Please Tune In To pablove.org

The Pablove Across America experience will be documented in video blog form, and it will live on pablove.org. Please drop the URL into your favorites list. Please make it a destination, the way you made the Pablog a morning read beginning in May 2008.

Our intention is to bring you on the road with us, so you feel like you're hanging with us in Gulf Shores, Alabama, or St Francisville, Louisana, or Austin, Texas. We'll shoot on the bike. We'll shoot behind-the-scenes stuff with our mobile family of Pablovers who have been planning the ride for over two months, and who will keep us healthy, happy and safe as we cross this fine continent.

Most important, our video blogs (vlogs) will embody the purpose and mission, so that all who see them will experience not only what we are doing, but why. Our purpose is to float the balloon of awareness for childhood cancer. I have boiled it down to: kids get cancer, too—and it's not somebody else's problem. People need to hear this simple fact. Then they need to hear that we have a Trojan horse that will carry us inside the city walls of cancer. And that is the Pablove Foundation. I very much believe what my dad taught me years ago: people are willing to help people who help themselves. I'd say that defines us Pablovers quite well. With our hearts full of the relentless joy and passion of Pablo, we are helping ourselves, and our community, grieve deeply, and to make our grief productive.

Pablove Across America is a call for financial support. It is calling equally for the hands-on efforts of the existing Pablove Army to carry out its mission. This hands-on business is being done all around us every day. People volunteering at the office while others race to win an experience on the Pablove eBay auction. Some people are putting together their functions using our new Giftberry tool, a portal that allows anyone to activate a Pablove fundraiser in two clicks. Another friend is gathering names of Wilms' Tumor fighters, so that we can honor one of those brave soldiers in each morning's vlog.

I also want you to know my personal goal in doing this. I will not get it all down here, so let me start with this: to demonstrate the depth of my commitment to change, and my commitment to the mission of the Pablove Foundation. The physically grueling aspect of carrying Pablove Across America may soften the hurt in my heart. It may wring a bit of the emptiness and sadness out of my soul. That is my hope. All of this is wrapped in my endless love for PABLO. This ride, for me, is an offering to Pablo, whose spirit is with me every second of every day. I HAVE to show my little boy how far I will go to display my love for him. And to show him that even though his physical body is gone, I will continue to kick ass in his name. I HAVE TO DO THIS.

If you have not yet checked out the vlogs on pablove.org, please do. Dangerbird video master Mike Mohan has put a lot of effort into stating our purpose in the run-up to the October 10 start date. Some videos are fun, some are serious. Some show the people at Dangerbird HQ who have lead the charge to create and market this massive endeavor. We'll continue to build on this massive pastiche. It's been fun.

I'm heading to Pablo's school, The Oaks. He would have been in the first month of kindergarten today. At this morning's school assembly, Pablo's favorite book, 'Christopher's Harvest Time,' will be inscribed to Pablo, and dedicated to the school library. Generations of Oaks kids will know Pablo from the words written about him on the inside flap of the book. I'm told that the kindergarten class—which includes many of his friends from The Walther School—will sing a song in memory of him. I'm weeping. And I'm still sitting at the dining room table. Better grab a box of tissue.

Pablo Made Me Smile, Again

Tonight, I needed to smile. I've been writing a lot over the past few days about seeking joy, having fun, learning how to let go. All those things I learned from Pablo. All those things I needed his help to continue pursuing.

I had no idea where my next smile would come from. Then I clicked on the link to Tony Hoffer's photos from Pablo's sixth birthday, on June 21 2009. I did a helluva lot more than smile when I saw these pics. Nothing makes me happier than seeing new photos. Especially photos of Pablo having fun.

Ahhhhhh. Feels so goooood to smile.

Pablo and his super-stretch ape. He loved that little guy.

That smile!

Harry looks on as Pablo shows off his cash money money necklace to Joanna. She and Tony gave him that for his sixth bday.

In this pic, I can only assume Pablo is saying, 'Awwwwwwwww sh**t!'

I swear, if Pablo were sitting next to me right now, I'd bust him out for this APE FACE!

