Poem: This is a new beginning

Like an old friend,

or a place I’d known the name of

for an eon

or a month

or a day, a minute

a moment

 

This is a new beginning,

and that was an old ending

an end to where I’d been

(though I’ll never forget it all)

an end to what I was

a moment ago

and now?

 

Now it’s ever forward

ever closer to my goal

rushing onward

laughing

embracing what I cherish most

leaving behind the past

far off in the dust.

 

This is another day

Another moment

captured

caught

like crystal in my mind

like light in through the window

looking deep into my soul

a ray of the sun

summer’s song

seeping in

slipping by

the gaps in my defenses

(why would I defend against this?)

to sink into my heart.

 

From any other angle

it looks like an attack

like I’ve been struck

dumb

like I’ve been struck

silly

(and I do feel quite silly

with this grin on my face)

i’m enjoying this too much

the crystal high of progress

of movement, finally forward

and the words that it inspired

I’m enjoying this too much–

this feeling like I’m falling

screaming

giggling

trembling

with the joy of never-knowing

exactly what comes next.

 

This is a new beginning

and I am on my way

This

is a new beginning

and after all that delay

it struck me now

exactly how

far I’ve come

and how far

I know I’ll go

 

This is the end

of a new beginning

and the start

of so much more.

 


 

 

©2019 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 


Hey everybody. Long time no see! I’m employed and my little recovery period is done. I can’t promise I’ll write here every day, but I’m going to be doing more writing than I was. Any freebies I do will wind up here. That IS a promise.

XOXO,

Eris

 

Poem: Sunshine

A ray of hope

a ray of sunshine

pierces through the clouds

strikes the ground beneath our feet

brightens up the crowd.

Continue reading

Poem: Beheld and Behidden

Jewel of the northern sky

beheld and behidden from eyes

lest the flames consume it, dry

and strike it down from the heavens.

 

Stars that dance, sing and cry

midst broken hopes, flying high

above the world where all men die

they blink, beheld, for all of us

Continue reading

Poem: Star Rain

Standing in the starlit rain

watching heat wash off my skin

stardust dancing here and then

listening to the world spin

 

Twirling through a night’s cold arms

plated gold and glimmering white

with light from all the stars afire

shielded from the world’s spite

Continue reading

Poem: Breathe

The thoughts tumble down

Tumble forth

like breath

Out from a mouth still tasting of sweat

As a thousand points made solid all seem to connect

with my heart

my hand

with fingers on my neck.

Continue reading

Poem: Fingers

Close and curl them

Throw away

The bitter things you want to say

Clench them hard

Nails bite deep

Feelings flow where you can’t keep

them

Watch them fly

Feel them burn

Drop to the floor

like flames.

Continue reading

Poem: Flowing Flame

Flowing flame

Interchanging, interchanged

Standing still and flickering forth

like raindrops

from eyelashes

 

Sparks that are shed

With every tongue’s slash

Through the air

Caress my skin

Set light to my hair.

Continue reading

Poem: Exposed like Night

Soft and supple

Exposed like Night

Eyes all wary

Heart all bright

Standing in a line yet

All on her own.

 

A line points upward

From feet to the stars

Tell me what I’m not

And you won’t get far

Here I can stand

A line on my own

Here I can stand

Here, all alone.

Continue reading

Poem: A Girl Sat Alone Today

A girl sat alone today

And why she did I couldn’t say

She had a smile upon her, fey

One that, to heaven, was debased

And yet she wasn’t free

 

The darkness in my heart is hot

It screams and twists and writhes in rot

It calls me names and warns me that

I will fall today.

But I can smile, and so I do

A breath let free from me to you

Trembling, as I know it’s true:

I am never free.

 

Her eyes are pure like pools so sweet

Her teeth are sharp as you they greet

Bare and cold and made of meat

The girl who wasn’t free.

 

She digs in with her hands like claws

Tears the flesh from you raw

Strikes you down with all her might

And still

She isn’t free.

 

The darkness in my heart today

Causes all my thoughts to fray

I bid it please just go away

And I am still not free

 

The dark inside is murdering me

With claws and teeth I set you free

To roam the world, a ghost, and see

Exactly who you’re meant to be.

