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Overheard at . . .  Starbucks

12/10/2013

2 Comments

 
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“This is definitely not softball weather.”

You think? Yesterday when I heard this it was 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Brrrrr. In fact, after selling Christmas tree half the day on Saturday I can promise it is not ‘anything outside’ weather. I’m just now warming up.

Even with the sun out, my tree selling experience provided a whole new insight into my father. You see, when I was young my very entrepreneurial dad did all sorts of random jobs. I may have mentioned that for a while he owned a pet store. (It was so funny I even stole a character trait from this for my next novel, MOLTO MAYHEM.) But this was simply the tip of the iceberg. He also sold toys to carnival organizers. And every year at this time, he and a friend of his would set up a Christmas Tree stand. HE said it was the hardest job he ever did… and now I understand why.

The good news is that people were all in a happy, festive mood. We had hot apple cider to drink. Candy canes to eat. And holiday music to sing along with. However, by the time they had spent an hour searching and arguing over the perfect tree, their good mood had disappeared as fast as the apple cider. By the time the customers made it back to our tent, cold, tired and frustrated, I imagine all they wanted to do was get to the warmth of their home and begin decorating it.

I admit the trees were beautiful though: Big and perfectly shaped. And, since the farm was owned by a local family rather than a business, there were a plethora to choose from. The lovely family had donated the Christmas tree sales to our charter school, so that is how we found ourselves outside, in the 20 degree weather, tying trees to the top of cars. Thirty-seven trees later we tripped our way back to the car, shivering as we headed to our next stop, the church pageant.

And I finally also gained a new appreciation for the annual retelling of the birth of Christ. I always thought the best part was listening to the kindergarteners sing. This year my heart was warmed, though, not only by the sweet, sincere children, but also by the thermostat.

Happy Holidays!
Deanne


In this freezing cold weather my thoughts are with those who don’t have a way to stay warm. Do you have blankets or coats to donate? Leave me a comment with how you stay warm… or help others stay warm, and I will place you in my December drawing - $10 to the non-political charity of your choice. Every comment on any of my blogs enters you. So stop by and say hi all month long and then check back at the end of the month to see if you won.


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Overheard on... The Catholic Digest

11/28/2013

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Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I bumped into this wonderful, heartwarming, and funny, Thanksgiving post on the Catholic Digest and wanted to share it with all of you! (Reposted in its entirety with permission from the Catholic Digest.) I hope you enjoy and I send all my best for a fun and delicious day!



We Have One Job - By Simcha Fisher

Once upon a time, there was a young woman who was hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. She wanted—no, needed—everything to be perfect. She planned and prepped for days, chopping vegetables, rolling dough, scrubbing baseboards, and counting silverware. On the day of the feast, she was up with the sun, full of determination and manic good cheer.

As the day wore on, the good cheer waned and the manic levels rose. Pots boiled over and were turned down; ovens smoked and windows were opened. The clock ticked, and little by little, the meal started to come together. The guests would be there in a matter of hours. Could she pull off the perfect day? She really thought she could.

Then, suddenly: calamity. She ran out of butter! Real butter, creamy and fat, the fuel that makes the Thanksgiving engine run. She had to have some. She shrieked for her husband and sent him out to the store, with instructions to come back as quickly as he could with at least two pounds of butter.

Off he went. And he didn’t come back, and he didn’t come back. She grew more and more frantic and considered her options. She could cook without butter. No, impossible. She could just explain things to the guests. Unthinkable. She could burn the house down and move to Guadalajara. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Just as she began to search for her passport, her husband’s car screeched into the driveway. He was home, home with the butter! Hallelujah, the day was saved!

With trembling fingers, she snatched open the bag . . . and then fell back, the words of thanks dying in her throat. She croaked. She gabbled. She gaped.

There on the table was a three-pound tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!

“Boy, the stores were crowded!” her husband said. ”I guess everyone was shopping for Thanksgiving. But I knew you would like this, because you just wanted two pounds of butter, and this is three!”

