Bush Rats

A lot of people ask me what people do out in "the bush" for fun and I really don't have a stellar answer. Maybe because for us it is just life and it is best explained by living it or experiencing it. But for your sake I will try and put some words to this unexplainable phenomenon. In our own way we experience a subsistence life style, with a year broken down into chapters with titles like "wackin down a forest" or "the day the reds returned", or "climb and shoot". Actually those are kind of lame titles but the gist is that life and survival and play are closely related. For me some of the elements of survival add more vigor and vitality to my life.

Some of the best days this past winter were spent alone in the woods with a chainsaw, thirty below zero, in a light jacked sweating like a mad man (so much my hair froze and I couldn't wear my hat because the frozen sweat would give me a brain freeze) chopping up the biggest trees I could find. After slicing the logs into sixteen inch sections I would wrestle them into the sled and race the snow machine home so I could get back to get another load before dark. Then when I did finally return for keeps split some of my hard earned blocks of wood into pieces that would fit in my stove to warm my toes by the fire after a long day.

Another day our friends from the big city came to visit and wanting to be good hosts we drug them around the country side careening across vast stretches of frozen lake to a island only to have dinner over a fire and shoot guns into the inky darkness. Dave and Kristine Estrem being willing and able for anything we followed it up with a dinner theater put on by the school kids and the following day a snow machine ride took us to this lake where it seemed like a great idea to launch a canoe into the open water and paddle around the ice chunks.

On quite another day my wife along with her fearless compadres decided to go for a walk about only in Alaska we call it a ski about in the winter. Actually I've never heard that before but that's what they did. Like a nervous father by friend Seth Kroenke flew these crazy mountain mommas up to the crest of a glacier infested pass and flung their gear into the snow. My wife along with Anna Burrows our fearless neighbor and my daring and handy cousin Kristin Vantrease donned their skis and descended three thousand feet and traversed thirty miles of barren and exquisite back country of our back yard right up to our back door.

Three days after leaving our cozy cabin tucked away in the woods they returned with a story, memories and an experience few would dared to have. My wife is quite the lady, with the least skiing experience and admittedly the worst skiing equipment of the three she gutted out the miles with her husband nervously, anxiously waiting at home for his bride to return.

So there you have it, just a couple of the things us bush rats do to fill our long boring days out here in the middle of no where. Thank you Russia for selling this great piece of real estate to us!

Time Machine

So the time machine is actually like hitting fast forward.

Heidi and I made it alive out of Israel and it is hard to believe it has been over a year. Too many adventures to recount so I'll start with more recent events. Our tiny school throws a fall party with costumes and all right near the end of October. Last year we were the Grinch and its little dog with one horn as a reindeer, this year the analogy is better as I was the boat, an 8' Lund and Heidi the motor, a 7 horse kicker. Unfortunately we showed up three minutes too late for the costume contest as our paint was still drying.

Keeping in line with our yearly travel schedule Heidi and I set out to check off another box on our life goals list and check off number six of the seven continents. Antarctica, the most and least desirable of the continents. We commandeered this nice red ship for the task. You can see Heidi on top of the bridge waving her arms!

Our second excursion to shore brought us to Deception Island where we enjoyed the sunny afternoon and jumping off snow hills.

While in this nice little bay we decided to take a dip in the ocean, the 29 degree water prevented any real swimming but it was exhilarating and bone chilling making the balmy 40 degree air seem sublime.

The critters we encountered were numerous and unaffected by our presence. This Leopard Seal lumbered about on the ice and gazed at us through its reptilian eyes.

With nothing but stones to build nests it was quite amusing watching the penguins squabbling and squawking defending their love nests from marauding bandits looking increase their own stash. The cold temps forced the parents to take turns incubating and alternating feeding in the ocean looking for tasty krill.

Twelve days aboard our trusty vessel and twice across the dreaded Drake Passage with countless memories and sights. We turned our backs on that cold continent and looked to the warmer lands to the North.

Keeping with our speed tour modes operands we wasted no time upon making land fall back in Argentina. A quick tour of a local park and realizing it was pretty much exactly like Alaska in many ways we sat our keesters down on a bus and headed North once again. This time with Torres Del Paine in our sights. Being the grand canyon of the Southern Americas we wanted to taste its beauty.

