final exam

Well, at least for this semester. That's right, folks, one to go, and I'll have [hopefully successfully] completed my first semester of graduate school. Problem is, this one's kind of a doozy.

Our school-age (language disorders) professor expects us to differentiate between the ten different language disorders we've covered in class, indicate the specific deficit areas (there are about five or six per disorder), decide which assessment tools we would like to use, and formulate a lesson plan for intervention, given "a few sentences" about the child. Phew!

There are ten case studies. So basically, we're supposed to do a full day's worth of diagnostics and planning in 2.5 hours or less. I am not what you would call prepared for this. So I'm implementing an intervention plan for myself to help me learn and be more comfortable manipulating the material. I've got my index cards and an assortment of markers at the ready, and I'm going to look through my old lesson plans (that I wrote for this class) for an idea on how to remediate myself.

For those of you that this means virtually nothing to, I am going to pretend that I am a child with a language disorder and teach myself the material for my test using a lesson plan that I wrote for an 8-year-old.

I'll probably go with a hybrid of word finding and information processing disorders.

oh hey boone winter!

Winter came to Boone this week. It's cold and rainy and as I was walking from my car to class this morning I found myself thinking, "Help me, coffee! Help me, wool coat! Help me, mittens from target (which I happen to keep in my glove box)!" in a Ricky Bobby-esque fashion. This, of course, made me laugh - out loud. Fortunately there weren't any people around me to judge me as certifiably insane (or think I was crying and attempt to offer their condolences...?).

The good news is that the laughter actually "helped me" more than the coffee, coat, or mittens. It warmed me as I thought about how dumb the selection ballet flats was for a day such as this. Even as the freezing water seeped through to my toes, I continued to laugh.

Maybe I am crazy.

best christmas song ever

The Horse's hay beneath His head
our Lord was born to a manger bed,
that all whose wells run dry
could drink of His supply.

To keep Him warm the Sheep drew near,
so grateful for His coming here:
You come with news of grace,
come to take my place!

The Donkey whispered in His ear: Child, in thirty-some-odd years, You'll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly).

While the Cardinals warbled a joyful song:
He'll make right what man made wrong,
bringing low the hills,
that the valleys might be filled!

Then Child, asked the birds,
well, aren't they lovely words we sing?
The tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.

At a distance stood a mangy Goat
with a crooked teeth and a matted coat,
weary eyes and worn,
chipped & twisted horns.
Thinking: Maybe I'll make friends some day
with the Cows in the pens and the Rambouillet,
but for now I'll keep away -
I got nothin' smart to say.

But there's a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown:
WHEN THE RAIN PICKS UP AND THE SUN GOES DOWN,
SINNERS, COME INSIDE!
WITH NO MONEY, COME AND BUY.
NO CLEVER TALK NOR GIFT TO BRING
REQUIRES OUR LOWLY, LOVELY KING.
COME YOU EMPTYHANDED,
YOU DON'T NEED ANYTHING.

And the night was cool and clear as glass
with the sneaking Snake in the garden grass,
as Deep cried out to Deep, the Disciples fast asleep.
And the snake perked up when he heard You ask:
if You're willing that this cup might pass
we could find our way back home,
maybe start a family all our own...
but does not the Father guide the Son?
Not my will but Yours be done!
What else here to do?
What else me but You?

And the snake who'd held the world,
a stick, a carrot and a string, was crushed
beneath the Foot of Your not wanting anything.

-A Stick, A Carrot & String, by mewithoutYou

in MY monologue

Here's a little something I wrote over Thanksgiving break. It was inspired by a good friend with whom I had coffee that week, as she shared this video with me:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/107502/saturday-night-live-taylor-swift-monologue

I like camping and mint chocolate chip ice cream,

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in MY monologue.

I like laughing and my charm bracelet,

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

La la la.

La la la.

I like going to Egypt and shooting guns in Colorado

but I'm not gonna say that

in my monologue.

I moved to Boone, thus expanding my horizons

but I'm not gonna say that

in my monologue.

La la, LA la la la la

This is my blogosphere monologue.