What the young woman replied, I cannot record here. But she did point out to her husband, possibly dozens of times, that, “It says right on the package that IT’S NOT BUTTER.”

Well, Thanksgiving happened anyway. The food was hot and bountiful, the guests were jovial, and if anyone noticed that the butter was not butter, no one mentioned it. It was a good Thanksgiving.

You may think I’m going to wrap this story up with a moral about how we ought to be thankful for the best efforts of our loved ones, and that what really matters in the end is family, peace, joy, harmony, and good intentions.

But, no. What I’m thinking is, “Seriously, it said, ‘IT’S NOT BUTTER’ right on the package. Right on there! And he brought it home anyway!”

Know who that reminds me of? Me. Not on Thanksgiving, but every week, every day. Every time I go to Mass, the last thing I hear is, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” God is telling us, “Look, you have one job. One job. Go and serve me.”

And I say, “Amen, Boss!” and off I go.

And then what do I do? I come back with a giant tub of “I Can’t Believe I’m Not Serving God!” And I jog back into his temple, all hopeful and proud with my ridiculous little package clutched under my arm, and I say, “See? Look what I found for you! Good, huh? Just what you asked for, right?”

 It’s not what he asked for. It’s a substitute. It says right on the package that it’s not what he wants. And God opens the package, and he says…
 
“Close enough. Come on in, thou good enough, faithful enough servant. Come on in to the feast I have prepared for you. Sit down with your family in the home of your Father, and let us have a meal together.”

And that, my friends, is why we celebrate Thanksgiving. Not because we have it all together, not because things turned out perfectly, not because we never disappoint each other, or because we always please God. We celebrate Thanksgiving because God loves us even when we fail--especially when we fail.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love is everlasting.

Simcha Fisher is a blogger for the National Catholic Register and Patheos.com. She has just released her first e-book (with print version to
follow), The Sinner's Guide to Natural Family Planning. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and nine children.

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Overheard on . . . the BBC

11/12/2013

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PictureHarold Percival, courtesy of the AP
“Hundreds attend the funeral of someone they didn’t even know.”

I love this story! Harold Jellicoe Percival was in the Royal Air Force in England and served during WWII. He died recently at age 99. And since he never married or had children, the only expected attendee of the service was a  nephew.

However, the funeral home hosting the service put an advertisement in the paper, inviting other veterans to come and honor his life. Over 400 people ended up attending though when the post went viral on social media. There were so  many people there, in fact, that most couldn’t fit in the chapel and had to stand outside in the rain while the service was going on. (Link here for more on the BBC story.)

Listening to the newsflash about the memorial service I was struck by curiosity about why so many people who didn’t even know him attended. Yes, he was a veteran. As ground crew he inspected and repaired planes that flew over France during battles. He had not been decorated a hero. There was no autobiography making him famous, no site named after him. People came, simply to honor a man who served.

To me it feels like people rarely pay attention to individual stories unless they have had a direct and tangible impact on their own life. We are grateful, I think, for holidays, like Veterans’ Day or Memorial Day, when we can pay this tribute. But then again… I wonder how many people spent their Veterans Day yesterday doing something other than watching football or going bowling (the two things we ended up doing with our day.) I think this is why this overheard was so immediately heart warming for me.

I realized, in thinking about this memorial service attended by so many, that each life story deserves to be told and honored. Deserves, if  nothing else, an a tweetable epitaph.
Mr. Percival knew how to fix engines and fight the Nazis. He loved cricket. Nomadic by nature, he carried a backpack to travel. #tweetpitaph

I am so glad to see that, in this case, Mr. Harold Percival was honored with far more than 140 characters.

Is there anyone you would like to honor with a tweetpitaph? Did you do anything special to honor Veterans’ Day? I love to hear from my blog readers. And to prove it, I am donating $10 to the non-political charity of one lucky commenter this month. Leave a comment for any of my blogs, and then check back at the end of the month to see if your name was drawn.

