State of Grace

The Year of Living Quietly

Gardening
Originally uploaded by GraceD

I love my blog. I love the blogs. I love bloggers. I love it all.

But, I've intentionally kept my blog-mouth shut for most of the time this year, as if you dollins who are still around haven't noticed.

Let me tell you, that's been a good thing, especially during this nasty election season, the most ill mannered and mean spirited I've seen in my lifetime. I participated in some comment exchanges here and there, mostly to confront the lies about President Elect Obama and to challenge neocons on the unabashed ignorance of new passport holder and intellectually deficient Governor Sarah Palin. There's catharsis in slamming the racists and holding neocon feet to the fire for promoting Palin's redneck rants as "leadership", but afterwards? I always felt like I dipped my hands into slime.

Instead, for the past six months, I dipped my hands and dug my shovel into plant nourishing compost. You'll see me demonstrating my shoveling skills in the image.

It was counter-intuitive for any politically aware blogger to beg off this election year, but I did. I didn't have the heart for it. I also lacked the necessary objective reporting skills because I was offended on a daily basis by the McCain/Palin campaign . My reticence was also due to the rigors of undergoing heavy duty psychotherapy. I'm taking a break from therapy right now, but when I was actively involved in the work, everything else except immediate family matters was low priority.

So, while I watched my dear writer friends make blogging history by creating superb political forums on MOMocrats and BlogHer then earn media credentials to both conventions, I sat happily on the sidelines, cheering them on. If I had put my nose to the keyboard grindstone and hustled lots of political content, I might have had a chance to join them on the convention floor. But, I really, truly have no regrets.

What I do have is a sense of peace and contentment resulting from deliciously long periods of quiet contemplation. It turns out that I, normally a noisy sort, have thrived very nicely in this year of living quietly. I even recommend it as a lifestyle, though it can be tough with our kids around. But, the kids notice when Mom is self-contained and serene and all that serenity may inspire them to listen more and heighten their awareness.

Now, I hope to take all that I've written above to heart as I have to sign off and get ready for the MRI that includes a contrast dye study of my right hip. This was originally to take place two weeks ago, but was rescheduled for today. I'm not looking forward to having a big ass needle injected into my hip joint, but I am armed with valium and accompanied by my husband who took the day off to hold my sweaty palm in his cool and gentle hands.

Will report back on the hip and I have some cool landscaping pics to show you. In the meantime, I send quiet love and blessings to all.

Here's One Way to Overcome the Election Jitters

Boy howdy, let me tell you dollins, there's really nothing like a set of bad bones to keep one distracted from the long national nightmare of this election season.  My inner pragmatic side (who looks like a dour librarian with sensible shoes and a straight line for a mouth) shakes me by the chin and tells me I'm lucky to be focused on pain rather than Palin.  She's right, but what a price to pay to get my mind off that "whack job" from Alaska.

Are you nervous about the election outcome?  Clearly, I'm way nervous, despite the polls and endorsements.  I am a lifelong Democrat who is used to getting fucked over, especially in the last 8 years. Why? One word - chads.  Further translation - Something's going to happen in the election process/machines/vote counting/you name it, it could happen.

Before the hip thing came to the forefront of all I see and do, I was trying to figure out a way to spare myself the dread and anxiety I know I'll be under on the night of November 4th, 2008.  I don't know if I can bear it without ruining myself with drink and drugs.  My immediate circle of support will be unavailable - hubs will be away on another business trip and the kid will be at work.  My dog Malcolm won't care because he's British and he just laughs at us Americans. I can't go out because my level of anxiety turns me into a social pariah, unfit to be anywhere in public, much less a friend's house.  I considered other election night avoidance strategies including - Shun all media and go camping in the Sierras, just the British dog and me. Sign up for a Zen sesshin. Arrange to be cryofrozen and have Molly defrost my ass on November 7th.  That last option would provide the extra bonus of alleviating my hot flashes.

But, no, the gods granted me another way out - hip dysplasia that has always been around, but not evident and acute until this past month, and maybe, when I think about it, the last five years.

Here's the deal - in training for my two marathons, hiking up Half Dome three years in a row, doing a Bikram Yoga practice, all the Jack Russell Terrier wrangling, parenting a teen and a long list of many rigorous activities I perform regularly, my right leg has always been a little wonky.  Now and again, that leg will "go out", feeling like it extended another 5 inches more in my stride.  It wasn't necessarily painful, more alarming than anything else, and I lived with it thinking I was just weirder than most.

