We moved into our current apartment at Westdale Hills in Hurst, Texas. last December. The only cable provider here is Ygnition. At first, we had the basic cable package, and were not overly impressed. Service was too spotty, but, it was all that was available. After a few months, we upgraded to a premium package. Since then, we have had extended outages almost every week. We now know the two local Ygnition technicians (who are very nice, by the way) by their first names and even have one of their personal phone numbers on our cell phone. We see them at least once a week, and each visit generally means one of us is tied to the apartment for the day. After several weeks of this, and complaints to the apartment management as well, we have decided to cancel Ygnition and just get the local channels. We are also considering moving from Westdale Hills when our lease is up, as they don't really seem to care about their tenants.
I have a friend, by the way, who told me that he was ready to move from his last apartment because THEY only had Ygnition and he was fed up. Shortly before his lease ran out, they changed cable service and he stayed there.
Ygnition cable service is really, really bad.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Me and the Snake Eaters - I Report for Duty
Okay, there I was at the Fort Stewart NCO Academy at TAC-X training area. It was my first day on the job, and, as was common in the army, we were going to do PT.
I had been told that all the other cadre had been hand-picked by the Post Commander General Vaught, and the commandant, First Sergeant (P for Promotable) Julius W. Gates. I had also been told that, except for the cooks, the cadre was made up completely of people recruited from the Ranger Battalion in Savannah.
I was the member of the cadre who was NOT a Ranger. I was warned that expectations would be high as General Vaught had a personal interest in the 24th Infantry Division/Fort Stewart NCO Academy.
Rangers! Snake eaters!
Okay, they were tough and had one hell of a rep, but so what?
We were going to be running a school to train everybody....combat arms to typists. Why worry about how Rangers did things? I was an accountant/administrative specialist and was in pretty good shape. I could run a couple of miles and had no real problem with PT.
Not that this assignment was going to be a piece a cake, but I should do okay. Heck! With my background, education, training, and experience, I should turn out to be a pretty valuable part of the team.
Okay, let's get this PT session over with and get to work!
I am not sure that even the best explanation of the facts of life could have prepared me for what happened over the next hour, but I am almost glad that my day started in ignorance.
You see, this particular morning was what was known as "Commandant's PT". PHysical training was going to be led by 1SG(P) Gates...who was a Ranger...did I mention hand-picked by the General?
Maybe there was a reason he was selected....such as being one tough son-of-a-bitch.
"Commandant's PT" was another term for "Hell".
I had been told that all the other cadre had been hand-picked by the Post Commander General Vaught, and the commandant, First Sergeant (P for Promotable) Julius W. Gates. I had also been told that, except for the cooks, the cadre was made up completely of people recruited from the Ranger Battalion in Savannah.
I was the member of the cadre who was NOT a Ranger. I was warned that expectations would be high as General Vaught had a personal interest in the 24th Infantry Division/Fort Stewart NCO Academy.
Rangers! Snake eaters!
Okay, they were tough and had one hell of a rep, but so what?
We were going to be running a school to train everybody....combat arms to typists. Why worry about how Rangers did things? I was an accountant/administrative specialist and was in pretty good shape. I could run a couple of miles and had no real problem with PT.
Not that this assignment was going to be a piece a cake, but I should do okay. Heck! With my background, education, training, and experience, I should turn out to be a pretty valuable part of the team.
Okay, let's get this PT session over with and get to work!
I am not sure that even the best explanation of the facts of life could have prepared me for what happened over the next hour, but I am almost glad that my day started in ignorance.
You see, this particular morning was what was known as "Commandant's PT". PHysical training was going to be led by 1SG(P) Gates...who was a Ranger...did I mention hand-picked by the General?
Maybe there was a reason he was selected....such as being one tough son-of-a-bitch.
"Commandant's PT" was another term for "Hell".
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
I Think I Saw My Father's Gun Last Night...
When I was a boy, my father had a Smith & Wesson Model 2, Top Break revolver which had belonged to a relative of his who had been a policeman in Atlanta.
When I was about 10 years old, I dropped the revolver and broke off part of the hammer spur.
In the 1980's, while stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, a family member needed some medical attention, and not all costs were covered by the military system. I did not have a lot of money at the time, so I pawned almost everything I had of any value to try to take care of them.
