In our department meeting today, we had a guest speaker from the Wellness Department* who talked with us about building closer connections with students, an atmosphere of trust, and greater engagement by our students. All good things, certainly. Part of the pitch was that the few minutes spent on such tasks in each lesson would more than pay off in increased learning, and I do believe that.
So why do I feel uncomfortable about the whole idea? I suppose it’s because it just doesn’t feel like me. Even the initial idea, shaking hands with each student on entering the classroom, feels unnatural; I’m not at all convinced that I could carry it off. The speaker says that his students not only welcome this practice but explicitly ask for it if he forgets. Maybe so, but I can’t see myself doing it.
On the other hand, I don’t want to rule out the idea, either in detail or in the big picture, and I’m willing to try. I’m even willing to sign up for a proposed summer workshop on the subject, if the calendar permits.
* Yes, I know…
Barbara and I just got back from our first time at Gaslight Brasserie du Coin, and it won’t be our last. Mostly excellent food, excellent service, and free parking — in the South End! — what more could one ask for?
Cheaper prices, I suppose. Gaslight is definitely on the pricey side… but no more so than any other first-rate restaurant in Boston.
We arrived 35 minutes before our reservation time and were seated immediately. The restaurant has a very French ambiance. Though surprisingly large, it immediately feels welcoming. Our server, Lily, was both friendly and professional — just the right combination. It was (surprisingly) not too noisy, considering that a group of 14 arrived halfway through our dinner to sit at the next table. Many reviewers have reported that Gaslight is too loud, so maybe we were just lucky. Or maybe it was because we were there on a Tuesday.
Barbara started with a shaved beet salad, which she found a bit stronger than she likes, partly because the beets were raw and partly because the dressing contained a lot of horseradish. Not being that much of a beet fan, I can’t comment. But I started with a first-rate French onion soup, unquestionably the best I have had in years. It was rich and hearty, probably because it contained some shredded truffled short ribs.
For our entrees, Barbara ordered steak frites medium rare, and I ordered duck confit with roasted garlic potatoes and an interesting salad. The steak turned out to be rare, not medium rare; our server graciously agreed, whisked it away, and returned in a couple of minutes with the steak appropriately unrarefied. My duck was great, as were the accompaniments. We also ordered a side of haricots verts to share; they were excellent too. While portions were on the small side, we had more than enough to eat, unlike some of the Open Table reviewers.
I ordered the crème brulée for dessert. It was perfectly prepared, though the crust was cold and they were out of the promised fresh berries that were supposed to accompany it. The server compensated by providing a lovely disk of candied cherries, figs, and kumquats. My dessert was also accompanied by a well-made double espresso.
The whole thing came to $154 including wine, tax, and tip. As I say, not cheap — but not outrageous either. By the way, that free parking is in a supervised parking lot.
Do read Betty Webb’s fascinating and informative “Desert” mysteries about the world of fundamental polygamists in the southwest. So far I’ve read Desert Wives, Desert Noir, and (most recently) Desert Lost, all of which I can recommend. Please note that the polygamists in question are not Mormons: they are members of various offshoots of the Mormon Church. Since everything in Webb’s novels has been carefully researched, the novels ring with authenticity — perhaps too much so, since sometimes the reader has the impression of being handed a treatise or a documentary rather than a work of fiction. But the lead characters are always sympathetic, and the plots hold together. You may learn more about the polygamist sects than you wanted to know, but you will be reading some engaging mysteries along the way. Give them a shot!
Bored math students often ask, “When am I ever going to use this stuff?” Even math students who are not bored often articulate the same question, albeit in a more polite phrasing, such as “Can you give us an example of an application of the theoretical math we’ve been learning?” The question deserves a respectful answer.
I discussed this issue two years ago, but I have a slightly different point of view now. Here’s what I said then:
I know, I’ve written about this topic before, but it bears further consideration. Too often I hear the question, “When will I ever use this stuff?” This is a common question in Weston, and surely elsewhere as wel
Sometimes the question comes from a bored student who is really asking a deeper question, something like, “I don’t like this, I don’t understand this, why should I have to learn it?” In that case it’s hard to know whether to answer the explicit question or the implicit question.
