Beach Birthday

In celebration of David's birthday we went to the Rosario Islands for the day, about an hour away by boat. The boat was an interesting mix of people from the US, France, the Netherlands, Austria, and of course Colombia and other Hispanic countries. I opted to hang out on this beach while David went snorkeling. Probably a good thing since he stayed in only 20 minutes because of the waves. 

We had a great lunch of grilled red snapper, rice, salad, and patacones with a mango drink. You always wonder about the source of the water in these fruit drinks. But neither of us has gotten sick yet and we are not being particularly careful.

I got a very relaxing massage before it was time to be back on the boat. The table was on a roof with a covering to keep out the sun but let in the breeze. Reminded me of a similar experience in Kaua'i. 

The trip back was the most interesting part of our day. It was not the glassy sea above that we had experienced on the way out, but instead there were real waves that sloshed into the boat thoroughly soaking everyone. It felt good to be wet, but the salt water made  it hard to keep your eyes open. After an hour of bumping through the waves, the Cartagena skyline was a welcome sight.

We are once again clean and hungry.  The big decision is where to go for David's birthday dinner. It will be hard to top last night's dinner at a Spanish tapas restaurant, Agua de Mar.

Tomorrow we pack up and fly to Medellin, reputed to have a wonderful climate year round. 

Meanwhile I just cut up one of the little mangos that came from the huge tree in the center of our building. (The doorman had given me a bag of 5 mangos after I admired the tree.) This is the best mango I have eaten so far in Colombia!

Cartagena

I love this sign: We don't have Wi-Fi. Talk among yourselves. 

It is incredibly hot here. It's hard to believe the weather is so bad back home. After walking around the old city all morning, we were craving fruit for lunch. For about $6 we got this big bowl to share.

The colorful buildings here remind me of Valparaiso in Chile. 

We have met people from all over here. Today a couple from New Zealand and Norway, putting life on hold and driving from Mexico to Argentina. I impressed the Norwegian by telling her I was related to the queen, but then she reminded me that most people in Norway are distantly related. We learned that yesterday a cruise ship dumped 5,000 people on this town, so no wonder things were a little corded yesterday.

The good news is I have been drinking coffee in a country where it is a part of life with no ill effects. Let's hope that continues for another couple of weeks.

Tomorrow we are spending the day on the Rosario Islands, hopefully not with thousands of others from the cruise ships.

Aracataca

Yesterday we left the paradise of La Bonita to go to Cartagena with a stop in Aracataca, the birthplace of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the town of Maconda in 100 Years of Solitude. 

Getting from place to place in this part of the world is a challenge. Nestor and his friend Paco picked us up in an ancient Toyota 4x4 where the motorcycles had dropped us off just 3 days before. I could see why I had kept my eyes closed on the way out from Bonda. After 20 minutes of treacherous driving, we finally reached a paved road and headed off for Aracataca, a small town 2 hours away and one they had never visited. On the way Nestor proudly told me of his 4 children spanning 3 households. Illegitimacy is a theme of Marquez's books and is obviously still a part of the culture.

Halfway there we were stopped by the police and Nestor had to go talk to them for awhile. It turns out that he is not licensed to transport tourists this far from Santa Marta. Since David did not speak Spanish, Nestor couldn't pass us off as family. (I kept my mouth shut.) Nestor got away with paying a fine of 20,000 pesos (about $10), which I am sure the police never shared with the Colombian government. Finally we were once again on our way.

Garcia Marquez's home is now a museum reconstructed on the original site. The huge ficus tree where the colonel was tied up for all those years in the book is still there.

For a mere $20 the 4 of us had a 2-course lunch at the Macondo Cafe just down the street. 

Aracataca is reputed to have some of the most beautiful women in Colombia. Here is just a sample of one waiting to use the ATM.

Today Aracataca is just a sleepy little town, seeming to have lost the magical realism of Macondo.  

On the way out of town, I was reminded of the yellow train in the book, constructed by the United Fruit Company in the 1920's to haul out all the bananas. This 120-car freight train passed as it hauled tons of coal in the direction of Bogota.

Although the yellow train is no longer, the bananas still flourish everywhere.

We arrived in Santa Marta, said goodbye to Nestor and Paco, and headed off to Cartagena on a Berlinas bus. The only downside of the bus ride was listening to 3 yuppie young Americans discuss their drug and sexual exploits in Santa Marta for what seemed like hours.

