I am still unemployed and I need to post about the craziness of attempting to access the SC unemployment I have earned.  Maybe I can force myself to write about this, but it is so negative I struggle to deal with the anger that rears its’ horry head.

I have finish a couple of haikus that came to me while sitting at a Starbucks people watching; I want to put them in my blog so that if I lose them I can recover them there.

Sitting at Starbucks
Summer days are long and hot
Summer skirts are not


Her angry eyes flash
Thunder storms in the forecast
She leaves him crying

I also wrote a short poem that came to me while sitting on my patio at 3 AM – I fleshed it out the next day.

Last night I was a voyeur

Serenaded by a symphony of cicadas, frogs and crickets
I sat outside watching the moon undress
As she walked naked past the window of the sky
on her way upstairs lay among the clouds

My wife sleeps – I slip into bed – we dream our dreams


In our American consciousness two famous tea parties come to mind.  One is where some tax protestors hid their identity and dressed up as Native American Indians to throw some British tea in Boston Harbor.  The other famous tea party is the Mad Hatter’s tea party of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ fame where insanity ruled the day.

Today’s political Tea Party attempts to trace its roots to a pool party in the Boston Harbor, but they rush around like a bunch of Mad Hatters.

I know many wonderful South Carolinians who have stepped through the looking glass into the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party heaven.  It has become a contest in South Carolina government to rush around cutting funds for government offices, social programs, education spending and even refusing free federal aid; at the same time the party in power is having internal fights with fellow party members while the Cheshire Cat grins from its corporate perch high above the chaos.

Monday,I will walk in sober to a chaotic Mad Hatter’s Tea Party government office and hope to receive cogent intelligent service from an under-staffed and under-paid state agency.

My next few blog posts will be a journal of my visit through the looking glass as I take my seat at the table with our host the Mad Hatter at the South Carolina Department of Employment and Workforce.

It Begins…..

Unfortunately, I was restructured out of my position of employment so I am trying to receive unemployment for the first time in my life.  I would rather work, but we have bills to pay and like most Americans we are one paycheck from not paying our bills.  I am 59 years old and I have been paying into the unemployment system all my working life.

Before I was unemployed I contacted the SCDEW trying to prepare ahead of time for not being employed at the end of June.  I was told I had to wait until I was no longer employed – fair enough.   I was also told to apply online for unemployment, which I did the beginning of July.  Friday, July 22nd I received an envelope in the mail from the SCDEW.  Inside the envelope I found a form letter with a handwritten note at the bottom that said, “We are unable to locate SC wages for you. Thanks.”  I worked as an off-site enrollment counselor for a Missouri school, AT Still University.  I work from an office in our home in South Carolina and I paid taxes and spent my salary in South Carolina.  The form letter gave me contact information for the Missouri Department of Labor and Industrial Relations.

I immediately called SCDEW and after clicking through a series of messages I got a real live human.   He joked with me that I was lucky to catch anyone working in the office on Friday.  I told him my situation he asked my social security number and came back and said I was not in the system so I was not eligible for unemployment.  I then proceeded to explain that I pay payroll taxes in South Carolina and it is where I file my taxes; I received the same reply.  After explaining this to him a third time he transferred my call to his superior.   But it was Friday and I could not be lucky twice; it went to message mode and it did this the next three times I called the number.

I decided to call the number for Missouri Department of Labor and Industrial Relations and left a message on their phone.  Surprise, I received a call back from Missouri a half hour later.   The lady I talked with was very helpful checked my social security number and my former employer’s ID number and informed me that AT Still University did not pay taxes or unemployment for me in Missouri.   I explained the run around I was getting from SCDEW and she graciously consented to call a number she had for SCDEW.   About an hour later Missouri called me back and said SCDEW claims that I never have paid payroll taxes in the great state of South Carolina.   But that the lady from SCDEW that Missouri talked with advised her that I was welcome to appeal if I brought my W2’s and South Carolina tax forms into my home county SCDEW office on Monday.   I asked the helpful Missouri state employee if I may have the name and number of the only knowledgeable person at SCDEW who would answer the phone on a Friday afternoon and she replied the SCDEW did not allow that information out to the general public – how convenient for SCDEW.

I am beginning to wish I lived in Missouri; their public servants actually care and provide service even to non-residents.

