Finished the book project! I worked in this spot for about a hundred hours. Being in Aspen didn’t hurt the process – the beauty was energizing and everyone was sooo nice. By the end of the week, I made very good friends with the hotel’s staff and some of the guests. What a way to go: Travel somewhere beautiful to write. Yeah, I could get used to that.

Day four in Aspen. Can’t imagine being anywhere more lovely. I’m in a private residence at The Ritz Carlton overlooking the heated pool at the bottom of a snow capped mountain. This might actually be heaven. I’m here to finish what I started a few months ago, my latest book. The good news is that I’ve been fairly productive so far. Created a website, made and edited a video, opened escrow for a client, built several fires, and successfully dodged Altitude Sickness. But, I haven’t worked on the book. This explains why some people say they need to take a year off to write. Well, I don’t have the luxury of taking a year off. Besides, I know plenty of people who have busy careers and families, yet still manage to get their writing done. It’s called discipline. I have three more days in Aspen. Surely I can get a lot done but whatever I don’t finish, I will in Los Angeles. What’s beautiful about being here, is how clear I am on why I have to be the one to write this particular book. To be honest, I was struggling with it before this trip. My heart was battling my head, and my heart was losing. Maybe it’s the clean mountain air, or the decadence, or the utter silence of it all, but being in Aspen has shown me the way. My passion and my purpose have become one, and I would be honored to take what I do and love to another level. Heart, thanks for not giving up — you win.

My Mother married her soulmate, Mark. Look at them. They’re really that happy. They met through work and for over five years, had no physical attraction or romantic spark between them. Now they can’t keep their hands off one another. They have an extraordinary love that’s an honor to witness. Neither one of them was “looking,” but their mutual commitment to living a dynamic life, is what ultimately brought them together. They were married on December 14, 2009 in Topanga, CA, in front of sixteen of their closest friends and family. If anyone ever tells me they are too old to find true love, I tell them about my Mom and Mark finding love at 63!