 

She dug in hard with talons on hands

Ripped free a heart and in silken bands

She took it, held it, hid it away

Never to see the light of day

Only for those who saw to say:

 

“Now there

Is a man

Who is free.

Ay yes, free to wander

As a ghost

To see the world she meant him to see

Glory, ay, glory be

And praise to him eternally

Blessed are they and blessed are we

To be trapped in our lives

And live. In chains we thrive,

In chains we be,

But if that is free in truth and in heart

Then better for us and better for me

That truly we are never free.”

 

So in darkness, wicked and hot

The girl lurked within, besot

With a lover’s heart she took from he

Who once believed he’d never be free

And so he wandered to and fro

From place to place

And tree to tree

Dead and yet still more alive

Than the people below him be

Who, chained and broken

Whisper hymns to remind themselves

Of the pain of freedom’s ring

And in their confused and tormented sate

Of true death do they sing.

 

Who is truly dead or dying

In light of lives undone?

Who is truly at their end

And who has just begun?

Tis not a question I could answer

Or one I seek to speak

But if provide a one I could:

‘Freedom’ is not for the meek.

 

It isn’t for the sick at heart

Or those who linger

Closed behind their doors

It isn’t for the hands who tweak

The strings to control us whores

It isn’t for the hardest hearts

Or the people with none to share

No, freedom is deeper than that

And freedom doesn’t care

Who you are

Or what you are

It will find you there.

 

To all it comes like gossamer

Woven out of thread

To most it comes more softly than

A bullet to your head

And when the ancient ties with what

You thought was yours are gone

When you find yourself unbound

And free you float, undone

 

You are there in freedom’s grasp

Clutched tighter than that heart

And secreted away like so many others

alone

and in the dark.

—-

2014 © Sam Oliver (Eris)

—-

Not much to say about this. Just trying to poetry out some bad feelings. Yeah, poetry is a verb. I just made it one. Don’t read too much into it. I mean, unless you want to?? I’m sure it’s a poem just RICH with philosophy. Roiling with it. Rrrrrife with it.

Anyway, I’m gonna see about (I always say this but I mean it) getting some actual storywork done. And speaking of work, I’m looking for some. Since writing stories and typing and communicating are all things I’m really good at, if anyone has some suggestions for where I might find work and wants to drop them in the comments that would be awesome. 

It just occurred to me that hitting one hundred short stories THIS year would be awesome too. So that’s my new goal. It’s the same as the old goal, but y’know. This time I should have less time to spare for doing diddly squat, so that should help. Eight short stories in one year is alright, but that’s not even one a month! I’m positively certain I could do better than that. I’ll prove it.

Oh, and Happy New Year everybody. Maybe my next piece of poetry will be more uplifting~ (and with less time than two months between it. Yeah, that would make sense.)

<3s,

Eris

Poem: Mirror

“Mirror, Mirror

On the wall

Who is fairest

Of them all?”

“She who sits upon her throne

In silence beckoning, would condone

The murder of a beauty fair

In cottage sleeping, with ash-black hair

Lips of red and skin snow-white

Then you might,

Then you might

Be the fairest

Of them all

If only White is first

to fall.”

Continue reading

Poem: Grove

I knew a place

Across time

Across space

Where harmony lived and breathed and died

 

A place where thoughts joined with peace in mind

Where the nymphs and the satyrs

Searched for but could never find

A place where I stood on my own

A grove to myself

A grove all alone.

Continue reading

Poem: The Burning Sky

Progress

Means fire.

The sky is aflame.

The seas all sick

The forests all maimed.

Continue reading

Poem/Story: With Unmatched Fury / Mere-Wife’s Curse

So this one is a doozy. But I wrote it for Lit class. College and stuff has been taking up a lot of my time lately! And with good reason, I expect. Soon I’ll be transferring- just this semester to go and I’ll be off to earn a degree in english and creative writing! Hopefully….

This was my creative option- and the paper was actually due today. (Yes, I did turn it in!)

So enjoy. I hope to have enough time to write more of this type of thing. Yes, those are line numbers next to the poem / story. No, I’m unlikely to do them for all the poems I write.

—–

With Unmatched Fury / Mere-Wife’s Curse

The fists fall swift, battering at the abomination

Her, he lifts, high in the air, squeezing both with his arms

And with the armor that coated him,

Trying in vain to crush the life from his foe.