As I whined in a previous post, my hips have been more funky and painful in the last month.  For several nights, I had pain in my right hip, groin and thigh so savage, it woke me up multiple times from my usual death-like sleep.   Sometimes I'll take a step that will turn my right leg inward and I'll yelp in agony.  I'm limping and staggering.  I'm a mess.

After a series of x-rays and an appointment with a very nice and accomplished Stanford orthopedic surgeon earlier this week, hip dysplasia and that blasted greater trochanteric fracture was officially diagnosed.  The fracture is not as critical an issue as the dysplasia - meaning that the ball at the top of both my left and right femurs do not fit entirely into my pelvic sockets.  Dr. Google has informed me that this shows up in folks, mostly women, in their 30s and 40s.  I feel strangely proud that this anomoly is just now showing up in my 50s.

The orthopedic clinic experience was excellent.  I'm also convinced I have identified a fine health care  provider:  During the exam, the very nice orthopedic surgeon laughed when I blurted out loud and without warning that I could see the face of Jesus lovingly gazing back at me in the x-rays.  The doc's wr ylaugh confirmed that I have found a doctor with my kind of bedside manner.

The MRI, provisionally scheduled for Saturday, has been moved up to tomorrow.  I have asked for IV sedation because I ask you, how often do we get that extraordinary opportunity? After that's done, we'll discuss the next steps which will be surgery.  In fact, if there's any doubt on anyone's part, I will insist on surgery as the conservative, non-surgical  approach is to (1) Cut back, way back, on physical activity; (2) Lose as much weight as possible - and the only way I can do that successfully is to exercise so that's out; (3) Wait it out until the pain becomes too unbearable - which it is now.

Fuggit, I say, fuggit! Slice on into my funky hips and shave the bones and/or stick in titanium parts! I need to get back in the yoga studio! I need to run! And, I want to be bionic!

Timing for surgery? Unknown, though I would like to plan it for Christmas break. Santa can drop off some helpful elves for my present.

Okay, I have many questions for you dollins.  The only surgery I've had was oral surgery. I've never had an extended stay in the hospital.  In anticipation and preparedness, I'd like to ask you  what I should expect and how I could get ready.  Should I buy nice pajamas? I sleep in my husband's tee shirts, so I'll bet that will be a resounding "yes".  I also wear his old bathrobe, should I invest in a robe, too? Or, will I have to wear those hospital gowns that will have my middle age butt flapping down the hall as I walk around with my IV pole?  Is there any such thing as a hospital survival kit and what should this include? An iPod, probably. Is it true that stitches itch? Will I get to use that push button thingy that pumps more pain killing drugs into my IV line?  Do hospitals have turndown services with a chocolate placed on my pillow? No? Speaking of chocolates, should I spring for a bigass box of See's for the nurses so they'll be incentivized to jump every time I ring my summons bell?

Now, I want some chocolate.

My Hips Don't Lie

All righty then, I'm over my snit about the Haters and Doubters.  That doesn't imply that this blog is now open season for neocon trolls, it simply means that I have stopped frothing at the mouth whenever I get an email or comment with information such trolls urgently want to share like - Obama's going to raise your taxes/Obama is a terrorist/Obama is the anti-Christ/Obama hates your dog/Obama's doing your mama.

Bah! Bogus and childish stuff, most especially the indelicate notion about my 75 year old mother.  She's an elderly Filipina lady who would just as soon whack anyone's face with her adobo stirring spoon, much less allow herself to be "done".  Certainly, the dignified Senator Obama would never "do" her or anyone's mama, but, as a Hawaiian guy, he would be happy to do a plate of Mom's adobo.   The bottom line -  Obama will be cutting taxes for the vast majority of Americans, so he's not going to "do" anybody, even the wealthy, as the data indicates everybody fares better economically when a Democrat is in the White House.

What Barack Obama can do is a few perfect pull-ups right before a speech.

This is a perfect segue to discuss something that I did and I don't know how ah dunnit:

I sustained a fracture at the top of my right thigh bone, a 2.0ish cm crack across the greater trochanter blatantly visible on xray and painfully evident in my gait. 