But sometimes the question comes from an otherwise engaged student who actually wants an answer. And it’s hard to give a satisfactory answer. There are at least two reasons for this — probably more. First of all, no high-school student really knows what he or she is going to be doing in life. It’s important to keep the doors open, in case the unanticipated economics course in college or statistical analysis in a job turns out to require something from a high-school math course. But that’s pretty vague and abstract, and of course it isn’t a very satisfactory answer for most students, even though it’s a true answer.
The other reason why the question is hard to answer is that the hidden but more important curriculum in high school has nothing to do with the specifics of logarithms, cosines, etc. When a student takes Algebra II or Precalculus or whatever, the important things that s/he is learning have to do with problem solving, approaches to mathematics, and learning itself. Sure, you might never see logs again (although the odds are that you actually will); but the analytic techniques and reasoning methods that you learn will stand you in good stead.
The only trouble is that most Weston students don’t want to hear this, or it doesn’t make sense to them. They want to know how they are going to use the precise content in the job that they imagine that they will have, even though the probability is that they will be doing something else entirely. How do we give them an answer that they will consider satisfactory?
I finally have an answer that I can believe in. I still believe everything I wrote two years ago, but I hadn’t figured out the answer to my concluding question. Maybe I still don’t have one, but I truly like what the Math Curmudgeon has to say on the matter. Even though I often disagree with the Curmudgeon (whose real name I don’t even know), I have taken to heart his words on this matter. He says the right things in his speech to his students (complete with a fractal tree). Here’s the first half; read the rest of it yourself:
“When are We EVER going to have to use this?”
“Beats me,” I usually answer. “You can’t even tell me definitively what you’ll be doing next month, forget about four years from now. How can I definitively say when or whether you’ll use THIS? All I can say is that it is useful in certain situations (the word problems in this section are limited versions of the same problems some people face daily), useful as mathematical development for later work (which may be a prerequisite for the course or job you really wanted) or is mental development to expand your brain beyond the limited understanding and very limited world-view you currently have. I’m not being critical here — you really have no experience at life. How could you possibly know the utility of everything you’re learning?”
 “You have millions of possibilities ahead of you, thousands of doors along this hallway you call life. Writing ability will unlock many of them, artistic ability others, mathematical ability many more. Some may require that you speak English well — certainly 95% of the jobs in this country do. Some will require a little of everything. Each of these doors is along a different stretch of hallway, sort of like that fractal tree over to the right. Each educational decision you make takes you down one branch or another, closing off some possibilities and making others available. To switch from one branch of the tree to another may require a little backtracking to pick up things that you could be learning now. I have no idea which doors will interest you so I have to lay a very broad groundwork and push you in directions you may not immediately see any need for. You have to trust that, over the course of many years and many students, I have a good sense of what you might need and of what you may find interesting after we’re done.”
“How do I know this? I talk to my students after they graduate. They tell me what they found useful or pointless. I get all kinds of stories about topics that we covered here that directly applied to something they were working on, stories about being the only one who really understood something the professor was trying to say. There aren’t many complaints that we spent too much time on a topic they never saw agai
“If there is ever a commonality in the comments of returning graduates, it’s this: ‘I never imagined that THAT would be useful. I was surprised when it showed up. So was the professor — he was grateful SOMEONE knew about it.’”
You’ve heard Martin Walker on NPR. His peaceful mystery — Bruno, Chief of Police — is well worth reading if you want to bathe in a mixture of French politics, small-town French life, and a host of interesting characters. Despite some seriously heavy events, mostly in the backstory (Vichy France, the Algeria conflict, etc.), this novel is basically a charming police procedural, but one where the life of a small town is more important than the interaction of its one-man police department with the national police. I’m looking forward to the next installment in this delightful series.
For April vacation we decided to visit Baltimore — partly because we wanted to see the city, partly because we knew a couple of people there, and partly because it was an excuse to ride on the high-speed Acela Express. We splurged on first class, which provided us a helpful attendant dedicated to our car, food and drink service at our seats, and (most important) wider seats with extra legroom. The food was merely adequate, and first class was occasionally bumpy (just like regular “business” class, surprise, surprise), and we didn’t really take advantage of the unlimited beverages (a glass or two of wine doesn’t compete with the four Bloody Marys consumed by each of the guys in front of us), but I suppose the more comfortable seating made it worth paying the extra fee. In any case, the Acela was mostly a very enjoyable experience — certainly much better than flying, and not just because I like trains. Avoiding all the security hassles at an airport is the #1 advantage, but there are many others; in general, going by train is just the civilized way to travel, and it’s a real pity that it’s dying out in North America. My only complaint is that the free WiFi service was pretty lame, being slow at the best of times and cutting out altogether at others.