My little cat Pea died at 4:45 this morning. It feels like a dream. About a week ago she started vomiting every time she ate. At first I thought it was a stomach virus, or maybe the flu. But after three days, I was really worried so I took her to a vet who diagnosed her with a foreign object in her intestines. They wanted to perform surgery but I didn’t really know this vet, and to be honest, didn’t have the money to pay the astronomical estimate, and they wouldn’t allow payments. I took Pea home. I wondered if the problem had something to do with her food. Maybe it was a bad bag. So I went to the store and got new food. In the next day and a half, like a miracle, she didn’t vomit. But, there was a significant shift in her behavior. She was looking me dead in the eye, something she hadn’t done before. She has always been very cuddly but in those 36 hours, she wanted to be in my arms every minute. I had never felt more connected and bonded with her. I thought I had saved her life by a simple change in diet and that she was expressing her gratitude. I was wrong. By that evening, she fell violently ill and vomited three times. Then a few more times in the middle of the night. She was worse than before. By morning, I started making calls to see if there was a vet who would be willing to do the surgery and accept payments. No one would. Then my friend told me her father offered to loan me the money. Other friends suggested I ask for donations, so I did and we were set. At the direction of a very trusted friend, I called Dr. Schwartz to perform Pea’s surgery. He was worried about taking her on because it was December 29th and not only did his clinic not provide overnight care (which she would most likely need), but he was scheduled to go out of town first thing the next morning (today). Still, he told me to bring her in. He confirmed the lump in her intestines but did not think it was a foreign object. I hadn’t thought it was either, because in eight years of living with this precious little animal, she hadn’t ever been interested in eating anything other than her dry cat food. Dr. Schwartz was worried the lump was a tumor. He asked me how I felt about chemotherapy. I didn’t want to put my little nine-pound Pea through chemo. He didn’t want to do surgery without first trying a new diet and medicine to help eliminate her urge to vomit. That sounded like a good option but I was worried that, if it was indeed cancer, the tumor would continue to grow. And, how in good conscious, could I take her home thinking she had cancer while doing nothing for her except hoping the medication would stop her vomiting. It didn’t make sense. I asked for another option. He suggested we do an ultrasound and we agreed it was the safest approach for vital information. The ultrasound showed her kidneys and liver looked healthy but he saw a dark spot on her spleen and thought the “tumor” was on the spleen. He said this was encouraging because she could survive without her spleen, and felt confident that, by removing it, she could have a speedy recovery. I agreed to do the surgery. I waited in a tiny room that felt more like a memorial site. On tables and on the walls, were framed pictures of people’s beloved pets who had died with notes of gratitude to the doctor. I cried. After a couple of very long hours, Dr. Schwartz came out to tell me that he was wrong. He did not find a tumor on her spleen. There was a nodule under her spleen and another nodule over her stomach, so he removed those for biopsy. He did see inflammation but no evidence of cancer. I was devastated. We just opened up my poor little Pea for what seemed unnecessary. He told me to go home while Pea rested and recovered, and that he would call me when she woke. I drove home in a daze. After a couple hours, Dr. Schwartz called me to say he had good news. He said she was doing remarkably well, and that he felt comfortable sending her home with me, and to come pick her up. Feeling cautiously optimistic, I drove right back to take my baby home. An assistant handed her to me, in her carrying case, and wished me good luck. He didn’t say or do anything else. I thought that was odd considering the trauma she’d just been through, and because they hadn’t provided me with any protocol as to what I should be looking for, should there be any complications, much less how I should care for her at all. But the doctor couldn’t see me because he was with another patient. So I put her in my car and started home. I live across town from this vet. Thirty minutes later, I was just a few blocks from my house when Pea started thrashing in her case. She was yelping in pain, panting heavily and drooling pools of saliva. I kept telling her we were almost home and tried to soothe her with my voice but she was just staring at me in a daze while crying and putting her little paw through the cage as if to say, “Momma, please help me.” I pulled over to the side of the road and called the clinic. I told the receptionist Pea’s symptoms and that I didn’t think the doctor would want her out of his care if he could see what I was seeing. They told me to bring her back. Another thirty minutes later (and a total of an hour she had to be in my car without proper care), I arrived back at the clinic. I brought her in and they promptly took her back to the doctor. When they pulled her out of her case and onto the table I noticed her stomach was bleeding everywhere. This was more terrifying than her sounds of suffering. I asked the doctor if it was normal to send a post-op pet home who was still bleeding. He said most definitely not and, that when he had called me two hours prior, she was in much better shape. He also looked me right in the eye and said he wished he hadn’t done the surgery. He was concerned about two things. He suspected she was having an allergic reaction to the penicillin and that her blood was clotting. He said the only solution was to open her back up to stop the clotting. Oh my God. I couldn’t imagine putting her through another surgery just a few hours later, not to mention, his clinic didn’t offer overnight care. What was I to do. He told me he we didn’t have much time because he was very worried about her rapid decline and that we either do the surgery or I should put her down. Oh my God. How was I supposed to make that decision. I said I needed a moment and stepped outside and called my Mom. Finally, I had the privacy to feel my pain and started sobbing. My Mom listened as I told her that Pea was suffering severe complications, that the first surgery hadn’t proved she did, in fact, have a tumor on her spleen, and that I didn’t