I figured I would never see any of the stuff again, but, the other night, while searching onine, I found a Smith & Wesson Model 2 with a broken hammer spur which had been auctioned in 2006. I have no way of knowing if that gun was my father's, and no way of knowing who bought it. All I can do is keep looking and hope it comes up for sale again.
When I was about 10 years old, I dropped the revolver and broke off part of the hammer spur.
In the 1980's, while stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, a family member needed some medical attention, and not all costs were covered by the military system. I did not have a lot of money at the time, so I pawned almost everything I had of any value to try to take care of them.
I figured I would never see any of the stuff again, but, the other night, while searching onine, I found a Smith & Wesson Model 2 with a broken hammer spur which had been auctioned in 2006. I have no way of knowing if that gun was my father's, and no way of knowing who bought it. All I can do is keep looking and hope it comes up for sale again.
Monday, August 8, 2011
The Rumba Bar, Munich - Annie the Prostitute Has a Lonely Birthday
When I first hit Europe in 1967, I was exploring a new world in more ways than one. One thing I learned was that sexual mores were a bit different in Europe. To a young man of my age, this was a good thing.
I was also learning how great German beer can be, and I set about trying it in as many forms and venues as possible.
Being stationed only about 35 miles south of Munich, it was not unusual for me to wind up there with others who were interested in the seamier side of life.
That's how I came to be a welcome regular at the Rumba Bar on Goethe Strasse, just around the corner from the Munich train station.
Now, I was still a kid from the sticks and the first night there, being surrounded by prostitutes who were trying to convince me I was the hottest guy they had ever seen was a heady experience. However, at the moment I just wanted to drink beer and figure out how the game was played.
First of all, the girls were all a bit surprised at how politely and respectfully I treated them. Then, I noticed that one of the girls at the bar was crying.
I asked why she was crying. One of the other girls told me her name was Rosie and she was crying because it was her birthday and she was having to spend it trying to pick up guys in a bar. On an impulse, I told the girls I was talking to that I would be right back.
There had been a flower seller at the train station which was a little over a block away. I walked down there and bought a small but pretty bouquet of flowers. I then marched back into the bar, walked up to Rosie, handed her the flowers, and wished her a happy birthday.
The look of surprise on her face, followed by the realization that somebody really wanted her to feel special on her birthday, no matter who she was or what she was doing, was priceless. Immediately, she put her arms around me and kissed me, and most of the other girls followed.
The "party" didn't last long, however, as the owner, Eddie, who used to be a jockey, and, I later learned, carried a knife...and was good with it, made it plain that the girls needed to "get back to work".
However, from that time forward, I was always welcome in the Rumba Bar, and even Eddie eventually let me know that he respected me for the way I had treated Rosie and always treated his girls.
I went back to the Rumba Bar many times in the three years I spent in Germany, and was always welcomed, and treated, just a little bit differently than the other customers. It was a dive and the people there might have been from a different strata of society than I was accustomed to, but I was always welcome and treated like a friend (a paying one) when I was there.
I was also learning how great German beer can be, and I set about trying it in as many forms and venues as possible.
Being stationed only about 35 miles south of Munich, it was not unusual for me to wind up there with others who were interested in the seamier side of life.
That's how I came to be a welcome regular at the Rumba Bar on Goethe Strasse, just around the corner from the Munich train station.
Now, I was still a kid from the sticks and the first night there, being surrounded by prostitutes who were trying to convince me I was the hottest guy they had ever seen was a heady experience. However, at the moment I just wanted to drink beer and figure out how the game was played.
First of all, the girls were all a bit surprised at how politely and respectfully I treated them. Then, I noticed that one of the girls at the bar was crying.
I asked why she was crying. One of the other girls told me her name was Rosie and she was crying because it was her birthday and she was having to spend it trying to pick up guys in a bar. On an impulse, I told the girls I was talking to that I would be right back.
There had been a flower seller at the train station which was a little over a block away. I walked down there and bought a small but pretty bouquet of flowers. I then marched back into the bar, walked up to Rosie, handed her the flowers, and wished her a happy birthday.