You might think I'd mention the half marathon that I ran yesterday in Atlanta

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

By the way, I did real well!

Though my hip-flexers hurt like hell,

but I'm not gonna write about that

in my monologue.

La la la.

Ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

La la la.

And if you're wondering if I might

be dating a chemical engineer,

well I'm not gonna comment on that

in my monologue.

La la, LA la la la la

This is my blogosphere monologue

You might be expecting me to say

something about going to the Philippines in May

with Operation Smile to do a medical mission,

It'll actually be in March

Shortly after spring break

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

My blogosphere monologue

La la, LA la la la la

That was my blogosphere monologue.

update

Friends, the seasons are changing, and it's high-time for an update.

There is a time for everything
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Panera

Today I woke up and went to Panera for a whole grain bagel and cup of coffee. Than I stayed here for four hours, working on a project for my neurogenic communication disorders class until the lunch crowd arrived. Upon the realization that a great deal of my consciousness was being spent suppressing the urge to politely ask the boisterous group of gossiping women at the next table to can it, I decided that it was time for a break. So I went home, stopping at the grocery store to pick up a couple of staples for the week on the way. At home, I cycled my laundry and completed one (of the THREE) preschool language disorders assignments I have due on Monday.

Then I came back to Panera for a cup of tea and some French Onion Soup. I'll stay here for another 45 minutes - until they close. Then I'll move to another coffee shop that stays open a little later.

today

Today has been the most perfect day. It hasn't been exceptional by any means, except perhaps exceptionally ordinary. The past two days have been more like what I expected graduate school to be like than the last two months of class. Yesterday I did preschool language screenings before class, and today three of my classmates [read: friends] and I did hearing screenings at an elementary school in West Jefferson.

We had to meet at 6:30 AM, clinic I.D. lanyards around our necks, travel mugs of coffee in our hands, and smiles on our faces by the time we arrived in Ashe County, 30 minutes early (thanks a lot, Garmin). So we went to West Jefferson's new fancy Wal-Mart and perused the Halloween cards to send to our siblings in Georgia and Florida. By the time we left the store, the sun had decided to make an appearance. We screened first, second, third, and fifth grade students, as well as a couple of RTI (Response to Intervetion [potential special education candidates]). It was kind of fun. We were finished before noon and went to a Thai restaurant in downtown Boone for lunch.

It's a rainy day, so I've been inside reading an Emily Griffin novel and doing laundry. Finally I conceded that it wasn't going to stop raining, so I put on my new balance shoes and went for an eight mile run in the rain, listening to a couple chapters of To Kill A Mockingbird. (Somehow I made it through the public school system without having been made to read it previously... sounds like a child was left behind).

And tonight? Contra Dance.

swing your partner

Recently I've been partaking in a North Carolinian high country cultural experience called contra dancing. I love it. So much so, in fact, that I have decided that at my wedding reception (whenever it may happen) I plan to have a live band and a caller who will give lessons while the guests await the arrival of the wedding party, but that is neither here nor there...

This is the way God put it: "They found grace out in the desert, these people who survived the killing. Israel, out looking for a place to rest, met God out looking for them!" God told them, "I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love! And so now I'll start over with you and build you up again, dear virgin Israel. You'll resume your singing, grabbing tambourines and joining the dance. You'll go back to your old work of planting vineyards on the Samaritan hillsides, And sit back and enjoy the fruit— oh, how you'll enjoy those harvests! The time's coming when watchmen will call out from the hilltops of Ephraim: 'On your feet! Let's go to Zion, go to meet our God!'" - Jeremiah 31:1-3

How I long to join that dance! To spin around and swing my neighbor - to one day have my own to swing. I don't know exactly what it looks like, but I know what it feels like: contra dancing! It feels like giving a little weight to your partner and spinning and spinning until you almost feel dizzy, but trusting that you'll end up on his right in long lines or hands-four, ready to dance a little more. It feels like smiling through the pinch of your shoes or the breathlessness that accompanies the constant movement, despite the beads of perspiration forming on your brow.