know what to do. We talked about letting her go. I didn’t want my little cat to suffer any more and I couldn’t imagine putting her through anther surgery. Yet, if I didn’t try to do everything I could to save her life, I knew I would regret it. My mind was swirling. The unbearable raging thought was, “This morning, the doctor suggested I give her medication for her vomiting and see how that goes, but just a few hours later, I’ve put my darling baby through unnecessary hell only to end her life without proven cause. How did we get here?” I decided to let her go because she was simply too weak and had been through enough. My grief was beyond measure. I slowly walked back into the clinic to tell Dr. Schwartz we should put her down. But when I saw her, she looked a little more stable and he said he would like to try the surgery, if I was willing. I had never been in this type of situation. I was completely torn so I turned to him, a vet with twenty years experience, and asked him what he would do if she was his cat. He didn’t hesitate and said he would do everything to try and save her life. His words hit my heavy heart and, despite my intuition that the surgery was going to be too much for Pea’s little body, I told him to save her. An hour later, she was out of the operation and laying on the table. But, more bad news. Dr. Schwartz said that upon opening her up, he did not find any clotting. That may sound like good news but it meant the fucking surgery was pointless. I looked at my little Pea and stroked her head and told her how deeply sorry I was. My God, I was so sorry. I told her how very much I loved her, and that she was strong and needed to fight. She was really drugged up. They had her hooked up to IV’s and breathing through an oxygen cup, but her eyes were open, and I want to believe she heard me. My darling Pea. That’s when her entire body twisted in half as she began to vomit. That put me over the edge because after her first surgery, Dr. Schwartz pumped her full of the medication that would reduce, if not eliminate, her urge to get sick. It didn’t work. In fact, nothing worked and now there were absolutely no answers. Only a gravely ill little Pea who had just endured more trauma than any living thing should ever have to endure for, again, what appeared to be without justified cause, except for my desperate hope and reliance of her doctor’s care. The clinic was closing so we had to arrange for her transport to the ICU in a nearby animal hospital. We wrapped her up and I drove her to the emergency center. They quickly admitted her and had me sign paperwork authorizing them to do whatever necessary to save her life through the night. By this time, it was almost ten p.m. I spoke with the ER doctor on duty and she assured me she would do her very best to keep Pea stabilized and would call me if anything changed. I cried with her, this perfect stranger, but to whom I was trusting to save Pea’s life. I asked if I could say please goodnight to Pea but she said I couldn’t enter the ICU because there were several emergency surgeries happening and it wouldn’t be safe. My heart was broken. I drove away but don’t remember the drive home. I have never felt a house so empty. I asked everyone I know to pray for her. The messages of love poured in and I knew that Pea was divinely supported. I meditated for what seemed like hours but it might have been minutes because I was so emotionally exhausted. I prayed for peace of mind. No matter what was going to happen, I wanted Pea to feel calm. At 4am the emergency doctor called to say she was rapidly declining and would I authorize a plasma transfusion. I said yes and we hung up. A few minutes later, Dr. Schwartz called me to say that he was on his way to the hospital to see Pea. He feared for the worst but wanted to see for himself before any more decisions were made. I asked if I should come but he told me to stay home and assured me he would call the moment he got to her. I’ll never know why this man got out of his warm bed at 4:30 in the morning to rush to Pea. I want to believe it’s because he is a doctor who cared deeply and felt he made the best decisions he knows how to make, but my breaking heart is full of questions I’ll never have the answers to. Forty-five minutes later, he called to tell me it was worse than he imagined. Her body had gone into shock and she wasn’t going to make it. He expressed his sincerest condolences and asked if he could please put her down. I told him I wanted to come and hold her in my arms as she passed, but he said it was a sight I didn’t want to see and that we didn’t have time. The world stood still. How do I tell this man to put my little Pea to sleep. And how did we get here? Less than 24 hours ago she was happily purring at my feet wondering where her breakfast was. Two surgeries later with no foreign object in her intestines, no evidence of cancer, no tumor on her spleen, no blood clotting, and worse, no answers as to why she was vomiting in the first place. Someone please tell me, how did we get here? Quietly I sobbed in the pitch black of the night as I heard these words come of out my mouth, “Please … end her suffering.” I hung up the phone and couldn’t move. My bed was cold and empty, and my heart was broken. I knew I had done everything I could to save my little Pea, but the pain was intolerable. All that was left to do was pray. A few minutes later the ER doctor called to say it was done and Pea had been laid to rest. I woke up this morning crying. I am mute. Pea is gone and never, ever coming back. She has been with me for eight years. I rescued her when she was ten weeks old. She knew her name when I called. She loved to play hide and seek. She loved to be picked up and be held like a baby. She liked to chase her image in the mirror, even though I’m certain she had no clue whom she was chasing. She liked to sleep under the covers when it was cold. She slept with me, every single night. She was sweet and friendly. She loved it when I’d have people over where she would lay in the middle of the room to be part of the group. She would stretch out in the morning sunlight, every single morning. She loved to go onto the terrace and gaze into the sunshine. She was happy and healthy and had never been sick a day in her life. She brought me so much love and opened my heart to a place unknown before. And, she was always, always there. Now I sit here in silence, alone. I am truly grateful for every moment, every kiss and every cuddle I shared with her, but there are no words to express my grief. I’m a Momma without her little Pea and I will miss her deeply.