Wish me luck tomorrow at the SCDEW; I hope they will see people in person on Monday mornings?

I will give an update tomorrow.


I am just the King of Procrastinators.  This is my first post in awhile.

What is going on with Al:

***First, as of June 30th, I will be unemployed.  A. T. Still University has gone through a re-arrangement with how they do admissions.  In the past admissions was done by the different schools of the university.  The university has elected to bring all recruitment and admissions under one department within the Student Services Department.  June 1st was the first day of the change; that morning on my computer was a three sentence email from the VP of Student Services, written late the evening of May 31st that the admission department will not be using off-site employees in the enrollment process and that I may re-locate to our campus in either Missouri or Arizona or on June 30th my position would be terminated.  I am sure that he had decided months before that he would not have any off-site employees.  I would have preferred months notice over having only 30 days, but God leads all of us on our own path.

It has been a wonderful two year gig and in the last year I have been the employee of the month twice.  The staff in the School of Health Management has been wonderful team to be part of and many are now my friends.  I will miss being part of their mission, but life is about change;  I believe that good things will happen from this and that new doors will open.

I am 59, have held several managerial positions, have been the VP of two companies and have owned my own company ; I have good experience, it does not matter to me if I have a status position and I can be a valued asset for the right organization.  If anyone in the Midlands of South Carolina has a job prospect contact me.

***The Mind Gravy Poetry Venue has been growing & I have met & enjoyed many talented poets, musicians, writers, and artists.

***I have been welcomed with open arms by the Columbia Writer’s Alliance; it is wonderful and I am thankful.

***Our children and grandchildren are all healthy and we will be taking a week long vacation in the Smoky Mountains together the first week of July.

***I think my personal and spiritual life is being strengthened by my life in the Mid Lands of South Carolina.

***I have several projects that I am trying to develop and hope that I will be successful.  My poetry, writing and dream life have been becoming more integrated and I believe that works to the strengthening of all three.


The persecution of the Baha’is in Iran by the Iranian government has intensified and I encourage everyone who reads this who believes that freedom of conscience and belief are a God given right to pray for the Iranian Baha’i community and to write your senators and congresspersons.

Seven leaders of the Iranian Baha’i community have been imprisoned in harsh solitary confinement and deprived of seeing their Nobel Prize winning lawyer for three years.  I have written a poem on their behalf:

‎’Songs To The Crescent Moon’

Seven captive nightingales sing
Songs to the crescent moon about the sun
While sons of the ‘Son of the Wolf’ howl
And owls attack prey under the cover of darkness

From roof tops voices cry out in the night for freedom
Beyond the moat from a high window
A prisoner beckons and calls out
“The fruits of the tree of Thy justice have fallen”

Tragically, wolves hear only their own howls
And owls seek only their prey
…..oblivious, that seven captive nightingales still sing
Songs to the crescent moon about the sun

The quote is from, The Epistle to the Son of the Wolf, by Baha’ullah


As we move through life we can see our cup as half full or half empty.  I believe it is half full and continually being filled by an merciful invisible Source.

Please, remember Al’s Law of Serendipity, “Wonderfully good things happen at unexpected times and places.”

Yesterday, was Mother’s Day.  It was the end of an insightful week.  I held the first Mind Gravy Youth Poetry night, saw some friends’ art, heard a great band, had good times with friends, read at a poetry event in a small town in the heart of the old South, experienced South Carolina racism, both subtle and overt, wrote a poem about my mother and lounged lazily around the house with my wife on Sunday.

I held the first Mind Gravy Youth Poetry night; it is hoped that it will morph and grow into a night the youth will take ownership of.

Experienced a wonderful night of art on Main Street and saw a delightful local musician, Chris Compton and his band at the White Mule; it seems that often there is world class talent that resides in any town, but they put their wife and family first – Chris is one of those musicians.

Spent time with a musician friend, THE Dubber talking and of course we indulged in our favorite past time ‘People Watching.’

Saturday, I went to Edgefield, the economic hub of the old South(home of Strom Thurmond) with two friends, a spoken word poet, John Starino and the musician, THE Dubber.  Edgefield is the slave roots of THE Dubber(Wendell Culbreath); where both of his parents and many previous generations of his family grew up in slavery and/or Jim Crow subjugation.  Wendell grew up in Washington DC, but used to visit as a youngster; he had not been back since he was 16.  It was a strange and emotional day for him, but confronting the ghosts of your past is always a good thing.