I love to dance. I love to have a good partner to lead me through each step - a partner with whom I can just relax and move gracefully and fluidly, because it's only when I try to maintain control that I misstep or end up where I don't belong. I love leaning back in a swing and feeling the centrifugal force spinning us faster and faster. I love how the pre-swing balance is marked by the sound of hundreds of feet stomping in unison on the old wood floor of the apple barn. Clearly, I really like contra dancing. But that may or may not be what I'm talking about.

Being a skilled dancer has less to do with knowing the steps and more to do with learning to relax, to trust your partner, and to listen for the caller's instructions as He gives them.

"You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough." -Psalm 30:11

i am a nerd

america's best idea

We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. Our flesh-and-bone tabernacle seems transparent as glass to the beauty about us, as if truly an inseparable part of it, thrilling with the air and trees, streams and rocks, in the waves of the sun, -- a part of all nature, neither old nor young, sick nor well, but immortal. Just now I can hardly conceive of any bodily condition dependent on food or breath any more than the ground or the sky. How glorious a conversion, so complete and wholesome it is. -John Muir

Anybody else super-excited about The National Parks series on PBS? Given that I plan to take my family on vacations to The National Parks, I sure am.

green bananas

I've come to the realization that I've got some serious ripening to do. I have a lot to learn in the academic and professional realms, which coincidentally, become less distinct from one another day after grad school day. I have even more to learn about myself - to continue to develop and build on the beliefs and values that I hold. Most importantly, I have a lot to learn about God. I have to get to know Him better. I have to learn to trust in His promises. Otherwise I'll just be a bunch of green bananas for the rest of my life, and who wants that?

aimer encore

You must not be astonished when, even at the risk of your taking me for a fanatic, I tell you that in order to love, I think it absolutely necessary to believe in God (that does not mean that you should believe all the sermons of the clergymen) — far from it. To me, to believe in God is to feel that there is a God, not dead or stuffed, but alive, urging us toward aimer encore [steadfast love] with irresistible force.

-Vincent van Gogh

Agreed. Most definitely agreed.

No, no, not the rat track!

It's been raining nonstop for the last three days in Boone, and this weather pattern is supposed to continue into the weekend. The downside is that my energy level plummets on rainy days; all I want to do is consume copious amounts of grain and sleep and/or read fiction (Think about it, how many animals do you see outside in the rain? None. They hibernate or something). The upside is that I need to get a lot of work done this weekend, so I will have a lighter load next weekend when two of my dearest loves visit, and as long as it is yucky outside, I will not be especially tempted to play outside in these mountains that are fast becoming my home.

The rain started on Tuesday, and I was forced to run three miles on the treadmill on Wednesday instead of outside [Can I get a resounding "Ugggggggggh..."?]. Today I was due for a five miler, and as I would much rather run this distance in a torrential downpour than on one of those little rat tracks in the florescence of the gym, I headed up to Cone Memorial Park, which is just off the Parkway near Blowing Rock. It was still super-foggy when I got there, but miracle of miracles, it had stopped raining! Off I went around Bass Lake with my rain-gear and iPod, following the carriage trail toward the cute little apple barn just over the ridge.

At one point I heard some loud rustling in the foliage alongside the trail, and immediately began clapping my hands and shouting, just in case it turned out to be a bear. You never know.

I think I'm supposed to be learning something about faithfulness these days, but I don't know exactly what. There's just something about driving up the road in the middle of a weeklong rain and finding precipitation-free hour just when you need it that makes me think that it couldn't have been coincidence. I guess what I'm trying to say is... Thanks, Jesus.

new.fresh.unfamiliar

Main Entry:	new
Part of Speech:	adjective
Definition:	recent, fresh
Synonyms:	advanced, au courant, brand-new, contemporary, current, cutting-edge, dewy, different, dissimilar, distinct, fashionable, inexperienced, just out, late, latest, modern, modernistic, modish, neoteric, newfangled, novel, now*, original, recent, spick-and-span, state-of-the-art, strange, topical, ultramodern, unaccustomed, uncontaminated, unfamiliar, unique, unknown, unlike, unseasoned, unskilled, unspoiled, untouched, untrained, untried, untrodden, unused, unusual, up-to-date, virgin, youthful
Antonyms:	deteriorated, old, old-fashioned, outdated, worn

Thanks, Dictionary.com.