Speaking of splurging, we decided to stay at the Hilton in the Inner Harbor neighborhood, mostly because we already have a relationship with them as we always stay at the Hilton Garden Inn when we go to Elmira. This particular Hilton provided several advantages but also many disadvantages. The biggest plus was the view from our 18th-floor room (of course they called it the 19th, since they skipped floor 13):
I suppose we would have appreciated this view even more if we had been sports fans. (The tourist info person at the city’s Visitor Center told us that Baltimoreans always appreciate visitors from Boston. “We like to take their money,” she explained, “since they always spend a lot when they come here to watch the Red Sox beat the Orioles.”) Anyway, the room was comfortable, the quality of the furniture matched the view, and the location couldn’t be beat.
Those are the advantages. The disadvantages all sound petty, but they added up when compared to the much less expensive Hilton Garden Inn: this regular (“full-price”) Hilton charges for WiFi, serves disappointing breakfasts, provides no fridge or microwave, has a sink that’s set back six inches and can be used easily only if you’re tall and skinny (neither of which we are), and features a shower head that’s too high for me to reach (and much too high for Barbara, who’s 4′9″). All of this for a single room that costs a lot more per night than our suite in Elmira. Now of course this is partly (largely?) because of the economic differences between Elmira and Baltimore, but it would be interesting to see what the Garden Inn costs in Baltimore (yes, there is one, in an almost-as-convenient location).
After walking around the Inner Harbor area, we stopped at the aforementioned Visitor Center, from which we took a 100-minute guided tour of the city on one of those fake trolleys. Despite the many errors made by our guide, a retired podiatrist, I’m really glad we took the tour and always recommend these things to newcomers to any city. They’re the best way to get an overview of the city and an orientation to what’s where. Then you know what to do for the rest of your visit.
I mentioned that our guide made many errors. Here are five of them:
- He claimed that the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore is the oldest Unitarian church in the United States. It was established in 1817. Dorchester’s First Parish Church was established in 1630. Not much of a contest there.
- Speaking of churches, he identified one as a “Lithuanian mosque”… and then compounded his mistake by observing that it’s a “Lithuanian Catholic mosque.”
- Another religious one: when we passed the Holocaust memorial, the guide referred to the “one million Jews killed by Hitler.” It’s not that I want to play a numbers game here, but one million is far from six million.
- On a non-religious matter, he pointed out the house of Wallis Simpson, who married “King Henry VIII.” Edward, Schmedward, let’s call him Henry.
- Finally, when we passed the building where Homicide: Life on the Street was filmed (see picture below), the guide observed that this wonderful TV series was directed by John Waters. Not even close!
The guide was also rather clueless about the response of one tourist while driving through the nearby German and Polish neighborhoods. “The Polish immigrants were unwilling to live next to the Germans,” he remarked.
The woman in the back of the bus said, “Gee, I wonder why.”
“It’s because the Germans invaded Poland before World War II…” the guide started to explain.
“She was being sarcastic!” interrupted another tourist.
After the “trolley” tour, we mostly got around on foot, especially when exploring the fascinating Mt. Vernon and Fells Point neighborhoods. We had to try out the light rail at least once, and we often took advantage of the wonderful new Charm City Circulator, which provides free and frequent bus service in a loop throughout the downtown area. With two routes still to go, the first route has been open for only three months and is already a tremendous success. At one point we needed to take a regular city bus, as we were going to the Baltimore Museum of Art (see next paragraph), which is outside of the downtown area. Not being completely sure of where the nearest bus stop might be, I whipped out my iPhone and checked the Maps app, which not only located the nearest stop for the #3 bus but even told us that the next bus would be coming along in four minutes! (I know, I sound like an Apple ad, but it was incredibly convenient.)
We visited three museums during our brief visit, and can highly recommend all of them:
- The Walters Art Museum has an extraordinary eclectic collection. We focused on the Egyptian artifacts, the Islamic manuscripts, and the special exhibit of Japanese cloisonné.