Here in Cartagena we are staying in a lovely AirB&B apartment overlooking the Plaza Santo Domingo. We are taking advantage of the washing machine today to launder all our sweaty clothes. Here is a view from our apartment front door. 

El Paradiso en Colombia

We have been offline for a few days after traveling to an eco-lodge in the middle of nowhere. From the airport in Santa Marta we took a taxi to Bonda, 40 minutes away. There we called Antonio, who met us with 2 other guys, all on motorcycles. They strapped our luggage to one motorcycle and put each of us behind the drivers of the other 2. They had helmets but we didn't. I kept a death grip on my driver for the next 20 minutes as we traveled over some really rocky ground to get to La Bonita. Along the way, the thought occurred to me that we possibly had been kidnapped. I kept my eyes shut 95% of the time until finally we stopped in front of a sign that announced we had arrived. 

Then I realized that we had to cross the Mansanare River to get to the lodge. First our luggage went across using ropes. Then each of us followed on a swing. The terror of the motorcycle ride was quickly diminishing as I realized just what a paradise we had entered. The photo above doesn't begin to do it justice. Despite the fact that we have no Internet and the shower is only cold water, the 5-star dining and the price of $65 for our lodging and 3 meals a day make this a real bargain.  Yesterday we cooled off in the spring-fed swimming pool. One of the owners is Swiss-Colombian; the other is French. They have a year-old baby girl and 2 wonderful dogs who go everywhere with us. We speak a mixture of French, Spanish, and English. Right now we are the only guests.

Since arriving, we have learned how to ford the river at various places (including the entrance) in order to explore. My walking sticks are my salvation as we walk to places like the cacao farm and the biology center. Today we are headed to a natural pool in the river.

Right now we are paying for $5 of Internet down the road. Soon we will cross back over the river to have lunch. 

Tomorrow we will leave paradise to (hopefully) visit Aracataca (birthplace of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and setting for One Hundred Years of Solitude) and then figure out how to get to Cartagena.  

As you can tell, this trip is loosely planned with a lot of room for spontaneity. There's always time for a siesta. It is really nice to experience true leisure! 

My $5 Internet connection doesn't seem to be terribly swift downloading photos, so for now you simply have to imagine! 

This is Gala, our "protector". 

The fresh-water pool.

The "dining room" with its raked sand floor. 

Ensalada mixta.

The hammock in front of our room.

Buses and Sunday Afternoon in Northern Bogota

After pigeons, the next most ubiquitous thing is graffiti. This is just one of many such splashes of color in Candelaria, where we are staying.

We were on our way to what would be an adventure up north. Our plan was to take the bus the 100 blocks or so we needed to go. It sounded easy enough.

These windows with their ornate bars reminded me of a story I heard when I first came to Colombia in the 70's of the bands of street urchins who burgled the rich of the city because they could squeeze between the bars.

But back to the bus story. We got to what appeared to be a bus stop. However, those waiting for their buses sent us back and forth across the street to wait for a bus that just didn't materialize.

We were actually going to meet a friend of a friend, so at some point we jumped in a cab in order to meet her at noon at the Centro Comercial Santa Barbara.   

It turned out that much of our bus trouble had to do with the fact that much of downtown Bogota is closed to vehicular traffic and reserved for bicycles on Sundays until 2 PM. Here are just a few getting ready to ride. 

After a lunch of typical Colombian food, we leisurely strolled through an upscale flea market, finding stands like this one pushing coffee grown by small independent farmers. Of course we had to buy a bar of delicious 70% dark chocolate. 

While waiting for a place to have coffee, we were entertained by Andes Cosmos, a musical group from Ecuador who played Andean instruments.  

We all had an "aromatica" made with hibiscus blossoms and apples, a very typical Colombian beverage.

We thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon with our new friend Maria, who was determined to teach David Spanish in one afternoon. It is interes​ting that after living in the US for 6 years, she still prefers to speak Spanish. I was grateful for her patience as I practiced.

We finally got our bus ride as she put us on a bus heading south. It turned out not to go all the way back to Candelaria, but at least we can say we rode a bus while in Bogota.​

Botero and Montserrate

It's funny how walking down the same street a second time you notice things you didn't see before -- like this beautiful gated street and the very tall door.