Pablove Foundation eBay Auction Needs Your Eyeballs

Keep reading to learn about The Pablove Foundation's eBay auction site

My intention in writing the Pablog is to share my experience. Has been from the first post on May 18 2008. For a long time, my writing was about the life and times of Pablo. His grace he exhibited while being treated for cancer. The fun he had wherever he went. His sudden death. The sadness, confusion and emptiness we feel in his absence. Over the past few weeks, I've written about my goal of riding across the United States. For 3,100 miles, I will be in search of Pablo. In search of me. In search of the answer. The meaning of it all. I believe that everything means something. I better. This is one helluva commitment I've made.

In planning Pablove Across America, my life has been focused on passing on the passion, fun and purpose I learned from Pablo. I do this privately, in my meditations, in my public and personal writing, and in my plan to grow The Pablove Foundation from a grassroots movement to a national call-to-arms. Looking at each of these aspects of my life written on the screen, I'm thinking, 'Damn, this is a lot of stuff.' You might think that too. Sure, it is a lot of activity. Pablo had a lot of different irons in the fire, too: chemo, blood draws, transfusions, surgeries, Tempu-Dots being shoved into his mouth a few times a day. Plus, he had play dates, art classes, crazy days of wonder and magic with Polly, 'SpongeBob' episodes, telling stories, and, of course, being the greatest son we could have ever wished for. Comparatively, I've got it easy.

My pursuit of purpose and remaining in contact with my emotions are the two central pillars in my grieving journey. Keeping Pablo alive by keeping hope in front of me touches on both of these pillars. Putting my purpose in motion keeps the emotions moving. Moving the emotions allows me to continue pursuing my purpose. It just makes sense to me. I don't know how else to do it.

Of course, I haven't been doing this alone. The team at Dangerbird have been jamming for over two months to get the Pablove Across America show on the road. A bunch of other friends from Filter Marketing, Velo Pasadena and all the bike sponsors have been jamming as well. We leave for Florida next Wednesday. Wheels roll next Saturday. Insane.

Jo Ann, Grady and I would not be where we are without your help. If you are reading the Pablog, you are a member of our central community. You're already here. You've stayed for the second act. I am deeply grateful for that. So, if you're here, you won't mind me asking you for a little more help?

Here goes: we need you to check out the experience auctions on the Pablove Foundation eBay auction site. Check it out. Bid if you see something you dig. There are only two more days of bidding. Pass it on to friends who might want to bid on riding with Lance Armstrong in Austin, or hanging on set with 'Batman' director Christopher Nolan, or getting a song produced by Garbage/Nirvana producer Butch Vig.

If all this high-stakes bidding doesn't do it for you, I respectfully ask that you consider pledging per mile on the Pablove Across America widget in the column to your right. If you've already supported us, you can also grab that widget and post it on your Facebook page, Twitter, blog, or website, so your homies have the option to spill a little out for Pablove. We need all the help we can get in supporting our mission: to FIGHT CHILDHOOD CANCER WITH LOVE.

While I have your attention, let me remind you to keep an eye on The Pablove Foundation site, pablove.org. That's where we'll be documenting the Pablove Across America ride. We're gonna post three or four video blog entries per day. A morning ride dedication, a couple bits from the road and on hospital visits, and a dinnertime check in to wrap up the day. We want you to feel like you're out there with us as we roll across the U.S. with Pablo in our heart and minds and Pablove on our lips.

While we're in ride set up mode, we're putting up one vlog per day—something related to the planning, training and purpose of the ride. It's been fun to make the videos. A bit easier and faster than writing, and generally less heavy. For some reason when I'm in front of a camera, I want to f*** around. I like that.

Perez Hilton Sends Out A Ray Of Pablove

Celebrity news blogger Perez Hilton sent out a massive ray of Pablove on his site this morning, dropping Pablove Across America into his Worthy Cause section. This is a huge boost for The Pablove Foundation—Perez's site is one of the most widely read on the Internet. Between this and our Interbike activation yesterday in Las Vegas, I'm a little overwhelmed. In a good way. But feeling a bit wobbly nonetheless. The other day, I told you that one of our goals with Pablove Across America was to grow the Pablove Foundation nationally. So we're right on track. Our goals are being checked off the list one by one. It's a wonderful feeling.

You know what else? Every time we get a confirmation on a news piece or something as cool as Perez's support pops up on my email, I get the same feeling: I wish Pablo was jumping on my head and laughing and asking Jo Ann for food and pulling Grady's hair and going to the park with Polly. Of course I feel that way. I'd give up everything for that ultimate goal: to have Pablo back, here, in the physical realm.

