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Tuesday, October 22, 2019

Lessons from Grandma's Autumn Stories

Yes, Fall is here. In SoCal we're kind of on a seasonal roller coaster. The weather is not totally prepared to put on a coat of many colors just yet. Summer days keep springing up on us. Nonetheless, some leaves have un-sprouted their greens for golden feathers. Dad enjoys the cooler evenings and sits in the front garden among withering branches and pretty sunsets. He likes to wave to the neighbors and graciously they wave back. 

My friend and fellow writer (we are patiently waiting for her first book) has much to say about Autumn and wisely finds those nuggets of wisdom in our everyday lives. Here's one such story. 

From Guest Blogger, Marianne Croonquist

This morning as I left home, there were a few crunchy leaves greeting me as I groggily walked from my apartment to my car. I like Fall.

Well this morning’s experience launches yet another Grandma story.  

I was on pick-up duty last Monday, after Trevor’s first official band class. While loading 9-year-old Trevor, his rented trumpet and new music stand into the car, he wonders aloud, “Why is there Fall  Grandma?” 

“You mean the season called Autumn or Fall, Trevor?”

“Uh huh.” He nodded.  

Grateful he wasn’t asking for a theological treatise on mankind’s fall from grace. I grinned in the rear-view mirror as I buckled myself in. “OK, let me think a minute.” 

Well, I love science! I recall the joy I had when I really understood how this whole seasonal thing worked. My 6th grade Science teacher, Miss Galloway, had this intricate moving model of the solar system, and she used a flashlight as sunlight to show us the ways seasons occurred. 

So, without much hesitation I excitedly launched into a way-too-scientific explanation of the earth’s rotation on an axis, the angle of the sun, and different hemispheres. In my forward view from the driver’s seat I could not see, only feel, the glaze-over happening in the back seat. Once I again, I learned, too much information—pay attention to your listener. Life lesson #92.

“Let me try a different way to explain it, Trevor. Remember when we cleaned out your drawers?” 

“What does that have to do with the leaves falling?”

“Give me a minute to get there.  We figured out the pants that were too short, and the t-shirts that showed your tummy if you raised your hands.”

“You always tickle me when my tummy shows.”  

We both smiled knowingly.

“And then, once you became a 4th grader, I sorted through all your school papers from 3rd grade, keeping only the most memorable essays and artwork.”
“You said you have a special box for my best things.” 

“Yep, sure do.  One for Eevee too.”

“We took out of the house many clothes and old papers we didn’t need anymore.  That’s what happens to trees in the Fall.  They get rid of parts of themselves that were once useful but not anymore.”

“Yeah, I don’t need my multiplication chart anymore.”

“Just like that, the trees don’t need the leaves to carry the energy from the sun anymore.”

“So, the new leaves can’t come unless the old ones drop off, right?”

“Yes, but remember, there is resting time for trees in Winter, before the new leaves come in Spring.” 

We stopped at the daycare center and picked up five-year-old Eevee who jumped into the ongoing conversation.

“So crunchy leaves are dead, Grandma?” She matter of factly asked and answered simultaneously.

“Yes, they are dead.  In order for things to grow bigger and stronger, there has to be some ending to the growth that’s happened.”

“Do you think it hurts the tree when the leaves fall off, Grandma?”

“Probably not, Eevee.  It probably notices the loss and empty space, but it doesn’t hurt.”

After a quiet moment, she pronounces, “God must have made trees with hope inside.  I think God is smart to think of Fall, Grandma.” 

“Me too.”

“Me three,” quipped Trevor.

May we willingly drop the no longer needed leaves in our lives. May we notice loss and empty space without much pain. May we realize because of Jesus we have hope inside.  

An emerging writer, Marianne Croonquist, MS MFT spends her days as a Marriage and Family Therapist in a private practice in San Dimas, CA. She teaches classes at her church and edits other writers' projects.  Invited to be a healthy Mom to a single mother, Arlene, 6 years ago, she cherishes time now as family to Arlene, Trevor, and Eevee. 