I started hurting and limping three weeks ago.  At first I thought it was arthritis, being a junior elderly Filipina lady and all.  Never wanting to be a wuss, I carried on with my activities including taking a mini vacation to Maui, power-gardening, professional Jack Russell Terrier wrangling and associating with the house hooligans, Molly and her boyfriend Jordy.  But, my body hollered "BULLSHIT!" with this delusional behavior - every time I pulled myself up from the poolside lounger at the Maui resort, emerge from a car, or rise from the spot of dirt where I've been planting, I have to lean on anything in the vicinity that would lend support - a husband or a garden rake would do - and avoid bearing weight on my right leg.  Then, I have to gird my loins and try to put one foot in front of the other, cussing every time my right foot touches the ground.  After a minute or so of hobbling and muttering the eff word, I find my pace and limp to the nearest bottle of ibuprofen or rum.  Or both.

Last week I thought it may be a good idea to get this painful business evaluated.  Our beloved family doctor (a real family practitioner who tends to everyone around me - Molly, Hubs and my ex/Moll's dad) tested my range of motion on the exam table and I actually cried. That pissed me off as I have a longstanding record for stoicism at the doctor's.  I am a macho chick who delivered her daughter without drugs, survived a needle biopsy that went deep into my left boob, had a skin tag adjacent to my eye clipped with a sharp little scissors and more.  I deserved stickers, if not major lollipop action for each and every one of my acts of courage.  But this time, I whimpered with tears streaming down my cheeks.  No sticker for you, crybaby.

As mentioned, x-rays were done.  The tech gave me a yet-unread copy for my orthopedic appointment on Monday.  This was a serious error on her part as I know enough medicine to get myself in trouble. I spend at least an hour a day holding the films up to a window, obsessing over the crack line at the top of  my thigh bone and observing with horror that my left leg rides higher up on my pelvis than my right.  When I get to the ortho doc's on Monday, I'll take a pic of the x-rays against a proper light box for you.  In the meantime, this is what I've been looking at -

 

My right leg is to the left. The greater trochanter is the outward bulge at the top of the femur opposite the femoral head (the ball in the hip socket).  I don't have Photoshop on my MacBook, but I provide some notes on the flickr version of this trainwreck.

Okay, who wants a MaiTai with an Advil back?  Pouring and dosing now, dollins.  Get in line.  I'm first.

Maui, Land of Joe Biden Smiles

  Right now: From the lanai of our room at the Grand Wailea Resort, Maui 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

My dollins, here is my nice pedicure against the backdrop of a Disney Matterhorn like water slide thing at the Grand Wailea Hotel on Maui. 

Yes, Maui. 

Yes, I am in Maui. 

And, like I say every time I publish  a little blog post announcing that out of the blue/all of a sudden I'm in Maui - please, don't hate me. 

Please. No hate.

Okay, you can hate me just a little bit, but not a lot, okay? There's enough hate in the world.  Proof - the previous blog post.

Hubs had planned to attend this meeting on Maui for some months now. As I would be going with him on another meeting in Hawaii, the one he goes to every year in January, I thought, pfffft, I'll stay home and not tag along this time.  I'll just work in the garden and fight neocon hate (see previous blog post) from the comfort of my own home.

But, then last week I looked up from watering the tomatoes and said - I'm going to go to Maui.  The hell. Yeah. Right on.

I checked to see if we had some extra miles to cash in.  Yes to that.  Looked into flight times and created a reasonable itinerary.  Yes, booked it.  Got a reservation for Malcolm at his favorite dog sitter's.  Yes, they have room at the inn.  Gave instructions to Moll's boyfriend and my Dude Around the Yard, Jordy, for watering my new plantings.  Yes, Dude is on it.  Packed only a few things and took off on Sunday, to return on Thursday.  Yes, done. 

Now I'm sitting in this very nice hotel room, stinking in my work out clothes. I smell because I'm always compelled to exercise hard whenever I'm here.  I'm sure it's Pele power going on.  I'll take it, grimacing and smiling.

I'm smiling a lot, even as I pound my geezer ass on the lovely pathway that follows the shoreline in this fancy Wailea neighborhood.  Big smiles when the Hubs comes back after a day of ophthalmology talk and business.  He changes into shorts and a tee shirt and we go to the beach, smiling our sunscreened faces almost completely off. 