But Pablo has not been here, in this house, since Saturday June 27 2009. So we are dedicated to carrying on his legacy of love and curiosity and passion in the name of The Pablove Foundation. We are dedicated to floating the biggest balloon as high in the sky as possible—to give back, to reach back, to help kids with cancer. And the people who help kids with cancer.

Sitting here typing in stunned gratitude for all these Pablove Foundation goals and the check marks beside them, I bring the focus of my heart back to Pablo. Our little boy with the everywhere hair, the four missing front teeth, the hands that were always alllllllmost as big as mine, the husky voice and the sinister laugh. Pablo: the reason we continue on, fighting childhood cancer with love. When I sit in Pablo's love, and remember his smile and how his eyes lit up when he was happy or excited, I am in clear connection with the source of my own passion, my own ability to carry on in my life. And certainly my motivation to ride across the continent.

Today, I will accept that all of this is happening. And that it's much-needed wind in the sails of The Pablove Foundation. I will also accept the bittersweetness of the blood in my veins at moments like these. I'd better accept it. At this point, there's no way off this train.

Viva Pab Vegas

I am tired, so this post will be really short. The Las Vegas expedition was fun and successful. The Pablove message went out over the speakers at the SRAM village, as you can see in the above photo. Due to SRAM's coverage of Pablove Across America on their website and blogs, people already knew about Pablo and about the upcoming cross-country ride. When I hopped up on the bar, and SRAM publicist Michael Zellman (the man on the left side of the photo) introduced me, people put their hands together in rapid succession. Completely unexpected. I was so thrown off by this welcome, I temporarily dropped my planned intro and focused people on the Pablove beer cups they were drinking out of. Almost everyone looked down at their dominant hand. This is what they saw while I repositioned my brain and kicked out the Pablove jams:

Throughout the day, Piero Giramonti, Diarmuid Quinn and I walked through the convention center, working our way through the Babylonian maze of bike-filled booths. We met up with every single sponsor of PAA, like a bunch of gangsters in a Tarantino movie going after a bank heist. Here's who we saw: Gary Vasconi from CAPO—he made our kits in Italy; Michael Macedon from SRAM—he designed the kits in Chicago; Doug Martin from Felt, who signed off on the bikes and enlisted his marketing team, including publicist Kip Mikler, to help carry our message to the cycling industry. He introduced us to the man who runs the Tour of California, which benefits a bunch of cancer charities. The only person we didn't run into is the masterful and sweet Felt designer Bob Thomson, he who designed the Pablove bikes. I thanked all of these people—most of whom I was meeting in person for the first time—and let them know how their efforts allowed us to focus on the mission of the ride. I also had a chance to talk with one of the editors from Velo News, one of the web and mag bibles of the bike world.

In addition to all that, Hrach from Velo Pasadena took us around to a bunch of booths. He's working on getting me a couple saddles (that's a seat for you non-bike-obsessed people) I can ride across the nation. Not just any saddles—the coolest, newest ones that aren't even out yet. I'm a geek, and I like this stuff. We hung with Michael Ward at his 'Mike and the Bike' book showroom. Always great to see his smile.

At some point, we felt the ache in our feet and legs. We looked at our watches and realized it was time to head to the airport. Joe Scully grabbed his rental car and we headed outta town. 50 minutes after wheels up, we were back in Burbank. Which reminds me—I'm tired.

Taking Pablove To...Las Vegas?!

The Pablove helmet—a Giro Ionos emblazoned with Pablo's 'Punch guy' drawings and the Pablove P-heart logo.

For a long stretch of days and weeks, it seemed impossible that life could be OK again. The notion of wanting a normal day stung with selfishness and angst. How could I desire life to go back to normal when normal would require Pablo to walk in the front door, laugh, punch one of his dolls and chase around the house til he found Mommy, Papa or Grady? On top of that, just thinking about professional or personal pressure—other than the one at hand—sent my heart and intellect sinking into the abyss. Made me want to drop out entirely. July, August and the first half of September dripped along like this. Day after day. I was afraid to grip the steering wheel of life, convinced it was lined with razor blades on the back side.

