Author: Bev

What can be said about Thanksgiving, the holiday, that has not already been said.  Human beings with more talent in spouting verse, contemplating the meaning of life, or intellectually discussing the facts of the holiday, have opined about it fully.

However, here I am and Thanksgiving is here too.  My website’s wwwdot-moniker, says it all about my style.  I’m all about “deep thoughts on random stuff.”  So, my thoughts about Thanksgiving may go somewhere unlikely or random, as well.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite of the holidays.  And, it was always celebrated at one or the other of our mom’s place.  It’s a family holiday if ever there was one.

Preparation of the turkey and fixings have found themselves on my plate for the last while back, ever since the grandma’s aged-out and had to pass the torch.  I enjoy fixing the fixings, but the turkey, not so much.

This year will be just a bit different.  So, what’s new?  So far, the 2020s have been nothing but different, much to the lament of those who dislike change.

I found myself in a “voila” moment when reading an article about how to diminish the stress of holiday pressure.  One of the sort-of obvious pointers was, “don’t feel like everything has to be made from scratch.” 

This is likely sacrilege to many a home cook/baker.  We have taken great pride in our home-made, from-scratch concoctions.  I probably still believe those scratch recipes are “the best,” but some corners-cut really won’t be noticed, if you’re careful which corners you cut.

This is my opinion, and I’m sticking to it since that tip gave me instant stress-relief.  I hate roasting turkeys, chickens, any poultry, really.  I never feel confident with their “doneness.”  And, I’ve successfully roasted a whole rafter of them over the years, cumulatively.  You’d think I’d get over it already.

But, no.  And, somewhere along the line, just the sight, feel, and handling of whole birds makes me almost nauseous.  I just can’t.  But I do like to eat turkey, particularly the dark meat.  For the leftovers, I also love old-fashioned turkey-pie, the kind that some foodies call pot-pie, but a local Pennsylvanian would never, since we know pot-pie is strips of dough cooked in a pot of ham broth.

At any rate, the leftovers of the Thanksgiving meal are almost better and certainly more anticipated than the actual meal, especially if you’re the cook.  That reminds me of the time-pressures of preparing the Thanksgiving meal.  It’s a traditional one that ideally requires a million hands, devices, and massive kitchen space to get it all ready and hot at the same time.  Oh my, the pressure.

Back to my planned-differences with this year’s Thanksgiving.  It took several attempts, but we finally triumphed in finding “just turkey drums” (four to be exact since I’m not the only dark-meat lover) and a separate boneless turkey breast.

Now, you might say that’s just a deconstructed turkey, and you would be right.  However, with this plan, I see no cleaning off the bird after all is said and done.  And I see very little basting, hulking, carcass-gleaning, and sweating over a thermometer, timer, and overly full oven kept at first one temperature then another.  I do not have the luxury of two ovens

So, I give a hearty thanks to the writer of that simple tip that lightened my load and eased my burden.  The beginning of my happy holidays started with the relinquishment of a long-held expectation onto which I saddled myself. 

After all, “my reason for the season,” starts now, hopefully without some of our traditional holiday baggage.  I believe that my joy over the Thanksgiving holiday is that its very existence is to officially and ceremonially express our gratitude.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Christmas, but its baggage surrounding gift-giving and gift-receiving can be a lot of expectations-gone-wrong and tremendous pressure to get it all right.  But for my family, Thanksgiving is just a meal, a sentiment, and a cozy fire in the fireplace.

“What are you thankful for?”  We have at times gone around our table filled with bounty and taken turns articulating something we’re grateful for.  We try not to put pressure on anyone, they can pass if they want to and the next guy can say their thankful that some of us have the discretion to be silent.

“There’s always something to be thankful for.”  If you’re in a bad mood, this sentiment which is often set in memes passed along on Facebook, might make you groan with sarcasm.  But if you’re willing to give up an inch of your fleeting frustration, you will agree that it’s true.

I’m thankful for a holiday intended to celebrate gratitude, goodness, harvest, love, bounty, joy, and warmth in a cold world.  Happy Thanksgiving.

 

 

“Expectation feeds frustration.  It is an unhealthy attachment to people, things, and outcomes we wish we could control; but don’t” (Dr. Steve Maraboli).  Expectation is based on the past and projected onto the future.

