Wait for the Stars

The dark has fallen, 

But wait for the stars.

The darkness may be deepening, 

But wait for the stars.

Even if the clouds pour rain upon you,

They must soon pass, so wait,

Wait for the stars.

I know you fear the darkness you have already seen,

But this is not an endless nightmare.

Wait for the stars.

You are haunted by the dark of broken dreams,

But this is only the nighttime, 

Wait for the stars.

No matter how dark it is,

Or how dark it was,

There is always hope, 

Even if it is very small and very far away.

Even if it is only one faint star in the whole of the sky.

Do not let the darkness overwhelm you,

One star will always bring more.

Just wait.

Please wait.

Wait for the stars.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rest Gently Shadow my boy.  One day I will see you again in the stars.  Til then I will wait for grief to pass slowly like the nighttime.  I will trust in the stars even when I cannot see them.  Soon, soon one will shine and the light will increase and slowly the grief will fade.  

Lyme with a side of Babesia

Sunset at La Jolla Shores tonight was lovely

Tonight as the rest of the world worried about and anxiously awaited the results of the US Presidential election, I was anxious about other results.  I got back my test results today.

Today I received a positive test result on a Babesia FISH test.  This doesn't surprise me in the least because I've looked at symptoms of Babesia and I was already fairly certain I had it.  

I'm hoping, that when I finally get to speak with the doctor on Thursday, I can finally start treating something that has been making me miserable for nearly two years now.  There is a small fear that this result won't be "trusted" either and I'm going to have to either keep searching for doctors or keep running more tests that aren't trusted.  If I may be so bold as to suggest that we all hope the doctors start listening and trusting us when we say what our symptoms are and that they find us all effective treatments for all that ails us.  Having Lyme disease and its associated co-infections is no laughing matter.  (Don't get me wrong, I laugh, but some days it's either that or cry, you know?  I'm hoping for a new diagnosis and treatment course that starts to make me feel better.  

I'm so tired of feeling so miserable.

If anyone happens to be reading this, I could probably use all the prayers and good thoughts sent my way.  

So I took myself to the beach tonight to be out in the breeze and hear the waves endlessly crashing.  I wanted to remember that even the two years I've been fighting all this, is a short amount of time.  At least two years is a short amount of time when you consider the gradual work of the waves eroding the cliffs and the shells crumbling into sand.  Lyme disease is a terribly miserable thing to deal with (co-infections included in this) but I need to remember that it will pass and that the time will soon be distant when I lived this chapter.  I need to focus on the long term and remember that everything will be ok in the end.  I can weather a few more years if I have to.  I need to stand firm like the waves, chipping away at the cliffs until I crumble them and am healthy once more.  I need to harness the strength of wind, blowing gently at times, changing directions, following what I must, but always eroding the cliffs one gust at a time.  Of course, I'd like to bring the whole Lyme cliff down in one terrible storm.  And yet, even if I don't, I'll make it out the other side.  

For more on co-infections, there's an informative article called TOUCHED BY LYME: A close look at six Lyme-related infections. 

For Other Posts about Lyme Disease see the following:

So, I have Lyme Disease

How to Find the Right Doctor for Lyme Disease

How can you be Certain you have LYME DISEASE?

Lyme Disease a List of Symptoms

Lyme Disease the Great Masquerader of Diseases

How Did I Get Lyme Disease?

Memory Struggles with Lyme

I Feel Like I'm Playing Lyme Roulette

Do I have Lyme Disease or West Nile Virus? or a Co-infection?

There is No Dog Shame in this House...

they don't know the meaning of that word.

If I was a dragon this would be the pile of discarded bones of my enemies.  Because I'm a dog it's a stick graveyard and also holds the remains of my enemies.  That shark toy, he had it coming.

Oh hi, Happy Thanksgiving!  While you were busy doing other things that garden gnome you brought home from Grandma's house gave me a weird look.

I regret nothing.  I also have no shame.  

I always thought he looked shifty.  So I bited his feets off.  Now he can't get up to any mischief when I'm sleeping and can't protect you.

Also, he was attached to a strange little stick... and I know all sticks for me to eat... so I ate that too.  I know I have an entire pile of sticks in front of the deck that I'm turning into a woodchip pile, but that gnome smelled funny on top of being shifty so I really thought he was a priority for destruction.