Last week, out of nowhere, I realized that I'd put together a few good days. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were OK days. Each day, I leaned in a bit more. Each day, nothing hurt. Saturday, for the first time in ages, I woke up early and made it to the 7:15 a.m. start for my 100 kilometer group ride with Coach Rick. I've been afraid of that hour and that ride for some time. I had drifted off that ride even when Pablo was still here. As his treatment wore on, and the cancer recurred to his lungs, I couldn't bear to be without him for five hours on a Saturday morning. With the preciousness of life escalating from an cliche to a concern, I started to cherish waking up with Pablo. Or watching him sleep. Or waiting for him to wake me up by whispering in my ear, 'Papa, let's go upstairs. I'm awake.'

So things have not been normal for a long time. Normal took a long vacation for me. I thrive on structure, goals, order and all that kinda stuff. It was hard for me to be out there in the wilderness of aimless angst. It was disorienting for me. It was an era in which many men grow beards to memorialize the overall feeling of the phase. I am unable to grow a beard, so I have to write words to tell you about my woolly phase.

This is quite a backdrop: beards, razors, aimlessness, the abyss. It really was like that. I say 'was' because that's all starting to change. There's a new scene emerging for me. I'm drilling down deeper in my work and personal lives. I am able to focus, and for longer periods. I remember things a touch better. I even remembered the code for the burglar alarm at our office without looking it up on my Blackberry. My mind has been so preoccupied for so long, that I felt like I got a 100% on a spelling test when the alarm system did its happy-sounding double beep affirmation this morning. I gave myself a gold star.

Tomorrow, I board a plane to, of all places, Las Vegas. If you know me, you know that Las Vegas is my least favorite city in the world. That's because it's not really a city. And because I have never gambled on anything in my life. At least not with money. Lucky for me, I'm not going there looking for a city or to play the odds. I'm going there to talk Pablove Across America—and to personally thank all of our sponsors—at the Interbike convention. Interbike is the annual national bike show, where all the manufacturers show their wares to dealers and civilians alike. Think about the auto show in your city; now exchange the cars for bikes; then exchange giant dudes drooling over giant pickup trucks with skinny cycling-tweaked nerds drooling over carbon fiber and reduced gram weight, and you've got a clear vision of Interbike.

I can assure you I'm one of those nerds. For sure. And this year, I am a nerd with gear sponsors, including the Chicago-based gruppo manufacturer SRAM corporation. (Gruppo is Italian for for group of mechanical parts on a bike—the gears, shifters, brakes, derailleurs.) My SRAM friends Brian Pettit and David Zimberoff have invited me to speak at their beer-inspired happy hour—a magical time at the convention when 500-700 people crowd into their neighborhood (to call it a booth would be a wild misnomer) to guzzle free beer while the featured speaker is propped up on a table, given a wireless mic, and a very captive audience. At least as long as the beer flows.

This opportunity to speak to hundreds of captive cyclists is a real gift. It provides the ideal stage for me to expand the reach of The Pablove Foundation, simply by relaying my story of being an everyman cyclist who came home from a long Saturday ride and found a strange lump in son's abdomen. All of the people who hear my voice tomorrow will understand how turning over the pedals for 3,100 miles in 30 days will allow me to wring out my soul of its confusion, anger and angst. How riding that many miles for that many days will transform my understanding of life.

Pablove Across America is about a bunch of things for me, and for our foundation. Sure, it's a great way to raise funds on a national and international level. There's another significant goal though: expanding the reach of The Pablove Foundation's. Like, getting our message and our mission into the hearts and minds of as many people as possible, and getting them to move their bodies to carry our mission. The cycling world is a key target in this expansion. Not only because I'm, like, riding a bike across the continent, but because, for some reason, cyclists are big-hearted. Think about it: most cycling events have a charity tied to them. Cyclists show up by the hundreds to ride for MS, AIDS, Cancer of all types, food banks, blood banks and on and on. And the king of all cyclists, Lance Armstrong, runs a foundation, and he has returned to bike racing to galvanize the message of his Livestrong Foundation. The other thing about cyclists is, we live online, constantly looking up race results, news on new gear, and tracking the European pro cycling scene.

I am pretty damn excited to go to Las Vegas tomorrow with my buddies Diarmuid and Piero. In many ways, when I step off the plane in that disgrossting city, it will be the start of the Pablove Across America pre-game show. We've spent the past two months building up to Interbike—a one-stop Pablove press and promotion palace.