Whether you eat something exceptional, either good or bad, you’ll remember it.  So, Bon Appetit, but ease up on your expectations for the next time.  You may just be setting yourself up for disappointment.

Our kids recently returned from a trip to the Caribbean.  Hearing their stories triggered both of us, hubby and me, to salivate for Cuban food.

For me, two food memories stand out in the Cuban department.  One was in New Orleans when our daughter was around two years old.

It was her first professional convention.  It was a music industry conference.  She’s been to many, since then.

But this one was memorable because of some food.  It was a back alley and we’ve found that many of the best local eateries are found there.

It was Cuban and it was delectable.  I remember a black bean bathed concoction possibly pork-based.  The clincher was, however, we left behind our daughter’s silver baby spoon.  And they mailed it to us a couple of weeks hence.  How about that for service!?

I don’t think you can visit New Orleans and its surrounds without coming away with some food stories.  On the trip in question, we also ate at one of the high-end, well-known restaurants.  Our favorite thing was the professionalism of the wait staff, concerning our toddler-in-tow.  They vigilantly kept her entertained with M&M’s while we adults took turns taking bites of grandma’s rabbit salad; which was surprisingly remarkable.

Another Cuban food experience was in Roanoke Virginia.  Again, on our way to a professional conference, probably in Nashville, we found an indoor mall or food court, and we selected Cuban.  And again, it was black bean based and flavored by perhaps shredded beef, or the usual pork.  Oh my, delicious only half describes this cuisine.

Now my taste buds have been piqued to the brink, for Cuban food and since we had planned an outing to Pittsburgh, well, it’s obvious by now what Google search we began.  We usually go with Greek when we travel but Italian, Turkish, or Middle Eastern, also turn on our radar.  But, Cuban….

Expecting to make some more food memories centering on Cuban and Greek/Middle Eastern, our actual trip to Pittsburgh, disappointed, sort of. “Sometimes we create our own heartbreaks through expectation.”

Tip one, when Googling cuisine, pay attention to the dates of the reviews.  The mouth-watering description of the Cuban restaurant in our vicinity of the city fell flat after a half-hour of searching revealed a response of “we closed last year at the beginning of COVID,” at the very quiet storefront.

At about 2:30 p.m. on our first day, after being shot down by our hoped Cuban experience, we were told by the proprietor of our choice for Greek/Middle Eastern food, “Because of the cold weather I only prepared a small slab for gyro, and we sold out by noon.”  He invited us back the next day, ideally around noon.

Our thoughts veered toward, “the early bird catches the worm,” when headed back to the Middle Eastern restaurant around 11:45 a.m.; taste buds already warmed up and poised for a delectable lunch.  For goodness’ sake, we were too early.  Ever feel like Goldilocks?  Too hard, too soft, and when just right hits, you get kicked out?

As it turns out, we just had a few stops on The Strip yet to make before heading out of town, and waiting another hour would be too much killing time, so darn it.

The first day, we had, instead of Cuban, a very good cheese-steak sandwich which hovered on the memorable.  Day two, we assuaged our sad taste-buds with Chinese street food which superseded adequate.

Such are the vagaries of travel and one’s expectations of the same.  On the positive side was our hotel.

At check-in we were surprised that our reserved room was not on the floor that we requested.  However, the newbie young lady at the desk called her manager, who quickly upgraded us from a double to a suite.  And the suite was a delight in every way.

This hotel is the only big one in the city with free parking.  What’s with that, anyway?  Reason would have us think that we’re paying for the hotel room, captive to the property, why on earth would we be expected to pay extra to park there?  But voila, it is the norm to do so.

You’ve heard the adage, “rules are made to be broken?”  Well, I guess although less elegant, the same could be said for expectations.  We should expect them to let us down.

 “It’s a good place when all you have is hope and not expectations” (Danny Boyle).  Shall we raise a glass to hope?

You’ve heard the 16^th century proverb, “you can’t see the forest, for the trees?”  It’s about getting stuck on the details, so as not to see the whole or overall view.

Some call people with detail-tunnel-vision, variously, “detail-oriented,” or “well-organized.” Veering toward the negative, and if their details bug us, we may label them with a mental disorder, “obsessive-compulsive.”