You're welcome!

I know you appreciate my work so I just wag my tail when you tell me I'm bad.

Let me think... BAD.  B... A... D... That must be code.  Yeah, code, for brilliant adversary destroyer.  Oh yeah, I'm definitely that.

I'm so good at it.  I'm the best!

I protected my human, ate a stick, and made sure that shifty little gnome will never threaten anyone again.

I'm so happy!

It's already such a great day.  Wake me up when it's time for our walk.

                        Love,

                           Rocky

Don't mind me, I'm just an Old Shoe...

Do you ever look around the world and wonder what's wrong with it until you reach the conclusion that it's you?  I'm an introvert which is really just a fancy way of saying I'm a bit shy and I enjoy people watching more than actually living.  And recently, with all my down time and my people watching, I've come to a sort of small epiphany.  People are as varied as the shoes they wear.  There are the loud ones and the sleek ones and the sporty ones.  Shoes and people can be functional and flirty, colourful and dark, captivating and invisible.

I've come to the conclusion that I am the comfortable shoe.  What is wrong with my life is me.  People fall quickly into a routine with me because I'm comfortable.  I can go long or short distances, I'm easy to please, sort of versatile.  I'm ok with adventure but I'm not the hardcore hiking boot or the tough as nails steel-toed boot.  I can go out dancing but I don't ooze charm or sophistication or sexiness.  I don't chafe, or annoy.  I'm just easy.  People wear me every day for awhile and then suddenly they trade me in for a pair of fancy, new, shiny, unworn shoes.  Maybe they go sportier or more professional.  Sometimes they choose flirty and totally sexy.  It's hard to say which direction they'll go after they've thrown me in the corner.  All I know is that they have no trouble leaving me behind.  I'm the comfortable shoe.  I'm meant to be put on every day til they tire of me.  Worn through the tight places, muddy places, dark places.  Used til I'm falling apart at the seams.  Then, just as is my purpose, I'm put in a corner or a dark cupboard and never thought of again.

Well, that is until I'm needed all of a sudden.  Then just like that I'm expected to be as accommodating and comfortable and flexible as ever.  After months of being ignored and left alone in a corner I'm suddenly brought back out and supposed to be happy with being put on every morning when they need a quick pick me up run, worn through all the tight and sad places, and used up til I'm emotionally tearing apart at the seams.  I'm supposed to be content with this because I'm the comfortable shoe that everyone loves having around because I'm so easy and so comforting.  All the while knowing that maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month, they will bore of me again and I'll go back to being forgotten in the dark.

Ah, the good old comfortable shoe.  Perfect for a day of mixed activities; easy to kick off when you feel like something else.

I'm just one of those people.  I'm willing to listen and reminisce.  You can drag me out of the cupboard and I'm still me; worn-in just the way you remember and find so comforting.  And the funny thing is that while I hate being a comfortable shoe I don't hate who I am.

I think being there for people is generally a nice thing to do and I wish more people were a bit more on the comfortable shoe side of the scale.  It seems like most of my friends are specialized shoes.  I know hiking boots and business shoes and dancing shoes and sexy shoes.  I don't have a problem with any of them.  I love them for who they are.  But sometimes I wish I knew a few more comfortable shoes who could be there when I need to go through tight, dark places and get a little wet and muddy.  We could go on adventures, sit at home, and yes, even hang out together in the corner when our other friends are busy doing their thing.

But my professional shoe friends are always in business meetings.  My dancing shoe friends can't be bothered if the situation doesn't call for music.  Sexy shoes are too busy flirting with everyone to notice I'm around unless they need a comfortable shoe friend.  Hiking boot friends have no trouble with a little mud but they're nearly always out scaling some new mountain and having a marvelous time doing it whether you are there or not.

Maybe I should form a society for people like me, comfortable shoe types.  Maybe we could get together and be supportive of one another since it's clear that sexy shoes are never going to slog through the mud by our side no matter how many times we are there for them and business shoes, are, well, too busy.  We could call it SCRAPES (Society for Comfortable Reliable And Perfectly Eclipsed Shoes) and underneath that last word we can write in tiny letters "Or people, you know, whatever..."

