 Not that I am calling nurses vampires. Really. I love nurses. And I absolutely know that there is no such thing as a vampire…however, might I please be allowed to whine anyway? I love the Psalms because the Psalms let us hear even the “Apple of God’s Eye” whine. They also let us know that God hears our whining and gives a new perspective. So first, I’ll whine and THEN I’ll give my new perspective.  Such was the case today, and when the nurse finally called me back, trying to embrace the peace of the Lord, I skipped lightly to the Dracula seat, plopped down, grinned and said, “Hi! How are you?” The nurse did not respond or smile but, without a word, choked off the circulation in my arm with a rubber band. She finally said, “You’re here for a CBC, right?” Uh. No. I wasn’t there for a CBC – just thyroid. No, the nurse was sure I was there for a CBC. But I wasn’t, I assured her. “Are you Mary so-and-so?” “No. I’m not Mary so-and-so.” “Well, I need Mary so-and-so.” So I went back into the waiting room and told Mary-so-and-so that she was next in line for torture, not me. Mary So-And-So bounced in and bounced out in what seemed like 10 seconds. She waved me in as the next victim with a smile and a wave and all I could think was that it wasn’t fair. Back in the same chair and cinched with the same rubber band while gripping a green ball shaped like a heart – (I suppose that’s to give the patient the impression of squeezing his own green heart to make the blood come out faster?) – I endured the smacking, tapping and poking on my arm that I knew would result in the question, “Is your other arm any better?” To which I always answer, “No” at which point the rubber band is removed and placed on the other arm, anyway. With another smack, tap and poke comes the comment, “You’re right. This one isn’t any better.”  The nurse felt of the inside of my arm and said, “Is your other arm any better?” I told her, “No”. She took off the band and transferred it to my other arm and poked around and sighed, “You’re right.” But then, worst of all fears, she stated, “But we’re going to try it anyway.” I froze. I looked away as she put the needle in and was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t hurt. She was just fooling with me, though. She hadn’t hit anything, but was just going to find it once the needle was in. I gritted my teeth and squished my eyes closed. She mumbled something about just getting drip by drip. All of a sudden, a pain shot up and down my arm that I can only assume was caused by a blow torch that the nurse had hidden under her blouse ready for use the minute I turned my head. I let out a loud yelp and then “Oh! Oh! Oh!” to which she cried, “What? What? What?” She frantically gulped, “This has never happened to me before! I’m trying to get the needle out!” and of course, I’m gulping too – big gulps of air to keep from passing out.  Shaking from head to toe, from lack of food and what I considered at the time to be excessive stress, I tried very hard to look calm, composed and totally oblivious to the embarrassing squeals that I knew had escaped my lips. I knew this because the waiting room, which had been full, had suddenly cleared. Evidently, everyone had decided they really didn’t need lab tests after all. I feel bad about that, but I think after me, the nurse needed a day off anyway. And so, I wobbled – no – staggered to my car, crawled in and lay my head on the steering wheel, arm still pounding. It was tightly wrapped with gauze and tape but that did not hide the large blue bruise that was forming, giving me the appearance of a drug addict. I made the 45 minute drive home – after a stop at McDonald’s – yes, McDonald’s – don’t say a word.  Actually, I am most thankful to the Lord that the worst of my problems are veins the diameter of vermicelli. There are so many people who suffer daily from all manner of infirmities and pain, of whom we need to be aware and for whom we need to be praying, so it is with gratefulness that I can laugh in fun at my silly trial. God has been gracious. However, I will say that I have made a decision as a result of this ordeal. From now on, I am subscribing to the medieval method of leeches for extracting blood. Just stick those suckers on me and it’s up to the professionals to figure out how to get my blood out of them!! |
Archive for the ‘A Day In the Life Of An Okie’ Category
Let The Blood-Letting Begin!