“Highly Sensitive People,” twenty-to-thirty-percent of the population, are said to be more highly aware of the details than the other seventy-to-eighty percent of humans on the planet.  Perceptive and insightful; people with this nature are often described in childhood as wise beyond their years.

Have you ever been criticized for being “too sensitive?”  Maybe you cry at the drop of the hat.  Maybe you’re easily hurt, in the feelings department.  If you absorb other people’s emotions, either expressed or not, you’re more than a sponge.  Perhaps you tend to notice things that other people pay no attention to.

If you can affirm any of these traits, perhaps you are a highly sensitive person, or HSP.  It’s not wrong, by the way.  It’s not even a disorder.  It’s a variation of normal.

But there are pitfalls in having this type of personality.  Feeling deeply can be overwhelming.  There is a great deal of stimuli out there that highly sensitive people are forced by their temperament, to process.  Such folks can be overwhelmed by “too much,” even of a good thing.

HSP’s internalize the unexpressed expectations of other people.  Failure, even small mistakes can feel crippling, triggering self-doubt and emotional self-flagellation.  Sensitive folk find it difficult to see failure as one route to success, be it by an alternative map and a different guide book.

Words matter to these humans.  Some jobs require strict attention to detail, in the use of words.  For example, the emergency dispatcher has to distinguish between 4^th Avenue and 4^th Street; it could mean the difference between life and death.

It’s kind of important to notice the details sometimes.  For instance, if someone had noticed the prospective flight school students who had no interest in learning how to land the plane, but directional navigation, in-flight, was their priority, history may have been altered.  On a personal level and of much less import than the flight school employee’s job, my job, requires that I pay attention to at least a dozen details in order to complete just one overall task.

The nurse who makes a mistake between ordering point-five milligrams instead of five milligrams of a powerful medicine, could have benefited from a detail-oriented personality.  We’d better not accuse any nurse of having a touch of OCD.

Criticism and negativity are like swords cutting straight to the soul of HSP’s and no number of garlic cloves or crosses can assuage such sticks and stones.  Tread lightly when discussing politics, and other “hot” topics with a highly sensitive person.  They’re easily overloaded by controversial details and too many options.

Actor, Michael Keaton’s character in Mr. Mom, could have burned the house down if an electrician had heeded his inattentive advice, “two-twenty, two-twenty-one, whatever it takes.” Or, when apartment hunting early in our marriage, we ran across the landlord who said, when we asked why there was no door on the freezer inside the refrigerator, “we find it works better that way;” were we born yesterday?

Are you paying attention?  Are you noticing some of the important details?

Highly sensitive people are extremely alert to sound, social cues such as body language, tone of voice, facial expressions, and smells.  Deeply moved by beauty, HSP’s are more than likely artistic or creative, but if not, they certainly appreciate all expressions of art.  Detailed, vivid, and telling dreams are usual for highly sensitive people, and they mean something to the dreamer.

Speaking of details, the mysteries of human nature stir HSP’s to ask why, and can initiate long conversations with like-minded others, about life.  On the other hand, small talk about trivial things or chit-chat about nothing can prove exhausting to an HSP.

Conscientious to a fault HSP’S always give one-hundred percent.  These people will never be described as lazy but the opposite may be true.  “Overdoing it,” comes to mind.  Overthinking isn’t unheard of.

Most likely animal lovers and champions of children, highly sensitive people cannot tolerate cruelty.  HSP’s will never be caught watching docudramas of cruelty to animals, movies with a theme focusing on rape or human trafficking, or television shows with corrupt cops.

Highly sensitive people, not unlike introverts, require downtime to recharge their overly taxed nervous systems.   Time pressure sends HSP’s right to the sofa, the hiking trail, the altar, or wherever their personal recharging station is found.

See ya later, after I’ve hit the recharger for a bit.

Are you familiar with stubbornness?  Do you know anybody who is willful?

Someone you know may be habitually disposed to disobedience and opposition.  Headstrong is synonymous with froward, now that’s a fun word.  Recalcitrant is another good one.

Often, we hear of kids in the throes of the “terrible twos “or threes, described as headstrong.  This is sometimes, after they’ve been observed rolling around on the floor in a tantrum of sorts.

In this 21^st century of wokeness, obedience and submission, can be tricky concepts, to say the least.  It’s not “Leave it to Beaver,” or “Father Knows Best,” of the 1950s anymore, Dorothy!