So I've experienced a lot of new things during the first weeks of this new chapter in my life called gradschoolboonenorthcarolinaadventure (should probably come up with a NEW name). Here are some them:

Greek yogurt, "study hikes" on the Blue Ridge Parkway, a developing interest in geopolitics?, the realization that "graduate assistant" really means "secretary," cheating on Publix with Ingle's (which is Spanish for "English" -- I've always wondered if they know that), Harry Potter on my iPod (for free, thanks to the ASU Library Instructional Materials Collection), the occasional glass of red wine, home-schooling three children on Friday mornings, constructing models of the circle of Willis using only pipe cleaners, volunteering at a nursing home, couscous, watching 18 Kids and Counting with my roommate, scoffing at the abomination known to many as "South Carolina Peaches" (j/k south cackalacky! but seriously...), this little bunny that almost always scares the you-know-what out of me when I see him hopping alongside me at a certain segment of one of my running routes near my house, utility bills, and the teeny-tiny basil plant I got at the Watauga County Farmer's Market last week.

After all, I'm still a Plant Lady.

can't go back now

Yesterday when you were young
Everything you needed done was done for you
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone, what can you do?

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now

You know there will be days
When you're so tired
That you can't take another step
The night will have no stars
And you'll think you've gone as far
As you will ever get

You and me wak on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now

And yeah, yeah, you go where you want to go
Yeah, yeah, be what you want to be
If you ever turn around, you'll see me

I can't really say
Why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter
Are the ones you take all by yourself

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on
Yeah, you and me walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now.

-The Weepies

It's tough here. I'm incredibly busy with school and work. I don't have many friends just yet.

However, I find myself clinging to this deep-seated belief that I am in Boone on purpose. When I walk outside to my car each chilly morning, I am reminded. When I heard about an opportunity to take a course on speech pathology in an international context (complete with a spring break study abroad trip to Guatemala) next semester, I knew that the path I've been following since I was in the 10th grade has lead me here. When I discovered that Appalachian acquired one of the faculty members from the MUSC (Medical University of South Carolina) communication disorders program that dissolved last year, I almost had to laugh. He's not just any faculty member - he was their cleft palate specialist - and he's not just any old cleft palate specialist - all of his work has had a multicultural emphasis. Apparently it is his intention to take students on an Operation Smile trip with him in the summer. Naturally, it is my intention to be one of those students.

Yeah, I'm here for a reason - for a purpose. It's just a matter of settling into it. Besides, I just wrote a check for my out-of-state tuition, and I can't go back now.

on being a graduate student

Being a graduate student is a glamorous thing, indeed. During "orientation," we are bombarded with information on everything from clinical malpractice insurance to the advantages of keeping an extra-large bag of cheap kitty-litter in the trunk of your non-four-wheel-drive car to help combat the ice during Boone's winter months. They take our mug-shots for clinic badges, feed us dinner, and send us on our way.

In the first week, we help our supervisors get settled into their offices if they are new. Professors delegate many tasks to their assistants, which may include, but are not limited to: obtaining basic office supplies (i.e. paper-clips, manila folders, post-it notes, etc.), constructing and installing frames for hanging files in filing cabinets, typing old articles that have been xeroxed so many times they are too difficult for students to read (but apparently, not too difficult for a graduate student), sending emails on behalf of the professor who is computer illiterate*, typing up instructions for aforementioned professor to access and navigate his university email account, filing, offering advice on the appropriate microwave time for a left-over hamburger when asked, and performing general secretarial tasks.