We went to Edgefield to attend a poetry event organized by a poet friend named Laurel Blossom, but my hope was that THE Dubber could play a song or two during the open mic on a stage that his ancestors would never have been welcomed on.   He got his wish and the audience was impressed.  After he performed an older woman got up and read a poem of a Confederate soldier to his girlfriend and she had to say something about ‘The War of Northern Aggression’ (white Jim Crow era name for the ‘Civil War’).  This was an insult to any black person or Northern in the room.  At the reception I made a point to start a loud discussion that referenced the KKK and how they were cowards, because they hid behind sheets and pillow cases and only attacked individuals when they were in large numbers.  Leave it to this Indiana Yankee to point out the elephant in the room.  The temperature at the reception definitely dropped several degrees before we left.  I made a point to shake the venue’s manager’s hand at the door to tell him it was a wonderful event and that I planned to return often and enjoy other cultural events in Edgefield.  I wonder how many times he washed his hands after I left.

Saturday morning I touched up an old poem that I had re-read and worked on earlier this week; it had a few good lines that I had left orphaned in a half completed poem about my mother a year or so ago.  I completed the poem and read it in Edgefield; it is the beginnings of a good piece, but I need to continue to refine and work on the rhythm a bit.


Sometimes, my mom would sit me down
Next to a stack of ironing
She would go over language lessons while
Pressing out imperfections and wrinkles
This was my pre-school education
Her gift of time
A luxury she never had as a child
She was the eldest of many
So bright – so young – so trapped
With chores to do and piles and piles of ironing

Where did her time go?
Now, her hair is so thin and white
Brittle from gallons of hair spray
Applied every Sunday morning
Before my father would drop her off early
At the back door of the church
Her dress always pressed just right under her choir robe
While her children would squirm restlessly in a pew
Waiting for their father to shut his eyes during the sermon
So they could play tic-tac-toe
But every hair on her head would sit perfectly quietly in its place
Evidence to all of her propriety and Godly living

Last month, she called me asking if I was coming home for Easter
Reminding me I had not driven the 700 miles since Christmas
And telling me three times in three different ways
How it hurts to get on her knees and plant spring flowers
And that my father forgets what he has done and overwatered the daffodils again
Sometimes, she makes me feel like it is my fault he is getting old

Sometimes, I wonder when will be my last time
To sit at their table so she can feed me breakfast
Food that she remembers as my favorite
Food that I now only eat at their table
Where I listen to her tell stories
About her parents and grandparents
Stories of not having much
Stories of losing the farm in the Great Depression
Stories of her father going blind with a large family to feed
Stories of giving hobos a cup of water from the well
In the yard of their little cinder block house on the edge of town near the railroad
Stories of how she met my father during the war
She was only 18 and a bookkeeper at the mill
Stories of how she prayed everyday for him to return whole and alive
To take her away to live happily ever after in Indiana

We drove home this Easter
I ate breakfast at their table, heard the same stories, picked up sticks in the yard
Pulled weeds from her flowers, watched her sing in the church choir
…..and sometimes, I would sit on their couch
Searching for words to describe
My feelings of all the time she has gifted me
My mind would spin in circles
Like a dog chasing its tail
Trying to find words to sink my teeth into
But a dog never seems to catch its tail
And I never seem to find the words

(A.E.Black, 05/07/11)

I have not written in awhile; I have thought of writing, but something always stops me.

This evening I am musing about springtime in South Carolina:

*They celebrated the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War at Ft. Sumter in the harbor of Charleston.  I think it should be a National Day of Mourning,  over 600,000 dead, four times as many injured, country divided, devastated the South, begat the KKK, Jim Crow and lynching.  Some white folk tried to tell me that it is not called the Civil War, but rather the War of Northern Aggression; I replied for the 63% of the population that was black it was a War of Liberation.  They called me a Damned Yankee and walked away.

Mean while, in South Carolina the Confederate flag still flies on the state house lawn of the capitol city where they have now elected a black mayor.  It makes me sick.  On the day observing the start of the Civil War I wrote a short Haiku.