Self-determination, or gaining mastery over challenges put in front of you is paramount in today’s popular psychology.  People want mostly to feel independent, competent, and in control of their daily lives.  If somebody comes between us and these things, we’re more than likely to defiantly assert our will, resist the harness, and stand firm and unmoved.

Apparently, some folks have been “determined to have one’s way,” since the late 14^th century, when the word headstrong was first used.  Strong-headed or “head-bold,” has been an adjective since c. 1600.

If you’re headstrong, you may just want to do what you want to do.  Usually, you’re described as such because somebody or something is keeping you from doing what you want to do.  Somebody noticed and they’re calling you “headstrong.”

Headstrong, seems to be a negative word, not in the sense of being bad, but in the sense of being against another person.  It’s a judgment of someone else, probably someone who is not willing to take your advice, follow your suggestion, or comply with your will on a matter.

Determined to have your own way, you surely must believe that your way is the best way, your view is perhaps the only view, and you’re willing to fight for your right to think the way you think.  Some headstrong folks have made history fighting traditions that needed to be changed, or bucking rules that were clearly outdated and required some tweaking.

In my wanderings around the word, headstrong, I came across the derogatory terms: pigheaded and bullheaded.  Insulting to both pigs and bulls, these terms, applied to people connote that headstrong people cannot be managed, controlled, or persuaded to change their point of view. 

Whether these two species, pigs and bulls, can accurately be characterized as stubborn cannot be substantiated.  People on the other hand, well….  We should probably call the occasionally stubborn bull or pig that resists our will, “people-headed,” as in, “You ridiculous pig, you’re acting people-headed, now get a move on.”

Both, being powerful animals, trying to make a pig or a bull comply to your human will, might present a problem for the human, not the animal.  But, me thinks both animals, smart as they are, can be trained to follow the leader, given a leader with patience.

Resistance fighters of sorts, headstrong folks are both strong and determined to press forward in their way.  Unwilling to be managed, I wonder if someone who is headstrong, might be better, led?

There is a subtle difference between management and leadership.  But this little quirk in language usage might make all the difference in training or persuading others to follow your lead.

Nobody wants to be yanked on the neck with a restraint in order to be led to something better, worse, or in between.  Although we may just be amenable to a suggestion to follow someone down another path if you show, not tell me where we’re going.  You’ve heard the concept, “lead by example.”

I’m not likely to be suddenly pliable, flexible, yielding or compliant if you insult me first.  All the reasoning, arguments, and manipulation in the world is unlikely to move me from my firm conviction on a matter if you come at me disparagingly.

Even though I may be headstrong, I might just be amenable to your way if you come toward me with genuine kindness, humility, and intelligence.  If you’re likeable, I could potentially be motivated to change my mind.  Convince me.

Blame it on the dog.  “The dog ate my homework.”  “The dog ate my broccoli.”

Blame it on the weather.  “I gain weight in the summer because I eat ice cream.”  “I gain weight in the winter because I eat a lot to keep warm.”

Blame it on your health.  “I’m healthy, I should be grateful.”  “My health isn’t good enough to do that.”

Blame it on time.  “I don’t have time to do that.”  “There isn’t enough time in the day.”

Blame it on the sun or blame it on the darkness.  “The glare from the sun caused sudden blindness.”  “The lights from that other car caused such a glare, I ran off of the road.”

Blame it on lack.  “I don’t have___, so I can’t___”. “If I only had___, then I could___”

Blame it on the job.  “I was so bored, I had to quit.”  “I couldn’t stay in such a high stress work environment.”

Blame it on the doctor.  “He asks too many questions and talks the whole time.”  “She barely examined me and was all business.”

Blame it on the preacher.  “She uses no scripture and just tells stories.”  “He uses scripture after scripture and doesn’t relate it to ordinary life.”

Blame it on your intelligence.  “I’m too smart to do that.”  “I never thought I was smart enough to do that.”

Blame it on your parents.  “They never taught me any better.”  “They made me___”

Blame it on your partner.  “He or she made me feel___”. “I always had to…but he/she never___”

Blame it on Monday.  “Rainy days and Monday’s always get me down.”  “It’s a Monday and a half, I can’t get anything right…done…today.”