I'm even smiling as I type this in our room, though the smile is beginning to wane.  I need to go back outside.  Mostly, I need to take off the smelly jog bra (they always smell the worst, these jog bras), put on my swimsuit and hit the water. 

Oooo, snorkeling! That's making me smile big time, almost as big time a smiles as Joe Biden's many happy faces he threw out during the VP debate - grinning at Sarah Palin, throwing her off her sad little game by those gleaming white toothies and smiling eyes.  WWJBD? Not hate - he would smile!

Come on, dollins.  Get your snorkel on, we're going to hunt for sea turtles.  And, not huntin' in the Palin Kill Bullwinkle the Moose way.  We'll be wearing our WWJBD rubber wristbands instead and we'll jsmile at these beautiful endangered creatures.

Ready? Let's go.

Scary White Folks for McCain!

Danger! Warning! Scary white people in these videos, just in time for Halloween.  I mean, who needs goblins and ghosts when you have these zombies?

Scary sound bite:
1:00 Is Obama a terrorist?
"He's got the bloodlines...think about it, look at the name."

More scary white people!  Boooo!

And, more scary sound bites -

:039 "Obama's a terrorist, he's a Muslim himself."

:054 "Commie faggot!"

:058 "Commie faaaggots!"

2:11 Pro-Obama counter-protester remark "Palin voted to have women pay for their own rape kits.  My friends shouldn't have to pay for their own rape kits.  How would you feel about that?"

McCain supporters responses:  "She should die!"  "She should pay double!"

4:04 Much needed relief  - Obama supporters including some not at all scary white folks and a coupld of sweet grandmother "commie faggots."

Dow plunges below 10,000. Here's a dahlia to distract and comfort you.

  Fantastic Dahlias 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

Oh, the flower doesn't cut it?  Yeah, I'm with you on that,  but I thought I would try.  Nice try, eh? Gaaah!

Before you go back to monitoring your 401(k) and trying to placate your mother whose retirement portfolio is going south along with your 401(k), I have a tiny bit of unsolicited but perhaps helpful advice - you might want to take up gardening.  I know, you'd rather take up gardening if involves picking up a hoe to wave it around menacingly in the peasant revolt coming to a village near you.  I hear you, I'll be at that anti-government demonstration, too.  But, there is a great deal of solace that comes with using these landscaping tools  in the dirt, whether for dahlia bulb planting or digging a patch of your yard for an organic veggie garden.

I've been hiding out in my own patch of earth, prepping the soil for perennial and vegetable planting.  Here in our part of Northern California, we do our Spring planting in October, before the winter rains that abate in March.  That must sound odd to you dollins outside our climate zone.  While you're raking leaves, we're doing that too along with planting baby delphinium plants and sweet pea seeds.  Last week, I flung a quarter of a pound of native California wildflower seeds on a bare hill.  We'll have a nice field of velvety wildflower seedlings by Christmas and full bloom in late February. 

Getting down and dirty in this wholesome way has saved me on many levels.  Gardening gets me out of my ever buzzing head.  The mind chatter disappears when I'm triple digging compost into our hard clay soil.  Afterwards, I feel like I've done a yoga practice session - hurting (A LOT) but clear headed, calm and grateful.

The downside to getting lost in the compost and multiple packets of seeds is that I don't want to do anything else.  I become a hermit, a cloistered monk.  I have to be dragged away from the raised beds (which will be planted with fava beans for ground cover over the winter, then dug into the dirt in the Spring as a nitrogen rich soil conditioner), then shoved into the shower to get cleaned up for dinner, the movies, or to the book signing last Saturday in San Francisco -  a  big, happy fun time that deserves its own post and a bunch of links to spectacular bloggers/friends who politely said nothing about the dirt under my nails.

(I will say this one thing about the book signing - Maggie Mason, arbiter of excellent style, loved the Hubs' red rimmed glasses.  I couldn't stop talking about Mighty Girl's validation of the Hubs' taste on the 60 mile drive back to Santa Cruz.)

So, for today - more shoveling, raking and planting; writing; Jack Russell Terrier and teenage daughter wrangling and the occasional peek at the business news.  I will try my best to "Keep Calm and Carry On."  I hope you will, too.

After the debate, come to our book signing!