At one corner we saw some interesting but disturbing artwork behind a locked fence. Going around the corner we found the entrance through someone's house and were invited inside. We learned that the artist was Jose Asuncion Silva, who did many such works depicting the violence in Colombia and who unfortunately was murdered in his house just last year.

We followed the sound of a marching band and ended up on the Plaza de Simon Bolivar, the scene of several decorated llamas and the ubiquitous pigeons, who seem to inhabit every public square in the world. 

Nearby was the Botero Museum, housing the rather bizarre artwork of a still-living Colombian artist. These collected pieces are best described as larger than life. The "hands" reminded me of an Italian piece in the dining room of our good friends. 

Lunch was chicken tamales with avocado for a whopping total of $9. Too bad I keep forgetting to take pictures before devouring my food.

After lunch we found a cab and went to the entrance of the funicular up to the top of Montserrate, where we were treated to a panoramic vista of the city on what turned out to be a remarkably clear day.

Here comes the cable car to take us back own the mountain.

And now the search for dinner in the hip area called La Macarena.

Our Colombian Adventure Begins

Why Colombia? Because I was here for work about 40 years ago and I have always wanted to come back.

How long will we be here? A little over 3 weeks. 

Are we with a group? Most definitely not. We enjoy being in charge of our itinerary and knowing we can easily change our minds. 

We arrived at midnight on Thursday. this morning we checked out the view from our hotel rooftop.  this is the quaint old district of Candelaria, filled with university students and pickpockets, as well as the 2 best museums in town.

We explored Candelaria while searching for a place that sold the tiny SIM card needed for David's phone. Things like this that seem so uncomplicated often turn out to be otherwise. We could buy the card at the second store but must return tomorrow to buy the data. We then decided to take in the Museo del Oro (Gold Museum) nearby. The museum is literally a gem! The art of making beautiful things with metal goes way back. 

Fresh fruit is in abundance. We are interested in anything that can be peeled. 

We headed back to the hotel to enjoy tea and cookies from our rooftop.

Tonight was an adventure. We celebrated Shabbat with the local Lubavitcher community. My second experience sitting only with women. It seemed curious to hear Spanish and Hebrew intermingled. Every now and then I heard a familiar melody and joined in.

But the biggest surprise was the multi-corse dinner served at the rabbi's residence (to which we were invited) afterwards. I have seldom ever experienced such a warm welcome.

What's the biggest change after 40 years? The cars are no longer antiques belching black smoke. And the begging street urchins known as gamines seem to have turned into older men who sleep on the sidewalks.dd

Hearts Galore

Let's face it -- I'm just not a cookie maker.  I had a card-making party today at my house and served heart-shaped little sandwiches.  There were beautiful little heart cookies from the local bakery that were far nicer than anything I could have made.

I pulled out all my card-making supplies and easily filled the kitchen counter.  We could have made hundreds of cards with all this stuff.

I had made a couple of sample cards to give people ideas.

The red blossoms of the amaryllis seemed totally appropriate to the coming holiday!

We spent a couple of hours cutting, pasting, drinking tea, and catching up.  It was a fun afternoon that produced a bunch of unique cards for friends and loved ones.

Anticipation

My amaryllis, which days ago seemed so ready to pop out in red blooms, seems interminably stuck as it grows taller by the day.  I feel like I am pacing the floors of the delivery room just waiting for it to give birth.  My mistake may have been in fertilizing it last week, which perhaps encouraged growth but didn't promote blooming.  In fear of those lanky stalks collapsing under their weight, I went to the basement tonight in search of a dowel, which I have now added with string to support the two competing bloom shafts.  I'm not sure what the little green thing is that seems to have sprouted out of the place where the bulbs come together.  I never remember it taking so long before once the it got a mind to bloom. This plant has forever been a lesson in patience.

Thumbsdown

That is my old hand, but more specifically that's my aching thumb joint.  Last night it really hurt after my evening music lesson.  And it was still painful when I woke up today.  I'm sure it's the same arthritis everyone gets as old age creeps up.  But I wasn't ready for it just yet.

I called my piano teacher today to see if she had any great ideas.  (She is in her 80's.)  She suggested Zostrix arthritis cream, a topical over-the-counter drug.  She recommended an orthopedic doctor who specializes in hands. She also recommended against playing scales. Yippee!