The Heart is the Final Frontier

Be Brave Timid Explorer

Space may seem like the final frontier but the truth is that this distinction lies a bit closer to home than we may want to admit.  However you choose to define frontier, I believe the word aptly characterizes the heart.

Frontier can be defined as:
1. the far-flung limits of knowledge
2. a region of sparse habitation, or
3. a border between countries

I assert, dear reader, that the heart is more mysterious to an individual than any number of complex mathematical equations and questions of science.  A person with a PhD in theoretical Physics will understand things that even the mention of would make my poor brain ache.  And yet, even such a lofty scientific mind could still be utterly baffled by the heart.  Their own heart could betray their rational mind and seem as foreign and bewilderingly complex as any intellectual discipline ever could.  I suggest to you, dear reader, that the heart is the final frontier.

1. the far-flung limits of knowledge
The heart is at the far-flung reaches of our understanding.  No matter how knowledgeable you or I happen to be in a particular field of study, we can still be caught unawares by our hearts.  I don't know about you, but I have often been confused and frustrated by my heart.  There have even been a rare few moments in my life where the realisation of what my heart wants has made my breath catch in my throat.  But the worst of all, are those days I feel lost and restless because I cannot even tell what it is my heart wants; knowing only that it desperately seeks something.  Something I can't quite grasp.

2. a region of sparse habitation
And it's not like there are any road maps in there because the second definition is also true.  The heart is sparsely populated.  It's just you and that crazy desire for whatever it is your heart has decided you need.  There are no friendly locals to point you in the right direction.  You and your heart just have to wander around in your solitary desert til you figure it out on your own.  And trust me, the longer you are lost, the more your heart thinks it's dying.  It certainly feels like an inhospitable desert place in a broken or lost heart.

3. a border between countries
Let's face it, the heart is the border between two completely separate countries.  It is the border between rational and irrational thought.  It is an individual's private frontier.  The battle between head and heart is not new to many people, and yet, it is still as violent and hotly contested as it ever was. Perhaps the real struggle of adulthood is deciding which battles to fight.  It is a lucky individual indeed that has a very quiet border at the edges of the heart's kingdom and the crossroads of reason.  Maybe it is only my experience in life, but it is very rarely that my heart desires things that my rational side can agree with.  More unfortunately, my heart very often wants what it absolutely cannot have.

And why is that?

Why does my heart seem to only want those things it cannot have?  No, want is the wrong word.  It is too tepid.  Yearn is more like it.  Why do I desperately yearn for opportunities and realities that cannot and never will be mine?  Why can the heart not accept it's own fate and calm down for just a few minutes in it's restless beating and longing for the things that cannot be?  My heart and head are almost always at war with each other.  Perhaps it is true of all of us.

Courage of the Heart?
In the end, you almost have to admire the heart.  I mean, it has a single mindedness to it's longing that is almost courageous.  Well, it could be called courageous in other people at least.  Maybe you could call it courageous in yourself if it wasn't making you so miserable.  A body could almost learn to resent their heart some days, what with all the sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, pondering the things that might have been, or could still be; the way that miracles could still bring about that one thing you long for so desperately.

Bleary-eyed, coffee-filled doses of morning reality could understandably reduce even the most rational person to hateful thoughts toward their softer side.  If only they were colder hearted, less of a dreamer, more rational, they silently chastise themselves over sips of piping wakefulness...  If only they were these things, they sigh with resignation, they might sleep better, feel less weary and less plagued by life.  If they weren't so irrational they might feel less at war with themselves on the border between desire and reality; less lost in the wilderness of emotional turmoil.  If only they could turn the heart off or around and care about something practical and achievable.

But Nooo!

The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants
The heart wants what the heart wants.  Everyone will tell you this.  They quote Emily Dickinson as if it explains everything away.  But they forget the rest of the line.  "The heart wants what the heart wants, or else it does not care."  The hearts wants, or else...  If the heart doesn't get what it wants it throws a perpetual tantrum to make you miserable because no matter how you wish it otherwise, you just can't care about things your heart doesn't want.  And, if you remember, the heart is at the far-flung limits of our knowledge and it's sparsely populated.  So, you're alone in there with your heart throwing a tantrum that you have absolutely no idea how to stop.  You just get to sit in your barren desert of a heart, all alone, until it finally loses the energy to throw such a monumental tantrum.  This, depending on the tragedy or misfortune, could take days, or even years.  Years of feeling more alone and isolated and desolate than you can even imagine. (That is, more desolate than your rational side would think possible, when it finally has control.)
 