Realizing on the ride to the Park boundary that we were vastly unprepared compared to our fellow travelers we didn't let our naivete daunt us one bit. The Paine circuit is normally done in seven to nine days and we decided to try it in three and a half as that is all the time we had before starting our travels home. After an easy first day we hatched the plan fully and wore the tread off our shoes. Fourteen miles on day one, twenty six on day two and twenty seven weary miles under foot on day three. The last was pure grit as the miles began chafing our bodies in many uncomfortable places.

Dirt crept into all our crevices and a welcome shower met us at trail end, as well as an enormous meal that we gorged ourselves on. I will say though that that was probably the most hydrated I have been in quite some time during that hike, that was good, real good. If your ever in the neighborhood, go there it is awesome, ask me for some tips though we have plenty : )

After returning home to Alaska the longest cold snap I can remember hit and we still sit in the twenty below freezer. This Airplane was being ferried out to another airport from Anchorage and had to execute an emergency landing on Lake Clark and as unfortunate as it is for the plane and pilot and owners it is quite a hoot for us boys. The aircraft broke through the ice but is designed to float so two days after the accident we mustered up and went down and cut the fuselage out of the ice. Using the engine power we (Steve Hackala!) drove it right up and out onto the ice. The following day amounted to melting the remainder of the ice encrusting the belly and taking off from the ice and landing in Port Alsworth. Thats the short story.

Russian Christmas came in early January and some of the locals from Nondalton and quite possibly made the first visit to PA for Slavi. Heidi and I joined up with them then made the trek across the lake to Butch and Paulines for a second round of singing and eating!

My recent favorite outdoor activity has been plying the forest for free energy, or almost free. There is nothing like driving a snow machine out into the woods, finding a beautiful dead spruce tree, slicing it into pieces and dragging it home to burn.

This is none other than my bodacious, beautiful, rugged girlfriend, traveling partner, best friend, love of my life, caring, careful, wife. I love this woman, I am still trying to figure her out, I am still trying to win her, to woo her, serve her, and learn from her. She is a great partner for this life and a great example for me and my nephews. I want to be like her when I grow up. Three years banded together and sometimes it feels like I can't remember life without her and sometimes like I'm just fresh into the relationship. She is a lover of God and me. She rises up early to spend time with our God and seek Him, I love that, a real Proverbs 31 woman if ya know what I'm talkin about.

Cheers

The Grotto

Bracing myself with arms on the railing of a small tunnel and feet on the far side, I watched a massive wave crash through the entrance sloshing water in our direction. I stood petrified as Lyle, also propped up across the tunnel, was engulfed. It was our own fault for crossing the barrier into the closed section due to the massive storm ravaging the Mediterranean.

Eight days ago Lyle and I arrived in Tel Aviv, 23 hours after leaving home to find Yuval, our Israeli friend and African travel buddy, waiting for us with a smile and a car opening his home to us. We spent a few hours catching up and dining on fine Israeli fare Yuval had prepared for us. Then, as it would for the next week, jet lag took over and we both fell into a coma only to rise well before the sun the following morning. Deciding to risk the road we headed into town to pick up our rental car and spent the remainder of the day wondering around Tel Aviv. Amazingly enough we only lost ourselves once thanks to a friend who warned us that all the signs included an English transliteration but the English translation can, and does, change from street sign to street sign and from map to street sign.

After another comatose night at Yuval's we cruised up north to see some sights. First there was Ceaserea, or as the locals say Qasarea, that was entirely closed except for the ancient theater due to the foul weather (the area was wet and we could fall, therefore it was closed). Next one the agenda was Haifa, a large modern sea port town built into the side of Mt. Carmel. We tried to visit the Baha'i Gardens and again were refused entrance due to the wetness (heaven forbid we slip a little). I was actually quite disappointed because, upon arrival, we discovered that the gardens are extremely beautiful. Further down the road was Akko, a major sea port during the Arab domination of Israel complete with secret tunnels and ancient fortress walls. Then the Grotto on the Lebanon boarder, fantastic caves eroded out of the rock by continuous wave action. Again, we ran into the closed off area due to the storm. This area, however, seemed a bit more understandable as the large waves rushing into the caves sent water splashing through the majority of the tunnel system established for viewing. The sense of danger and excitement had a strong grip on us and we stepped under the rope barrier, in time with the waves, and ran further into the tunnel where we found ourselves sandwiched between to caves both allowing large quantities of water to splash up and walls and into the tunnels. They set up the barriers for visitors to be safe and dry. In the end we where safe. . .