Crying for justice

Wisps of Spanish moss hang like

Ghosts on southern trees

*The neighborhood is enjoying the summer like weather and many are walking their dogs around the lake.  Very few carry bags to pick up their dog’s mess, some walk two and three dogs at a time, one has a greyhound pull him around on a skateboard, some take their dogs for rides in their golf carts and the best one is this fat guy who ties the his dog’s leash to his golf cart while he drives around talking on his cell phone.

*All the young boys are trying out their new fishing lures while the young girls walk by modeling their shortest  shorts and nothing is rising to the bait.

*The various festivals are starting all over the state now; you name it and there is a festival named after it.

*My ‘Mind Gravy Poetry Venue’ is growing and I am meeting some wonderful musicians, artists and poets – there is a very creative side to this crazy state.  This Tuesday at the Columbia City Council I have been requested to read a poem, ‘The Sisters’ that I wrote and performed two weeks ago at an event organized and hosted by the Columbia Writer’s Alliance for the book, ‘Having Our Say, The Delany Sisters – First 100 Years’.

‘The Sisters’

The sisters’ cabinet had an upper shelf

Where they kept a ball of string

Bits and pieces – scraps knotted together

Waiting to unwind – new needs to tether


This piece from the butcher

Wrapped around the roast

This one tied the roses blooming by the pine

Their past rolled in their ball of twine


I, too have saved my memories

Recycled, binding my soul like roses

Bits and pieces – scraps knotted together

I am wanting to unwind – my spirit to untether

*Our national congress is a joke and the laughing stock of the world; it has inspired me to write another Haiku.

Two boys in the weeds

In a fierce pissing sword fight

Playing ‘Congressman’ 

*Wars continue, wars grow and new wars are being born every day; it is sad to think of the youth that are being wasted, because of decisions made by old men sitting in safety.  This inspired a Haiku dedicated to the “midnight sighing of the poor.”

Springtime hills grow red

As bright Afghan poppies bloom 

With war’s addiction

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend; my wife and I look forward to returning home to Indiana to see my parents and family over the long Easter weekend.

A week ago, I walked over to an old boat landing and fishing camp down the road a bit from where we live near Lake Murray.  Sat for a bit with the old man who owns it.

It inspired me to write a poem about our afternoon conversation.  The poem has a small bit of poetic license, but I tried to convey the emotion and mood of our time together.

Crushed Stone

The lane rose slightly as it curved to the left
Along a small wooded ravine decorated with spring flowers
That grew among the abandoned appliances

Paved with crushed stone
Bits of quartz sparkled in the spring sun
Beauty does not discriminate

At the top of the hill sat several run-down cottages
Sprouting air conditioners from the windows
And rusty trash barrels by each door

In front of the cottages a concrete boat ramp
Cut through the red clay
On its way to the water’s edge

Standing like a sentinel
Was an old hand painted sign
Launch – $3 – Cash Only

A flock of white sea gulls circled
Hungrily above an old man
Feeding them stale bread from an old dock

On another old dock rode an ancient gas pump
Attached by a long copper line
To a red tank behind a larger cottage

Its’ porch lined with four rocking chairs
Empty as the faces of presidents on Mount Rushmore
The door stood wide open in the warm sun

Seeing me, the old man called out,
“Y’all go inside and sit – l’ll be in shortly”
Inside I found more empty rocking chairs

On a small counter rested a money box asking –Cash Only
There was a refrigerator with a glass door
A space heater and a wall hung with cheap fishing tackle

Another wall was for live bait
With three bins saying
Red worms – crickets – minnows

Hanging from the refrigerator handle
Was an old beer can opener
Swinging from a noose of dirty string

I sat down in a chair near the door
The old man limped in – he didn’t say hi
But remarked, “Saw y’all walking up the lane”

“What brings y’all back here?”
I told him I had seen his sign by the road
And for a couple of years I had meant to come by

He smiled, sat down and began talking
His grandfather built the place in 1937
He was proud that people still come by

“Folks come from two states away
To rent those cottages to go bass fishing
Or hunt ducks in the fall”

“I am retired now,” he said,
“I feed the sea gulls in the winter and make a little money
People are happy I’m still here.”

We sat looking out over the water
At the sea gulls waiting patiently to be fed
I got up to buy a soda

Trying to make conversation, I remarked
“That beer can opener is obsolete; everything today has lids”
He sat there staring silently for a bit

He drawled, “It’s retired now, too
My son hung it there so it won’t be lost
It keeps me company when I am lonely.”