Please Stop by The Caregiver's Workshop

From the Caregiver's Workshop

Take a look at our Autumn/Fall Mugs collection.

Thursday, July 11, 2019

Finding Time for Oneself and What to do with It

To the new mom, the seasoned mom, to the single mom, the soccer/baseball etc. mom, to the busy homemaker, and, of course, the Caregiver ... Take care of yourself. This is a must. Pencil it into your busy schedule right now. I know, so much easier said than done. It's complicated, right? It doesn't have to be. Some of us just need to chill with a book, others need to go skydiving. I come under the chill-with-a-book 

Nevertheless, we need rest, we need fun, or looking after others will become a burden. God sees, He's aware, and He allows us to be selfish, for lack of a better word, with our time once in a while ... Refresh, Renew, Redeem, Revive

Forevermore: Poetry, Prayers, and Scriptures for the Caregiver

Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding.
He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.
Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. ~Isaiah 40:28-31

A little side-note kind of story happened when I was preparing lunch one day. I was feeling rather chipper (my new word for happy) and lost track of time. Dad must have been hungrier than I thought and all of a sudden I hear this huffing and puffing from around the corner.

Panic struck as I watched Dad pumping his arms and walking like a young man and woo hooting as he went along. I was sure he was going to fall but he was fine. Maybe it was the orange essential oil steaming from the diffuser, or the coffee he drank. Or maybe it was God sending a care package of strong bones and a healthy mind ... even for only a couple of days.

Dad thanked the Lord many times that day and cried like a baby, reminding himself that God, Emmanuel, is still with him.

For me I heard the praises: Good job; you're a great caregiver, well done, keep it up, you're doing something right. A caregiver can never get enough of that. But I don't know. It was God showing up, and He shows up all the time. Count your blessings, my friend.

We want to take care of them well; we'll have to take care of ourselves. Click here for a few Life Hacks or as we call it: How To Stay Emotionally Healthy.

In my spare time I love writing. It's not easy when creativity is constantly interrupted by a wheelchair ride to the bathroom, cooking 3 meals a day and finding healthy snacks, doctors' appointments, and you're probably familiar with the list. But I schedule those minutes when I can read and write ... and do social media.

I did manage to complete my book, Forevermore: Poetry, Prayers, and Scriptures for the Caregiver. It's not the usual stuff I write (Christian science fiction, Fantasy, and Horror, yeah Horror) but God has given me another writing task. And I love it. And He inspired me to write poetry, because inspiration comes hard these day ... and I'm not a poet.

What has God given you in those quiet moments? Maybe it's not what you expected, but with God, it's always better, amazing, and purposeful.

Things I Try to Make Time For
1. Swimming with my friend Julie (She keeps me sane and laughing)
2. Grab a cup of coffee and a cake pop
3. Read a book
4. Church (I guess that should be number 1)
5. Visit and walk through model homes and dream (Thy will be done, Lord)
6.My garden (My inheritance. I need a whole lot of help with this, the fruit abounds)
7. Look at the stars
8. Visit family
9. Celebrate Holidays
10. Go to the beach (haven't made it yet this summer but will get there)
11. Write a book ... Did I mention I wrote a book?

Send me your list, I'd love to see it.

A Caregiver's Prayer
When I can't find a moment to breathe, Lord, will You be the breath in my lungs? Lead me to rest, to waters so still. And thank you for breezes on hot summer days when jasmine releases its fragrance in praise.

Beloved Caregiver
In Morning Sunlight

Did you hear my voice this morning?
I called out your name

When you watered the garden
I did the same

You will grow like a mustard seed
With branches so strong

As I planted you close
To the waters falls

As you rest and you marvel
At what we have done
All your worries and burdens
Fade into the sun

Thursday, June 20, 2019

Remembering Dad's Childhood: Part 1 WW2 POW

Even to your old age and gray hairs
    I am he, I am he who will sustain you.

I have made you and I will carry you;
    I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
~Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)~

What does an old man see when he looks into the mirror? What does he remember? Does he see what he once was? Do we? Do we honor what he once was? Are we grateful for what our elders did for us? 