Follow Your Heart?
People will quote this line to you; "The heart wants what the heart wants" they say.  They will do so in a flippant matter like this single quote explains everything.  Well, of course you're miserable the heart wants what it wants.  It will pass.  Or they sometimes manage to imply that you should follow your heart.  But neither of these sentiments are of comfort.  Why does the heart want what it wants?  Why can't it want something that it already has, or something that it could have?  Why must it long for those things it cannot have?  You cannot simply follow your heart when the object of your heart's desire is, in actual fact, impossible.  You may want to sit on the edge of the moon and breathe freely, but it doesn't mean you can.  You may wish for one more hour with a loved one, but no one can turn back time.  You may wish for eight arms, or a new personality, but you cannot snap your fingers and be a different person.  And, no, your misery does not get better by simply acknowledging that the heart wants what it wants, or that it cannot have it.  You already know these things.  Misery doesn't come from your lack of knowledge.  Misery comes because your heart is simply incapable of caring about daily life or anything beyond the one impossible desire it is yearns for.  So, you sit and wallow in your state of uncaring for anything else, because the heart doesn't compromise.  It wants what it wants OR ELSE.

Emily Dickinson knew this.  But those people who quote the first part of her line nearly always forget the second and darker truth.  Emily, they frequently forget, was a woman much beset by grief.  She knew intimately the depths of a heart's pain.  She watched many loved ones and friends die in her lifetime and she struggled with deep depression.  Her line is not a flippant statement that sometimes your heart is unhappy but you'll get over it soon it enough.  There is no "soon enough" for some pain.

Your heart does not simply let the head win or stop wanting impossible thing in exactly two weeks time.  You cannot sit your heart down and lecture it saying "Enough is enough", or "Come, now let's be rational.  Things aren't going to change.  Let's make the best it".  No.  Your heart won't listen.  It doesn't care.  No amount of reasoning with yourself and your heart makes the pain go away.  No amount of reasoning helps your heart to care about anything else when it sees no hope and no future of happiness.  The heart cannot be appeased by mundane trivialities.  The pain settles in for a long and merciless winter hibernation; the sort of winter that perhaps there is no waking up from.

Heartbreak, heartsick, heavy heart, heartache.  Why do you think there are so many words that have to do with temper tantrums of the heart?  And this doesn't even include the wealth of words to describe the emotions including anguish, sorrow, and misery.  Everyone deals with grief and heartbreak at some point in their lives.  Sadly, as the heart is at the limits of our understanding, nobody has figured out a way of making these times any easier.  The heart has a great capacity for joy and love and caring, but if it doesn't get it's way you may have a long road of apathy and anguish ahead of you.

Don't Follow Your Heart
A lot of soul searching, or heart searching if you will, has led me to the conclusion that I do not even know my own heart.  It has layers of wishes and desires, some of them obvious and others latent, hidden even from my own awareness.  I think that the best way to be at peace in life is to somehow reach a balance whereby your heart concedes that current circumstances are not permanent and that hope for future happiness is always a possibility no matter how bleak the day may be.  Letting the heart live in the moment and focus only on despair is too dangerous.  Hope can be a tricky ally, but it is far better than the heartache of despair.  I am not an expert on these things and I still get caught unaware by the sudden tantrums of my heart's desires and apathy... but I am trying.  Trying to understand.  Trying to work towards hope.  Trying to lead my heart out of darkness, but never follow it there.

My advice?  Don't follow your heart.  It doesn't know what it's doing.  Prepare yourself for battle on the frontier between your heart and your head and remember that you will be going in alone, dropped behind enemy lines with no intelligence or maps.  All you will have is your wits and your desire to survive whatever storm your heart is experiencing at the moment by sheer determination and perseverance.  It won't be easy.  But don't give up.

The Heart is a mysterious creature and despite the fact that nobody has figured out how to neutralize it, you probably wouldn't want to live life without it anyway.  No matter how dark today may be.  Chin up, have courage.  If you cannot manage to care about anything in the world today just remember that you are not alone.  We have all been lost in the depths of our heart's despair at some point or another.  If you're lost there now, just allow yourself to be sorrowful.  Tomorrow you can work on finding just one thing in the world that is not bad.  Perhaps the sunlight through a flower, or a best friend's company.  Tomorrow you can slowly try to remind your heart that the world hasn't ended.  Today, you're allowed to just be sad as long as you don't give up altogether.