When I saw my personal trainer today, I also talked to a physical therapist who thinks she might be able to help me. When any body part is not working right, we suddenly realize how important it is.  And so with my thumb.  I can't play much music without it.  And it is on my dominant hand, which affects much of what I do in life.

I'm hopeful that time and perhaps some of the noninvasive approaches to my sore thumb will fix this problem. Just one more reminder that I am growing older.

An Ancient Sweater

Looking for something to wear on my museum outing with a friend, I rediscovered a warm wool sweater I had received from my aunt as a Christmas present when I was 25.  You know it's old because it has a zipper in the back of the neck.  But not a moth hole anywhere!  And right next to it, a long-sleeved silk underwear top for an added layer of insulation.  I was set to go out into the arctic cold.

The Van Gogh exhibit at the Philips was much more accessible than it had been the day after Christmas when we initially visited with every out of town guest in the DC Metro area.  You could actually view the  paintings without peering over someone's shoulder or stepping on the toes of the person behind you.  The theme of the show was the repetitive nature of Van Gogh's work and it played out again and again as he painted and repainted the scenes and people that caught his eye.  It was obvious he was a troubled soul when he cut off his ear.  But the self-inflicted gunshot wound that ended his life just 2 years later was a sad reminder of just how troubled he really was.

It was a perfect dose of an hour of art followed by lunch in the museum cafe.  I'm sure none of the other cafe patrons had a sweater older than mine.  Fortunately there was no parking ticket because we used the appropriate combination of quarters and Parkmobile to fend off the parking cops.

Check out Ari below as he performs his lookout duty on the back yard.  He is very brave when he is inside behind the glass window.

Hot Soup on a Cold Day

It's bitter cold here and inside is the place to be.  A good day for things like cleaning out the vegetable drawer.  In which I found 5 medium-size turnips.  Googling "TURNIP SOUP" turned up a 5-star recipe that could not be easier.

Turnip-Potato Soup

3 tablespoons olive oil
1-1/2 pounds of turnips, peeled and cut into small pieces
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 small potatoes, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup white wine
4 cups chicken broth
2 teaspoons salt (less if your broth is salted)
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Italian parsley leaves as a garnish

In a large soup pot, sauté the onions, garlic, and turnips for 5-10 minutes.  Add the potatoes, white wine, and stock and cook on low for 30 minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Emulsify with an immersion blender.  Top with chopped parsley leaves.

This will make a turnip-lover out of you if you aren't already one!

Happy Amaryllis!

I love this crazy plant.  it was a gift to me when I was recuperating after breaking my hip 5 years ago.  When it arrived it had huge red flowers on both stalks.  After they fell off, I wasn't sure I would see blooms again.  But usually about this time of year, it shoots up green bloom pods like those above that grow inches every day and quickly open up to expose more beautiful red flowers.

Last year was the exception because young Ari particularly liked chewing on the amaryllis bulbs.  But it seems to have survived a teething puppy to bloom once again.  

It seems like such an other-worldly plant that is totally unpredictable.  I will be sure to post a photo when the red blooms once again appear!

BTW -- Ari now has his own photo Blog.  Check out his adventures!

Tube Trouble

When I was a young child, we often traveled by car on summer trips north to see my grandparents.  When we drove through the mountains, I learned how to clear my ears by holding my nose and blowing out.  It was great fun to hear that pop.

Several month ago when we flew to California, upon the plane’s descent I tried the old trick to clear my ears to no avail.  It was then that I realized my eustachian tubes were blocked.  There was no pain or discomfort, just a feeling that there was some roadblock between my nose and my ears.  Perhaps it is my imagination or perhaps not that my hearing ability has diminished somewhat.

Last month I decided to consult an ENT doctor about this problem.  He sent me home with a nasal inhaler and an Rx for Benzonatate, an antitussive.  He said that if these didn’t work, the next step was a course of steroids.  If those didn’t unplug my ears, the last resort would be ear tubes like the ones my son had at age 2.  

I wasn’t too thrilled about any of these remedies.  I admit to taking the initial drugs only now and then, but not noticing one bit of change.  And I quickly determined I didn’t want anything to do with steroids or ear tubes.