My dad spent a good part of his childhood as a POW in WW2. Then, even as a young adult, his homeland, Indonesia, remained at war—civil war.

From the book Forevermore
When this care-giving life gets a little frustrating, I imagine how hard it must be for Dad. He's told me the war stories, the escape-war drama, and the island romance tale. He's built homes with his bare hands carved out of the jungle in New Guinea. Okay, I might be over-dramatizing that. But he did built his own house, and the house for his parents, in the jungle with his pregnant wife (my mom). 

It's become obvious to me that Dad has a story to tell. I'm trying to dig deep into his mind and scoop out all those good memories. Because he was young once; because he was a real person with awesome experiences; because he can't leave this world until he knows his family, his grandchildren, love God. 

The following is an article I wrote many moons ago for our local newspaper, The Mid Valley News. The article tells a small portion of Dad's WW2 experience. I titled "Paradise Interrupted."  

Paradise Interrupted

There’s a little church in El Monte, California, tucked safely away at the corner of Peck and Hemlock. The pastor, Reverend Willy de Quilettes, is a humble man by nature, the quiet sort, unless he’s preaching. The small, family-oriented congregation simply calls him Oom Willy. Uncle Willy, that is. But I call him Papa.

His passion for God came from hearing the song “Safe in the Arms of Jesus” at his sister’s funeral. He found peace while men with guns walked all around him. He found joy and never lost it. Many times I’ve wondered what made him tick. Why does he enjoy such a simple life? One morning, I got the chance to reach into my father’s heart as we shared a few giggles, some painful tears, and stories from his war-filled childhood.

Born in Makassar, Indonesia, Papa and his family moved to Jokjakarta on the island of Java when he was ten years old. His father, Leo, was a Sergeant Major in the Royal Dutch-Indonesian Army or KNIL in Dutch. At the time, Papa had three younger brothers and a sister. One brother died in his sleep at age two, and his sister died during the war from food contamination.

They were a wealthy family. Pap's opa (grandfather) owned 150 acres of land, where they hunted wild pigs, fruit bats, and pigeons. The wide variety of mango trees provided hours of climbing adventures for the boys.

“It was a tropical paradise,” Papa said with a smile. “We used to spend warm summer afternoons swimming and fishing for catfish.”

Papa especially loved the crystal-clear-fresh-water lakes and rivers that flowed endlessly throughout their island. They would build rafts and float to the middle of the lake.

But paradise was interrupted when sirens blared one afternoon in 1942, and in the distance came the sounds of Japanese fighter planes.

The Japanese invaded Jokjakarta when Papa was twelve. For the next two months, the boys and their mother, Juliana, lived in a bomb shelter in their backyard. As bombs fell dangerously close, it became necessary to use rubber mouthpieces for protection. The explosions threw everyone violently against walls and to the ground.

Surprisingly, the many island people Papa knew as friends were actually Japanese spies. They had disguised themselves as store owners and local merchants all the while drawing maps of the island and stocking weapons in their stores.

At first, Leo, Papa's father had permission to walk about freely. A special armband ensured the Japanese soldiers he was a friend. However, when darkness fell over the island Leo bombed bridges to cut off access for Japanese trucks. He fought the war mostly at night. Sadly,
 Papa, remembers vividly the day his father was taken prisoner. They herded him onto a train at gunpoint with hundreds of other men. Leo disappeared for two years.

At age twelve, the Japanese army captured my papa. They placed him with the women POW's and put him to  work—hard labor.

For next few years he lowered his bucket into a well twenty feet deep as thousands of prisoners stood in line for their daily ration. His work started at sunrise and ended with nightfall. He drew his strength and hope from God.

The first American rescue mission was unsuccessful, but in 1945 US General Douglas MacArthur and his troops freed the Indonesian people. Papa and his family were reunited with Leo, who had been rescued by the British and Indian armies. But as World War II came to an end, Indonesia was headed for civil war.

It was then that Leo decided to send Papa and his younger brother, Fritz to an island named Doom, mostly inhabited by members of their family, to start a new life.

“It’s an extremely small island,” Papa remembers. “I spent two years on Doom. It was a fun place.” 