Friday, October 22nd, 2010
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
A Spider At Work
Thursday, October 21st, 2010
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Today I saw one of those miracles that reminds me how perfectly the creation works itself out. God truly made something so spectacular that it is just awe inspiring. It is Fall and all of those things that have to happen at this time of year, happen all by themselves! Today, I watched as a spider – and I’m talkin’ BIG spider – made a web all the way from one tree to another by swinging on a gossimer strand like an acrobatic Errol Flynn on a chandelier. Every Fall, including in the book Charlotte’s Web, these big spiders weave their artwork and lay their eggs. |
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Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
Tornado Alley
Sunday, May 16th, 2010
 This past week was a really rough one for many Oklahomans in the Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company area. A total of 25 tornadoes pummeled our communities that left homes, businesses and churches in shambles and thousands of people hurting and baffled. Many are still without electricity. We, here, got to play “Little House on the Prairie”, ourselves, for three days. I am amazed at the Okie spirit that permeates the people here. No sooner had these wind monsters attacked and vanished, then neighbors, safe in storm shelters, emerged to check from home to home to make sure that fellow neighbors were OK. Just yesterday, we were amazed by the stories of two of our neighbors, one of whom we were helping to recover what was left of their yard and their home. It seems that the wife of this particular family sought shelter with her little boy in their cellar, only to have a tree fall on top of the cellar, while their house was being torn to bits. The two were trapped, unable to lift the door under the weight of the heavy tree. Another neighbor was checking each home and heard the wife screaming. With the help of others, the tree was removed and the scared and exhausted duo gratefully emerged to the shock of seeing their destroyed home. The house immediately to their east looks like a giant game of “Pick-up Sticks” and the owner’s story is even more incredible. The same neighbor who discovered the two trapped in the cellar, saw that the only thing standing in the next home, was the very center of the home, next to where the garage had been and with door barely intact. Inside was the owner of the home. As his home disentegrated around him, this poor man was protected by the tiny closet in which he took refuge. He was obviously in shock when the neighbor found him, but he will be fine. All across this area, friends, neighbors and even people from other cities have joined together in the cleanup effort, giving of time, money, food, clothes and household goods. In the subdivision where we worked on Wednesday and Thursday, alongside friends of ours, it was just amazing to see the tough resolve that the affected families exhibited. They cut downed trees, hauled load after load after load to the street curbs, piled bricks and two-by-fours, covered destroyed roofs if they had any roof left at all, starting at first light and finishing near dark, only to return to start again the next day. There was no anger and no bitterness, just a deep resolve to move on. The police officers at the entrance to the disaster areas have been friendly and sympathetic, asking for IDs, names and addresses in order to keep an accounting of people who enter and leave the areas. It has been announced that no looting has occurred. That is also amazing. I just want to say that I am so proud to be an Oklahoman. We have been through so many tragedies including the Dust Bowl, the Oklahoma City bombing, the May 3rd, 1999 tornado that was the mother of all tornadoes, the collapse of the I-40 bridge at Gore and these tornadoes this week. Throughout this state’s history “True Grit” has been a characteristic and the character of the people who live here shines through every time. So here’s a shout out to the special people in the Sooner State. You know what the term “neighbor” really means!!  In a neighborhood, where we were able to help with a large group of friends, nearly every home was damaged  It was just painful to see the damage to the beautiful homes.  Just over from the neighborhood, on I-40, Anderson’s Truck Plaza and Love’s Truck Plaza were obliterated.  Those who just suffered roof damage had to work precariously to place tarps over the affected areas.  Many people willingly volunteered to do the dirty work of cutting up mangled and toppled trees, piling debris and fixing meals for those doing the dirty work. Thanks everybody!!  |
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Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
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Meet Herbert
Friday, April 30th, 2010