After our treck north along the Mediterranean we navigated east to Mt. Hermon for a snowball fight near the summit then south to the Sea of Galilee and Nazareth. We visited several Biblical cites and waded in the Galilee. One of our favorite adventures was a trek through a national park that followed a stream at the bottom of a canyon. Twice we had to strip down to our skivvies, descend a skinny latter, and swim through a cold pool in order to continue our hike.

Nazareth proved to be our favorite city of the North with colorful market shops, ancient bathhouses, a village reenacting Jesus's time, and churches galore atop the holy sites.

We ended our tourer of the North by heading back to Yuval's for a splendid dinner with him and several of his friend from college. We have found that in all our travels the time we spend with people, with locals is the most rewarding and our time with Yuval has not been an exception.

Off the Road Again

On one of our endless bus journeys in Africa we met an Israeli man who explained to us how he, after months of travel filled with glorious experiences, lost his awe and wonderment at the creation around him. It was then he knew it was time to throw in the towel, head home, and wait for the wonder-lust to rebuild. His words resonate with us now. Maybe we've seen too many wonders, maybe we've been on the road too long, or maybe we know the finish line is within arms reach. Whatever the reason we have lost our wonder-lust and now the mundaneness of regular life like, sleeping in the same bed, brushing our teeth together, and regular access to TP sound exciting.

After exploring Machu Pichu we boarded yet another bus, this one bound for Lima. Twenty-one hours later we stumbled off the prison in search of a home for the night. We quickly found room at the Stop and Drop Hostel and meandered towards the beach. To our chagrin the beach was hundreds of feet below us as we peered over the edge of a rocky cliff. We chose to wander the corridors of the cliff side mall instead of paying the taxi fare over the edge. We headed to the airport, and ultimately Panama City, the next day after whiling away the hours in coffee shops eating churros and playing cards.

With only nine days in Panama we had one goal: get our chill on. The first two days of "chill" were forced on us as we had that all too familiar gurgling down below so we hung around our hostel. With Lyle still feeling a little "unsettled" we boarded our final over night bus bound for the sunny islands of Bocas Del Toro.

Bocas proved to be a beautiful Caribbean beach setting. In our efforts to take it slow we stayed four entire days, our longest in one spot since our safari in Namibia. Our general pattern is to take a very long bus ride to a new place, usually over night, arriving with very swollen feet and bad breath then spend several hours walking around until we find a satisfactory (which means cheap) place to stay which greatly helps the swollen feet. Finally, we spend one to two days max exploring the local attractions in the area before we move on with another long bus ride and repeat. We found four entire days an adjustment but Bocas provided plenty for us to do. We visited several beaches where snorkeling offered a great view of star fish, sting rays, and a plethora of fish. We also went treasure hunting for shells and coral. During one of our snorkeling ventures I found a Queen Conch shell that was not only new, radiating a beautiful color array of white, pink, orange, and yellow from its underside, but still had a creature living inside. My excitement was obvious as I have always wanted to find such a treasure. We also spent several hours walking one island in search of a cave we had heard about from a fellow traveler in Uyuni, Bolivia. We had very little success, although we did eventually find a cave, but not the one we were told about. What we did find in our walks was a sloth with baby clinging tightly to its chest. Lyle even helped free one of its hands that had gotten stuck between some branches. It probably got stuck in its haste to climb the tree upon being scared senseless by our presence, but at least we saved it.

Besides our run-ins with nature we spent a great deal of time relaxing; reading, journaling, sleeping, scratching bug bights and going for swims across the channel just off the dock of our hostel (which we found out is illegal when a local law official waved us into shore near the police station and informed us we had to take a water taxi back to our hostel). Swimming the channel was too dangerous, therefore illegal. We thought about swimming it again in an effort to get our names in the paper, but we figured it wouldn't be big enough news to make it all the way to Anchorage (sorry Jon).