Papa eventually moved across the bay to New Guinea, where he met and married a beautiful Indonesian girl, Helaene.

But in 1961, they again had to flee the country as rumors of yet another war between Indonesia and Holland surfaced. With their families packed into a Dutch Dakota Airliner, they headed for the Netherlands.

In 1976, Willy came to the USA, where he found that cozy corner in El Monte. It’s far from paradise.

“But paradise on Earth is a temporary thing,” Papa says. “Life and your very soul on the other hand are something to be treasured and saved.”

The corner in El Monte boasts a little church filled with a small family of believers led by my papa, who in the midst of bombs and debris heard a simple song called “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.”

Dad moved the congregation to another corner of El Monte and didn't retire until he suffered a stroke in 2017. These stories he told me is my reminder that life is fleeting, this world is broken, we suffer, we overcome but only by the grace of God. 


We hope you come visit us at The Caregiver's Workshop ... we have prayer journals inspired by the soon-to-be released book Forevermore: Poetry, Prayers, and Scriptures for the Caregiver. 

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

The Caregiver's Workshop

Do you have a workshop? Is it a physical place or a virtual one? Where do you go to spend a little time for yourself? Where do you go to earn a living?

I'm always inspired and fascinated by Paul who apparently kept his day job while serving in full-time ministry, which in my case is care-giving right now. His side job to earn his keep was tent-making; mine would be writing, editing, blogging, and my recently added gig, social media manager.

After this, Paul left Athens and went to Corinth. And he found a Jew named Aquila, a native of Pontus, recently come from Italy with his wife Priscilla, because Claudius had commanded all the Jews to leave Rome. And he went to see them, and because he was of the same trade he stayed with them and worked, for they were tentmakers by trade. ~Acts 18:1-3.

I have a little workshop. It's the guest room on the second floor. The only place where I can do a little farmhouse decorating ... or come close to it on my budget. 

Oh, I tried!
Speaking of budget ... This blog began as an online journal of my caregiver experiencesa position which came suddenly and surprisingly upon meand perhaps help others on their journey. But it also became necessary to make some sort of a living from it. That part I had to trust the Lord for. 

I've had help along the way, like the wisdom of Jessie Synan to find my place on social media. Follow her on Twitter or on the blog list below.

In any case, trust seems to be my word for June. God has steadily added words since the beginning of the new year: Ask for Wisdom; Wait; Be Still; Be Strong and Courageous; Trust; and, these names: Elohim, Jehovah Jireh, and Adonai. 

The Caregiver's Workshop is an ongoing project, a part of what I like to call my Project-of-Love. It includes transferring this blog from the virtual world to the paper realm. Parts of this blog has already morphed into a 61-page Project-of-Love called Forevermore: Poetry, Prayers, and Scriptures for the Caregiver. We're shooting for a June 21st launch date/party. 

In the meantime we're chiseling away, creating journals to go side by side with Forevermore hopefully inspiring other caregivers, or whoever, to keep a prayer journalone of those Caregiver-Life-Hacks to stay emotionally healthy. Prayer is part of our Armor of God, trust me, learn how to speak with our Lord on this journey. He sees you, Jehovah El Roi watches over you.

Don’t pray when you feel like it. Have an appointment with the Lord and keep it. A man is powerful on his knees. ~Corrie Ten Boom

So this was my catch-up post. A little something to tell myself to keep blogging. Visit The Caregiver's Workshop and support us there if you can. God is up to something. I'm just praying that my ears are open to hear His voice—my spiritual eyes awake to see His path, and peace to wait and trust in Him. Oh, to have faith like Corrie Ten Boom!

Faith sees the invisible, believes the unbelievable, and receives the impossible. ~Corrie Ten Boom

My growing list of amazing bloggers who have helped me on my journey.

Recently completed project for blogger, client, and friend, Deanne Davis.
This was my first Blog-to-Book  project. Available on Amazon.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Hobbies, Careers, and Fruit Smoothies

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. 
Against such things there is no law. 
~Galatians 5:22-23 (NIV)

Kudos to all caregivers who still work full time, have school-age kids, and somehow find the patience and gentleness to be a caregiver. 