It is against unmatched fury she squirms free of his hold, (5)

The steel-vice grip of his armor’d hands.

 

The fingers that held and rent at her flesh but moments before bite

No longer,

And her eyes flash fire that dares him to come for her again, (10)

To test his might against her beauty and wonder.

 

Swift, with steps long as shadows,

He tries,

Forward, forward with arms stretched wide

As if to embrace her as any husband would (15)

Again, those arms close around and about her frame

Again they are rebuffed with the slick of her home’s cold fame,

By the slipping and sliding of the water from the mere

Where it drenches her curls and the skin at her sides,

The arms that she ducked made to look like a fool’s. (20)

 

As he steps for her again, Beowulf of Hrothgar’s Halls,

Beowulf the Lord– but not Lord yet,

The warrior who under the lake now is set,

To finish the task that was started with Grendel–

fiercest of all the fighters of hell, heaven and the vice-land (25)

He grasps at her wrist with fingers as those on an ice-man

Tugs her close to him and falls to be sure he can have her

Pinning her down to the ground underneath her,

Snaring her close with the form that needs her,

And has needed her once before he is sure, (30)

Though from where this thought comes his mind can’t lure

As he forces her down to the stone and makes good

On the oath to the Lord of the land- or would

But the mere-wife is slippery and slides from his grasp,

Yet again avoiding her fate and his wrath. (35)

 

He reaches out with hands and digits,

These fingers that fight, fret to finish her now,

Look like her son’s-

Just like the ones

Grendel’s hands had in birth been endowed. (40)

 

And Tall is the Geat who faces her down,

Tall and strong and fast as the wind,

Wild and fierce as the hill-grass wends,

Covered in thorns like the thistles in the fens,

And armor in husk like the beetles that crawl (45)

On the forest floor outside of her watery hall–

In the glade and the grotto where the mere must lie.

None of it matters to her in minds eye;

If the fight with this man goes on she will die.

 

“Stay hands, stay arms, husband dear!” cries she, in fear, (50)

About face struck, and body, there, here,

Leaving bruises like those as if done by a bear

Wrestling forgot in the warrior’s despair,

The black heart of rage that seethes from within

Threatens to swallow the mere-wife as it did her kin. (55)

 

As the blows still fall she catches one, then two,

Holding his fists with the strength of ten men.

Beowulf, though, has the strength of twice that,

And grinds her against the stone wall flat,

Slamming her there with a fury in his eyes (60)

That words soothing or pleading cannot from them prize

To this wild man she will strangle or bake

Left to dry in the sun’s bright wake

 

“Curse you to death, kin-slayer,” the mere-wife rasps,

As all life is wrenched away from her grasp. (65)

 

With every moment that he pins her there,

Throat in hands that another time ran through her hair,

The Geat remembers yet more of his past

A daring, youthful time that couldn’t last

The truth of his power is a hidden affair (70)

Both from his mind and the men who yet dare

To call him a hero.

But these cursed words from the man’s rage now snap him,

Catch him and taunt him as his old love lies

As dead and still as dry peat dies. (75)

Here, the wolf of the Geats stares down,

At the form of the wife he meets– now with a frown,

On the blood and skin they shared by vow–

How now can he stand it, indeed- how now?

Cast in doubt by the sight that lingers in his eyes (80)

He staggers to his feet, struggles to rise-

But outpaced is he by the corpse of his son-

Dark is the cave

But still he can see

The vengeance to be wrought on him (85)

Beyond the grave.

Sorrow is writ upon his dead brood’s face,

A matter that is nothing which he wishes to contend,

So, Gods help him and fates forfend,

He reaches out blindly as clawed hands close, (90)

Hands that he helped to create in his woes and the loneliness

He’d found beneath grotto and mere

Where a strange, beautiful wife had once begged him to give her–

For true and for dear–

A child to do combat with the loneliness queer. (95)

A son he’d now killed for fame and reward,

Justice to be done in the name of just Lord

Who presides over the castle that he’d rightfully took,

From a rival long ago,

Whose name is lost in a nook or cranny (100)

Of time.

 

Sobbing, no, weeping, he reaches for the sword,

A sword he’d found buried once where there was no ford,

In the middle of the mere and the depths down fair

In the depths of the grotto where now lurks fear (105)

Or the death he deserves for killing his wife

It is his son who now reaches to stab with a knife

On the ends of each of his cold dead fingers, as black as his hands,

Twisted to claws to meet dark soul’s demands.