I recently joined an online dating site. Oy. What to post, the pressure to respond, the confusion when you have a few good dates (and then nada), and the sheer entertainment of everything in between. Literally received an email that said, “Call Fed-Ex; you’re the total package!”

It’s all very fascinating. I’m enjoying it, and definitely don’t feel in a hurry for true love (wouldn’t that be ironic), but what’s been profoundly interesting is how underrated honesty seems to be on these things. For starters, I’m 38 and actually posted my age. Almost everyone told me to lie and say I was younger so that men who are in their early forties (my ideal range) would respond, and then either mention the truth in my profile or tell him when we meet. Can you imagine? Uh, no. My guy doesn’t get caught up on a number and isn’t paranoid that every single 38-year-old woman is desperate to get married, so she’ll take what she can get. Ha, as if. Moreover, my guy gets turned on by integrity so lying would be a non-starter. That said, I put it all out there, and while I do receive more emails from 50-something-year-old men than anyone, I also get a healthy dose of everything else. Turns out, some people like to live outside the line.

Anyway, this one guy wrote me a thoughtful and articulate email that reflected he did, in fact, read my profile. I was intrigued, but he didn’t have any photos posted. Fair is fair and obviously I wanted to see who was writing me so I wrote back telling him the same. He sent me a few photos, along with another really nice note. But, I didn’t feel a spark. I tried, I promise. Believe me, I know that an instant physical attraction isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. So, there I was, tipping my Mac upside down, then upside right, zoomed in, then way out, but no … couldn’t strike a chord. I felt bad. Here this guy took the time to send me three photos and if I didn’t respond, that would be awful. Especially considering the particular dating site I’m on indicates the last time you logged in, so it wasn’t reasonable to assume he’d actually think I’d fallen off a cliff or something. What to do? No … what would I want someone to do for me, if the tables were turned. I decided to be honest. I wrote back and thanked him for sending me the photos. Told him I really appreciated his note and that, while most people wouldn’t say anything at all, I couldn’t bear the alternative, which was to leave him hanging. And then I told him that I was sorry, but that I just didn’t feel a chemistry spark. I also said that I’m sure he was a great guy and I knew his match was out there, wished him well, etc … and I meant every word. Now, when I saw that he replied, I’ll admit I was nervous to open his email. Would he say I was shallow? Superficial? Ask for another shot? Tell me off, what. I didn’t know, but what he did write, I could never have imagined:

“Hi Michelle, thanks for replying, you are right, most people wouldn’t say anything, and maybe I would do the same. I fully understand you, (or maybe not) but unfortunately it’s irrelevant because there’s no second chance for a first impression. I just have to say one last thing: Now I think that you are not just beautiful on the outside, you are probably even more beautiful on the inside, for being honest with me. Thank you. If you meet your guy, actually when you meet him, show him this email, I can only tell him to stop buying lottery tickets; he just won the jackpot. I wish you all the best.”

Wow. That made me go back to his pictures to BE SURE I couldn’t find a spark! But, nope; nothing. Still, his email totally moved me. I didn’t tell him my thoughts for cudos. I told him because it was the right thing thing to do. It requires little effort to be straight with people, yet the end result is so fulfilling, and ultimately everything worth living for. I could’ve easily blown him off (and justified it for obvious reasons), but to treat a person (even a dating profile, whom I sometimes forget is actually a human being), with utter kindness, is highly underrated. Seems so small and insignificant, but nothing ever is. You get what you give.

Just returned home from my high school reunion. Amazing time. Everyone was so nice and warm and absolutely wonderful to one another. Lots of laughing and catching up. But hands down best question of the weekend came from my childhood friend Lorraine, whom I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. She pulled me aside and said, “Hey … I don’t mean to offend, but there aren’t any photos of you with other men on Facebook, yet you do have tons of you with beautiful women, so I have to ask … are you a lesbian?”

Whaaaaaat?

I wanted to bust out laughing. Not that I would mind being a lesbian. I just happen to only be sexually attracted to men. Maybe she’s a lesbian and hoping I was! Only kidding. She’s married with four kids, so perhaps it truly was an innocent conclusion. But is that what it comes down to? No Man – Must Be Lesbian. I think not. Still, I considered posting a photo album with men I’ve dated on Facebook, titled “Misc.” But that might get awkward. Besides, who would the album be for? Not me. I know I’ve had more than my share of the dating pool, so what would I be trying to prove? I decided not to do anything.