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Overheard at... School

11/7/2013

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“They fight when they’re unsure if they understand it themselves.”

We had a 4th grade parent meeting at school and were discussing how the kids seem to be getting angry when we, as parents, try to help them with their homework. “That’s not how the teacher wants us to do it.” Seems to be a common statement in many homes right now, and the teachers were clarifying that, while this is age appropriate, it is not true.

The fact is, with the new Common Core Curriculum, the more ways they learn how to do something the better. The problem is that at this age their uncertainty in themselves turns to a fear of being seen as lacking. What to us seems like help, to them feels like judgment.

This idea that help represents a comment on our ability can follow us into adulthood. As a writer I definitely sometimes feel like this when my work is being critiqued. Our first response can often be to claim the other person doesn’t understand. In fact, you should hear me bicker with Word’s grammar checker when it points out all of the fragments in my writing.  

But pride, whether in our academic knowledge, appearance, or social standing, comes at a sever cost. Something I was reminded of while watching Gone with the Wind over the last couple of nights.

I guess it has been a while since I have watched the movie in its; entirety. Or perhaps I now have the maturity to better analyze it.  Whatever the reason, I found myself both sympathetic to and disgusted by Scarlett. Pride makes us say and do the very worst things. Like this statement by Scarlett:

“You know it's yours. I don't want it any more than you do. No woman would want a child of a cad like you... I wish for anybody's child but yours.” (Gone with the Wind- By Margaret Mitchell)

We know this is a lie, just as she knows it is a lie. She missed him when he was gone and had been excited to tell him about the baby… until he told her he planned to leave again. Then, in order to save her pride, she said this awful thing to him.

Pride, though, is a difficult companion to let go of. Like the shell on an armadillo, we feel like pride protects us from the weakness of our own insecurities. So how do we help our children, or ourselves, find the courage to move beyond its hold?

Louisa May Alcott wrote, in Little Women, “… for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride.”

And so, my gratitude for the gift of being able to write means that I even accept a computer telling me that my grammar needs improvement. And my gratitude that I get to share my daughter’s learning means that I can sit
through her angry accusations of my own inequities without it becoming about me.

What are you grateful for? Has pride ever kept you from something you really wanted? I love to hear from my readers. And to prove it, I am giving away my left-over Thanksgiving meal to one commenter during the month of November. :>) Just kidding. Actually… I will donate $10 to the (non-political) charity of your choice if you win the November drawing. Just leave a comment for any of my posts and check back at the end of the month to see if you are the lucky winner.

Gobble, Gobble.

Deanne

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Overheard on . . .  NPR 

10/3/2013

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PictureEmily Bear 6/21/11 Source: Bauer Griffin
“Well, the one that we have that I kind of know well was when I was four. And it’s called ‘Little Angels’ and I wrote if for my sister.”

Morning Edition on NPR has been featuring prodigies this week. There is nothing like listening to a 12 year old compose an on-the-spot song to provide a large dose of humility. This girl, Emily Bear, began writing songs when she was three, preformed her first, solo concert at Rivinia in Illinois when she was only five, and has performed at the White House and Carnegie Hall.

The ‘Little Angels’ song she referred to in the overhear was one of the ones she performed at Rivinia. To hear it, link here to the NPR story and audio recording of the broadcast.

When I was four I was excited to finally figure out how to draw the number ‘six’. I followed my older (five year old) sister everywhere, and would drink out of a cup with my tongue sticking part way out. Still, my mother was always convinced- and still is- of my greatness.

This, of course is one of the jobs of motherhood, to see beyond the inability to tie shoe laces, or eat with a fork and celebrate the potential inside. I have been thinking a lot about friendships lately. What makes a good one. How to be a good friend. I have wondered if shared interests (like running or writing) is the cornerstone to a solid relationship of any sort. But, while I imagine that shared interests are a natural bridge between people, what I really enjoy about my friendships are our differences. I love the moment when I discover one of these hidden talents or gems about a friend. When our relationship has gotten close enough for me to see that, in their own way, they are a prodigy of some form.