The look of surprise on her face, followed by the realization that somebody really wanted her to feel special on her birthday, no matter who she was or what she was doing, was priceless. Immediately, she put her arms around me and kissed me, and most of the other girls followed.
The "party" didn't last long, however, as the owner, Eddie, who used to be a jockey, and, I later learned, carried a knife...and was good with it, made it plain that the girls needed to "get back to work".
However, from that time forward, I was always welcome in the Rumba Bar, and even Eddie eventually let me know that he respected me for the way I had treated Rosie and always treated his girls.
I went back to the Rumba Bar many times in the three years I spent in Germany, and was always welcomed, and treated, just a little bit differently than the other customers. It was a dive and the people there might have been from a different strata of society than I was accustomed to, but I was always welcome and treated like a friend (a paying one) when I was there.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Pierre Terrail LeVieux, seigneur de Bayard
by Donovan Baldwin
http://nodiet4me.com
"Le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche."
He was a knight of France in the 15th and 16th centuries. The Chevalier de Bayard was also considered to be the epitome of chivalry and was held up as an ideal for knights of the time, and for many others since.
He was so esteemed by the people of his time that the french phrase quoted at the beginning of this article, translated as "the knight without fear and above reproach", was used to describe him. For himself, Pierre Terrail LeVieux preferred the simple appelation, "le bon chevalier"..."the good knight."
A warrior respected and looked up to by other warriors of his time, both comrades and opponents, he was also known for his wit, intelligence, and kindness. On one occasion, when wounded, he placed a homeowner and his family under his protection as he recovered from his wounds in their house. One of the most skilled commanders of the age, he won battles not only by his own skills as a warrior and commander, but by the fruits of an espionage organization he fostered.
His personal valor came never in question. In one famous battle, he, with twelve other French knights, won in battle against an equal number of Spanish knights. Another tale has him single-handedly holding a bridge against 200 Spaniards.
So respected was he, not only his by countrymen, but by foes as well, he was twice released after being captured simply out of respect for his valor and his reputation. One time, he was asked to give his word to refrain from returning to the battle for at least six weeks...which he did.
In an era when mercenaries were the rage, and it was not the least bit uncommon to change one's loyalty at the drop of a plume in order to pursue one's own goals, the Chevalier de Bayard remained loyal to his country and his king until his death in 1524. Even as he was dying, he reproached an old comrade-in-arms, Charles, duc de Bourbon, for fighting on the other side.
The other day, my wife mentioned to me that so many of us live lives sheltered from the realities of existence that we lose the connection we once had with life itself. Once we had to feed ourselves, protect ourselves, and choose life-or-death roles that we would play out in society. We made decisions knowing that we would have to live with the fruits of those decisions, unable to quickly and easily change plans. There was a time when the common options of life exposed us to the opportunities for fame and/or fortune or for death...or worse.
These days we worry about which video to rent, watching horror movies to get our kicks. Most of us fret about losing our hair or our figures more than losing our lives, while holding firmly to beliefs and positions which profit us rather than the world in which we live.
In his times when death, disease, or dismemberment was a reality of daily life, the Chevalier de Bayard remained faithful to his faith, his country, his king, and his honor. He was known then, and still remains, "le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche".
I wonder what will be said about you and me when we are gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Donovan Baldwin is a 65-year-young amteur bodybuilder and freelance writer currently living in Stone Mountain, Georgia. He is retired from the U. S. Army after 21 years of service and is a University of West Florida alumnus (BA Accounting 1973). He writes frequently on health and fitness and occasionally on other subjects as well, as witness this article. He has a blog titled Fitness After 40 at http://fitness-after-40.blogspot.com.
Originally published on SearchWarp.com for Donovan Baldwin Sunday, January 03, 2010
Article Source: Pierre Terrail LeVieux, seigneur de Bayard
http://nodiet4me.com
"Le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche."
He was a knight of France in the 15th and 16th centuries. The Chevalier de Bayard was also considered to be the epitome of chivalry and was held up as an ideal for knights of the time, and for many others since.
He was so esteemed by the people of his time that the french phrase quoted at the beginning of this article, translated as "the knight without fear and above reproach", was used to describe him. For himself, Pierre Terrail LeVieux preferred the simple appelation, "le bon chevalier"..."the good knight."