- The B&O Railroad Museum is perhaps of more specialized interest, but it has a fine collection of vintage locomotives and railway cars that visitors can explore (many cars are restored to their original condition), as well as a couple of well-done model railroad layouts.
- The 600-pound gorilla is the astonishing Baltimore Museum of Art, which has to be one of the top art museums in the country. Most fascinating was their temporary exhibit about Cezanne and his influence on American modernism, which I found both enjoyable and informative. The Antioch mosaics, the European art in general, and especially the Cone Collection all deserved more time than we had. If you’re ever in Baltimore, don’t miss this museum!
Finally, we can’t go anywhere without mentioning restaurants. All in all, we were a little bit disappointed in the food we had in Baltimore, and I’m sure we could have done better. Although we were told that it was silly for us as Bostonians to go out for seafood, it seemed sillier not to. Why go somewhere and avoid their specialty? So we mostly — but not exclusively — ate seafood. One dinner we ate at Phillips Seafood, which started with two strikes against it because of being both touristy and a chain, but it turned out to be perfectly adequate. We also ate at the famous Bertha’s Mussels, still touristy but at least local; it was good, but definitely not gourmet. On the gourmet side we did have an excellent meal at the Marie Louise Bistro, but we concluded with an overpriced and unimpressive experience at the LDS restaurant our last night. We went there because it was raining and we were exhausted from all our walking, so we found the closest restaurant to our hotel. At first we thought that the sign meant that it was a Mormon restaurant, but it turned out to stand for “Luna del Sea.” This hybrid of English and fake Italian turned out to represent the cuisine all too well, and neither the service nor the ambiance made me comfortable. Don’t bother going there the next time you’re in Baltimore.
Oh — two more things. First, it’s worth noting that there are many instances of public art in the downtown area. Here are a couple of examples:
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| Finally, on the right we have what purports to be the narrowest house in Baltimore: the visitors’ info claims that it’s only nine feet wide, and it certainly looks to be no more than that. If you look carefully, you’ll see from the brick that there are different row houses almost immediately to the left and right of the doorway. |
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I am sure that we are going to return.
In my previous reviews of two of Lisa Scottoline’s legal thrillers (Daddy’s Girl and Lady Killer) I wrote about Scottoline’s treatment of the world of Italian Catholic working-class South Philadelphia, families, law, and justice. Dirty Blonde (notice a theme here connecting these book titles?) continues the same themes, though it’s not in the same series. For the first time we focus on a judge rather than a lawyer. (Yes, I know that the judge is also a lawyer, but you know what I mean.) Unfortunately the protagonist is not nearly as sympathetic as the ones in the earlier series, and her character flaw also detracts from the believability of the novel. It’s still worth reading as entertainment; the story kept me engaged and interested, but don’t expect literature here.
What are grades supposed to represent? What is the appropriate connection between assessments (whether formative or summative) and grades?
I’ve recently been reading some interesting discussions about these questions in several math teachers’ blogs (including those of Matt Townsley, Karl Fisch, David Cox, and Dan Meyer), all sparked by Shawn Cornally’s fascinating blog, Think Thank Thunk. Cornally poses the problem like this:
The Message Grades Send:
Problem: Kids want to play games to get points in order to get an ‘A’. This is a problem because it puts emphasis on accumulat ing points and not on what the points are supposed to represent: learning. You must migrate your system of grading away from grading every single assignment summatively (that is assigning a static grade for everything a kid does), and towards grades that are indexed by content.
Students could not care less about their score on “Quiz 5″ from last month; they don’t even know what was on that quiz. Don’t put that in your grade book. Put the individual ideas that that quiz assessed in your grade book, so that the students know what it is you care about. I do this, and my grade book has ballooned to about three times its previous size. Oh well.
Reporting Should Be Dynamic:
Let’s say you really care about a certain bit of knowledge, so much so that you’re going to put in on a test. In other words, you want students to know it really badly. Like, say, the Pythagorean Theorem, and you consider your class worthless if the student hasn’t learned that piece of knowledge, then your grading system should be set up to help students remediate their misunderstandings, not screw them over for not getting it the first time.
It’s hard to disagree with that, and I’m not going to try; I merely want to consider three of the reasons why it won’t work, according to us skeptics (but of course we could be wrong). Do read the entire article in order to get the full context, since I’m focusing only on a few specific issues. If you have time, also read the many articles on the subject in Cornally’s blog.