Blame it on Friday.  “I’m going home early.  It’s been a long week.”  “I can’t make a sale today for the life of me because everyone has already checked out for the weekend.”

Blame it on money.  “If I had the money, I would___”. “I don’t have enough money for___”

Blame it on the seasons.  “I can’t exercise because it’s winter.”  I can’t exercise because it’s summer.”

Blame it on your neighbor.  “They’re over here too much.”  “They never come around.”  “They’re too perfect.”  “They’re a mess.”

Blame it on the school.  “They should teach___in school.”  “They try to teach everything but the basics.”

Blame it on someone, anyone else.  “It’s your fault that I___”.  “Why do you always, never___?”

Blame it on yourself.  “It’s my own fault that I___”.  “It’s always me to blame for everything___”

Blame God or fate.  “This is the way it’s supposed to work out.”  “Only God knows.”  “It’s God’s will that___”

Why do we blame?  Maybe it’s to preserve our self-esteem and avoid awareness of our flaws and failings.

Maybe we believe rigidly on blatant cause and effect.  We either don’t consider or quickly dismiss an infinite number of possible variables in between.

Maybe because there is less effort in blaming someone else than in accepting responsibility and changing myself.  I’d rather take the easy path and blame them.

Or, maybe and similarly, it’s easier to lie (even to yourself), and blame someone else.  All the while we’re spending a lot of wasted time covering the lie and hoping we don’t get caught.

Remember, it has been said that “the path is wide to destruction, and many are on it.  But the gate, or opening to life is narrow and few have chosen it” (Matthew 7:13-14 paraphrased).

Choose life and stop playing the blame game.  And, don’t blame me!

Seniors are like teenagers in one thing, the matter of restraint.  “Don’t tell me what to do,” we say.  “We’ll do what we want, you do what you want.”

As we age, we tend to release some of the restraints of youth, like accumulation, appearances, slights, etc.  The first half of life is for building a life; including maintaining an image.  We’re restrained by what we should be, how we look, and how to please this one, that one, and the other one.

The second half of life, is for resting in what has been built; and we prefer peace over price.  Speaking of restraint, I like T.F. Hodge’s words, “The path of peace is not a passive journey.  It takes incredible strength not to open a can of ‘whoop-ass,’ justifiably, when one’s button is pushed.”  Pleasing others isn’t as high on our list of priorities as fulfilling the overwhelming desire inside, for peace.

“I don’t care,” is our genuine take on most circumstances we face.  Not in the sense of a lack of compassion toward others and their circumstances, but in the sense of the overall release of care toward stuff or the malarkey of others.

But one restraint we didn’t even consider in our youth was in the realm of calories.  As we age, we have to restrain ourselves with the intake of calories.  We can do what we want in many areas of life, but we can’t continue to eat what we want or as much as we want.  The efficacy of doing so may eventually show up in consequences such as hypertension or Type 2 diabetes.

This doesn’t even address the “O”-words, overweight and obesity.  What’s with that BMI chart?  Does anybody match those numbers?

I thought I was doing well when I lost the seven pounds that I gained taking a steroid during my bout with poison ivy.  Then, I read that dastardly BMI chart and holy moly, suddenly I was overweight!

In order to please the BMI chart, I would have to grow quite a few inches.  This is unlikely at my age.  My doctor and her professional staff are way too sharp to let me get away with wearing spike heels on that dastardly monument in their office intended to measure such things.

By the way I’ve begged to have that thing torn down like the statues of Robert E Lee in the south and Joe Paterno in State College, but no way.  Even though I’m deeply offended by it along with its master, the BMI chart, it seems that tearing it down requires a whole lot more clout than I possess at this moment in time.

Then I had a birthday.  I exercised restraint and had one piece of my own apple cake with 3 tablespoons of Ritchey’s Dairy pumpkin pie ice cream on the side.  I know all the tricks, eating on a small, pretty plate, so that your portions look humongous but really aren’t.

And then there is the chewing thing.  One should chew your food.  Now I can’t really do that level of restraint where you have to count the number of chews for every bite.  That just seems a little bit OCD to me.  But the opposite of that are some cats I know, who inhale treats.  I put down two or three treats per cat, and turn around to close the bag.  I turn back around trying to avoid whiplash and there are four little begging eyes looking up at me gaslighting me.  Did I give them treats?  Surely not!