The mother in the NPR piece goes on to explain that they dislike the word prodigy. That at least for Emily, her talent has been more organic than the word prodigy implies. Organic is a lovely way to think about the parts of my friends (and myself) that are unique and graceful. 

And I use that term, graceful, very specifically. Because I honestly believe each of us is given some very special gifts in life and it is our job to discover and share them. How do we know what these gifts are… they are the organic parts of us that seem so natural we don’t even recognize them. And it is only when a friend (or mom) celebrates the talent that we become aware of it.

The trouble, unless of course we’ve been asked to perform at the White House, is in believing people when they give us compliments about our talents. But next time someone says something about my creativity, or my planning, or even the way I wash dishes, I am going to say a little prayer of thanks for the wonderful gifts I have been given.

Are you known for a special talent that you otherwise take for granted? Do you see things in your child(ren) that others perhaps miss? I love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment and let me know.

And, to prove how much I love hearing from you I will be giving away a copy of my book, UNTANGLING THE KNOT, to one lucky commenter in October
. Leave a comment for any of my blog posts and at the end of each month I
will randomly select one  visitor/commenter to receive a free  download of my book
. (Note: winner will be notified by a reply linked to their original comment…. Check back at the end of the month for directions on  how to claim your prize!)

NOTE:
September is now over; thanks to everyone for your fun comments. I have chosen the winner of BETTING JESSICA from the names of those who commented during the month. Congratulations JENNY HANSEN. Please send me and email at dwilstedauthor (at) outlook (dot) com and let me know where I can send your digital copy:>)

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Overheard at... Starbucks

4/9/2013

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"I don't know if you heard that she died."

No, no, I hadn't heard. Yesterday I learned that the wife of one of my Barista friends died in February, leaving behind her husband and two children (one of whom was born just before she died).

I am so overwhelmed with their loss. And though I know they have a ton of support, I wish I had heard earlier so that I could have attended the funeral, or offered more timely condolences, or… something.

This is the very most difficult part of death for me- accepting that none of us can overcome it; none of us can take it away. My friend is a strong, strong person with great faith and so I know he and the children will be okay. From him perhaps I can learn that truly Death has no victory, Hell has no sting.

I am shy with my faith, reticent to share my beliefs with others. But I have to say here that this is why I am Catholic... I know that the things I am ashamed of have no power to take away my life and that through Grace every single one of us can be who we are without fear, either in this life or what comes after. I am so grateful that for me, there is an example of living beyond this life. But I also believe it doesn't matter, God... a higher being, Yahweh, or whatever it is named will welcome each of us across this uncontrollable milestone.

This powerful song reminds me that we have nothing to fear. Whatever your religion, please be my friend and listen to this. It is the one gift I know my friend would want.
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Overheard at... Starbucks

2/26/2013

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“Have you been getting my text messages? I haven’t heard back from you.”

ME: "Hello Muse… are you there? Why haven’t you called me back? I’ve been texting you, but you never reply. It’s so good to finally hear from you. I wondered if maybe you were mad at me or my characters."

What to do when your best friend as a writer disappears? In the best of times my muse gives me lovely gifts, like the scene in Untangling the Knot where Gabriella explains death using a crouton (you’ll just have to read it to understand). But sometimes, no matter how hard I try, the ideas are sluggish, like a kid after too much candy.

When I get stuck like that there are a few things I try. If I’ve been writing for at least an hour I will give myself a short break, to get more coffee for example. If not, I will sometimes close my eyes, listen to my music and see if any ideas come from the sounds or lyrics.

But often, when I am really stuck, I will pray. I know not everyone would feel comfortable with this, but this is an integral part of my writing. I have frequently heard someone refer to a talent as a gift. But it is only in the context of my writing that I finally understood what this meant.