Here are my objections:
- The first reason why it won’t work is that kids and their parents won’t buy into it. Cornally does address this point: “I’ve had kids cry over this, but I have to hold my ground. Parent emails be damned; Johnny didn’t improve from a 8/10 to a 9/10. He just didn’t, sorry.” It’s hard for me to see this point-of-view succeeding in Weston, but of course I could be wrong.
- The second reason is that it’s too time-consuming. We’re already too busy with all the demands on our time, so how can we keep track of all these finely itemized skills and concepts? But of course I could be wrong.
- The third reason is that I fear that it would inevitably lead to a de-emphasis on concepts and big ideas, because atomized skills are so much easier to measure. But of course I could be wrong.
I would like to be proved wrong. I would like to see if this concept of standards-based grading could fly in a place like Weston. Maybe it can.
I suppose you would have to label it historical fiction, as the novel Alice I Have Been is actually a fictionalized autobiography or memoir. Like all historical fiction, it is faithful to the letter and the spirit of the known facts while weaving dialog and situations around them to imagine a complete story. In this book Melanie Benjamin has created a compelling account of the life of Alice Liddell, the “real” Alice in Wonderland, upon whom Lewis Carroll based his two famous books. I found this story irresistible, partly because Carroll was a math teacher in his day job and since his primary mathematical interests were logic and language. But those points are actually minor ones in Benjamin’s narrative, which primarily tells the reader a story about the Liddell family and its place in the Oxford community in particular and Victorian England in general. The reader also learns a great deal about early photography and the cumbersomeness of Victorian dress. (Incidentally, we learn that Alice wasn’t blonde, despite John Tenniel’s famous illustrations.)
As a side note, it is actually the audiobook version that I am reviewing, not the print version. The reading by Samantha Eggar is convincing and compelling, with three-dimensional portrayals of all the major characters. I enjoyed listening to the audiobook, and it kept me occupied through many hours of commuting.
After reading Alice I Have Been, I figured that I had to see the 1985 Dennis Potter movie Dreamchild, which covers pretty much the same material. The atmosphere of the writing is far darker than that of Alice I Have Been — not surprising for anything written by Potter. In particular, the Muppets that portray the gryphon, the Mad Hatter, the dormouse, etc., are all quite creepy. The journalists that surround Alice in her famous visit to New York when she was in her eighties are presented very negatively, in contrast to their light-handed treatment in the book. So it’s worth seeing the movie and reading the book, as you will get two quite different perspectives. I have only one problem with Dreamchild, and it was almost enough to spoil the entire movie for me: all the actors consistently mispronounce Charles Dodgson, the real name of Lewis Carroll, by sounding the silent “g” in his last name. I suppose this shouldn’t bother me so much, but it did. In particular, it damaged the verisimilitude that’s necessary for a thorough immersion into the 19th-century world of the narrative. Fussy, fussy, you’ll say. And perhaps you’re right, but when I’ve gone through fifty years correctly pronouncing his name Dodson, it becomes jarring to hear it said wrong every time. When I see a movie, I want to be immersed in that world, not continually knocked out of it.
Sasha just loves going to the vet:
No, Weston teachers do not have the highest salaries in the state. According to today’s Boston Globe, Weston ranks only 16th in the state in average teacher salaries! At $73,338, we can be compared to a high of $79,444 (Old Colony), though we’re still well above the state median of $61,800. If you look at the alphabetical district-by-district listings, you can compare us to five of our immediately neighboring communities, and we’re higher than any of them:
| Weston |
$73,338 |
| Wayland |
$73,015 |
| Wellesley |
$71,128 |
| Newton |
$70,961 |
| Lincoln |
$69,778 |
| Waltham |
$65,017 |
The real problem is that statistics can be so misleading. The really relevant criterion is the salary scale, since these figures probably reflect more about the average age and teaching experience of the faculty than they tell you about the minimum or maximum salaries in any particular district.
Apparently this is becoming more and more common in Massachusetts. Our students got a four-day weekend in January, but the faculty only had a three-day weekend, in order to schedule a day of professional development. Not that that’s a bad thing. Just saying.