On the morning of day seven we took the same ten hour bus ride, returning to Panama City. The last activity on our list was visiting the Panama Canal. We chose to see the canal by train, traveling the hour from Panama City on the Pacific side to Colon on the Caribbean side. The train ride to Colon was nice, but not as exciting as we had hoped. Colon was a different story however. As soon as we disembarked a very large man, speaking ghetto English to our great surprise, began trying to sell us a day of adventure in Colon lead by yours truly also doubling as our body guard. Although he was entertaining, his price tag was far to high for us and we explained this to him. We only wanted to walk around the town, get some breakfast, see the canal, and take a bus home. He promptly informed us that we couldn't walk around town. "As soon as you leave the train station men will jump out of those building over there and they will cut you for a few dollars and then run back in. It's like a maze in there. The police don't even go in there," he said. I had my suspicion he may have exaggerated just a little to ensure our business but Lyle's research on Colon the night before confirmed the town was "barely under police control during the day and not at all at night". So, still unable to afford the day of adventures, we simply asked for a ride to breakfast, which the big man reluctantly gave us. When we entered the chosen eatery, a simple buffet joint, we found a police officer with a sawed off shot gun with a pistol grip swinging ever so slightly at his side looking ready for instant action guarding the door and then we were convinced this was no place for a couple crackers. We ate breakfast, took a taxi to the bus station and found a bus heading back to Panama City all within an hour. We were back in Panama City by 11 am looking for the next adventure.

With the extra time we visited the Panama Canal museum and watched sailboats and huge freighters pass through one of the locks before returning to our hostel for the night.

We packed our bags for the final time this morning, our eight month trip around the world has come to an end. As I think back on all we have done, seen, and learned I am extremely thankful for this time. It has been a tremendous blessing for Lyle and I. The lessons God has taught me and the moment when I see and feel Him loving and caring for me are numerous and will be continuing to work themselves out in my life for months to come. Traveling is such a gift, we don't want to take it for granted. We have loved every minute of it. But now we are ready to go home, which is another blessing as our flight leaves in four hours! I hope there will be more travels for us in the future but for now we will be happily singing "off the road again, can't wait to get off the road again . . . " changing up Willies tune a little.

"I'm itching myself all over. I feel like a monkey."
Our new Israeli friend

The Big Push

Twenty four hours on the double decker bus with restless leg syndrom and a terrible sugary cookie to nibble on. In South America you´re not supposed to flush TP. Who knew there was a road all the way up to Machu Picchu? Don´t put all your cash in one place. The Salar De Uyuni, Bolivia is the largest salt flat in the world, four times the size of Lake Iliamna, ¨islands¨ in the lake have coral formations covering the rocks and the flats are 11,995 feet above sea level!! I have a bladder the size of a mustard seed.

With a day to kill in Salta, Argentina we decided to obtain our Bolivian visa, a wink and a nod allowed us to recieve them the same day! After wandering the streets and climbing the local statues and sipping sweet drinks in the the town square we made our way to the bus station in the dark to spend our second night on the bus, this time destination Uyuni. We again hit the ground running, sucking the marrow out of the day as I like to say. We found accomodations and then set out to find someone to show us around the joint. By night fall we had a deal secured and we were off after sunrise for a journey into the barren hinterlands of the Salar de Uyuni. These meager pictures have trouble showing the vastness and ruggedness and brutality of these barren wastelands that are so full of gentle life and quick to judge those who don´t take it seriously. Words and pictures barely scratch the surface of the extreams of the place, vast seas of brilliant white salt flats, pink flamigos acting like life is so good at 13,000 feet in orange water with green grass; blue skys; and blistering white salt flats, volcanos jutting up in all directions, islands in the salt flats with ancient coral encrusting the rocks with cactus growing out of them and mini ostretch type birds pecking around miles from the nearest inhabitable land.

After three days of touring, sleeping in hotels made entirely of salt and huddled in a Land Cruiser with six other chaps we were on sensory overload and were almost greatful not to see another mind blowing vista. Fortunately the schedule in the train station didn´t match up with reality in our favor and we had an extra day in Uyuni to digest the previous three. After the burning cold of night set in we huddled in the train station with the other tourist heading down the trail and the locals sleeping on the benches scattered around. As expected the train was an hour or two late and we whiled the time away talking about different trails explored with the other tired travelers.