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Oklahoma is known for its abundant wildlife – its deer, buffalo, turkey, sandcranes, snow geese…..and even for those of us who do not live out in the woolly west of our state, the simple Oklahoma garden can provide a plethora of photo opportunities in the animal department. With this being the reality of Oklahoma gardening, I know that I should never be surprised by any critter that might introduce itself, whether on purpose or by accident. My nerves should be steel. My attitude should be blasé as I move a wayward skink or disgusted toad out of my way. It is not “country macho” to freak over the sudden centipede. A startled, “Oh!” might be acceptable, but screaming and running around in circles is definitely not good country etiquette toward those of lessor status on the food chain. It is therefore, with slight dismay that I admit my initial reaction to finding Herbert. I did scream. I did run away, but my redeeming moment came when I stopped, turned around and went back to gaze at Herbert and to introduce myself. It is possible that my first unseemly display of bigotry miffed Herbert as he did not appear to be at all interested in what I had to say. However, he stayed still long enough for me to go get Hubby so that both of us could offer our friendly curiosity. I nearly stumbled on Herbert while I was admiring my strawberry beds. They are full this year and I am anxiously awaiting a crop of the ruby red gems with anticipation. Strawberry freezer jam, frozen strawberries for smoothies and shakes, fresh strawberries on shortcake and in pies – mmm – makes my mouth water. But you want to know about Herbert. I was stepping around the strawberry bed and backed up to one of the peach trees to go to the other end of the garden beds, when I looked down and nearly stepped on Herbert. All 4 1/2 or 5 feet of him. He was fat and had lumps all down his body. He must have had a grand meal of field mice with perhaps a quail egg thrown in for dessert. I snapped a picture but Herbert decided he’d had enough of the two- legged critters that had disturbed his reverie and so he undulated to the nearest peach tree, lifted the front 1/3 of his body up to the bottom branch, hoisted himself up onto said branch and then wrapped his way around ascending branches until he was high enough in the tree to stare me in the eye. I figure that he felt he had a better advantage at that level vs. being on the ground next to my foot. I feel sure that he was well acquainted with the verse out of Genesis where the snake is told, “he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” Most people don’t wait to have any heel striking going on and are all about head crushing when it comes to snakes! Herbert probably knew that. So, Herbert wrapped himself cozily among the peach branches and stared at me. That was when I named him Herbert. Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know a Herbert to say he looked like a Herbert. It just seemed right. I took portraits of him and then left him to determine how to unknot himself out of his predicament. He was gone when I checked a few hours later. Herbert is out there now, chasing all the field mice and boppin’ ’em on the head – and then swallowing them. But they won’t be eating my strawberries!! |
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Taste Of Home Cooking Show
Monday, April 12th, 2010
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It appears that I am running a bit late on my contributions this month to the blog. I really do have a good excuse. Really. Creating Concepts, Ent. participated, for the first time, with the Taste of Home Cooking School show and we had so much fun. However, it meant that all of my time was spent in preparation and the thought of sitting down to the computer was last on my mind. We had an absolute blast, met tons of nice people and enjoyed it immensely. Thanks to all who came by the booth! We had a drawing at the booth and the winner was from Seminole, Oklahoma. She won a Breadbasket Gift Set. Here is a picture of the booth and my trusty helpers. Oh! And we introduced the new line of aprons made from vintage patterns. The aprons will be up on the shopping page by the weekend! And now I’ll move on to a real post!  |
Salmon En Croûte
Friday, March 5th, 2010
 Though I was originally born in Oklahoma, I have lived in a number of different parts of the country, whether full time or just for summers, and have enjoyed the particular regional foods that always stand out. In Maine, it was lobster and clams, in Maryland it was crab and crabcakes, in Kansas it was Prairie Chicken and Pheasant, in Texas it was bar-b-que shredded from half a steer baked in a pit, and in Tennessee it was grits, greens, country ham, spoonbread and fried okra. I also had the privilege of growing up with students from other countries in my home and so that really broadened my epicurean horizons. Japanese, Italian, Jordanian, Moroccan – if they made it, we tried it. I remember one dish in particular, created for us by a young, Jordanian man, that fascinated my sixth grade, just emerging, artistic appreciation. It was a molded pile of rice, shaped like a volcano that had blown its top, and sided with sauteed slices of eggplant strategically pressed into the mount to produce decorative, purple-ringed circles. I have no memory of how it tasted, but it sure looked