I had heard of S Factor for years. Super intimidated, I never thought I’d actually take a class but secretly wished I had the courage. About four months ago, that day came. I was at the Thompson Hotel in Beverly Hills with my friend Val celebrating our mutual friends’ US citizenship. A typical LA scene, the room was filled with gorgeous women. I was mesmerized by their beauty but more with their seeming ease and grace in their bodies. Val and I were chatting when suddenly our conversation turned very serious. Despite our gushing compliments about each others outfits, we each disclosed how they were not what they seemed. I was wearing a dress over jeans because I wouldn’t dare shows my legs, and she was wearing a long top over jeans that wouldn’t button so she had a maternity belt to pull things together! We laughed so hard we nearly fell out of our chairs. But in all seriousness, we were ridiculous. Both of us a size two, recognized we had issues and vowed to resolution.

We started talking about S Factor. Each of us had heard the same things: pole dancing, stripping and lap dancing while wearing practically nothing and six inch stripper heels. You kidding me? I was absolutely terrified but knew this was my answer, because we had also heard how empowering and liberating it was for women. Val and I agreed to try an introductory class. Meanwhile, another one of my close girlfriends Staci had also been invited to try S that very same week by a friend of hers named Janelle who happens to be an S instructor. Kismet. Against world class excuses, the three of us showed up for our intro. Practically wearing burka’s, we were dressed head to toe in long sleeved black tee shirts and yoga pants, though I think Staci even added a hoodie.

So there we were, in our very first S class, completely out of control. Not in a good way. We (I can say “we” because we have discussed this in detail), were so in our heads that I’m shocked we didn’t walk out. The first time Janelle told us to touch ourselves (I’m talking about an innocent caress on our thighs), I thought I was going to faint. My mind was plagued by thoughts that it was wrong and bad. Sadly, it felt foreign to behave in any manner not consistent with a goofball on a dance floor. That was me my entire life. Okay, I know I’ve had sexy moments but it’s never been my thing to sexualize anything. I blamed it on my mother. I convinced myself that I only looked good when I covered my body because that’s what she did.

After the intro, the three of us sat dazed on the floor, unable to move. We found it impossible to believe that we would ever be able to move our bodies sensually, much less take ourselves seriously while doing it. We deflected with humor, made fun of ourselves and tried everything to talk ourselves out of signing up for an eight week class. Val and I were scared but open to at least trying, and really wanted to Staci to join us. That’s when she broke down and started sobbing, which made us cry because we related to everything she was saying. As she was sharing painful memories of when she made an unconscious decision not to be sexy and sensual, we just nodded through our tears because we understood. It was easier to be the funny girl, or play the intellect, or even the prude, than to embrace our sexuality. It was time to break free.

It’s been four months now and we are just about to graduate Level 2. We are blown away by how far we’ve come. The sense of empowerment was what compelled me to enroll but the impact was underrated. The room is safe. Low red lights, no mirrors and an incredible effusive teacher who inspires us beyond words. We have fun. For the first time in my life I feel tuned into my body and the magic of being a woman. I appreciate my curves, feel comfortable, in fact amazing in my own skin, and love that I’m able to lose myself in a sultry song. I dance in tiny hot pants and bare feet, Val rocks the pole in thigh high fishnets and Staci slays us with her scantily clad moves. If anyone would’ve ever said that we’d be doing the things we do in class, we would’ve thought they were high. We love this class. S Factor is for every woman, every where. Even my 62 year old Mother. Just the other night she was at my house and after showing her the S Crawl, she said she wanted to try it. My Mom! There are no words to express my gratitude for the full circle effect.

What if every first few dates with someone new was sans alcohol? I wonder how many people would even get a second date. Talk about rose colored lenses. My favorite first dates have been sober. If I’m comfortable, attracted and interested with no alcohol, it’s usually on. Last year I dated a man who doesn’t drink. At first I was devastated to hear he didn’t but looking back, it’s my favorite getting to know one another time. Always up for adventure, I decided I wouldn’t drink while with him. Being with him totally sober required a different way of being in the awkwardness of those first few months. From our first kiss to our first everything, we were fully present and aware, and I loved it. Sometimes it was uncomfortable not to ease certain moments with a glass of wine, but overall totally liberating. I never had those worries of, “oh my god, I said what?” Dating is awkward. But dating isn’t the problem. Sorting is. People meet new people all the time. How we sort is the answer. And while there are many ways to sort (trust being number one), sober sorting is the best method I know for clear direction and answers. Of course, not all my first dates are sans booze, but if a date seems to have potential, I make a point to plan a sober outing right away. A hike, a walk on the beach, strip scrabble (just kidding!), anything that’s fun and active in the light of day. Sober sorting is the new black. Sex-ay!