“Do you fish or go boating much?” I asked
He shrugged and told me how he used
To fish and boat all the time with his son

But he hadn’t fished or left the dock since 1986.
We sat looking at the water for a bit more
Still curious I inquired, “Did your son marry and move away?”

He looked down at his hands and replied, “No, in 86
He was out fishing -a speed boat rammed him
After that the water quit calling my name.”

Sadness and longing passed between us
A pontoon boat pulled up to the gas pump
We nodded our good byes

We both got up to go
I hurried for home – the sun was still out
But it felt like rain

(A.E. Black, 03/17/11)

I have this friend, Wendell Culbreath aka THE Dubber.  He is a very talented professional introspective singer/songwriter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZulRq92X0A8 We often talk about the the arts scene and how so many people just don’t get it.  They come to events because they think it is cool and they searching for the ‘Andy Warhol Effect.’

Many live these uptight conservative lives and they want to break out, but they are too afraid or to lazy to make the step.  So they come to arts events hoping to experience the ‘Andy Warhol Effect.’

Somehow the media has corrupted the arts in the public mind and the arts scene has become this fantasy escape of sex, drugs and rock & roll.  They come to events hoping to find the freedom of self they have lost by getting inebriated and hopefully finding this lost self through osmosis or through some form of purchase.

I wrote this poem a couple of days ago about this issue:

The Andy Warhol Effect

Seeking to find their limits
Exploring the creative wilderness
Reaching for creative borders
Heightening by deprivation
Artists feel alive with the danger

Craving new fantasies
Purchasing their thrills
Hoping to find a new borderline
Bored within the private confines of privilege
The wealthy pray they will cross that border

If money is your aphrodisiac
Creativity becomes a painted whore
And the art scene is just
A petting zoo masquerading as a safari
We call patronage of the arts

(A.E. Black, 03/02/11)

Dedicated to Wendell (THE Dubber) Culbreath


I get really depressed reading the news and watching TV about the Middle East and the rest of the world and I think about the causes of war often.  This little Haiku came to me will walking along the lake in a warm light mist:

Warm sun and toy guns
Father wants some peace and quiet
Mother prays for peace

Yesterday, my wife, Carol and I celebrated our 39th anniversary.  I met her when she was still 16 in a church parking lot on a Sunday in July and we were married on March 4, 1972 at ages 18 and 19.   We have four wonderful children and four delightful grandchildren.  Monday, we will go to Charleston for a day or two and walk along the beach together.

Today is the fourth day of the Baha’i time of fasting.  For 19 days Baha’is worldwide abstain from food or drink from sunrise to sunset.   It is a wonderful time of spiritual reflection and refocus.

Well, the bloodshed in Libya continues while the world just stands on the sideline and watches.   Some countries don’t want to get their hands dirty; while others with tyrannical governments are worried that it may happen to them next.   When we turn our heads to inhumanity we encourage inhumanity.

Recently, I wrote a short Haiku for spring.

Flower sunbathing
Upon a springtime blanket
Blouse of blooms undone

(A. E. Black, 03/01/11)

Peace begins in you, radiates out to your family and from there it will change the world.

May you find the gate that leads to the springtime of universal peace.

Spring has arrived in the deep South; I have written two new poems.

One is in honor of ‘Women’s History Month and the other is about spring and the concept of peace.


A Crack In The Pedestal


We have white history, black history and American history

We have European history, world history and all kinds of other history

But it is only half of the story

What of herstory?


Herstory is of the mothers who bore us

Herstory is the breasts we suckled

Herstory is who dried our tears

Herstory is who was our first teacher


Herstory is being held on a pedestal

With chains forged by men

Herstory is who first found the strength to believe

While Peter denied and hid in fear


Herstory started the bus boycott

That made a Baptist minister famous

Herstory has no buildings and streets named in her honor

Herstory should be a national holiday called Rosa Parks Day


Ourstory is when women are no longer chattel

Ourstory is when veils no longer hide female faces from men

Ourstory is when mothers are valued more than warriors

Ourstory is when history is no longer writing herstory


(A. E. Black, 02/24/11)

Three Spring Questions


In the Deep South, spring waits at the garden gate

Wisteria & trees intertwine

While exchanging winter grays & browns

For bright blouses of blossoms


The air smells alive

Fertile Earth is warm

As it crumbles between my fingers

A handful of dust – ions in the making


Sprinklings from the birth of stars

Blood & bones of Cherokee – of European – of African

Struggling no longer, united in my hand

Fertile earth to feed future generations


Is war inevitable? – Will peace come only in the clouds

Of chalk dust from Einstein’s equations?