neat to me! The one thing that I have found to be true, no matter where I’ve been, is that in every part of the country, the people love to eat! Put a steak in front of a Texan and “whoa doggie.” Shoot, in Amarillo you can get a 72 oz slab of steer and, if you can eat it all, you get to attempt to choke down another one! It’s free don’t you know? Right here in Oklahoma, not to be outdone by our neighbors south of the Red River, we boast of the steakhouse of historical steakhouses, Cattlemen’s Steakhouse. And so, yes, we Oklahomans are no different from the rest of the country. We like our food. Unfortunately, there are those outside of this state who actually think that steak and potatoes are the only things that we do eat in Oklahoma. Well…that and Bubba’s 6 point buck, shot in the Fall for when the beef runs out. The truth is, however, that we Okies are pretty high-fallootin’ when it comes to our vittles. In Oklahoma City, Ingrid’s Kitchen is one of our many incredible and authentic German restaurants that also tantalizes its patrons with pastries that can only be classified as “an experience”. Then there’s Nonna’s fine European dining where the salads are served sprinkled with flowers grown by Nonna herself – flowers that you can eat right along with the arugula! Of course, I suppose one might argue that this could bring the conversation away from fine dining and back around to the subject of steaks from the lowly steer who also eats flowers. But I digress. The Skirvin Hilton Hotel has a spread fit for oil barons and presidents and has actually served oil barons and presidents. Better yet, it is also supposed to be haunted!! Just ask the New York Knicks. They swear that they lost their game to the Oklahoma City Thunder because they were so scared of the ghosts that they couldn’t sleep. Sounds plausible to me. I’d say that an Okie ghost would have a great time scaring the daylights out of a New Yorker! Therefore, at the prodding of my doctor who wants the recipe ( did you know that Alaskan Salmon has less mercury than Atlantic salmon?) I decided to bypass the usual “homey” fare of downhome cookin’ to post one of my more hoity-toity recipes. I came up with this one after having tried something kind of similar at a lovely restaurant that is no longer in business – I promise they didn’t go out of business because of the food – and on a day when I had an unlikely combination of ingredients that needed using. It is really good, if I do say so myself, and no matter where you live, it’s good for you too! My Okie doctor says so! Hope you enjoy! |
Salmon En Croûte
6 sheets Phyllo dough (also spelled Fillo and Fyllo on packages)
2 (4oz) Alaskan salmon filets
6 small, fresh mushrooms
1 tbsp finely chopped onion
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped or pressed
1 tbsp olive oil or butter
Fresh baby spinach leaves
Remoulade Sauce
2 Tbsp mayonnaise (can use fat-free)
1/8 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp Worcestershire Sauce
Pinch of celery seed
1 tsp finely chopped onion
1/8 tsp lemon juice
2 tsp ketchup
1 tsp Grey Poupon mustard
1/2 tsp horseradish
Mix ingredients together with a spoon and set aside
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Press or chop garlic
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Place spinach leaves as a bed on serving plate and top with piping hot salmon pocket. Serve immediately with a dollop of Remoulade Sauce on top of the flower. The spinach leaves will wilt to warm and crunchy. Here, I’ve added a slice of fresh pineapple with a strawberry and steamed asparagus.
This serves two people and can be increased for any number. It’s a great dish for a dinner party because you can make the salmon pockets ahead of time and cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to bake. Your guests will think that you spent the whole day in the kitchen!! This is one of my hubby’s favorites.
Homemade Noodles and Noodlin’
Saturday, February 27th, 2010
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Noodle: 1.noun: dough rolled into thin, flat strips; pasta 2.verb: “to noodle”; a primative method of putting food on the table, specifically catfish, involving a hapless fish, a soaked human, no fishing pole and two brains of equal size. Also known as “grabblin”, “hoggin”, “doggin”, “gravelin’ or “ticklin”. Ever heard of “noodling”? From the National Geographic: “Some people call it the Mount Everest of fishing. But most everyone else describes “noodling” or handfishing, as just plain crazy” The Oxford English Dictionary defines “noodling” as “a stupid person”. Hmmm. Think about that. The sport with the same name requires walking along a riverbank, in the water – no – sometimes under the water, feeling for a fish in places where beavers, snakes and snapping turtles are just as likely to hide and then putting one’s hand into the fish’s mouth where tender skin is no match for razor-like teeth. I might call that less than brilliant! While noodling is carried out in most parts of the South, here in Oklahoma, we are proud of those who noodle and we hold up Pauls Valley as the home of the Olympics of noodling – the annual Okie Noodling Tournament. Bob’s