The train was pleasant and a few hours of sleep were afforded to each of us and soon we were rolling into a town called Oruro where we had the challenge of finding a bus to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca. We quickly found a bus through La Paz, which a local boy kindly sent off in style by peeing on the back tire. Again my expectaions were blown out of the water as we passed the shores of the giant lake. It was even bigger and more beautiful than I had expected with the Andes mountians in the distance and tiny hamlets dotting the shore in cozy hilly niches. Copacabana was an unknown to both Heidi and I and we were taken with the town immediately and decided we could spend more time than we had exploring the place. Sailing was on tap the first day and we used several hours out on the lake figuring out how to run the ship and getting every inch of exposed skin brilliant red despite the layers of sun screen applied. The following day we rented bikes and peddled down the road seeking the floating islands. Heidi´s bike broke on the first hill, half the handlebar ripping off the center post. A little Alaska modification and we were off again albeit a little unstablely. The floating islands turned out to be a tourist trap, literally, they were all trapped there. So we enjoyed the view and the sore bottoms from the hours of riding and headed back to town just in time for yet another bus taking us to Cusco, Peru.

Saving a few bills on a hotel we slept on the bus as we crused towards Cusco in the dark. We woke to giant terraced mountians drifting past our windows and wondered at these people´s tenacity to farm such steep rugged ground. Cusco bustled with activity and all the vendors salivated as we passed their doors baiting us in with the different deals of the hour. Machu Picchu was firmly in mind as we avoided all the touts and found our way out to the small town of Aguas Calientes where we would search for the old city. On the train ride we fell in line with a couple Yanks and ended up staying at the same hostel, enjoying dinner together and exploring the ruins with them. The highlight of the tour was climbing Wynupichu, the mountian on the far side of the city, and immagining how they built the lower city let alone the terraces and watch towers on this far spire. Simply amazing in scope and detail of the craftsmanship and location of the whole place.

Sensory overload set in long ago and I am struggling to take in yet one more incredable and unfathomable sight. In all our wanderings and traveling people ask us over and over what our favorites are and again and again we come back to people. Relationships are what make this whole deal worth it, they are the only things that will last. Heidi and I think back over the months and so many people come to mind, Mona, Muhamad and Mason in Egypt, Dave, Karen and the gang in Burma, Dave and Mark in Mexico, Yuval in Malawi, so many strangers we call freinds. Why has God allowed us this opportunity to go and to see. A vast majority of the people we meet could never and will never have this opportunity and yet we do. A verse Heidi and I repeat over and over ¨to whom much is given, much is required¨.

¨Dont buy any sunglasses within 150 mills of the ground, in La Paz I saw too many dogs cocking their leg towards them.¨

Peter the Kewi

Swollen Posterior

Our computer is checking out, check back for pics, sorry.

Armed with our backpacks and a wad of local bills we headed out into the jungle seeking adventure. It wasn´t long before we were fishing for peranas and stringing up our hamocks for the night. After a restfull slumber in the swing my itching backside roused me from the dark side and into the light. It was a bum full of bites (incidentially only the left side) not to mention my back, one or two on each finger, my elbows suffered the same fate, it was grand. Six days later and my back side still yearns for a good scratch but to no avail, it is insatiable, the bugs have won this battle.

Heidi and I landed in Manaus in the Amazon startled at the amount of concrete stranded in the jungle. Accesable mainly by boat and plane the explosion of a city hemmed in only by the water itself barely holding back the burgeoning metropolis, docks and boats spilling out from every inch of shore line and buildings claiming endless acres of virgin forest. Fortunately for us a pleasantly long boat ride stole us away from the ruccus and lights of a restless city to the apparent tranquility of Amazonia. We found a local boy to show us the ropes and in three days time he turned us raw Alaska kids into jungle rats. After his school of jungle medicine, gator snatching and snake charming along with erecting an efficient shelter in 37 seconds flat we fealt ready to shed the trappings of normal life and try our hand on the other side. . . but alas it was time to return to the city, I guess it just wasn´t our shot.