In our classes, we are cautioned by our professors over and over AND OVER again not to overload ourselves, attempt to skip class (unless we have the swine flu), or cheat. They go over each extensive syllabus, but by the time we get to our fourth or fifth class, they've all run together because some teachers teach more than one class and all of our classes meet in one of two rooms. We sit through three-hour classes three days each week. We read a lot. We feel our hearts sink as our advisors key in the override code that allows us to take 15 hours, exceeding the graduate school's recommendation of 12 for full-time students with assistantships.

This is going to be fun.

*I find this term ironic in its application to a tenure-track literacy specialist...

new home

Please accept my most sincere apologies for not having posted in months. In my defense, I've had kind of a busy summer, what with having the time of my life at camp in Colorado.

Now I'm in Boone. My parents left after lunch today, and now I'm on my own, trying to figure my life out. Graduate school is turning out to be quite different from my undergraduate experience. Whereas an incoming freshman at UGA is held by the hand and spoon-fed everything from meal plan to dorm life to registration to extracurricular activities, here they bombard you with emails and all you can do is cross your fingers and hope you don't screw up. The fact that I've been out of the loop for quite some time doesn't help.

So I'm just sitting in my new room, looking out the window at the green mountains surrounding me, trying to download antivirus software for my computer and mentally blocking the fact that the room behind me still has a box that needs unpacking.

pilgrimage

We left yesterday around eleven in the morning to begin our pilgrimage to Mount Sinai. Aunt Chrissy, Abbie and I climbed in a rather spacious van with our drivers, Adel and Isam. We stopped to see the Suez Canal, slept a little, and Adel helped me with my Arabic. After about six hours, we arrived at the St. Katherine Protectorate, a National Park in the southern region of the Sinai peninsula.

We stayed at the Plaza, the Catherine* Plaza that is. It reminded me of a place I once stayed in Monjas, Guatemala, El Hotel Lopez. The linens were scratchy, and let's just say we were a little concerned about the potential for bed bug bites and/or intruders entering through our balcony, which I easily scaled in tennis shoes. Fortunately, we only slept for about two hours because we had to wake up early enough to begin our ascent at 2:00 AM. Dinner was included and was served buffet-style. Some things were more delicious than others, the chicken, for example, was great. The bread, not so much. Egyptians must not be the most talented bakers, because they even messed up the little cakes. How can you mess up cake? I didn't think it was possible.

At any rate, after a couple of hours of laughter reminiscent of the slumber parties of our youths, we got a couple hours of sleep, hopped out of bed, packed our little bag, and headed to the mountain. Adel drove us and introduced us to Mahmoud, our Bedouin guide. Think back to your SAT skills, because I'm about to throw an analogy at you:

Bedouin : Mt. Sinai :: Sherpa : Mt. Everest

Got it? Okay, so Mahmoud was this tall, skinny fellow who apparently does this five times a week or so. He carried our bag for us and helped us navigate the roughly five mile ascent through some of the especially treacherous spots. Once we hit the trail, the first thing I noticed was the stars. We were in the middle of the desert, and I haven't seen stars like that since perhaps I was a child in Alaska. The scenery surrounding us made me feel like I was on Mars or something. I'd never seen anything quite like these rocky peaks, just visible in the light of the cresent moon. After a few minutes of a gradual incline, we passed St. Katherine's monastery and came upon a couple of Bedouins offering camel rides. "You want camel?" they would say, "it is good camel and far way." We declined and continued into a small area where there had to be at least fifty camels tethered to rocks, some sitting, some standing, all chewing cud (from where, I cannot imagine). It was rather eerie, all those camels in the moonlight.

Every mile or so there was a "coffee shop," which consisted of a shack on the side of the path that sold candy bars, water, soda, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, etc. The headlamps supplied by Uncle Bill proved incredibly helpful, especially once we got to the end of the switchback camel trail and began the last segment of the climb, a series of 750 steps to to summit. Mahmoud warned us that all along the steps there would be Bedouins offering their hands to help us up the steep path, but that this help was not free. "Lah shakran," we repeated over and over again, "no thank you." Oddly enough, I heard a surprising amount of Russian, and it was pleasant to my ears.