Just yesterday I decided to Google “holistic cures for blocked eustachian tubes” and got some other ideas of things to try, like aromatherapy.  A friend even suggested that certain yoga poses, like shoulder stand, might help to clear my blocked tubes.

But perhaps I should first consider why my eustachian tubes are blocked.  Maybe this is just one more lingering side-effect of the radioactive iodine treatment I had years ago following the removal of my malignant thyroid.  Perhaps it is a normal symptom of aging.  It could even be caused by allergies.  

Meanwhile it might be good to consult another medical professional who is willing to look at more natural remedies to my problem.  I just need to figure out how to find such a person.  Any ideas?

Adios Blogger

When I started Blogging in 2004, my Blog was associated with my current Verizon email address.  When I moved to Gmail, you would think Google would have made it easy for me to move my Blog as well.  But no, I never seemed to figure out how to do that.

Aside from the annoyance of having to change accounts every time I posted, it was not a problem for several years.  Not in fact until I took a 9-month break and then tried to start up again.

It seems that Blogger must have deactivated my password after 90 days of inactivity.  They were willing to send me a new password to my Verizon address, which of course had been defunct for years.

I am guessing this happens to Bloggers all the time.  Many people must change email providers and at some point take a 3-month hiatus from Blogging.

The real kicker was the fact that Google doesn’t make it possible to talk to a human being about anything!  After some Google searches, it quickly became apparent that I was screwed.  Although my old Blog was still there, it was and will remain without a viable owner!

As a birthday present to me, my wonderful husband offered to set up a new Blog, figure out a way to bring over all my past posts, and make it look somewhat similar to my old Blog.  He quickly determined that we should leave Blogger behind and move to a place where one can talk to a real person.  He found a company called Squarespace that supported everything I wanted.

I’m less than impressed that Google doesn’t see the wisdom in supporting its customers with English-speaking real people.  Sometimes there is no substitute for a conversation with someone in the know.  And shame on Blogger for locking me out.  But then, maybe it was time to move on!

Rite of Passage

Every year when I get all those birthday wishes on Facebook, I feel guilty that I have missed most of your birthdays, that I don’t do Facebook, and now that I haven’t written anything here for months and am slowly losing touch with many people I love.

There have lately been a lot of times when I said to myself, “If I were still Blogging, I would write about this!”  Some of my favorite new recipes will never again see the light of day because I didn’t post them to remind myself.  The Mary Oliver poems Esther reads at the beginning of Shabbat services will be found only in their original books, not on my Blog.  And all those “notes to self” that exist throughout my posts since 2004 have been absent for months now.

So maybe, just maybe, now that I am a card-carrying senior, I will try writing again so I can someday remember what I did at age 65.  

My life is boringly the same mix of music, Temple Micah, the homeless shelter, and my precious finicky dog who is not so much a puppy any longer.  I exercise regularly, do yoga, see a trainer, and still sometimes rely on not one but two walking sticks if a lot of walking is required.  

Family wise, my son is still living at home and not employed to the point where he could move out.  My daughter is living in Oakland with her sweet fiancée and they are planning a wedding in the Marin Headlands next August.  My husband has launched himself into an Apple-support business so he can pay for all those new releases.

Lately I find myself being nostalgic about many things.  I want the stores that used to be in Georgetown 40 years ago to come back.  I want my hair to be thick and long again.  I want to be able to drink espresso without getting heart palpitations.

But right now mostly I want those senior support calls to cease!  It seems like every time the phone rings, it’s someone trying to sell me an identity beeper or something else to support me in my old age.  I may be 65, but I don’t have a foot in the grave just yet.  And hopefully my Medicare card won’t get a lot of use in the coming year.

I hope to be able to reconnect with old friends and make some new ones this year.  Here’s to 2014 and my legitimacy as a SENIOR!

Passover 2013

This year I had help as I made the gefilte fish.  Ari is a curious puppy who wants to check out anything new on the counters.  As he gets bigger, nothing much is sacred.  For him, stealing something off the counter is even better than stealing underwear off the drying rack.

The fish always starts with a stock made from the bones, heads, and skin.  Not exactly a pretty picture, but definitely the way to a good fish stock (that turns into bouillabaisse after Passover).