My Dad got married today. He’s been dating Anne, a smart, vivacious and lovely woman for about 18 months. Recently she moved from Canada to live with him in Santa Barbara. This past Wednesday he called me to say he had “big news.” They were getting married. They wanted a private ceremony and asked if I was available on Saturday?

My initial reaction was joy. I couldn’t be happier for them because I truly believe they’re a perfect match. But after saying I’d clear my schedule, I hung up the phone and sat in my car stunned. I didn’t know what I was feeling but I couldn’t move. A few minutes later, my sister Keisha texted asking if Dad had called me? I called her back and next thing I knew I was crying. Then I started sobbing. I explained to Keisha that I felt bad for crying because the sadness had nothing to do with them. The tears were because of my own longing for true love. I was ashamed at my selfishness. How did their wedding have anything to with me? Because the two of them finding one another against international odds brought up a deeply rooted cry of, “Where was mine?”

My sister let me cry until I couldn’t anymore. We talked about what I was feeling and then I thanked her and said I had to go because I was meeting a friend for lunch and had to “get myself together.” Which is the worst, by the way. Pretending to be happy when you’re hurting is the epitome of all I’m against but I didn’t want to cancel last minute. So I drove into Beverly Hills and met my friend for a lovely and fake lunch. As I was driving home, I started crying again. God, where was all this coming from? I’m happy being single. I don’t feel lonely. So why such despair? Once home and laying on my couch I realized it wasn’t because I wanted a boyfriend. That was too small for a pain so big. So I continued digging and thought it was because my Dad getting married meant that I’d never be as close with him as I longed for now that he had Anne. Ooh, that seemed to hit the spot because I’ve spent a lifetime wanting more connection with him. But after sitting with those feelings for a long time it still didn’t feel right so I decided to go deeper. What was I wanting? What was my soul literally crying out for? I felt like a desperate mother saying to her crying baby that can’t speak yet, “What? What baby, what is it?” Then I got another hit. I wanted a deeper connection with myself. Well, that was just too exhausting so I fell asleep.

Meanwhile I had dinner plans with two new friends. I barely knew one and the other was her best friend and this was our first dinner so I wanted to feel “up” – not ideal timing. I don’t know why but something said not to cancel. When I woke from my nap I was in a daze. The drama had subsided but I had a low level lingering. I didn’t get up. I just started breathing. One long breath at a time and then I got very still. I was present. In this presence, I was able to get the final piece of what the “wedding news” was trying to give. My longing is for connection not only with myself but with ALL – humanity, the world, the Universe and God*. And, it was already within me. That was the message. Nothing new and certainly not surprising, but for some reason and on this day, I got it. My heart had cracked open just a little bit bigger. I laid there for a long while with gratitude on my face. Then I got up showered and drove across town to meet my two new friends for what turned out to be one of the most magically fulfilling evenings in a long time. I never mentioned my day to them. I didn’t need to. It was already complete and I was in a new now moment.

Why this day was so important to me is clear. If I had bypassed the original thought of “Where was mine?”, I’d still be thinking I needed a relationship to be happy. But, because I was willing and unrelenting in my inquiry, I got to the root. So many times we check out and skip over what could be a beautiful message, if only we were present to receiving. And worse, we carry the blind spots within us and the effect shows up all over lives. We then become passive agressive or make poor choices in our attempt for pseudo connection. It takes courage to go that deep. And it takes enormous commitment to stay present with all that comes up. But my God, so worth it. If the very core of who I am is longing to be one with all, and I REMEMBER that I am, who will I be in the world? That “knowing” will drive my every action. That is, until I forget again.

Anyway, today was my Dad and Anne’s wedding and it was perfect. They had a casual ceremony filled with lots of love on the roof of the Santa Barbara courthouse, where My Grandfather was a judge. As we were walking up, my Dad spoke fondly of his late Father and for a moment I thought I could feel my his presence. I smiled …

Much love until more, xo

Original Post Date July 26, 2008. Re-posted per request.