I say these things because I totally lost those tasty ingredients, which blend into a Galatians 5 fruit smoothie.  Seriously I must have misplaced my recipe.

Forbearance (patience)?

Blend those together and you get ... not me. Thank the Lord for calling me out on this and asking me to come to him. Into the prayer closet I went, only to find out that he already had all the ingredients together for me and didn't spill a drop.

Here's the scoop. A couple of weeks ago the doctor decided to double Dad's dosage of a certain pill with the promise that it might go well; but, with a warning that it may bomb. It bombed! The pill that would help him with his memory, calm his mind, did exactly the opposite. And essential oils, which usually pulls him out of the abyss, couldn't. 

Poor Dad went from walking with only the support of a cane to using a wheelchair. He liked it better since weakness, dizziness, and the accompanying frustration, had settled quite nicely and morphed him into a grumpy old man, and me into a don't-bother-me caregiver, which is putting it mildly. 

This happened of course in the middle of a very important project that my client, and good friend, had entrusted me with and paid for my services. I needed to get this done, though she has been extremely patient and kind. Editing and writing for me is not a hobby, it's a passion and allows for some much needed income. 

Sidebar: Visit My Books Page to see a list of my books and get up-to-date info on freebies and other fun stuff. Would love a review if you've downloaded my books or bought one. Awesome!

Sometimes, when my eyes are on me, me, me, what-about-me, I start believing that Dad is faking it. After all, this is a man who preached for over 40 years, who loved his congregation, was strong enough to climb on top of a building even into his eighties, and had a word of wisdom for everyone who crossed his path. Surely he can write his ABCs, do a puzzle or know when to go the bathroom? Surely he can take a few steps on his own without falling? Surely he still knows how to read God's Word? 

No (takes a deep sigh), he can't. 

I went into my War Room, and of course once you start complaining to the Lord (not the intention of a War Room), all the other complaints of life emerges. I'm angry, it's not fair, I'm alone, we have no money (this is not true; God provides every month but that's a whole other blog post), I'm tired, and my body aches. This is a nasty tasting fruit smoothie. Not a pretty picture but sometimes God takes you to the bitter ingredients because he's gracious, merciful, patient, and kind. 

Not for a second did I think God would answer my prayer. Not ... for ... one ... second. But ... he did. 

Once in a while, so I can vent, he gives this writer poetry (an awesome "hobby" to learn since words don't have to rhyme anymore). Hobbies, I think, are so important to have even if one isn't a caregiver. But for a caregiver it's a break from the everyday. It's a moment to enjoy. Interruptions may come but take those minutes when you can crochet, knit, draw, paint, sing, play the kazoo, read ... or write. It's therapy.


Don’t worship the tree
But the tree Maker
Don’t worship the fields
But their Creator
Don’t worship the sun
The moon or stars
The ocean waves at His command
The shores are His
As is the deep
The sky alive
His hands do keep
All that breathes
Shall worship You
The Lord
He is
Forever true

Did you think my poetry would have a lot of complaints? I did too, but these words came out instead. As did the following: 

Thank You

Thank You for sunrises
I praise You
Thank You for my children
They are made in Your image
Thank You for aches and pains
A small chance to share in Your suffering
Thank You for isolation
A way to put You first
Thank You for Your promises
On which I stand
A reminder there is none like You

Handing over my feelings, thoughts, and career didn't go without a fight. My prayers in that War Room went something like, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Well fine then. Please forgive, blah, give me patience, love, and all that other stuff ..." Seriously, there was no pleasantness of words or repentance until I decided--slowly--that maybe just calling out his name, then reciting all the words that are his character might help me lose all this anxiety, anger, and hopelessness:

God you are ...

I pray every caregiver can find God's ingredients to make that perfect fruit smoothie in order to love, have joy, find peace, patience, to be kind, good, remain faithful, gentle, and sprinkle a little self-control on top. Lord knows we need to sip of this drink now and then.