Our focus today (as in all of Weston’s professional development this year) was Professional Learning Communities, usually known as PLCs. You may be wondering what this latest piece of jargon means. Google produces thousands of hits (172,000 as of this moment, or so it claims), but let’s look at allthingsplc.info, which sounds like (and is) a good source. Although I labeled this as the “latest piece of jargon,” in fact it‘s not particularly knew. For instance, the site includes an article from six years ago by Richard DuFour. Here is an excerpt from it:
The idea of improving schools by developing professional learning communities is currently in vogue. People use this term to describe every imaginable combination of individuals with an interest in education… The term has been used so ubiquitously that it is in danger of losing all meaning.
…
The professional learning community model flows from the assumption that the core mission of formal education is not simply to ensure that students are taught but to ensure that they learn. This simple shift — from a focus on teaching to a focus on learning — has profound implications for schools… Every professional in the building must engage with colleagues in the ongoing exploration of three crucial questions that drive the work of those within a professional learning community:
- What do we want each student to learn?
- How will we know when each student has learned it?
- How will we respond when a student experiences difficulty in learning?
This emphasis, of course, fits in perfectly with the current national obsession with No Child Left Behind, statewide standardized testing, and other related initiatives. But it’s much more reasonable than No Child Left Behind or statewide standardized testing, since the three questions are clearly important and don’t suggest a dumbed-down or cookie-cutter approach, leading to teaching-to-the-test.
To my mind, however, the issue isn’t the three questions. The real issue is buried within the quotation above — a simple three-word phrase: engage with colleagues. Throughout my entire teaching career of 36 years I have enjoyed working with colleagues and have considered it to be an essential ingredient of our success. This observation flies in the face of the common (mis)perception that the teacher closes the classroom door and is a solo practitioner in charge of a group of students, but I’ve never believed in that model. Everywhere I’ve taught, the math department shares a common office and works together on curriculum, instruction, and assessment. For whatever reason, not all departments have operated like this, but it is always a major plus for math teachers. What hasn’t always happened is an emphasis on any of the three questions above. I look forward to further work in this area.
In recent days I’ve talked with several colleagues and a couple of students concerning overrides into honors-level math classes. All high schools have to face the question of what to do when a student and his or her math teacher disagree about the appropriate next course. There seem to be three different models:
- The teacher’s recommendation is law, and the student cannot override it.
- The teacher’s recommendation is the default, but the student and/or parent can jump through a number of virtual hoops in order to override it.
- The student can sign up for whatever s/he wants, regardless of the teacher’s recommendation.
Weston follows model #2. The hoops consist of talking with the current teacher, a prospective teacher of the desired course, the counselor, and the department head, as well as filling out a form. This deliberately cumbersome procedure is designed to ensure that the override is not being done casually, and that everyone is going through this with open eyes. After all the steps are carried out, the student is admitted to the desired course (assuming that there is space available). The usual context for this process is when a student is recommended for a college-prep (CP) course but wants to be in honors.
The Weston parent community would never stand for model #1, but I have sometimes heard people advocate model #3. There is a certain logic to that: a student picks a course (with parental signature) and lives with the consequences. If s/he picks an honors course inappropriately, the results are either a bad grade or a decision to drop down to CP. What’s the harm?
Well, I’ll tell you what the harm is. Suppose we follow model #3, and as a result we schedule six sections of honors geometry and only four of CP. And then it turns out that 42 honors geometry students find out that they are over their heads and try to drop down to CP. But since there are only four sections of CP, it turns out that only 8 slots are available, so 34 extra kids are stuck in honors, being understandably discouraged and making it nearly impossible for the teachers to maintain a positive honors-level atmosphere.
“Why not just switch one or two honors sections to CP?” you may ask. You can’t do that becuase the 34 kids in question are spread out among six sections meeting in six different blocks, and it would be horribly disruptive to the entire schedule to try to switch everyone around. More than disruptive, it would probably be impossible.
In order to maintain an appropriate level of classroom discourse, it’s essential to have a critical mass of appropriately placed students. It’s OK to have two or three who are over their heads, but if half the class doesn’t belong there it will poison the well for everyone. That’s not being elitist, it’s just reality.
Yikes! I see that it’s been almost three months since my last post. There’s no particular reason for this — I just got overtaken by events. So… welcome back, and I’ll try to resume regular blogging right now. I have lots of partially written entries that I will update and post, plus a bunch of new stuff to say. More tomorrow!
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