 

If truly the father is just like his son, (110)

If truly this work is his to have done,

Then it is Beowulf who reaches and grasps at the sword

That remained the only sign of his kind

The monsters from beyond a time after time,

Ancient with blade as sharp as a grin, (115)

A sword he had lusted after once and again

In the night where treasure glints dangerous as sin

And beckons all men to fights they cannot win.

 

Twice and then thrice he strikes at the body,

Which glistens in the half-light of the cave, (120)

Wherein lurks his wife whom he’d sent to the grave-

But no yet she stirs and he feels an urge-

To strike her down and with a new victory emerge,

To tell a tale that all the world would see.

 

But defeat for the mere-witch who watches him now? (125)

Accusing eyes tell the story, and how!

Surely she couldn’t have meant this to be,

To be slain by the love who’d twice crossed the sea,

In search of adventure and wonder and beauty

Who’d loved her as only a proper man should (130)

When alone he had found her, alone in the wood.

 

As he stares at his wife who gasps for breath on the floor,

He remembers his oath

An oath made in silence beneath the stone cave

An oath made in waters as ancient and grave (135)

As any which touched the lips the gods gave

And had given him strength and power untold

This well and spring deep under earth bold

Now he remembers his disregard

For the oath he had made to this beautiful creature (140)

To drink not once but twice from the depths

Had a curse on him laid- to be kin-slayer

Except-

Now he decides he will never go through

Even as her stare holds hatred in truth (145)

He gazes down at her with sorrow and fear

 

His stare she returns with intensity and life,

The same vibrancy which had drawn him first there,

So long ago, in search of a wife

A pulsing, a rhythm, a strength in the air. (150)

From her, wondrous things, and her silky black hair

A smile as sad, sullied and sobering as the sea

The same one now that on her tired face is free’d

As the Geat turns to walk, to swim away.

 

A woman whose strength glimmers brighter than the sun, (155)

What fault has he for giving her a son?

Only now that he took it away is he sure

That deep down in the depths of black hell

His soul will be taken as soon as he has fell

To blade, arrow, tooth or claw, (160)

And demons there will his essence gnaw.

 

To Beowulf, here in the cave of stone raw,

It is made plain by the water-lapping waves

As they crash

On the rock-gilt floor no one can brave, (165)

That he is a man no god would save.

No one but Beowulf, champion of Hrothgar’s Hall,

Knows the truth of his pact or the truth of his thrall,

Knows he is not really a hero, brave and tall

No, in truth, he knows that he is nothing at all. (170)

 

Nothing at all as he swims towards the surface,

Taking the sword with him and finding his purchase,

In lake and in mere’s side he pulls himself up,

And out onto the bank where he tests his luck

By standing and staggering back towards the hall, (175)

Vowing to speak of his wife not at all.

 

A monster beset him and hall, that’s right,

A monster he knew would come in the night

After the death of his son and hers-

Not knowing the tried and true nature of the beast (180)

He had slain

Is no excuse for this monstrous, morbid feat.

To his wife whom had taught him his warrior’s oath,

Taught him the ways of the sword,

For the mere-wife who lies on that cold cave floor, (185)

Gathering the strength to again form words,

He cannot even weep for leaving her there,

Not out here in the cold, open air

Not with all of his men hanging here

In the shimmering, shining, soulful sun. (190)

 

He vows to her now he will leave her alone,

Vows to return now victorious and stone,

Victorious and stoic and empty of his task,

But truly happy only in mask.

A lie for his Lord and a lie for himself (195)

To keep in his soul on some forgotten shelf.