Or is peace born in a new springtime

As it enters at the gate?


(A. E. Black, 03/01/11)

The news this week is full of change and weirdness:

  • The Wisconsin governor is trying to fulfill his campaign promises and has said he will end government employees right to collective bargaining, cut their pay, change their retirement and change their healthcare benefits to help balance the state budget, but in the next breathe he said he is calling out the National Guard in anticipation of people being upset.   Talk about throwing salt into a wound and making a tough situation worse.

Here is a thought – if government workers cannot earn a fair living working for the government will they be more likely to take money under the table?  I think the answer is yes.

If we want good honest government employees we must pay our government employees a living salary with benefits.

  • South Carolina is voting to muzzle the State Ethics Commission by trying to make it a law that they report to government officials only and they cannot inform the public about what it has found – what is the government needing to hide?
  • The South Carolina State Superintendent of Education is trying to eliminate art & music from public schools.   Most elected state officials send their children to private schools or can afford to provide private lessons for their children.

Jim Crow is always just under the surface in the Deep South.

  • The Knox family of the United States, whose daughter, Amanda, was convicted of murder under what appears to be less than fair & open court proceedings based on dubious testimony and circumstantial evidence in the Italian courts, is now being charged with perjury and libel in the Italian courts for an interview they gave in England in which they stated that they felt the court proceedings in Italy were prejudicial and not very fair in their daughter’s case in Italy.  Now they cannot even visit their daughter in prison or they will face arrest.  Their daughter, Amanda, who was convicted of murder and is in prison is now facing additional charges of perjury and libel against the Italian legal authorities for testifying in her murder trial that the police inflicted physical and emotional duress on her when trying to get her to make conflicting statements and to confess.

Do you think the Italian legal system is attempting to stifle dissent and/or hide police & judicial violations?

My advice to any American considering a vacation in Europe is to avoid Italy.  Their legal system is very unfair and they do not treat Americans fairly.

  • After several journalists had been assaulted, detained or arrested in demonstrations trying to force the resignation of the Egyptian dictator, a young attractive female CBS TV News reporter was beaten and sexually assaulted in a crowd of several hundred thousand Egyptians celebrating the resignation of their long time dictator.  She was also rescued by a group of Egyptian women and 20+ Egyptian soldiers.   She experienced both the good and bad of Egypt.

I am amazed when journalists think a camera or a microphone is going to protect them from violence –  media coverage helps to shine the light on evil and we must expect evil to want to punish those that are revealing their sins to the world.

Major media must be more careful with the realities of change and the fear that an open media engenders for despots and their supporters.

  • Dictators worldwide have been served notice by events in Tunisia and Egypt that the people are unwilling to docilely accept continued oppression.  If dictators have the will to continue in power they must do one of two things quickly: 1) immediately, change & reform the way they do business and hope it is enough to placate the masses or 2) shut down media coverage and stop the demonstrations by any means possible.

Unfortunately, I fear we will see increased violence from the dictators and media had best stay out of the way or expect assaults, arrests and even death.


In other news – last Tuesday I attended the monthly meeting of the Columbia Writer’s Alliance and Poet, Joyce Rose-Harris had a wonderful workshop in honor of Valentine’s Day about how to write a Haiku love poems.

This was not my cup of tea.

I loathe Valentine’s Day and I do not write well on demand – I write when inspiration flows and as it comes to me.  Needless to say I did not do well on Tuesday night.

Well, Friday morning I woke up with a Haiku love poem in my head; the poem was influenced by my wife, Carol and the Baha’i writings, especially, a quote from the Tabernacle of Unity by Baha’ullah and a prayer from the Tablets of the Divine Plan, by Abdu’l-Baha.

To soar on warm winds

This gnat becomes a falcon

Perched on your arm

Have a wonderful weekend!