Once we reached the point at which there were only 100 more steps, Mahmoud sent us on without him. I imagine he anticipated the crowds on the summit and was content to wait for our return after sunrise. We reached the summit just after 5:00 AM, and watched as the majestic scenery appeared before our eyes in the twilight. I thought about Moses, all those thousands of years ago, meeting with God on that very mountain top. I thought about how he had to make the journey alone, how he demanded that God show him His glory, how God had him hide in a cleft and passed his hand over it, how Sinai had been the place of the burning bush, when God first spoke to Moses, calling this place holy ground. I couldn't believe I was there.

Just as I was thinking that the sun had already come up and that we were simply unable to see it due to cloud cover and/or pollution, I looked over Aunt Chrissy's shoulder and saw it, peeking up over the horizon. It was bright orange against the dim yellows and blues of the sky, and quickly brought light and heat to the gray mountains all around us, turning them into a red-orange color.

The sun climbed into the sky with alarming speed, and it got hot fast. Though it was easier physically, the descent seemed longer with the heat and pronation of our toes, but we finally made it. We summitted Mount Sinai - probably my first internationally known mountain.

*Please take notice of the spelling discrepancy. This can be attributed to the "E-factor" (E as in Egypt).

egyptian marathon

In Egypt, a "marathon" is synonomous with a 5k at 4:30 PM in a place called the Wadi Degla Protectorate, one of Egypts National Parks. Prior to my own visit to the Wadi, it was described to me as "a giant sand pit" and "a big gulley," both of which proved to be accurate descriptions.

The Wadi is sort of like a large sandbox multiplied by the grand canyon. It was intense, but we survived. Hopefully I will add pictures to this post very soon.

In other news, I have decided to extend my stay in Egypt until Wednesday so that we can fit in a short trip to Mount Sinai before I leave.

new york minute

Delta only flies to Cairo out of JFK Int'l Airport in New York, and the late morning flights were all overbooked, so I opted to leave at 7:50, which turned out to be an excellent choice, and this is why:

On the plane, I sat next to a guy from Kennesaw State University whose father also works for Delta. Branden and I immediately hit it off, somehow managing to skip the small talk and discussing only important-type things. He was headed to South Africa the next morning to work on a service project with a leadership organization he is involved with through his school for a month, then to work on a Buddhist farm for a while after that. Early on in the conversation, he asked me if I had any religious affiliations or beliefs. I told him about Jesus and how I felt compelled to love him and oftentimes do so by loving and serving others (or at least attempt to do so) because of his Love and sacrifice for me. He told me that he was really interested in Eastern religions and, more recently, Lebanese philosophy.

We talked about cultures, languages, food, our families, science, faith, sustainability, and stuff white people like, including, but not limited to the following: religions their parents don't belong to, farmer's markets, organic food, diversity, yoga, nonprofit organizations, international travel, Manhattan, veganism/vegetarianism, architecture, bicycles, being the only white person around, study abroad, beards and scarves (well, we didn't actually talk about these two, but he had a beard and I was wearing a scarf despite the warm weather), integrity, native wisdom, platonic friendships (we were the embodiment of this), acoustic covers, books, following their dreams, and public transportation that is not a bus.

By the time we began our initial descent into the New York area, he asked if I wanted to head over to the city for lunch since I had about 6 1/2 hours before my next flight. I decided that since I was apparently already crazy for going to Egypt on a whim, that I would go. Neither of us were especially familiar with public transportation system, but we jointly navigated our way to Manhattan by train, arriving at the 53rd & Madison stop, just a block south of Central Park.

We ate at a place called Smiler's on the corner of 54th & Madison. It was a little market with a cafeteria-style feast of fresher produce than one would expect in the middle of a mega-city. I wish I had taken pictures. After lunch, I still had a little time to kill before I needed to head back to the airport, so we wandered around for a little while, continuing our five-hour-long conversation about nothing and everything. We exchanged contact information, and he promised to write me a letter about his experiences in South Africa. Finally we parted ways with a friendly embrace, and I descended back into the depths of the Subway system as he headed to the park to read.

I don't think I'm making this up, but it is still moderately difficult for me to believe that it actually happened.