 

Her curse weighs heavily on mind and in hand,

In the hilt of the sword that burns like a brand,

The sword that he brings back as proof of success,

The sword to remind him of his wife and of home. (200)

Into the hall strides Beowulf the bold, surrounded by men and warriors, young and old,

Demanding the tale of his victory, victory from the Geat who lived ‘cross the sea,

But defeat mires heart, where truth eternal bides,

While from his false lips spring naught but

Lies. (205)

——

©October 2013, Sam Oliver (Eris)

Poem: Bones

Ivory white and yellowed or old

The bones in the cellar,

dripping with mold

 

Softened by rot and cankerous

cold

the bones in the cellar,

drenched in mold

 

Slime like paint

green and false gold

the bones in the cellar,

sinful with mold

 

Blood dried ’round

these walls so bold

The bones in the cellar

are awash

with mold

 

The stench in the air sinks down in the cold

the bones in the cellar are old with mold;

To take in a breath will drain your soul

but the bones in the cellar draw you in to their fold

Stay in the dark with gold unsold

Shining in the light catching lies untold

from the dark where the bones lie

in blood and mold

in greed so bold they were stolen away

like the gold now caught in white hand’s sway

it curls its fingers ’round blind man’s riches

in the dark with its bones and fel green stitches

of cloth that wrap near the base of the cold

and the white

and the whole of the light

shining down to the

ivory

and the softness

of the silence

in the cellar

where the bones lie

dripping

with

mold.

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

Poems, poems, poems.

I’ve got more. I’m not sure what inspired this one, but I like its rhythm.

Love,

Eris

Poem: And the wind said to me

And the wind said to me:

“I don’t

want to change,”

The wind said to me:

“Just flutter

And flit

And float the same way

Til the day that I flutter

No more.”

Continue reading

Poem: Thought

No

Don’t speak

I don’t want

Your words to taint

My thought

My idea

My novel

I just had one

This thought

Of you and yourself

So perfect

So crystal

So clear to me now

I just had one Continue reading

Ramble Poem: Bitterest Blade

What are we

If not slaves to this

This feeling inside

Twisting,

Turning,

Driving inward like a knife

Or a bitter blade

 

A bitter, false blade

A bitter, sweet blade

Like a smile

Like a smile so bright that you know

It isn’t true

Too bright

Too real

Too unreal

Too fake

Is it because of the white?

The white in your teeth

That proves you must

Be a liar?

 

Not just any liar

But one without truth

To you

One without the nerve

To tell anything

anything

anything,

but lies.

 

screeching

 

shouting

 

reflected noise back

To the edge of my awareness

to the forefront of my mind.

crying

sobbing

losing my tactic

at my own game

in my own space

in my own nothing

 

i am a bitter blade

a bitter, false blade

a bitter, sweet blade

dull now

from use

from being used

over

and

over

and

over

 

again

and

again

and

again.

 

tumble with me down

to the edge from beyond

to the edge of my nothing

tumble with me down

to the edge of my heart

to the edge of my self

to the edge of me.

 

i am a bitter blade

a bittersweet blade

with a false, bitter edge

hiding

behind

my bitter,

false

smile.

 

i would rather cut

myself

in

two

than be lonely

like this

forever.

 

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

—-

YO. Three stories in the works. Love atcha. Eris out.

(story, news, story, news, story)

-Eris

Poem: Magic

A sword in stone

A chalice in hand

A cup that transports you here

Or there

 

Rabbit in a hat

A bag of the winds

Truffles that glisten with the heart

Of your sins

 

Magic in time

Magic in place

Magic to daunt

Magic to face

Magic you know you can’t use in the streets

Magic that all may learn and meet

Magic that’s sweet

Magic that’s dark

Perhaps it all seems to be naught

But a lark

Magic entwined in the science of things

Sorcery wrapped ’round political strings

 

It flows all around us like a Force or a being

In each baby’s smile

In the hearts of us all to keep us beating

And well

While everything else in sadness

Or doubt

Brings nothing but tears

And nothing but shouts

 

The magic in the air

In the books that we read

In the stories we hear from the people we need

That magic is sacred

That magic is real

The magic of all of our voices is real

But

Sealed

in the beliefs of a nation

Our nation

Which grew out of magic

From far

far away

and grew into an age

of today

 

And of wheels

Of today and wheels

And gears that turn

That never stop turning

No matter the hour

No matter the minute

No matter the month that their metal keeps working

An age where the magic we make is the same

Of mass-produced ‘art’

And tales spun of shame

 

True magic misses

This world we have

Floating and flying right by

 

So put down your laptop

Put up your keyboard

Set down the work of your empty labor

Put it all down and send it away

 

Then pick up a pen

From which ink ever sways,

And write

Write,

Write the magic in.

