille used leftovers from a previous dinner)
• Bacon pieces
• Red bell pepper, finely diced
• Scallions

On the side:

• Peach salsa
• Sour cream
• Diced avocado

Instructions:

Use a flat pan wide enough for a 10” tortilla to lie flat. Heat about a tablespoon of coconut oil in the pan.

Place a tortilla in the pan and give it a little twirl to coat. After a minute, flip it. (Reduce heat to low if needed.) Add cheese, chicken, bacon, and scallions to one half of the tortilla. The cheese will start to melt right away. Fold the tortilla in half, let it finish heating through, and transfer it to a plate.

Quick, easy, and so good.

A tip for leftover bell pepper:

Wrap it in a paper towel before refrigerating—it’ll keep longer.

I love Camille’s ‘cooking school’. It’s better than any class I could take because she knows my budget (or lack thereof) and my capabilities. 

Rest and Red Lentils

 Today, my primary goal was rest.

Okay, if I’m being honest, the whole reason I’m out here is to rest. Since I apparently had a myocardial infarction at some point in the recent past (and even scarier, didn’t get the memo while it was happening!), I figure I’d better take it easy before the new school year starts.

Michael and Camille’s house is the perfect place for that. No children, no guests, no pets, and very quiet neighbors. Their home is also large enough that we can’t hear anything someone else is doing. It’s like staying in a peaceful little retreat.

So today I started writing the travel journal for Teri. I really hope she enjoys reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

For dinner, we had pasta. Camille made red lentil penne with Rao’s pasta sauce, and it was delicious. The texture of the red lentil pasta is a little different from the regular penne I usually buy, but I liked it, and it’s good for you! She also grated Pecorino Romano cheese to sprinkle on top. Yum. Yes, I had seconds. 

Linda 'Ma' Mosher 1943 - 2025

The memories come flooding back in waves, drowning me in a tide of emotion.

I was in 9th grade, following Steven around like a bunny, and there was Ma, shaking her head and saying, “Why do the smart girls always fall for the bad boys?”

In 10th grade, she taught us how to research—and gave me a failing grade on a paper. It forced my parents to let me go to the library, and in that way, she opened up a whole new world to me, far beyond the constraints of the religion I was being raised in.

In my senior year, I remember her piling eight of us kids into her Ford Escort to take us to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

She always seemed to just know. When I was 16, graduating from high school and dreading the future my parents had planned for me, she signed my yearbook, “Don’t ever take the easy way out.”

She was always there for me, especially when my brother couldn’t be.
My brother and I were both so… broken.

When my son was two and I had to have surgery on a Workers’ Comp injury (with no income coming in) she filled my refrigerator. When my son was seven, she realized I hadn’t bought clothes for myself in years. Things were getting threadbare, and she helped me get a few things so I didn’t look quite so ragamuffin at work.

She taught me how to write.
How to read with feeling.
How to survive when I knew that leaving my family was the only way I could truly live.

She healed my heart more times than I can count. Even knowing there would be scars, she gave me reasons to keep going.

I once told her I could never repay everything she’d done for me.
She said I could, by paying it forward. That’s what she wanted.

When I finally went back to school and earned my Master’s in Education, I don’t think anyone was prouder than she was. And when I joined Mensa? She made me see that the only one who ever doubted my intelligence was me.

She gave me parenting advice.
Life advice.
She was more of a mother to me than my own.

She never yelled, never demeaned, never overly criticized. She appealed to my intellect. She taught me that it’s not just okay, it’s essential to think for myself, to question everything, and to never settle for less when I’m capable of more.

She loved my son.
From the time he could talk, he always called her “Mommy’s Teacher.”
She used to joke about it:
“When I die, they’re going to ask him, ‘Who passed away?’ and he’s going to say, ‘Mommy’s Teacher.’
And they’ll ask, ‘What was her name?’
And he’ll look at them like they’re crazy and say, ‘Mommy’s Teacher!’”

She passed away today, and there’s a gaping hole where my heart should be.
I know I’ll have to stop crying eventually.
But not today.
And probably not tomorrow.

Linda “Ma” Mosher, you are loved more than you ever knew.
To some, you were just their English teacher.
To me, you were who I wanted to be when I grew up.

The stars will shine brighter now that you’re among them.

The Long Road to Recovery

Today was one of those days. The kind that starts with high hopes and a decent cup of coffee, then slowly morphs into a never-ending loop of fluorescent lighting and standardized testing. Yes, friends, it’s New York State ELA assessment season, and I had the distinct pleasure of proctoring all day. Which, for those unfamiliar, is a bit like watching paint dry, but with more paperwork.

I had really been looking forward to seeing my friend Teri after school. She had a major stroke back in June, and ever since, she’s been completely paralyzed on her left side. Our visits usually involve chatting, reading, and maybe eating a chocolate or two that her sister sneaks in. But just as I was mentally packing up to head to the nursing home, I found out that the Tuesday Alternative Ed teacher couldn’t make it. Which meant yours truly was staying at school. Until after 5:30. Heavy, heavy sigh.

But I went straight to see Teri anyway. I was tired, hungry, and about one silly question away from losing my mind—but I needed that visit. 

She was still in her wheelchair (thankfully—they sometimes put her in bed way too early, which drives me nuts). She was happy to see me, and I was even happier to see her. She asked for some ice water, so I moved the table out of the way and happened to notice her left leg was hanging off the side of the wheelchair.

I asked if she was comfortable. She said not really. I pointed out that her leg was dangling—and then... she moved it.

Her left leg. The one that hasn’t moved since June.

It wasn’t huge, just a little adjustment—but I saw it. I know what I saw. And I almost cried.

She told me that at night, when she’s lying in bed, she tries to “march” with her good leg, and in her mind, she imagines moving both legs. Maybe—just maybe—her brain is rewiring itself. Maybe those mental reps are forging new neural pathways. I don’t know. I’m not a neurologist. But I do know that something beautiful happened today.

There are moments when progress is loud and obvious, and then there are moments like this—quiet, small, and life-affirming. Today, my friend moved her leg. And in that moment, hope felt real.

I’ll carry that feeling with me for a long time.

The Things People Believe...

Miguel has a co-worker with a great sense of humor. A couple days ago, two of his students asked his co-worker where he worked. He told them he was a bottomless pit inspector. It's a classified job, and he is often on call. 

They believed him! 

He strung them along for two days. And no, these weren't little kids. One of the students is 20 and the other is 35, one going to school to be a PA and the other to be an environmental scientist. 

I worry about our future...

My Mother's Wedding Dress

I ran across these when scrolling through my photos. This is my mother's wedding dress, worn on February 9, 1957, yellowed with age. 

 

My Baby Got Married

 

I don't think they slept the night before... Welcome to our crazy family, Sarika. 
Miguel is a very lucky young man.