I have no idea what to expect. One thing I do know: when we board the plane Thursday night to come back to LA, Pablove Across America will be off to the races.

A Book Dedicated To A Boy Who Loved Books

I've sat down at my computer for the past seven days and stared at the screen, not knowing what to write. A new friend, Emily, the mother of a boy who is in the kindergarten class Pablo would have been in at the Oaks, wrote to us asking if we'd like to dedicate a book in Pablo's memory at the school library. A week ago she wrote saying she'd gotten everything lined up for the dedication, and all she needed was our input on what the book plate should say. I can write and say a lot of words on any given day. The words for that book plate—not coming up for me. I want it to be simple. I also want it to convey a sense of Pablo-ness. I also want it to tell the truth about Pablo, in a way that's appropriate for children. Not easy.

Pouring out the contents of my heart and head on the Pablog is easy. Sometimes I look back at a post, and I think, 'Damn, that's a lot of words.' Some of those times I read a post and feel like I'm reading a story about my life. That's the effect of putting things on paper in order to know how I feel. If I didn't do it, I am certain—absolutely certain—my head would either implode or explode. Wouldn't matter which it would do. Human heads are meant to be in good working order. Caving in or blowing out—not good for the operation of a human body.

Tonight, I was determined to confront this task. I didn't want to leave Emily hanging any longer. Her offer of support is sweet and deeply meaningful to me. Plus, I'm leaving on October 7 for the Pablove Across America ride, and I'd like to attend the dedication at the Oaks before I fly to Florida.

The book, by the way, is Pablo's favorite—'Christopher's Harvest Time' by Elsa Beskow.

We used to talk about Elsa Beskow like she was a celebrity. I mean, she is. But we used to just love saying her name. Jo Ann and I are very linguistic people. Together, we probably speak enough words in a day to stretch from here to Portland and back.

Here are the words I emailed to Emily just a few minutes ago:

In loving memory of Pablo, a boy who followed his curiosity and love of reading and words each day of the six years and six days of his life. this book was his favorite.

Pablo Thrailkill Castelaz

June 21 2003—June 27 2009

Cynthia + Her Phoenix Visit Pablo

Sometimes, an email from a friend hits us right in the heart. This is one of those emails—from Sarah Nakane-McKee, the mother of Pablo's friend Cynthia. They went up to Pablo's grave a few days ago an hung out. While they were there, they had some fun. Just the thing to do at the grave of our little boy. If his physical self were still here, he'd have been wildly playing with Cynthia.

In the note, Sarah references the super-cool book Cynthia made for Pablo. Each page of the book is a photograph of the two paper people figures you see in these shots—Cynthia and Rachel—plus other characters. The photos and the book's narration: all done by Cynthia. Incredible stuff.

Here's the email and pics—captions by Cynthia:

Hi Jeff,

Cynthia and I went to visit Pablo's grave today. We found a beautiful phoenix bird right after the last time we were there when Cynthia wanted Pablo to be a phoenix. It was so peaceful there. We laid out a picnic blanket and had a snack. We brought the phoenix up there along with Cynthia's paper dolls from her story book of 'Pablove.' There is a second story coming from the adventure today and here are some of the pics from it...

love to you all, xxoo, Sarah & Cynthia

One of many flights off the wall

Cynthia asked that you pretend her fingers aren't there and just see the phoenix flying

Cynthia, Rachel, and the phoenix went to check out the doves and butterfly next door

A lizard came to check out the phoenix on the Geronimo jumping wall

Chili Love

'Is your dog nice?' A boy about eight years old is standing in front of Chili. We are sitting at an outdoor table at La Mill Coffee. We have walked here. Downhill. Tough stuff for an old girl like Chili. She is laying down, in the purest sense of the term. Front paws at odd angles in front of her big yellow Lab body. Tongue dangling from her mouth, pulsating with each breath. It's almost as if her tongue is attempting to detach from her throat. Chili's eyes ping-pong between curious ('Is that leash for me?') and sad ('I remember when I could run and jump like Beans').

The little boy, who is wearing a basketball jersey with a white tee shirt underneath, is looking at me. His arm is pointed in Chili's direction. He is happy. He is about to pet a dog as his family breakfasts two tables away, peering over in the direction of the chubby yellow dog who may or may not be nice.