By midday the fish patties had come out of the broth and were stored away in the refrigerator with their little carrot slices to sit in a thin layer of broth awaiting tomorrow night's seder.

Tonight we got a sneak preview as we each had a piece for dinner.  The fumes from the horseradish pronounced it sufficiently potent.  But there is always a concern before the first bite of fish when I wonder if I got the seasoning right -- enough salt and sugar, but not too much.  Every year is different, but my husband always declares it to be just right.

Happy Passover!  May you extricate yourself from any unpleasant situation just as the Jews did as they left slavery in Egypt.

My Life

Several of you have wondered if I have anything to report on my life beyond having a new dog.  The truth is not much.  I haven't gone anywhere of significance since our trip to Chile a year ago.  My only sewing project was a white reading stand cover for Temple Micah's use during the high holy days next year.  My librarian job has finally gotten down to the maintenance level of 10-15 hours a month.  Shelter kids come and go, but my work there is much the same.  My creaky body is creakier than it ever was and I often use 2 Leki walking sticks when I have any significant ground to cover.

The only areas in which I feel creative are cooking and music.  The new CSA share arriving each Wednesday prods me to discover new ways to use things like rutabagas and kohlrabi.  I'm working on dinner for tonight -- a study in orange:  Swedish chicken salad above and butternut squash soup below.

As for music, the most unique pieces I have found come from listening to Sirius XM as I drive the new Prius.  Pieces like Farewell to Stromness by Sir Peter Maxwell Davies (1980) and Bailecito by Carlos-Lopez Buchardo (1997).  I am drawn to pieces that suggest movement, such as walking or dancing as these two do.  I also continue to play gems recommended by my teacher Anadel, like The Seasons by Tchaikovsky -- 12 short pieces that are moderately difficult but worth the effort.

I have struggled to adjust to having an adult child living at home, tempering my tendency to  give advice and wondering whether or not this is a permanent situation.  Truthfully I see very little of him as he is up at night and sleeps during the day for the most part.  I want so much for him to be independent and happy, but I have come to realize that it is all very much out of my hands.

Lately I have spent a lot of time heading up a Temple Micah team called Aging Together, which is charged with looking at issues dealing with getting older.  We are focusing on several aspects of this:  establishing support groups for those who lose a loved one, looking at barriers to older congregants attending services (transportation, parking, hearing, etc.), and setting up a monthly lunch-and-learn program.  I was able to use by former career skills in selecting a sample of those 65+ years old and administering a survey to learn more about what people are thinking.  With my team's help, we had one-on-one conversations which not only completed the interview forms but established new connections with people who thought they had been forgotten.  I haven't quite joined this age cohort, but my time is soon enough, so I hope there will continue to be things that make me want to remain an active member.

Ari is proving to be a great host when people come over, so we have gradually started having guests for dinner and hosting groups like our book club.  He is much better than our previous dogs in terms of not barking or jumping obnoxiously.  He is a counter-surfer, so we constantly have to be on guard so as not to lose the main course to a dog.  But otherwise, he is content to sit around chewing on a marrow bone while we entertain.

I must remind myself to be more observant as I go through life.  I used to find some reportable tidbit every day.  I'm sure they are out there, but I seem not to look at the world through Blogging glasses these days.

Thanks to my few remaining readers who have continued to ask how I am doing.  I think of you often!

Puppy Reunion

Ari celebrated his 6-month birthday by visiting his sister Roxy in Bethesda.  She too had had a haircut so they both more closely resembled poodles.  They happily hugged each other in a little doodle dance and then ran non-stop for an hour or so.  Roxy is considerably smaller than Ari, but otherwise looks very similar to him.

For those of you who have asked for news about me, I will soon put out an update.  I wish I had something of great excitement to report other than the acquisition of our goldendoodle Ari!

First Haircut

Today Ari went in for his first grooming.  I had always sworn I would never have a dog that needed this much pampering, but alas I have one.  The good news is most golden doodles don't shed.  The bad news is every 3 months or so they must be trimmed.

He had gotten to look like a raggedy mess as his hair continued to grow, so it was time.  We took him to Muddy Mutts, where Hindy (a groomer of 35 years) did her magic.  Three hours later it was much more obvious that he is indeed 70% poodle.

This is just one more critical step toward Ari's adulthood.  I wonder if he knows how good he looks with his new haircut?