God helped us laugh again, my Dad and I, but not without a scare. Dad didn't want my help, complaining I never help him anyhow, and Mom knows nothing, he says, "I'll do it myself." He was trying to get into his wheelchair but he forgot to put the brakes on and the wheelchair did what wheelchairs do and rolled away. He fell ... hard. His screaming brought me flying down the stairs.

No matter how I moved him, he kept screaming in pain. I thought he had broken bones. It took me about 10 minutes to even get him to lie straight so I could check.

"Where does it hurt?" I asked.

"Nowhere," he replied.

"Why are you screaming?"

"Because it hurts."

He then decided to take a nap on the ground to which I replied, "It's probably more comfortable on your bed."

After another 5 minutes or so I managed to get him up. He was dead weight. Finally he sat safely in his wheelchair and for some reason we began to laugh. It was kind of that holy laughter when everything seems fine and we loved each other again. There's no other explanation, but God, and a little taste of a Galatians 5 Fruit of the Spirit smoothie.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Spring: A Season of New Life

We are...a Divine work of art, something that God is making...something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character. ~C.S Lewis

Keukenhof in Holland
Spring is coming in five days. Even the desert bursts with color. This is the season of new beginnings, of love, hope, and a chance to breathe in the fresh air.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. ~Song of Solomon 2:10 –12

Care-giving can be a long, cold, and dark winter. But it has its purposewe’ve learned to dig deep, stay warm, and persevere. Well done thou good and faithful servant. Now get up and dance. Fill those vases with fresh flowers. Walk through a tulip field, or watch the mountains fill their bellies with orange poppies.

And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. ~Galatians 6:9

Spring’s early evidence is peaking in our back yard. But it’s not quite there yet. A surprising winter snow has left a little frozen mess out here in our desert oasis (see video below), especially on the grape vines. But even there, when the vine looked pretty dead, little green shoots appear from its dry brown bark. 

There’s already a lot of pruning to be done. The apricot, peach, pomegranate, and apple trees have blossomed and spawned a lot of scary branches.


Mom loves pruning. I used to watch her and Dad climb a ladder and prune the top branches. It was something they enjoyed doing together.

“My trees look much better if we prune,” she says. “And will bear bigger and better fruit.” She was right. Dad just loved playing with his electric tree saw. Scary!

I guess that’s why God loves pruning, too. He, of course, doesn’t need Dad’s electric saw.

I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more ~John 15:1–2  (New KJV).

After her second stroke Mom’s gardening life has been pruned back considerably. Though she’s accepted it, she doesn’t like it. She was vicious with those pruning shears. She knows she’s not in her spring season any longer but her garden is and the gloves are ready to go even if it’s only 15 minutes a day now. As soon as the weather warms up there’ll be no stopping her.

She’s learned to enjoy the fruits of her labor and she loves giving it away, too. Just ask our neighbors.

Soon spring will fling winter into the past. The rain is gone, the dark makes way for sunshine giving Mom and Dad a chance to sit in their garden.

For us caregivers God may have taken us through a cold hard winter when He had to cut off the branches that did us no good—a brittle branch of anger, a stubborn one of shame, regret, and there might have been a branch with blossoms of impatience. It’s done. We’re looking brand new now, with little sprigs of green and white blooms reaching to the skies.

Look up, smell the flowers, watch the green beans sprout their stalks. Be renewed. Don’t be afraid of a little pruning. It only means we do bear fruit. Gardeners, like my mom, prune branches that bear fruit so they will produce even more.

A Caregiver’s Prayer

Dear Lord, let spring reign in my heart. Renew, revive, refresh, and prune me. Thank you for giving me new life filled with hope, strength, and your amazing beauty.

Beloved Caregiver

The bitter cold
Will shed its snow
Into the crystal streams

New life,
New joy,
The fountain pours
To seas of color
A vibrant score

Come dance among the daffodils
And run so free down grassy hills
Beneath a sky of sapphire hues
And gently taste the morning dew
When winter rids its frozen cloak
And yields to fields of glorious gold
The new is here
Gone is the old
Let spring burst forth

Forevermore …
(Copyright 2019 by Deborah L. Alten)

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