**UPDATE**  I won't be able to attend tonight's signing due to unbloggable events.  I will be at the Saturday signing no matter what!

Dang, I wish we were having the book signing for Sleep is for the Week at a margarita watering hole, but we will have the next best venue, Kepler's in Menlo Park, CA, one of the great independent bookstores in the country which happens to be -  right next to a bar!

Oh, forget my lowly barfly ways.  Kepler's is a cozy, wonderful setting and tonight, I will be there, sitting behind a table with women with whom I'm humbled to call my esteemed co-authors:  Stefania Pomponi Butler, Jenny Lauck, Jenifer Scharpen and Lisa Stone.  (That's Stefania looking sultry and Jenifer looking winsome.)

The very nice blurb from Kepler's:

Thursday October 02, 2008
Kepler's in Menlo Park at 7:30 p.m. (1010 El Camino Real Menlo Park CA, 94025)

Sleep Is for the Weak: The Best of the Mommybloggers Including Amalah, Finslippy, Fussy, Woulda Coulda Shoulda, Mom-101, and More!

Seeking advice and a sense of camaraderie, more than half a million readers per month turn to the "mommyblogs" featured in this collection, which brings together their best and brightest essays, ranging in style from snort-Diet-Coke-out-the-nose funny to poignant and bittersweet. Written to be read during the mind-bogglingly short breaks parents get during their busy days, these pieces will help moms find solace through a wide range of viewpoints and issues not often discussed in mainstream magazines and parenting books--from dealing with rage to negotiating sleeping arrangements to experiencing the frustrations and joys of parenting a special-needs child.

 

Then - we're going to do this all over again on Saturday at 5pm in downtown San Francisco - this time at a bar!  We'll still probably need to do some drinking post-VP debate, or post Union Square shopping,  or just because the drinks are free.

Saturday, Oct. 4
Sleep Is for the Weak
Swig in San Francisco from 5-7 p.m. (561 Geary St, San Francisco, CA 94102)

Both events are sponsored by our pals at Graco - they rock with their generous sponsorship of our book tour.  They're also represented by rockin' women (HELLO LINDSAY! F*CKIN A, DUDE!) (That's how rockin')

All righty then. Come on down, I'll be dressed up and wearing lipstick.  Sarah Barracuda has nothing on my MAC enhanced lips.

Paul Newman - Believer in Luck

Painful news this morning - we lost Paul Newman. 

In this video from Newman's Organics - co-founded by his daughter Nell who resides in the next town over from us - Paul Newman says he's a "great believer in luck." 

Lucky indeed -  We should be so lucky to have been as successful as Paul in all of his many endeavors.  We should be so lucky to race fast cars and win those races and we should be so lucky to share the movie screen with Elizabeth Taylor. We should be so lucky to have raised millions of dollars for philanthropy through great salad dressing.  We should be so lucky to have loved your spouse as deeply and as long as Paul has with his amazing wife, Joanne Woodward. 

We should be so lucky, but we should also be so willing and committed to do the very best we can in our lives.  This is the lesson of Paul Newman's life.  We are lucky to have had him in our lives.

At the end of the video, he bids us farewell.   This must have been filmed in the last few months as it is clear that this magnificent man was so very ill.   But, Paul Newman's last words to us are robust and compelling - he urges us to "just lay back and raise hell."

Then he said "...bye." 

Peace and love to all.

Back to the Land

My kid's dad is out of the hospital, I am armed and dangerous with new allergy/asthma meds and the polls are still looking great for an Obama win.  Praise the Lord and pass the taters.

That's all good, but this spooky economic crisis continues and my response is to start digging up the garden.  Growing our own food suddenly makes sense, going off the grid is just as sensible. Think I'm getting all survivalist on you dollins? You may think right.

However,  these ambitious agricultural endeavors are not limited to growing organic vegies, I am also getting the land ready for two June events - Molly's graduation from high school and the wedding of our kid Jenn and her very excellent partner Mike.  We're thrilled to be hosting the graduation party as well as the wedding and reception. Our house has been tested successfully for large scale events, of which the most significant of these occasions was the Hubs and my wedding in 2000.  We had the fenced off area of our land converted from an eroding hill to a multi-level garden with a stone patio.  Landscaping the yard for the wedding was cheaper than renting a venue for the wedding and we were rewarded with great results.