So, farewell, dear reader, and be brave in your explorations into the final frontier, the Heart.

The Case of the Stranger at the Door and the Cowardly Cat

It was early, at least by my standards. Ok, fine, I admit it wasn't early. It was a little after eleven when I heard a loud knock at the door. It had to be loud for me to hear it because I was sound asleep at the time.

I had stayed up late reading and between seven and nine in the morning my cat had tried everything she could think of to make me get up.  She didn't need anything of course, she just enjoys an audience while she eats.  I, however, refuse to wake up so that she may dine a la russe.  So, I tried my best to ignore her and finally, after a two hour battle, (that involved her devilish tricks and muttered curses from my pillow) I convinced her to curl up at the end of the bed and sleep.

I don't know what you're talking about.  I'm totally innocent and all my desires are needs.

So, that's where the two of us were at eleven in the morning, both completely contented and asleep, when someone pounded at the door with enough force to startle us awake and get the blood going.  She looked about wildly while I checked the time.  Mother should still be at Bible study.  Perhaps it was a neighbor, but it was rather loud, much too loud for one of our friendly neighbors.  Wouldn't it be just my luck if the "bad guys" had come calling this morning I thought groggily.  No, it must just be someone here about the bathroom construction.  Maybe they have a quote for the house paint or the window.

I tore myself from my cozy bed to peer out the window and decide if I could reasonably ignore the person at the door or not.  I couldn't see anyone downstairs by the door and thought they'd given up and gone back to their car.  When I tiptoed to another window for a better view of the driveway and their little car I thought I heard another knock.  Clearly, with a normal little four door car instead of a truck this wasn't a construction person, and yet they didn't seem to be leaving either.

I put the nearest coat on over my pjs and resigned myself to greeting whatever neighbor or friend believed that eleven am wasn't too early for a social call.  They would be wrong about this of course, but there is just no stopping some people.  On the way down the stairs I called over my shoulder to the cat, asking if she was coming, since my presence downstairs had been her only goal for two hours that morning.  She was tiptoeing behind me.  That's odd I thought, still half asleep, normally she races down the stairs with me.  Then as I reached the bottom of the stairs I heard a sound that almost made my heart stop.

Who me?  I'm certainly not a coward and I wasn't tiptoeing either.  I was clearly stalking the criminal.  Yes, that's what I was doing two feet behind you.

I had heard this sound before, years earlier when we had a different cat.  Some said she was a devious cat.  I just said she was the devil.  She would wait until I was alone doing work in the kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed.  Then, and only then, would she approach the door from the outside, reach up, and jiggle the doorknob.  It scared me half to death every time she did it and she seemed to know that.  This time the noise was a little louder, but I knew without a doubt that the person who had knocked a few minutes ago was now jiggling the doorknob.  They were trying to get into my house!

I was afraid in that moment.  They clearly didn't know I was home as they had knocked to see if anyone answered and waited some time before trying the door.  I had taken my sweet time to decide if I could ignore them or not.  They had assumed nobody was home and were now trying to get in.  But subconsciously this thought kept my terror in check because I knew they were not trying to hurt me.

There was the briefest of pauses and then I heard the door give.  I knew that they had just shouldered my door open by force, and I had just heard the door jamb break.  The knocker was now inside my kitchen.

There was no doubt as to their intention now.  Thinking the house was empty the would be criminal intended to rob the place.  And yet the moment I heard the door give in I stopped being afraid and I stopped thinking.  I knew they were in my house and I knew with a ferocious certainty that I had to get them out.  I flew around the last corner with rage at their intrusion building in my chest and I shouted at the top of my lungs "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!".

Did she say intruder? Hide!

The intruder was a young man standing about my height (so not very tall) just on the kitchen rug, all of two feet inside my house, his eyes wide with shock as I came running at him, pj's flying, bed hair flying, with rage in my voice.  He immediately turned and with an "oh shit!" ran out of my kitchen and headed for his car.  As I reached my door I shouted "Get out of my house!" one more time before chasing after him across the porch.  He got safely in his car and began to leave before I could catch up to him, which is just as well because I don't know what I would have done with him if I had caught him.  Still full of adrenaline and rage I memorized his license plate numbers as he pulled away picking up hasty speed around my driveway and left my house.