A warrior respected and looked up to by other warriors of his time, both comrades and opponents, he was also known for his wit, intelligence, and kindness. On one occasion, when wounded, he placed a homeowner and his family under his protection as he recovered from his wounds in their house. One of the most skilled commanders of the age, he won battles not only by his own skills as a warrior and commander, but by the fruits of an espionage organization he fostered.
His personal valor came never in question. In one famous battle, he, with twelve other French knights, won in battle against an equal number of Spanish knights. Another tale has him single-handedly holding a bridge against 200 Spaniards.
So respected was he, not only his by countrymen, but by foes as well, he was twice released after being captured simply out of respect for his valor and his reputation. One time, he was asked to give his word to refrain from returning to the battle for at least six weeks...which he did.
In an era when mercenaries were the rage, and it was not the least bit uncommon to change one's loyalty at the drop of a plume in order to pursue one's own goals, the Chevalier de Bayard remained loyal to his country and his king until his death in 1524. Even as he was dying, he reproached an old comrade-in-arms, Charles, duc de Bourbon, for fighting on the other side.
The other day, my wife mentioned to me that so many of us live lives sheltered from the realities of existence that we lose the connection we once had with life itself. Once we had to feed ourselves, protect ourselves, and choose life-or-death roles that we would play out in society. We made decisions knowing that we would have to live with the fruits of those decisions, unable to quickly and easily change plans. There was a time when the common options of life exposed us to the opportunities for fame and/or fortune or for death...or worse.
These days we worry about which video to rent, watching horror movies to get our kicks. Most of us fret about losing our hair or our figures more than losing our lives, while holding firmly to beliefs and positions which profit us rather than the world in which we live.
In his times when death, disease, or dismemberment was a reality of daily life, the Chevalier de Bayard remained faithful to his faith, his country, his king, and his honor. He was known then, and still remains, "le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche".
I wonder what will be said about you and me when we are gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Donovan Baldwin is a 65-year-young amteur bodybuilder and freelance writer currently living in Stone Mountain, Georgia. He is retired from the U. S. Army after 21 years of service and is a University of West Florida alumnus (BA Accounting 1973). He writes frequently on health and fitness and occasionally on other subjects as well, as witness this article. He has a blog titled Fitness After 40 at http://fitness-after-40.blogspot.com.
Originally published on SearchWarp.com for Donovan Baldwin Sunday, January 03, 2010
Article Source: Pierre Terrail LeVieux, seigneur de Bayard
Monday, December 13, 2010
by Donovan Baldwin
http://nodiet4me.com
I am 65 now, and, on Sundays, I take my 92-year-old mother, who no longer drives, to church. Normally, I dress well, as one should when going to church with his mother, no matter what his age, but today I have chores elsewhere afterwards and will not have an opportunity to change, so I made some concessions.
One concession was the shoes.
The ones I was going to wear this morning looked a little bad. They were supposed to be black, but had acquired a patina of age and disuse, plus a smattering of some unidentified white liquid from some previous task.
So, I got out the little shoeshine kit.
That was the first memory.
The first thing I saw was my father's "black" shoe brush. He died back in '81, but I still have all his shoeshine stuff. I knew it was his "black" brush because the label said so!
It was probablhy sometime back in the early 60's when my mom gave my dad the Dymo LableMaker for Christmas. He proceeded to go around the house labeling things. Until my mother moved out of the house in 1983 after his death two years earlier, one kitchen cabinet still had a label which told the world, with a proud red, though fading, label, that it was, indeed, a "KITCHEN CABINET".
Not all his labeling was done as a joke, however. Two things I still have are his two shoe brushes labeled "BLACK" and "BROWN" so he wouldn't accidently pick up the wrong one and ruin his shine.
However, that wasn't the extent of my memories. As I thought of the home where I grew up at the corner of Cary's Lane and Bayshore Drive in Warrington, Florida, and my normally staid and stolid father's sometimes whimsical humor, I smelled the shoe polish itself.
The smell, the spreading of the polish, and the buffing of the shoes triggered a kaleidescope of memories of an unknown number of shoes and boots shined during my 21 years in the military. Attached to those memories were places I have been, sights I have seen, and people I have known over the last 44 years.