At those moments, when I am trying to find just the right way to show my story, my prayers seem to bring the perfect idea from nowhere and hand it to me with beautiful wrapping and ribbons, so that even now, when I re-read
those sections, I find myself surprised and grateful.

The key to this process is to trust; to have faith so to speak, that my muse or God or whatever we call it, is directing me toward something that will eventually make sense. And if I am scattered, stressed, or thinking about the end result rather than the gift of writing, it is impossible to hear the answer.

I listened to the speaker of the overhear as he talked and talked and talked to the person on the other end of the line. Rarely did he ask a question or sit still and listen. Maybe, like my muse, his missing texts had simply gotten lost in the noise of his whirling brain.
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Overheard at... the primary school

1/24/2013

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“They walk for miles with 40 lbs of water carried on their head.”

Our school has a travelling exhibit right now, brought to us by Africa Bridge, and showing what school life is like for kids in
Tanzania. It seems like a smart way for the kids to learn a little bit about a different culture (they particularly seem to like the soccer ball made from plastic bags and electrical tape.)  What is missing, of course, is the true experience of what it feels like to actually walk those many miles lugging the water. It is missing the bugs and dirt and sanitation issues. Like many movies (The Best exotic Marigold Hotel comes to mind here,) it is a scrubbed up version of the reality.

On the other hand, things like the soccer ball and blackboard show that, while the environment may be different, many
activities are not so far off from what our own children experience in their own daily lives. One of my favorite books, Wake Up World; A Day in the Life of Children Around the World, produced by OXFAM, illustrates this point even more  successfully. Kids wake up, eat, get clean, get dressed, go to school, play, help out, dream and sleep much as my own daughter does.

But the darker side of the reality is that many children, especially young girls, are not offered these experiences at all. Many spend their lives taking care of household chores and then being married at an early age to go and do this for their husband. They have no voice, no options, and frequently no ownership of anything, even their own bodies. Their lives are treated as a tool, to be used as needed.

I have been very proud to help support, and sometimes work with, an organization, BRAC, who through hands on work in countries throughout Asia, Africa (including Tanzania) and the Americas, helps to give women the options in life they deserve.

This week, as we celebrate the inauguration of our President, we should remember how valuable and hard won our freedom is. What better way to celebrate than to lighten the load of a child in a country without those freedoms. Below you will find an explanation (from our school newsletter) of the work Africa Bridge is doing and how you can help. You can also link to BRAC for more information about their programs as well. Thank you!

 * * *
 Greetings,

 Happy New Year, I am looking forward to working with your school on some important Africa Bridge
projects.

Africa Bridge is a Non-Governmental Organization founded in West Linn by Barry Childs. AB’s work is focused on
vulnerable children in the rural villages of the Mbeya region of Southwest Tanzania. Approximately one out of three
(33%) of the children are orphans due to HIV/AIDS and malaria. All orphaned or vulnerable children are taken in by
other families. We establish income generating agricultural cooperatives for those families supporting orphaned and
vulnerable children. Part of the income from the cooperatives goes to village Most Vulnerable Children Committee
which purchases school uniforms and health insurance for these children. The school uniform enables children
to go to school. The remaining income significantly improves the living and nutritional lives of these families.
AB also builds health clinics and school classrooms for these villages.
 
This is My School project, part of Africa Bridge, which connects vulnerable schools in rural Tanzania with school
children in the United States. Our goal is to support the educational needs of the Most Vulnerable Children in
Tanzania through the expansion and improvement of their educational facilities and equipment.

The need:
Africa Bridge works with local villagers to help the Most Vulnerable Children get the support and resources necessary
to attend school. This effort has been so successful that the number of children attending school has significantly
increased leading to crowded classrooms. US schools partnerships help fulfill the need for more classrooms, desks,
and other school room resources.