Pig Shop is the sponsor, with live entertainment and fried catfish making for a fun festival atmosphere. This year’s gathering of the bold and the brave happens on July 10th. I grew up with stories about my father’s, my grandfather’s and my great-grandfather’s “noodlin’ ” adventures. My dad shares in his book, Sailing Down the River of Memories, his noodling expertise which was handed down through the generations to him. We are very big on passing on traditions in my family, however, somehow this tradition of risking life and limb and appendages seems to have stopped with my father. Go figure. On page 17 Dad shares: “I learned to noodle or to fish with my hands. Now, that was an adventure! I’d go into the water and feel along the bank until I found a hole. Then, I’d slowly reach in to see if there might be a fish. Interestingly enough, by moving slowly and being gentle, you can stroke a fish under water and it won’t swim off. I’d carefully put a finger in the mouth and the thumb in the gill and bring the fish up close to my body. Then I put my other hand on the body of the fish so it couldn’t get away and I’d walk out of the water. The adventure was the chance of getting a turtle or a snake – but I never did. You had to be careful with catfish because the whiskers could stick in your skin and really hurt.” Dad also tells about his granddad, my great-granddad – Robert Hightower, who taught him how to finesse a catfish. “One of the largest fish he noodled was a 28-pound catfish on Spring River at Galesburg. [Missouri] Since that was not a legal way of fishing, Bob told everyone he had landed it with a cane pole. His description of the battle was so vivid no one doubted his word, but the scratches on his arms and fingers told another tale. He told son-in-law, Charlie [my granddad], he threaded a cord through the catfish’s mouth and gill and after tying the other end around his arm, he started for the bank. Something startled the fish and it went downstream pulling him with it. He had quite a battle getting to shore and landing the fish. When he put the fish on a 300 lb cake of ice, its head was at one end with the tail hanging over the other end nearly touching the ground.” Robert Hightower is featured in the Then and Now Cookbook I hope you enjoy this video that shows that men “ain’t got nuthin’ on us females” when it comes to noodlin’…………… OK, so that same side of my family, in spite of the obvious quirky side passed down through the generations to me, I was handed down another kind of “noodlin'”- the homemade kind. I was raised on Sunday lunch that included either chuck roast cooked to perfection, shredding to moist strips, or chicken equally moist and falling off the bone. Both were accompanied by homemade noodles gently boiled in the broth from the meats. Before we would leave for church, Mom would put the meat, onions and salt and pepper into a dutch oven with water and would leave it to bake slowly while we were gone. When we walked into the house after a morning of worship, the aroma would be so permeating that the saliva glands had an immediate Pavlovian response. Dad always made the noodles and he did it just as his mother had taught him. His great-aunt Myrtle, Grandmother’s sister, taught Grandmother how to make them and then, my father taught me. Dad can cut those noodles so thin that the result is delicate and tender. He still makes them when we go home and now, the next generation has taken its place as my children are now making the noodles in their homes. Below is the photo recipe for one of our favorite family traditions. I hope you enjoy them as well. Since I never learned to practice the other “noodlin'”, I’m satisfied with my efforts at the pasta variety. However, if you want to take up the sport, more power to you – and to the fish. 1 cup flour 1 large egg Approximately 3 tbsp water 6 cups broth – either chicken or beef  Put flour into a bowl and make a well in the center. Break the egg into the center and scramble. Add enough water to make a sticky dough. My dad always said that Grandmother taught to use a large egg, broken at the small end toward the top and then use the larger end filled with water. However, it is my opinion that chickens must have been larger back in those days and so I use 2-3 egg shell measures of water. (about 3 tbsp)  Pour the dough out onto a floured Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ and knead in just enough flour so that it can be handled easily  Gently flour the outside of the dough and roll it around until it forms a ball  Divide the dough into 4-6 pieces and roll them into smaller balls.  Using one dough ball at a time, pat into a circle with your hand.  Using a rolling pin, roll the circle out to very, very thin, turning frequently and sprinkling with flour to avoid sticking. Always keep plenty of flour on the pastry cloth. Gently lift flattened circles, as they are completed, and place them on a cookie rack or floured surface such as a counter top, cutting board, a second pastry cloth or a tea towel for drying. Allow to dry at least 30 minutes on each side. If the air is moist, it can take longer. Repeat the process on remaining dough balls.