In seconds, I traveled to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, to Monterey, California, to San Angelo, Texas, and from there to Bad Aibling, Germany. I crossed the ocean four times, went back to California and Germany again, and eventually returned home.
I saw the faces and heard the voices of Kevin, Bill, Frank, Olga, Wanda, Danka, Alex and a myriad of others whose paths had crossed mine on the way to wherever they are now. I remembered snow and sunshine, orchards and deserts, oceans, lakes, rivers, streams, and roads...lots of roads.
So much had happened in my life.
It only took a few minutes, and the memories began to fade as I finished shining my shoes and sealed polish, brush, and dauber back in the plastic case and put it back in the closet.
It had been a pleasant trip, a sad trip, and more interesting than anything I have seen on TV for years.
Later, when I took my mother to Mass, I thought of all the Masses I had attended and served as an Altar Boy at St. Thomas More in Warrington..and the funerals.
Time to change the channel, I guess, but who needs TV if you have shoe polish and some memories?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Donovan Baldwin is a freelance writer currently living with his wife, dog, and memories near Dallas, Texas. He is a University of West Florida alumnus (BA Accounting 1973), and is retired from the military after 21 years of service. He has been an accountant for the Florida State Department of Education, a Fiscal Consultant, a Business Manager, and has held various other positions, including being a trainer for a major national company. He offers a line of do it yourself legal software which can be seen at http://legalhelp.xtramoney4me.net.
Originally published on SearchWarp.com for Donovan Baldwin Sunday, July 04, 2010
Article Source: A Simple Act Breeds a Sea of Memories
http://nodiet4me.com
I am 65 now, and, on Sundays, I take my 92-year-old mother, who no longer drives, to church. Normally, I dress well, as one should when going to church with his mother, no matter what his age, but today I have chores elsewhere afterwards and will not have an opportunity to change, so I made some concessions.
One concession was the shoes.
The ones I was going to wear this morning looked a little bad. They were supposed to be black, but had acquired a patina of age and disuse, plus a smattering of some unidentified white liquid from some previous task.
So, I got out the little shoeshine kit.
That was the first memory.
The first thing I saw was my father's "black" shoe brush. He died back in '81, but I still have all his shoeshine stuff. I knew it was his "black" brush because the label said so!
It was probablhy sometime back in the early 60's when my mom gave my dad the Dymo LableMaker for Christmas. He proceeded to go around the house labeling things. Until my mother moved out of the house in 1983 after his death two years earlier, one kitchen cabinet still had a label which told the world, with a proud red, though fading, label, that it was, indeed, a "KITCHEN CABINET".
Not all his labeling was done as a joke, however. Two things I still have are his two shoe brushes labeled "BLACK" and "BROWN" so he wouldn't accidently pick up the wrong one and ruin his shine.
However, that wasn't the extent of my memories. As I thought of the home where I grew up at the corner of Cary's Lane and Bayshore Drive in Warrington, Florida, and my normally staid and stolid father's sometimes whimsical humor, I smelled the shoe polish itself.
The smell, the spreading of the polish, and the buffing of the shoes triggered a kaleidescope of memories of an unknown number of shoes and boots shined during my 21 years in the military. Attached to those memories were places I have been, sights I have seen, and people I have known over the last 44 years.
In seconds, I traveled to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, to Monterey, California, to San Angelo, Texas, and from there to Bad Aibling, Germany. I crossed the ocean four times, went back to California and Germany again, and eventually returned home.
I saw the faces and heard the voices of Kevin, Bill, Frank, Olga, Wanda, Danka, Alex and a myriad of others whose paths had crossed mine on the way to wherever they are now. I remembered snow and sunshine, orchards and deserts, oceans, lakes, rivers, streams, and roads...lots of roads.
So much had happened in my life.
It only took a few minutes, and the memories began to fade as I finished shining my shoes and sealed polish, brush, and dauber back in the plastic case and put it back in the closet.
It had been a pleasant trip, a sad trip, and more interesting than anything I have seen on TV for years.
Later, when I took my mother to Mass, I thought of all the Masses I had attended and served as an Altar Boy at St. Thomas More in Warrington..and the funerals.