Unfortunately I don't have the before and after pictures of the landscaping scanned. I do, however, have a picture of me sniveling and snorting during the ceremony.

Sadly, in the past eight years, I have have let the garden go.  For this I blame the rattlesnake I saw in 2002, coiled under the pine tree adjacent to the raised beds.  I am a snake wuss of the highest order and because of that, I have not been in the garden since.

Really, this is no way to live.  I have access to a lot of dirt and it's a shame to just let it go.  So, earlier this year I planted some heirloom tomato seeds, sat them under a light on the kitchen table and watched them grow into seedlings then real plants.  I felt like a happy third grader, triumphant with her science project.  Snakes or no snakes, poisonous vipers or harmless king snake, I had no choice but to get my tomatoes out of their yogurt cartons and into the outside dirt.  And I did that, though I planted way too late, like June, and I expect we'll harvest in the latter part of next month.  We can get away with that in Northern California, our warmest months are September and October.

I'm a self taught gardener, which means I've done some foolish if not blatantly wrong things in and around our dirt.  I've killed many plants by positioning them in sun that's too hot or shade that's too chilly.  I have over fed, over pruned and under watered.  The latest gardening crime I committed was to plant the heirloom tomato seedlings too close together  and that doofus move resulted in one giant tomato bush.  Big, big no-no as you really need to get in between the plants to add compost and weed.  Now I have to commando crawl under a canopy of tomato branches to get those essential jobs done.   

The one big tomato bush.  Error duly noted and I will never plant so close together again. Live it, learn it, but, in the meantime, crawl under it.

I do give myself many breaks. I have indeed documented my failures and the successes in spiral binder notebooks because I'm a wonk that way. I also wonkishly conduct extensive gardening research both online and at our local nurseries.  Most importantly, I am uncharacteristically patient as a gardener.  In most things of life, I'm a twitchy-nervous, impatient wreck.  Gardening, I am your local Buddah (though not necessarily with snakes.)

The hubs is also supportive and gets me whatever tools I need, though he does get twitchy-nervous when he sees me wandering  outside with the big hedge trimmers, aiming the blades at the overgrown rosemary or the rose bushes.

This time  around, I will be enlisting help for the garden/landscape renewal project.  I've already recruited Moll's boyfriend Jordy (short for Jordan, aka "Jordy Meister" as he asked to be called when summoned by the principal to receive his high school diploma) who has been most useful around the yard hauling loads of clippings and branches to the dump's composting center and doing any and all heavy lifting.  He's also been grand company though I probably talk way too much for his centered surfer sensibility.  When Jordy does speak up, he's delightfully monosyllabic - "Whoa...Cool...Good" and delivers these grunts of approval in low, soothing tones.

I'm also getting estimates on what it will cost to dig and grade terraces for a multi-tiered edible/perennial garden.   A landscaper came over the other day, a really great guy who took a look at my yard.  We ended up talking about a million things including sustainable agriculture in Ecuador where he taught university, how my house can blend into the outside and the outside blend into the house, creating little environments/rooms in the yard, plants that can hold the hill down, and the promise of Barack Obama and why the planet needs him now.  His plans for the yard range from grading and soil prep of the existing terraces along with strategically place plantings to the whole hillside fully terraced on three levels, held up by retaining walls of recycled patio concrete. 

So, dollins, here's what I'm talking about.  Wish me luck. -

The slope that needs to be more clearly defined as terraces.  Jordy removed a very ugly and gnarly rosemary bush from the center.  It now stands as a blank canvas for the edible/perennial garden.

Check out the steps - these are made from recycled soda bottles.  Eco chic!

Another view.  That's a railroad tie you see towards the top of the slope.  Should be replaced with something far sturdier like the recycled concrete.

Our patio.  Once the work on the slope above has been completed, I will be planting creeping thyme and dichondra grass in between the pavers.

The slope leading down from the patio cannot be terraced without screwing up the roots of this giant oak.  For now, I'm going to broadcast wildflower seeds in successive plantings to pretty it up.

We also have this charming little patio that will be revived with plantings and ground cover between the pavers.

Gratuitous picture of Malcolm.  No, he has not been helpful, but he certainly has been decorative, not unlike a garden gnome.

Seven Years Ago

On the day after, Molly wrote and sent this to Mayor Giuliani of New York City: