We were fortunate enough to have a lovely family Christmas with Mom and Dad and immediate family in Amsterdam – and that’s about all I wanted for Christmas this year. I think we are all realizing how lucky we are simply to be here and with each other after the past couple of years. Everyone is getting older, and the fleeting nature of time impresses itself upon us in various difficult ways. For this Christmas, we paused as a family and enjoyed the company and the love. That merits a look back at this whole holiday season here, much of which was spent staving off the chaos and trying to focus on the calm and peace.
Mom told me that this year marked the 50th year that she and Dad were spending Christmas together, which made for a very special evening, one for which I’m supremely grateful and thankful. We’re all getting older, and every Christmas spent together is now cherished and felt a little deeper.
After a delicious dinner cooked by Mom, we opened our Christmas gifts, the same way we’ve done for decades. When we are less and less sure of the world, and our place in it, there are some traditions that bring us all the way back to the safety and security of childhood, when everything felt right and full of wonder, even if it was just for one night out of the year. That one night was always enough to last until the next Christmas.
Whenever I get a chance to spend some time with Dad, it’s always worth it, so when I offered to take a day off and stay with him while Mom did some Christmas shopping, it was a lovely use of some earned vacation hours. Arriving in Amsterdam in the morning, I brought a book and some split-pea soup and bread for their dinner. Mom had made a batch of asado that I only needed to re-heat for lunch. She headed out and I settled in.
The day was chilly and windy, but inside the house where I grew up it was cozy and warm. Sun streamed in through the windows and would gradually shift as the day wore on. I remembered the way it moved through the house, how certain rooms came into their own glory depending on the time of day and year, and whether the sunlight was strong or hidden. On this morning it was happily strong, shining and illuminating the house in which I suddenly remembered the trajectory of a day.
Dad was more engaged on this morning, even though Mom said he’d had a restless night. We watched the morning news programs for a while, then he sat in his chair and perused a photo book I’d made for them on our trips to Ogunquit.
He picked up the newspaper when it arrived, probably more out of habit than anything else, but habitual actions aren’t bad. I reminded him to do his exercises, and he gamely got up and walked around the downstairs a couple of times. I brought him some apple juice, and then had him do another walkabout. He settled on the pull-out couch and took a quick nap, while I stepped outside to do a walk around the yard. Even in the winter, there was beauty here, as evidenced by these evergreens and their dangling pinecones – the promise of another spring to come.
Coming back inside to the warmth, I saw that Dad was still asleep, so I started to fix lunch, then sat down in the living room to read. It was pleasant and peaceful there, quiet and still and cozy with the throw blanket Mom had left on the couch. I recalled those days of childhood when I was home sick and Mom and Dad had to go out working – the house was in the same state of stillness and peace as the sun moved in and out of the rooms as the day went along.
On this day, it felt like a refuge again, a bit of relief from the insanity of the world and the work place, as much as break for me as it was for Mom, who was itching to get out in the opposite way. Dad came into the kitchen for lunch and we ate as the sun poured in from the front window. He took another quick nap after lunch, then was up until Mom returned.
It was a day marked by happy memories of the past, and gratitude for the present.
After another year of this pandemic and all the stupidity and foolishness that continues to put us in danger, there’s nothing else to be thankful for but family and friends who are still with us. For me, that’s my parents and Andy, and I’m extremely glad that they are still here in spite of setbacks and health scares and everything else that is happening in the world. Last year we weren’t sure about anything – this year feels even less certain – but we go on, and I’ll keep doing my best to protect the ones I love most, even if it means some hard truths and difficult decisions.
That’s not what this day is for, however, and this morning I have nothing but gratitude for the people who have given me such a wonderful life. That’s why I’m so ferociously protective about them, and why they take priority over everything else. We will never get back to those enormous extended-family gatherings at the Ko house on Locust Avenue – they are the stuff of childhood memories now, and they formed the bedrock upon which I was able to set out into the world, and to do my best to make something as decent and honorable as I could. It’s nothing too spectacular… and yet it is, in the way that we are all pretty spectacular when you think about what it truly takes to be a good person in the world today. I couldn’t ever make it this far alone, and Andy and Mom and Dad are the ones who kept me on track with their love and support, even and especially when it wasn’t always earned.
In the last couple of years, I’ve been doing my best to give back a little of that in the only ways I know how, and on this Thanksgiving the profound gratitude I feel for the past year is both humbling and moving.
May you have some of the same love and warmth in your day as well. Happy Thanksgiving.
Like many retired and current police officers, Andy likes to keep his online presence rather quiet and discreet, and for the most part this space has tried to honor that, but at least once a year I insist on putting him up here and celebrating all that he has done for me, and for the world. Today is his birthday, so he deserves all the happy well-wishes and congratulations for surviving another rip around the sun on this wacky planet.
In ways too numerous to mention, Andy has provided the foundation and stability that our home has needed. For many years I relied on him for that core of safety and security – it was as much a part of his make-up as his care and compassion for others when he was an officer. While I’m the last person on earth who thought he’d end up married to a retired cop (having had more than my fair share of traffic tickets alone) it turned out to be the best thing for me. In exchange, I hope I’ve introduced him to things he never would have experienced in his world.
As a beloved member of our family, he has also been indispensable when times are tough and life gets difficult. My parents are getting older, and every day comes with greater challenges and obstacles. Having gone through losing his own parents, Andy’s experience and guidance through these moments has proved a comfort in more ways than I have probably acknowledged, so I’m taking today to remind him of that, and of the gratitude and gratefulness we all feel toward him.
As we get older, I’ve noticed our love runs in a deeper way, its grooves softened and honed by the accumulation of years and shared moments together. Where some fear and dislike comfort and safety, we pull ourselves closer to it with each advancing year, and if the last two years have proved anything, it’s how dark and depressing this word can sometimes get. Andy and I have survived partly because of the life we have created for ourselves. There have been times when it’s just been the two of us against what felt like the whole world, and on this day I want him to know how much that has meant to me.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks for a lot of people I know, and for my family as well. Dad’s Alzheimer’s has progressed, and we watch with a helpless, sinking feeling, coupled with a gratitude that he is still doing relatively well for someone at 91 years of age. Mom is working on the best next-steps for his continued care and health and comfort, and I’m trying to be as helpful as I can to her. Mostly, I’ve been following her lead, and we’re both navigating these new waters using her nursing experience, and what limited advice I can offer, which isn’t much. We’re doing our best, and I’m grateful for her experience and background, as well as my brother’s helpful presence in Amsterdam. There are also a very few silver linings in Alzheimer’s, such as when bad news of lost loved ones has to be conveyed.
My Uncle – one of my Dad’s brothers in the Philippines whom I had met in 1997 – recently died of COVID. I haven’t mentioned it to many people, mostly because I’m too exhausted to explain or even accept condolences. Not in this age of COVID. He was one of my favorite Uncles – the most quiet and gentle and kind one I met on my trip to the Philippines – but apparently he was victim to the misinformation plaguing the entire world. When his wife scheduled vaccination appointments for the two of them several months ago, he refused to go. Now he is dead.
I don’t know exactly how the news registered with Dad. He apparently seemed to understand at one point, but then he had forgotten it within a few minutes. The rare bonus of grace in certain cases of dementia. Along with erasing and blunting memory and reality, it also wipes away some of the pain.
As for my Uncle, and the family he leaves behind by not taking a simple vaccine, I feel a sense of loss, a sense of anger, and a sense of giving up. I’m just exhausted by where we are. I’m tired of the anti-vaxxers and the march of deadly misinformation that’s killing so many around the world. I’m tired of the awfulness of such ignorance, the willful refusal to be careful and compassionate, the careless cruelty and selfishness that has all fed into this mess. I’m tired of the anti-maskers, who can’t be bothered to think of anything but a supposed attack on a freedom that they are ultimately destroying by binding us all to this for far longer than was necessary. I’m tired of searching for someone to blame, for something to attack and soak up all the hatred we are storing in our hearts.
And so I am retreating a bit from the world. Returning to my daily meditation. Curling into books of comfort. Sitting quietly with Andy while he watches television. Reaching out to old friends. Staying away from social media. Beginning the preparatory stillness of fall that leads into the hibernation of winter…
Having recently finished up this year’s Fall Treasure Hunt weekend, I was compelled to take a rare look back at our interactions with the Ilagan twins, so I found these photos of Uncle Andy with Noah and Emi in years gone by. It’s amazing how quickly they are growing up, and how much we are evolving in the process. Just a few short years ago we could throw them easily around in the pool, and they could barely reach the counter-top of the kitchen.
Now they almost look like young adults in comportment and carriage, and I want to go back just a couple of years, not only for their youth but for our younger years. I only indulge in such maudlin sentiments for a brief moment, and then I’ll be back in the mindfulness that focuses most on the present, and all the wonder and joy that can be found in the here and now. The twins represent that passage of time in ways that are bittersweet and contemplative, providing a pause in the relentless tick of the clock.
The beauty of Vermont enveloping us, we made our way into Manchester, where we parked the car and began our walking adventure. All I knew was that the Riverwalk was somewhere nearby, and Suzie said it looked like it was fun for kids. I did a quick internet search and found it easily enough, and when we saw its location, we decided to save it until after lunch.
Lunch would be a sad set of pre-made sandwiches from a place ill-equipped to handle a Saturday rush (the lone worker there had twelve custom sandwich orders ahead of us, hence the selection of pre-made ones). We took them to a bench beside the waterfall near the beginning (or end) of the Riverwalk, where the setting was enough to enjoy the limited food and quell the complaints of picky kids.
The sun was still attempting to break through the clouds, which made for an interesting and pretty sky. By the time we descended to the Riverwalk (which was really not much more than a path by a stream) slivers of sunlight scattered through the tree-tops, illuminating the little patch of woodland below the stores and cafes of Manchester.
We wound our way along the path, crossing the stream on a questionable log at one point (I can talk about it now because we managed to survive without incident or fall), then we made our way back up into the village for a dessert of Starbucks (after I listened to Noah tell us where Ben & Jerrys was – and then it wasn’t). We made do with the hot chocolate and brownies there before getting back on the road to return home for the official treasure hunt.
A long poem of instructions included a stop by our front door to obtain these scarves as talismans of protections against whatever coming Halloween spirits may wish us ill, and the twins gamely wound their excessive length around them for the journey. I’d crocheted them earlier this fall to brush off my rusty crochet needle, and Emi had selected the color schemes for her and Noah on their last visit here.
(Suzie had instructed me to make them extra long, offering further evidence that I shouldn’t really listen to Suzie, or anyone dressed like this for that matter.) Luckily, folding them into fours turned them into a manageable, if slightly bulky, size. And the twins were just happy to be on another treasure hunt, which wound through the front yard, around the side, and into the backyard. They found all the required elements to result in a spell that found their Halloween goodie baskets magically appearing where we had started off, and Andy was suddenly nowhere to be found, so it couldn’t have been him…
After taking them to a quick dinner at Smashburger, we created a card for Andy and presented him with a gift of maple syrup (the same gift we’d bring their Dad and Lola). While I may have instigated this, they crafted the card on their own that read “Fall vibes coming your way… so we went all the way to Vermont to find you some syrup today!”
More heartwarming and sweet was what happened after they gave him their present. We were heading back upstairs for a meditation session when Noah paused and went back to Andy and gave him a hug without any prompting. He then rushed back to Emi and told her to do the same – so Uncle Andy got two hugs from two little relatives who love him very much.
Back in the attic, we lit three candles and I taught the twins how to do a candle meditation. I was expecting more giggles and laughs and tomfoolery, but once I set the timer for five minutes, they quieted instantly, closed their eyes, and went into their deep breathing for the full five minutes. I followed that lead and kept the breath steady and deep, and when it was over and the phone gently chimed its time up, Emi asked if we could do another two minutes, to which Noah exclaimed that was exactly what he was thinking. So we went two more minutes in silence and peace. It was the highlight of my weekend with them. I took a quick photo in the dim light, which is at the end of this post and the start of the first one – it looks like some enchanted painting rather than a phone photo, proof that some things in the world are not to be fully understood, that such enchantments can only be felt and experienced rather than explained.
[This is apparently a drawing of me in my floral shirt.]
We watched a couple more movies, called it a very late night, and everyone went to sleep almost instantly. The next morning we moved slowly into the rainy day before heading over to dinner at Lola and Lolo’s. Another Fall Treasure Hunt weekend was in the books, and at eleven years old, the twins may not have many more in them, so I’m treasuring this one and savoring the joy and love it contained.
One of the only things that didn’t get canceled in 2020 was our annual Fall Treasure Hunt with the twins. This year may have surpassed last year’s doozy, even without the smoke machine and painted pumpkins, as we had a whole weekend of fall adventures that led us all the way to Manchester, Vermont.
It began after school on Friday, when I picked Noah and Emi up from Amsterdam and we arrived to pretzel bites and pizza, which we ate on the patio, taking advantage of the last lingering warmth and sunlight of early October. In a year in which just about every single weekend has been marred by rain and foul weather, this was a gift. The twins settled their things into their attic room and we went over the rough itinerary for the weekend (they seemed to enjoy an agenda even more than I enjoy creating one!)
After that, we moved into the cellar, where Noah practiced his pool table skills while Emi illustrated her sewing and drawing prowess, creating some of the artwork you see here. I’d planned on reading them a few of the milder stories from the poorly-written childhood classic ‘Scary Stories to Tell Children’ which was more about the frightening illustrations than the stories themselves.
We decided to do that early in the evening so they wouldn’t have to go to bed if there was a fright conjured, and that was wise planning. I lit candles and read to them from the chaise lounge in the corner of the attic while they huddled in the safe zone of the bed. They only wanted two – well, Emi was game for more but this was a democracy, and I wanted this to be a fun weekend, not something too traumatic this early on.
From there we went back downstairs and did a bracket to vote on which movie to watch that night. (The only way to determine such things is through a voting process because with these twins there is no such thing as compromise or agreement.) I could be the deciding vote if it was tied, and thus it was that ‘Sleepy Hollow’ was selected from a field of eight other contenders. We’d employ this process for all the movies we watched.
Once the movie was done, we ascended to the attic bedroom once more, where I sat them down to do our first meditation session. As expected, it was filled with laughter and an utter inability to focus and actually meditate, but that’s the point of the first lesson. We needed that outlet for the silliness and the novelty of the practice. Setting the timer for exactly five minutes, we did at least two in deep breath and silence, and that was about the best we could have gotten. I tucked them into bed, even though it was still rather early. I was exhausted and went right to bed.
The next morning we got up and I made them a couple of breakfast sandwiches before hitting the road to Manchester, Vermont and our planned riverwalk experience. Suzie had found it on the previous week’s outing, and it looked like the perfect destination for two young adventurers.
On our way, we paused at the little stream behind the former Candle Mill so I could show them where their Dad and I used to dip candles when we were kids. We got as close as we could and posed for photos before the stream. Another generation touched by the beauty of Vermont in this little section of a stream, and a fall memory of mine is now infused into a fall memory of theirs. Legacies aren’t always formed from efforts of majesty or might.
The air was chilled, but the sun was fighting its way through the high clouds, and as long as there was no rain, this would be a happy day. The twins seemed energized by the change in scenery, and I too felt invigorated by the beautiful environs surrounding us.
We got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Manchester… [To be continued.]
A promise made in this post about the latest Suzie Ko Fashion Show finds fulfillment in this fun entry, which shows Suzie in her unnatural habitat, posing and preening as if to the manor born. Or is it to the manner born? Either way, this girl never met a mirror she didn’t immediately hog for herself. The pictures speak for themselves, but I’ll give you a little backstory too.
On this particular day, Suzie was wearing a pair of pants that range in description from canary and mustard to banana and urine. I believe her explanation for choosing them was due to their ugliness and cheap cost. (She has a very different idea of fashion than the rest of us humans, despite the wondrous John Fluevog vintage shoes she dug out for this excursion.)
When we drove by a Pendleton outlet, she shrieked with an excitement that was totally lacking when I pulled into the Armani outlet just a few minutes prior. Upon entering, I could see that this was some sort of high-end L.L.Bean/Orvis/Eddie Bauer bullshit, where plaid and wool mated like rabbits and you couldn’t easily tell the difference between a blanket and a coat. That said, I did find a few beautiful pieces that somehow squeaked upward of the $500 mark which seems obscene for a Vermont outlet, but I guess Pendleton is fancy that way. And then Suzie came upon This Coat.
It was the precise shade of her pants, and in a heavy but supple wool. She simply had to try it on, and pose and pose and pose in the mirror. Since she’d been so good as to accompany me to Vermont for a fall excursion, I was feeling generous and let her have this excessive moment, content to document it for the disbelieving folks who would sooner buy me prancing around in an Armani sequin pant suit.
If it had been a little closer to her size (she was basically doing the backstroke in this men’s large) I might have insisted on her getting it, but alas, it was not to be. We’ll come back next year and see if we can find something more fitting.
And may this also dispel the myth that I’m the one who can’t pass a mirror without admiring myself. The truth is finally out.
One of my favorite fall memories from childhood is visiting my grandmother in Hoosick Falls. It was about an hour away – which felt like forever when you’re a kid – and it always felt like a long, winding journey with twists and turns, going beside streams and over rivers, crossing bridges and slinking through valleys – the perfect fall escapade for a kid. I would occasionally make some cinnamon apple muffins and pack them into a basket, filling the car with their cozy aroma, and more often than not eating one along the way.
We’d arrive on a Friday and sleep on Gram’s green velvet sofas, and the next morning Mom would drive us all into Vermont, where we would make a stop at the Candle Mill, and dip candles in various colors. Behind the wooden building was a little waterfall and stream with a little area where you could watch the water rushing by. We would always pause for a long time there, and it remains one of my happiest memories.
When Suzie and I were looking for a day trip, I remembered those fall weekends in Vermont. Suzie has ties to Vermont too, and though I knew the Candle Mill had long since closed I was hopeful we could at least stop by the place and see the stream, then head into Manchester for lunch and some shopping.
We arrived in the morning, which was good because the day would soon turn to rain (as it’s been doing since May) and the old Candle Mill looked like a private residence. Two more buildings had been built down beside it (at least they looked new to me) but there was a little parking lot down the road that allowed us to amble up the stream a bit and glimpse the waterfall in the distance. It was exactly as I remembered it, and nothing like I remembered it, if that makes any sense. It had been almost four decades since I was last in this space, and Vermont holds more ghosts for me and Suzie now than it once did. Still, it felt peaceful and calm, and the quiet morning was a welcome get-away form the stresses of work and reality.
From there we stopped for a coffee and some breakfast, the former of which Suzie mostly gave to her pants, while the latter was some banana bread I’d made the night before – another echo of childhood traditions. Yes, these were the same pants Suzie wore on our summer trip to Boston, as evidenced in this post. But they worked, and she found a Pendleton coat that matched them precisely. More on that in a separate post, as a Suzie Fashion Show is a rare occurrence that must be honored accordingly.
We made a few shopping stops, notably at the Marimekko outlet where Suzie found part of. possible wedding outfit and I found an apron. More on that later too. The rain had arrived – heavy and annoying and seemingly only wherever we went. We chose The Copper Grouse at the Taconic Hotel for our lunch, had a cozy lunch by the window while a fireplace crackled across the room, and made a new fall memory.
I’ve always wanted to serve finger sandwiches for a fancy lunch at home, so when Mom and Dad and Elaine were stopping by for a lunch, I set about to serving a collection of finger sandwiches (also known affectionately as English tea sandwiches if they’d been done in fancier form). Thinking it would be easier than firing up the grill on a day when it may have been hot, I didn’t anticipate the work involved, particularly when over-reaching with a planned selection of five different varieties. It isn’t that it was difficult, just intricate and precious and time-consuming – all the things I purposely avoid when deciding what to cook for a gathering. But these are the things we do for family.
The first was a ham and cornichon and mustard-tinged aioli sandwich, followed by a smoked salmon and chive cream cheese on pumpernickel, then marinated cucumber and garlic-herb cream cheese, a simple egg salad with scallions, and for the fifth some store-bought Waldorf chicken salad because I was done by then.
The company was worth all the work, and we spent the afternoon outside on the patio, taking in one of the final sunny days of summer, surrounded by trailing vines of sweet potato and pots of ripened figs on the fig trees. It was balmy yet breezy, and the hint of coolness on the air was welcome with the sun.
As for doing these sandwiches again, I would do so, but limit it to one or two varieties, then set up an assembly line formation that would be much easier than switching it up with some ridiculously ambitious selection. Lesson learned the delicious way, and with the very best company.
There’s the family we are born with, and the family we choose. In rare and exceedingly happy circumstances, the two converge and you find yourself related to some pretty fabulous people. Such was the case when Andy’s cousin (or second cousin, or first cousin once-removed, or second cousin nunce-removed – I just can’t figure it out) came into the world.
Tyler likes to joke that I don’t remember the first time I met him. Or the first few times. He’s not entirely inaccurate. In truth, I don’t remember specifically meeting him those initial times, and all those many years ago. He was about twelve or thirteen the first time he attended a family party we were having, and anyone under the age of twenty simply doesn’t register with me. I was also drinking appletinis at the time, so clearly I was not of sound mind. I’m better about the wee ones now, but back then I likely said a quick and curt hello then moved on to someone who could share a ridiculous cocktail.
Luckily, Tyler was a forgiving and sensible child, and grew into a similarly-sensible young man, so by the time he was old enough to share those cocktails he completely understood my aversion to kids and could entirely relate. When he and his boyfriend Kevin visited us two summers ago, we had a wonderful time, so when he said he wanted to visit Boston at some point I jumped at the chance to show him a couple of favored places. Any excuse to head to Boston makes me happy. While we cycled through a number of questionable old CD mixes to fill the space with music, the one that spun round the most may have been Shirley Horn, and so I offer ‘Here’s to Life’ – the title track to my favorite album of hers, and a fall musical moment if ever there was one – as the soundtrack to a lovely weekend that also nicely sets up for fall.
No complaints and no regrets
I still believe in chasing dreams and placing bets
But I had learn that all you give is all you get
So give it all you got
Two of his friends joined him from the airport and we sat around the condo on Friday night nibbling at the now-requisite charcuterie board, shooting the shit and discussing quantum physics, LSD, cancel culture, and palliative care. I loved every minute of it. It was a lively beginning to the weekend – and before I knew it the clock was striking 2 AM.
I had my share, I drank my fill
And even though I’m satisfied, I’m hungry still
To see what’s down another road beyond the hill, And do it all again
Tyler was game for a walk along the Esplanade, and after picking up some pastries at Flour, we made our way along the Charles River, pausing for our sweet treats then winding our way through Beacon Hill and up to the Boston Public Garden.
Funny how the time just flies, how love can go from warm hellos
We exited the Garden and walked down Newbury Street, making our way into and through Copley Square, then through the Southwest Corridor Park and its little gardens of neighbor-tended beauty – an oasis of sorts in the middle of the city, and always a welcome and hidden gem that most tourists thankfully don’t bother to visit. A Korean lilac was confusingly in bloom as if it were May again – an echo from earlier trips here, and a welcome spot of perfume as the day had turned warm. It was time for my afternoon siesta, as I explained to Tyler, imploring him to hang out with his friends while my old ass took a brief nap.
We met back up in time for a dinner at the Buttery, and a walk through the South End on a remarkably pleasant evening – despite the odd appearance of lightning all around the city. After dinner, we explored some more, landing at the relatively new (to me, at least) Revolution Hotel and its restaurant Cósmica – where we had a drink and a look-see, which will definitely merit a return visit, if only for the bartender who got a kick out of our pap smear conversation.
For there’s no yes in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings or takes away
As long as I’m still in the game
I want to play – for laughs, for life, for love
When we began our walk home, it was raining – the mark of a proper summer weekend in Boston this year – and so we completed the soaked gauntlet, arriving back at the condo in what fittingly felt like a fall night at last. It was warm upstairs, and we settled in for another late-night of talking before reluctantly going to bed and ending a satisfying day.
So here’s to life
And every joy it brings
Here’s to life
For dreamers and their dreams
May all your storms be weathered
And all that’s good get better
Tyler was great company, and there’s no happier realization than finding family with whom you actually enjoy spending time and sharing adventures. We spoke of future plans, and the possibility of meeting up in Baltimore or Savannah, or Phoenix or Boston again, and having him and Kevin back up to Albany for leaf-peeping season. All happy ideas, all ideas of hope, all of the very best that life can sometimes be when the stars agree to align.
Every birthday after 80 or so feels like a big deal, so when Dad turned 91 on September 11 we celebrated with a dinner of Filipino food and looking through a photo album of Mom and Dad’s trip to the Philippines. We served pancit, adobo, and embutido as the main entree, with some rice and veggies for the side. Mom made Dad’s favorite lemon pie, and we loaded him up with some minor gifts and a major load of scratch offs. All in all, it was not a bad day to turn 91, and now I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.