With a day to kill in Manaus waiting for our flight, Heidi and I set out with our rafts to ply the waters of the mighty Amazon, to find the very birth place of that goliath river. The Negro River runs black with the acids of decaying leaves and debris tumbeling downstream and the Solimoes River is tinted white with silt and clear water running off the Andes mountians far to the West. The point where they meet just below Manaus, the meeting of the waters as it were, there is a veritable line in the sand, a very distinct diliniation where the rivers greet each other and not for another fifty miles down stream do the waters fully integrate into each other morphing into a milky brown color. It was this line, this meeting point, that we sought. Setting out from the shore in a light headwind feeling strong we urgently paddled for the middle. After being pummled by the wind we pressed on and a full two hours later we revled in our presence floating above this line, albeit uncerimoniously and a little anticlimatic. Thankful for even the diminishing breeze at our backs we paddled on for the shore that we had left hours before. As expected the wind shifted before too much progress was made and we fealt a strong cross wind pushing us downstream. By the time we fought our way to a decent take out point we were thankful to be free of the wind and water and the sore bottoms that the boats were forcing apon us. We did not feel victory over the mighty river but it had not beaten us either.

A red eye flight wisked us back to Sao Paulo and shortly after an over night bus helped us on our way to Iguazu Falls. Wandering the streets at six in the morning we settled on a quaint little joint and promptly fell asleep. Not wishing to waist the day we soon ran off to visit the Brazilian side of the rushing waters and Heidi and I both came away in awe of Gods creation and the amazing beauty He has made! The following day Argentina side fealt our presence as we wistled our way around the grandure of the Big Water, as the natives call it. Not to be missed was the boat trip to the very base of the falls and a little pummeling by the falling water. On one of the train rides in the Iguazu park we fell in step with a New Yorker and enjoyed the evening with her learning about her life and sharing a great Argentinian steak only to find out that the last bus to Brazil left an hour and a half before dinner was over. Most of our belongings in Brazil and us trapped in Argentina didn´t feel so good, fortunately a cheeper than expected taxi ride brought us home safe and sound.

So this brings us to today, this morning we fought our way into Argentina to purchase a birth on a bus heading for Salta, Argentina and the adventures we may find on the altiplano of central South America.

Deep in the Amazon jungle
¨This is just like Disney Land only real!!!¨
Pedro

Bushman Talk

Bummer no pictures!!

So Heidi and I play this game "slug bug" but when we came to Brazil there were three VW buses on every street and my arm was getting sore so we decided to change the rules up a bit. Instead of punches we throw smooches. We spend quite a bit more time making out on the street than we ever have before, I think its been good for our marriage, you should try it.

After a week of hanging with Mom and Dad Wilder and Nathan Robertson in Namibia, Heidi and I said our last goodbys and beet feet for Cape Town. After a breakdown on the bus we rolled into Cape Town late and roamed the streets avoiding the hippies and weirdos with our new Isreali friends and found a bunk bed for the next few nights. We soon decided on a plan for our stay which included a vehicle, duct tape, a large roll of TP and water guns but we couldn't find a car so instead we went swimming with the great whites, cage match, as I like to call it. What happens is they put one person in a cage with a shark and the one who comes out in one piece wins. Heidi and I are still in one piece (in actuality they put just the people in a cage for the sharks protection).

Any trip to Cape Town would be incomplete without a hike up Table Moutian so we made the trek on the morning of our departure for Johannesberg. The slight breeze and warm temps in town didn't give us any warnings of the gale force winds of the antarctic express chilling the mountian top. A half hour on top is all we could muster and down we trotted back to our hotel and in Lyle and Heidi costomary fashion we ended up running for our bus. It was firing up the engine as we pulled in.

We didn't leave any love in Jo'berg. The concrete jungle held nothing but our limp sleeping carcases for a little slumber and then strait to the airport for us. As we tried to send packages home we found ourselves running for the ticket counter again clearing the wire by mear moments. It seems the story of our trip, running the last few days or moments in a country or city only to just barely miss or make the time line. We are just savoring the moment, sucking the marrow out of the days, thats all.

A short hop over the pond landed us in Sao Paulo, Brazil and all the passengers clapped as the wheels touched down, curious, no one ever does that for me . . . were these folks not really sure if we would make it? After a few nice locals in broken english and both of our words in Portugese, a bus, three trains, and a longer walk than necisarry we entered Lime Time hostel for a few blissful nights, in the dorm. Soa Paulo is a city by all measures and we are ready to leave. We prefer the real jungle. Amazon river here we come. Tomorrow we go to Manaus for a walk about.

After spending time with the family in Namibia we had a bit of a reality check and real life hit us in the face for just a moment. We contemplated returning to real life were we don't get to spend all our time together and we need to make money instead of just spending it. Its a weird thing, we're going to try and forget about it until we are forced to remember.