'Yes!' I insist. 'She's very friendly.' And before my mind can edit my heart, 'And she loves to play with little boys.' The boy knelt down and began to pet Chili. She looked up at me, then at him. Her tongue continued to wag.

After a couple minutes the boy looked over at his dad looking at him. He stood up. 'Thank you.' He walked away.

Chili stood up, sniffing the air the boy left in his wake. Her ears perked up. She looked at me. She came over for a snuggle. Maybe a minute passed. A little girl and her mom emerged from inside La Mill.

'Is your dog nice?' Another tiny voice, this time from a girl. Her mother stood by her side. She was wearing a shirt that Jo Ann also has. My interaction with the girl was the same as it had been with the boy a couple minutes earlier. The girl's interaction with Chili was the same as the boy's. Chili soaked up the attention the same way she does with everyone - she glowed from her eyes and leaned into the petting hand strokes.

After a bit, the little girl looked up. 'Thank you' to me. 'Bye bye' to Chili. Mom and daughter walked down the sidewalk, stopping two tables down from us. The little boy and the little girl were brother and sister.

I wanted to walk over and thank them for, well, just being kids with Chili. I wanted to tell them about my little boy. That his name was Pablo. That 13 weeks ago, he and I sat at the very same table they'd breakfasted on. I wanted to thank the parents for allowing their children to bring a ray of light to Chili, and to me.

I did none of that. Instead, I sat in my chair and watched the family as they made plans for their next Sunday stop. Took a sip of my coffee. Let the thoughts settle. Practiced sitting with my feelings.
A sip or two later, a message floated up: the words I wanted to say to the family, are words I need to say to myself, within myself. The sweetness that flowed through me was for me, not meant to be given away and dulled in a social exchange; a gift to help me glide along my way.

A few sips later, high as a kite on French Press-extracted caffeine, a larger message - perhaps a question about a concept I like to believe - wafted its way up to my brain: was it Pablo himself who guided two children to interact with his Papa and his beloved Chili dawg?

Friday Is Home Day, Again

Twelve Fridays ago our family was itching to go home. On that day, we were in Los Angeles, exactly two miles from our front door, at CHLA. We wanted to bring Pablo home. We wanted our family to be complete, under one roof, under the roof of the house where we live. Our little boy had somewhere to go. He had to leave us and it was clear that he was going alone and we had to love him and hold him and simply BE with him until he left. There was no way that was going to happen at a building two miles from our house. A departure so significant should happen in the most sacred space available. For us, that space was our home. The comfort and safety we all felt when we carried Pablo in the front door—I can feel it as I type this. It was so real.

Today, we are in Los Angeles, exactly 13 miles from our front door, at a hotel. It's been eight Fridays since we last slept in our own beds. We were on vacation for three weeks, and discovered bed bugs in our bed within minutes of being back—bugs that had been there since before Pablo passed away. We had no idea. We thought Jo Ann had broken out in stress-induced hives. We were wrong. The marks on her arms were bed bug bites. Normally, when I'm faced with facts this shocking—eight weeks, bed bugs—I say something along the lines of, 'What the f***'s up with that?'

We are so ready to be back to normal.

Normal is achievable only if all the residents of our home are invited to be there. Bugs and raccoons and other living things are not invited. To make that widely known, a gross-looking green tent was thrown over our house last Saturday. Then the fumigation dudes pumped an insane amount of gas into the tent. Three times what they use for termites. This was our attempt to get back to normal. To let the bugs know they were uninvited.

That's not all we've done. We are getting a new bed. Not an easy decision. But one that had to be made. After eight weeks of messing around in the extermination process, we can't take any chances that even one bed bug egg is left in our bed. I have wanted to hold onto our bed at all costs. I've been making the case for keeping it. Last week, I caved. Yes, that bed is where Pablo slept. That bed is where Pablo's physical life ended. Those things are true. After 12 weeks, Jo Ann, Grady and I are becoming more clear. We can feel Pablo with us, around us, within us. That takes away a lot of power from objects like our bed. Besides, a big ol' bed isn't exactly the most romantic reminder of our little boy. Photos, toys, his clothes—our memories!—are much better mementos.

Between now and 5 p.m., our house will be transformed back into a home. Another new start in what is turning out to be an extended series of new starts. We accept or we crumble. That's the way it works. So we accept. This is the next indicated step.

Will post pics tomorrow.