Time to change the channel, I guess, but who needs TV if you have shoe polish and some memories?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Donovan Baldwin is a freelance writer currently living with his wife, dog, and memories near Dallas, Texas. He is a University of West Florida alumnus (BA Accounting 1973), and is retired from the military after 21 years of service. He has been an accountant for the Florida State Department of Education, a Fiscal Consultant, a Business Manager, and has held various other positions, including being a trainer for a major national company. He offers a line of do it yourself legal software which can be seen at http://legalhelp.xtramoney4me.net.
Originally published on SearchWarp.com for Donovan Baldwin Sunday, July 04, 2010
Article Source: A Simple Act Breeds a Sea of Memories
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Decisions
The "bad" thing about most decisions is that we will often not know if they were a "good" decision or not until some time after the effects of the decision have been fully felt.
In fact, we may never reach the end of those effects.
While not every decision is earth-shattering, some can have a lifetime of repercussions, and taking the time to determine what we truly desire to achieve can be of paramount importance.
For example, if you had asked me back in the 60's, 70's, 80's, and even the 90's what I wanted out of life, somewhere in there would have been "a lot of money".
However, when I finally got around to examing my true desires, wants, and needs, I discovered, that I didn't really want the money. What I wanted was what I perceived money to be capable of getting for me.
I wanted the freedom to live my days as I wished. I wanted the liberty to do what I wanted to do, and not have to go to some job which held little interest for me and function as told by someone who I had little or no respect for, but whom I had to please in order to get the few things I could get with whatever was earned by my subservience.
As an accountant, I was trained to view profit and/or loss as a factor of revenue and expense. If you wanted to increase profit, for example, you could either increase revenue or decrease expense.
For some reason, that lesson took a while to be understood as it related to happiness, freedom, and the joy of living.
Many people, as I once did, take the attitude that you need to get more in order to be happy, successful, or "rich".
However, if being happy, successful, or rich is examined deeply, you begin to realize that these things do not depend on a quantified amount of how much of something that you have. They depend on having enough of what you need to get what you want.
This is where decisions can come in.
If you decide that you must "have it all", or as much of "it" as possible, you run a good chance of being disappointed and living a lifetime of regret for the decisions you have made which have not delivered your heart's desire.
However, if you realize that you can be happy, successful, or rich with less because you use whatever you have more wisely and make decisions which allow you to live in a manner of your own choosing, you will enjoy life much more fully and fulfillingly than the richest millionaire who depends on the amount of money available to him to provide cheap imitations of the rich reality you truly possess.
================
Making decisions
In fact, we may never reach the end of those effects.
While not every decision is earth-shattering, some can have a lifetime of repercussions, and taking the time to determine what we truly desire to achieve can be of paramount importance.
For example, if you had asked me back in the 60's, 70's, 80's, and even the 90's what I wanted out of life, somewhere in there would have been "a lot of money".
However, when I finally got around to examing my true desires, wants, and needs, I discovered, that I didn't really want the money. What I wanted was what I perceived money to be capable of getting for me.
I wanted the freedom to live my days as I wished. I wanted the liberty to do what I wanted to do, and not have to go to some job which held little interest for me and function as told by someone who I had little or no respect for, but whom I had to please in order to get the few things I could get with whatever was earned by my subservience.
As an accountant, I was trained to view profit and/or loss as a factor of revenue and expense. If you wanted to increase profit, for example, you could either increase revenue or decrease expense.
For some reason, that lesson took a while to be understood as it related to happiness, freedom, and the joy of living.
Many people, as I once did, take the attitude that you need to get more in order to be happy, successful, or "rich".
However, if being happy, successful, or rich is examined deeply, you begin to realize that these things do not depend on a quantified amount of how much of something that you have. They depend on having enough of what you need to get what you want.
This is where decisions can come in.
If you decide that you must "have it all", or as much of "it" as possible, you run a good chance of being disappointed and living a lifetime of regret for the decisions you have made which have not delivered your heart's desire.
However, if you realize that you can be happy, successful, or rich with less because you use whatever you have more wisely and make decisions which allow you to live in a manner of your own choosing, you will enjoy life much more fully and fulfillingly than the richest millionaire who depends on the amount of money available to him to provide cheap imitations of the rich reality you truly possess.
================
Making decisions
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