These partnerships create an authentic experience for US students to engage in being world citizens and to learn about
the African experience. Contact us for more information. Emily Pollard Emily@africabridge.org
503-699-6162 or Roger Woehl 503-360-3597. Learn more at www.africabridge.org

Past projects supported in the West Linn-Wilsonville School District include partnering with Pakati Primary in 2011 and
Katusyo Primary Schools in 2012 to help construct new classrooms, toilets, repairs, desks, and school supplies.
Introducing the 2012-13 Project: Mpombo Schools.Mpombo Ward has 5 primary schools and 1 secondary
school. This is the second year for AB to work in the Mpombo Ward (out of a five year project). The schools
range in size from 325 to 530 students. Average class size is 75 students per teacher.

Our priorities for the next several years are classroom desks, teacher toilets and completion of classroom already under
construction. Our goals for this year are to secure funding for 250 desks ($10,750) and four teacher toilets ($5,800).
Total $16,550.
 
We will be visiting over the next several weeks. Our model classroom will be in the library and I will be
meeting with students to teach a little about Tanzania and Africa. We will learn a little Kiswahili too. Come join us.

Asante Sana (Thank You)
Sincerely,
Roger L. Woehl
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Overheard on... Facebook

11/22/2012

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"I'm thankful for...."

I love a day dedicated to gratitude! And last night, as I lay cuddled under my cozy covers in bed I thought how very grateful I am for my bed... my place where I can go to relax and escape and dream. And, I suddenly realized how very awful it would be to not have a bed or not know where I was going to sleep. It would be the culmination of every insecure feeling in me.

It is easy, during crazy family holidays, to forget that I am so blessed. So today, while I am grateful for my friends and family, and opportunity to write and readers who read what I write, I am even more grateful for my bed and what it represents... and I pledge this coming year to use part of what I have been given to let others find the security that comes from knowing where they will be sleeping every night.

On November 30th I will be sharing a new story of a crazy Family Thanksgiving at Free Reads from the Genre-istas. I think Jessica (from BETTING JESSICA) would be surprised that her nemesis, Cynthia, doesn't have the perfect life she imagines. Here is a preview to kick off your own Thanksgiving celebration!

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours and thank you for making my year so wonderful!
Deanne

***********************

A Family Thanksgiving Menu
by Deanne Wilsted

Starter –Toasted Family Topped with Disappointment Tapenade

As Boston blew its icy November wind through the double paned windows in Cynthia Madison’s downtown apartment, she wrapped her faux cheetah throw around her shoulders and snuggled deeper into the soft suede sofa by her fireplace. The crackling flame threw off heat, but not enough to offset the chill of panic that had come to rest in Cynthia’s body. She stared with unseeing eyes at the calendar in her lap and wondered how Thanksgiving had snuck up on her this year.

Glancing at the nearby phone, she considered her choices. Was there anyone available who might invite her to join them for the holiday? Her mind was empty of options. All of her friends were travelling, and she was currently between boyfriends; something that was unusual for her in general and absolutely so during the holidays. Usually she depended on using her boyfriend as an excuse to avoid the very dilemma she now found herself in. Annoyed with herself for having forgotten to plan better, she contemplated her only option other than staying home alone: This year she would have to accept her sister Erin’s invitation to their family Thanksgiving.
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    About Me...

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    Deanne Wilsted

    Link here to Betting Jessica on Amazon.com

    Background - Overheard While Writing
    It's hard to explain, but 12 years ago, when I started to write seriously, the only place where I could get my work done was at Starbucks. 

    Since then, 4 manuscripts and 4 favored Starbucks later, I sill find myself drawn to a cozy corner and a half-decaf Americano.... not to mention the many friendly faces that greet me when I arrive.

    And, while I try to stay focused, there are some times when the conversations or interactions that surround me draw my attention away from my own characters, and into the world of life's own characters. 

    This BLOG captures some of those funny, sincere, inspiring moments. Maybe they will give you a reason to write as well.

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