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

Poem: did you think you could escape

did you think you could escape me

standing there where you are

eyes downcast

and the cliff

set behind you

 

did you think you could escape it all

diving down

one by one

piece by piece

edge by edge

tumbling

dying

rolling

until you hit

the rocky

bottom?

 

I’ll tell you where you stand now

on your own

by yourself

calling

crying

shifting

turning

but never part of something else

always part of you

always

always,

always part of you

 

you thought you could escape him

there you are

where you stand

cliff behind

wall in front

him in front

arms folded

eyes menacing

at you as he stands

there

implacable as the sea

behind

and

below.

 

did you think you could escape, dear?

he says with eyes like daggers watching

eyes like daggers poking

stroked up and down

your beautifully taut and worn

form

as you step once backward

murmur yes and fall

fall

fall

to the black

black

black

of your escape

escape,

escape.

—-

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

—-

I may be feeling slightly worn out.

<3s,

Eris

Poem: Reality is as Hard as Stone

But not just any stone in hand

A rough and jagged one

It breaks your bones when thrown to wake

Your troubled mind from sleep

 

It skids across your cheek and sings

Its dirge digs through the depths of you

It shatters figurative windows and brings,

Wherever they lie in your head,

Behind your eyes or

Inside,

The touch of dirt beneath your fingers

The scent of scum

Will rise

 

Rise and begin that hated thing

The thing you fought to escape

Back to light within your heart

 

Back against the nape

 

Of your neck-

The cold steel of that knife

Tears you free of your dreams

You jolt once and awake

To the present

Where safe

Hangs the thread of innocent

Wings.

 

Fingering that pendant,

Pondering the past

You think of a time, long ago,

When reality

Wouldn’t

Last.

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

——-

Hey. Poetry today. Written with a few other story/microfiction pieces I might post some other time.

-Eris

PS:

News post and then the next story. IN THAT ORDER. That’s right, I’m giving news more priority than MY NEXT SHORT STORY. TREMBLE.

Poem: Let go of it all – Reflective

Let go of the dream of that girl who was pretty

Let it drop from your lips like a sack of sand and grit

Let go of the hope that one day you won’t be busy

Let it sink from your hands to the river, far below

 

Let go of the heart that was beating in your throat

Let it drop back to your chest, back where it belongs

Let go of the need that burned in your soul

Let it fall to the ground like a stillborn foal

 

You can cry if you want

If it makes the pain better

You can cry tears that sting

As they track down your face

You can cry if you need it

If you know that you are broken

But know that I’m here

To lean on.

 

Let go of the fear that nothing really matters

Watch it tumble down and shatter

To a million glittering shards

 

Let go of the thoughts all boiling in your head

Let them sleep inside your mind

And pull me close instead

 

Let go of the pain inside

Let go of the hate

Let go of those silly things

That might still yet abate

 

Let go of all you’ve fought for

Let go of all you’ve bled for

Let go of everything

And hold

on

to me

 

 

And what am I now

But a reflection in your eye

A fire in your heart

A spark in your soul

 

What am I when you look at me

But a person I am not

A place you still remember

The blankets still

Hot

 

A bed all made with covers fine

And silken sheets deployed

A night

Not a person

That you shouldn’t have

Enjoyed.

 

I am just reflective

A shadow of myself

A shadow shining from you

In the darkness and the filth

Lurching to me from your bed

With hands outstretched in vain

You reach out just to grasp me

But close on air again

and again.

 

I duck out to the window,

Standing on the ledge

Staring down eight stories

At the glint

Of a mirror’s

edge.

 

 

——

©2012 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

 

 

I got so many feels for you, Emily Dickinson. All the feels. All of them.

<3s,

Eris
PSSSS:

HEY GUYS GALS AND OTHERS. I’m working. Doing projects and junk. I’d post more of it but it’s like, now the pressure is on to get published and junk. So the freebies take less priority than the sellables. I’m still writing them, rest assured. Once I get a constant publishing place or a magazine, I’ll even link up to them if that’s a thing that’s allowed. I’ll still be writing for funsies, naturally, but apparently IN THIS WORLD A BEING HAS TO EAT. I am a being. Therefore I need to eat.

Which isn’t to say that I can’t do news posts and stuff. If that sort of thing pops up a lot here, now you know why! Love ya. All six of ya. ❤