Then I stood there as the adrenaline let-down started to make me shake and the shock of what might have happened set in.  I called mom to let her know I was safe but she insisted on leaving Bible study right away to come home.  The older ladies in the Bible study group were shocked and terrified that I would chase an intruder.  So worried in fact, that one of them drove by the house later to check on us and make sure we were ok because she couldn't get over the idea of me chasing out a robber.  I'm now infamous at church as the "battle daughter," my mother's new term for me, who chased away an intruder.

She is only fierce when she's pretending to be a lioness.

The next thing that had to be done was to call 911 to report the break in.  This led to a long morning of police statements and the dusting of our doorknob for prints.  The police officers were all very kind and offered suggestions and advice for home safety and personal safety.  None of these involved me chasing after criminals in the future I might add.  They assured me that the best thing to do was to trust my instincts.  If you think it's a "bad guy" then call 911 right away.  Don't wait til they break in and don't chase them.

And they are right of course.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to be aware of the potential repercussions of my actions.  I was lucky.  In future I'll be pleased to call in support before I need it.  It's far better to let the police chase away the intruders for me so I can stand aloof in the background with my cat while we wear identical expressions of dignified abhorrence.

And despite all my light-hearted joking about the matter, I am serious.  I know I have a rich imagination (evidence found here), but unfortunately this really happened.  My hands shook after the fact and it ruined my day.  And it has made me a bit more cautious.  And if it happens to you, do call the police.  I only joke about this because I am safe and it is over; and I think that often the only choice you have in these situations is whether to laugh or cry.  Personally, I refuse to let somebody else make me the victim.  So, I shall laugh at the comical image of my cowardly cat slinking behind me as I chase out a robber in my pj's.  It did ruin my day, but it will not make me subject to fear.  That's no way to live.  Ok, serious side all dealt with, I shall return to my farcical description of real events.

So, let this be a lesson for all people.  Some of us take our beauty sleep very seriously.  If you have the nerve to awaken me, and my fiendish cat, from our slumber I assure you that you will have awakened the sleeping dragon.  And if you are a would be thieving scum bag, the police will be more than happy to escort you to your new home. 

Transplantation: in which I have been moved

This is a simple post.  It has only one purpose and that is, namely, to inform the unfortunate souls who have stumbled upon this blog of a single fact.  No, wait, that's not quite right.  If you had by some great misfortune stumbled upon this blog you probably wouldn't be reading this post.  Most people stumble into things by finding peculiar images, and I admit that they abound on this blog.  Or perhaps by finding unusually mad titles associated with some term they've just searched...

Sunset through the fruit tree

No.  If you're reading this post, it would seem likely that you are in fact a reader of more than one post.  And the only reason for that must be madness.  Why else would you be reading this?  Well, I suppose you could be here out of curiosity.  This blog is sort of an online zoo for madness.  All manner and types of madness are present here, expressed in my thoughts and the absurd things that always seem to happen to me...

But I digress.  Whatever the reason you are here, and I'm sorry you must have put up with so much already, I must inform you that I have in fact moved.

I am now situated amongst the rolling hills of southern California.  I no longer have the good fortune to live on the rainy and perpetually cold island known as Great Britain.  I do enjoy the sunshine here in southern California.

Hey, where did all the rain go?

But I miss the history and vibrancy of life in London and I really don't enjoy the constant fear of wild fires.  But my transition to life here is for another day.  I merely wanted to inform you, my poor unfortunate reader, that I am now living here rather than there.

Now that I have done so, you must excuse me.  I have things to unpack, mad tea parties to host, and chaos to involve myself in. 

In black and white

Archer on a pint glass of Strongbow Cider

The view from my attic window

 

 The stairs outside my workplace

Old suitcases in a tower

Broccoli is proven to be creepy

I accidentally stumbled across this post about broccoli on somebody else's blog the other day.  In light of my last post about broccoli I thought this was oddly appropriate.  If my strange pictures were not enough to scare you I imagine that this will be.  Just look closely at these pictures.  Creepy.