My senior mother-in-law has a problem with restraint in terms of her activity levels.  She claims quite accurately that one day she has lots of energy, feels good, and does way too much.  She then pays for overdoing it, the following day.  This triggers an, every other day syndrome of one day up, next day down.

Some people have problems with restraint and money.  Spending too easily, spending too much, or an inability to budget.  Others of us veer a little bit to the opposite, wanting to save more and spend less on fun.

In fact, I’m confused by the word spendthrift.  One would think combining those two words: spend and thrift, would mean that you’re a saver not a spender.  However, it is the opposite.  A spendthrift is someone who spends, spends, spends wastefully and to their detriment.

There are people who have a problem restraining their tongue.  They feel constantly compelled to speak, respond, orate, recite, etc.  These loquacious folks probably listen very little.  It is said that some people don’t listen while you’re talking, they’re planning what they want to say, and really don’t hear you at all.

So, take care to listen very carefully from now on.  Orson Scott Card said, “Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.”  Woo, that’s some restraint worth aiming for.

I think giving up the restraints that held us back in our middle age, as we move forward into our fifties, sixties, and beyond, are a little like the Kris Kristofferson song, Me and Bobby McGee: “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”  When we’re older, we’re content to lose some of the requirements of life-building, and sit in the proverbial rocking chair on the porch, or take a walk on the beach or in the woods, and let the next generation build.

Are you living with abandon or living with care?  How much restraint is conducive to freedom?

This isn’t expressly about the Me-Too Movement from a while back.  That was specifically concerning women who had been sexually exploited, coming forward in a sad sisterhood of sorts.

Nor is this about something as particular as “I had Covid.  Yeah, me too.”  Although this “me-too” is likely accompanied by an eye roll or a wide-eyed exclamation of acknowledgement.

When I casually asked, “how are you?”  He answered, “I’m ready to go home, but I’ve been ready to go home since I got here.”  I was shocked to feel myself light up, when I said, “me too.”  He lit up too.

It’s funny, not ha-ha funny, but ironic when those two simple words, “me too,” can bring comfort no matter the circumstance promoting them.  In fact, one feels heartened when your negative experiences have been validated by another human being going through the same negative stuff.  One feels known like at no other moment.

Camaraderie helps.  “Been there, done that,” or “I hear you,” “I know what you mean,” or abbreviated, “I know,” all say, “me too,” with an exclamation point.

Even if your boat’s sinking, someone else in it with you makes it less tragic.  Feeling understood helps us navigate any emotion.  Why else do you think we have clubs, as in “welcome to the club;” or support groups for this, that, and the other thing.

A cashier in the grocery store can morph into a sibling if you share a “me too” moment.  It can be as simple as you both hate summer, love summer, detest coffee and love chai tea.  Or it can be as unusual as sharing a birthday or your moms are the same age.

“Me too,” draws us close.  We can be oh so distant until we’ve shared a “me too” moment.  Then, we’re blood relatives.

Companions in misery are just as close as comrades in battle or teammates in a game.  Those who share “me too” experiences are just as bound, even if only briefly, as a prison chain gang.  Even if you have a million differences, just one “me too” variable can trigger your “I like you” hormones.

For example, maybe you hold opposite political ideologies and you believe in different religions but you both love animals.  That one, “me too” factor will draw you together even if it’s only for a second.

People will come out of hiding when they realize they aren’t alone.  Even loners don’t feel so alone when they know there are other loners out there.  They’ll still prefer being alone but they’ll be comforted that they will never be lonesome because of their “me too” knowledge.

If you don’t relate your experience no one can relate to it and you won’t expand your universe of relatives.  Every skilled conversationalist knows that you maintain a conversation by a back and forth “me-too” banter which includes a fair amount of “right,” and “I know.”

Self-disclosure and open communication are vital tools in gifting others with the spark of feeling that “me too,” esprit de corps.  So, when someone asks, “how are you,” maybe a response just a little more elaborate than “fine, thank you,” would be a beginning.

Scientists believe that contagious yawning is a social communication tool of higher thinking animals, indicating that we humans are more vigilant toward each other than we’re aware.  Like yawning, “me-too agreement” is an indicator that we just might be more like our fellow humans than we are different.  And that seems to be a good thing in such a divided world.