 When the circles of dough are dry, but still very pliable, roll each one into a very loose jelly roll. Before rolling, you can flour the surface lightly to keep from sticking  With a good, sharp knife, slice noodles thinly and then run fingers through them to loosen, unroll and separate. Be careful not to pinch the dough as you are cutting, just holding it lightly between thumb and finger  The noodles can sit in the open air while you prepare your broth. Bring broth to a boil. Reduce heat slightly and gently drop noodles in a handful at a time, stirring lightly with a fork. Cook approximately 15 minutes until tender. You can add canned broth if more broth is needed. Serve immediately over meat (baked or boiled chicken or beef) or mashed potatoes or as a side.  Now that’s the way to use the ol’ noodle!! |
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Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
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Life Can Be A Jar Of Pickled Peppers
Monday, August 17th, 2009
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I’m trying to decide which is worse – vacuuming or cleaning out the refrigerator. Today, I decided to do the latter and am pretty certain that it would qualify as worse. I know that I hate doing it. My grandmother always used to tell us grandchildren, as we helped her clean the table after dinner, that her mother told her, regarding leftovers, to “put them in the refrigerator and I’ll throw them out next week.” Right. Only my leftovers manage to stay in there for a month or two because I hate to clean the refrigerator. But I think I already said that. Somehow, whatever was leftover from Monday’s dinner a month ago, gets pushed to the back behind Sunday’s roast beef of two weeks ago, which is, of course, behind Saturday’s quiche from last weekend that I plan on freezing when I finish dividing and freezing the Papa Murphy’s pizza from yesterday – which is on top of three opened jars of apple butter. You are probably thinking, “Three opened jars of apple butter?” Well, you must realize that there is a good explanation for three opened jars of apple butter. The first jar got lost behind the mayonnaise and so my husband assumed there was no apple butter and opened a new one. Then, my son came home and found some homemade biscuits in the freezer that heated up quite nicely in the oven and he had to have apple butter to ladle over melted butter on hot biscuits! He couldn’t find apple butter jar number one or two and so he assumed there was no opened apple butter and opened a third jar. Now you might ask why he would be able to find a third jar of apple butter to open. Right? The answer is simple. Our lodi apple tree was full and so I made three cases of apple butter. It is therefore conceivable that family and friends could contribute a dozen or so more opened jars to my refrigerator shelves if they are too timid to rummage through the four opened jars of pickled peppers (call me Peter Piper), the two bags of blueberry bagels, rows of condiments and spreads and the plastic refrigerator dishes balancing on top of one another. I suspect that my penicillin mold experiment that is my last piece of flatbread and the black fungus incubator that once was corn might be a deterrent, however, one would think that moving things around with a wooden spoon to avoid contact, could reveal at least one errant jar of apple butter. Now, I really can’t explain the saran wrapped baglet of two tablespoons of leftover fried okra. I’m sure that I had plans for it, but now I forget what that was. The same goes for the one ounce bite of salmon from the other night. I’m on a diet and I’m trying to cut portions. I’m sure that I saved that for lunch one day – maybe to go with the two tablespoons of okra. The wrinkled cherries are another matter. I just forgot about them. And they were good too. Oh well. As I scrubbed away at the porcelain walls, it occurred to me that my refrigerator is a picture of life. We have all of this stuff in us that needs to be thrown out and we know it…but it is no fun and we hate dealing with it. That refrigerator dish of anger at a co-worker gets stacked on top of another full of resentment toward a family member. A baggie of materialism is shoved behind a larger box of jealousy which is beside a whole row of jars of past indiscretions. Even those little bitty saran wrapped nuggets of smugness and complaint get kept for some later use. For the past five weeks I’ve been participating in a study by Nancy Leigh Demoss called “Seeking Him” and it is slowly helping me to toss out all of the moldy leftovers in my life. I’m starting to feel pretty clean and sparkly inside and I’m not missing any of those things that I’ve been hanging onto for so long. It is amazing how cluttered we allow our lives to become. It is a good thing to take time out, on a regular basis, to assess where we are and what we need to get rid of. And it is a good thing to keep a box of baking soda – scripture – opened to keep away the odor of bad attitudes!! Yep. Cleaning refrigerators and lives is about equally appealing. However, there’s nothing like that glistening, white, neatly arranged interior of a newly disinfected frig and there’s certainly nothing like the joy of a life back on track. I hope that I have encouraged you in your life journey but I can assure you that I won’t be offering to help you with your frigidaire!   |
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