During my elementary school years, I was fortunate that I didn’t face name-calling, teasing and bullying like many other kids with disabilities do at school. However, there was one incident that cut me to my core.

As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

Mom taught at my elementary school, so she would pick me up from my classroom at the end of the day and carry me out to the van at the front of the school; the school wheelchair stayed at school. One day, Mom had to stop at the office on our way out. She sat me down on the floor in the hall next to the gym doors at the main entrance. She would be only a couple of minutes, and I wasn’t in the way as people were leaving.

One boy, a year or two older than me, walked by and asked, “Are you retarded?” and then kept walking. I didn’t know what to say, and if I had said anything, my speech would have added fuel to the fire and would have confirmed his assumption. I said nothing.

Once Mom put me into the van, I burst into tears. When I managed to stop crying enough to communicate what had happened, Mom was sympathetic. She attempted to make light of it like she usually does, suggesting that next time I reply with something like, “No, are you?” – as if I could get that out clearly enough for it to be effective.

The incident was soon brushed off and forgotten – on the outside; but it wasn’t forgotten on the inside. That question hurt me to my core for a long, long time. Even though I knew I wasn’t retarded, I realized that others did see me as something I’m not. Since that day, I’ve been trying hard to prove to others that I’m not retarded.

Having reflected upon this over the years, I now see two issues here; the first being the word “retarded”. Several kids from the then Woodlands Institution were bussed to our school; many of them had mental retardation, as the disability was called back then. Looking back, I have no doubt that the boy meant no harm or ill-will. He asked a simple question. But, for me, “retarded” was a loaded word; it hurt, it degraded, it stung. Because of the use of the word through history, for many people with disabilities, being called retarded is as hurtful and demeaning as calling an African-American the n-word.

Ideally the word would vanish from our language. But, considering how pervasive the word is (how often do you hear someone utter something like “that is retarded” or “what a retard”?), the word vanishing is not realistic, unfortunately. The next best option is to disempower the word for those who are negatively affected by it. The word has power only if we allow it to. I’m still sorting through how exactly do to that, which might make for a lively discussion in the comments below or a topic for a future post.

The second issue stemming from the incident was that my feelings weren’t acknowledged. A joke was quickly made and then the matter was brushed aside. No doubt that was easiest in that moment. When I’m upset and crying, Glenda-ish becomes even more difficult to understand. Having a deep conversation at that point was pointless. However, it meant my feelings were discounted.

A similar situation happened recently when Darrell was laying on an emergency room stretcher and wearing an oxygen mask because his pneumonia had worsen so much since our first trip to the ER four days earlier. Sitting at the foot of his stretcher, I was feeling guilty for not being able to make him the proverbial chicken soup or to raise him up high enough in bed. Perhaps if I had been able to properly care for my husband, then we may not have needed to call the ambulance to take him to the hospital where he was admitted for two weeks.

Irrational I know, but that was how I was feeling in that moment. While sitting there with Darrell, someone I love and respect, and whose profession is to comfort and counsel people in such situations, came to visit.  Rather than acknowledging my feeling and proceeding from there, he reprimanded me for feeling that way.  That day was the toughest one for me during the two-week hospital ordeal.

We don’t like seeing our loved ones hurt and upset; we’d like them to be happy all of the time. But, life sucks at times! To live a full life sometimes means, unfortunately, getting hurt, being upset, feeling down at times. Acknowledging those times, those feelings is how we can wholly and completely accept our loved ones. Sometimes acknowledging an owie exists is as important and healing as is gently covering it with a band-aid.

Previous miniseries post: Integration: Balancing Including the Child with Benefiting the Child

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The beginning of Grade 4 saw my special ed class at the new school with a new teacher Mrs. Peart. My class, along with a couple of other classes, moved from the annex to the main school a few blocks away.

This move meant we had access to more resources, such as the library. Once a week our class trekked down to the library to learn about the Dewy Decimal System and to check out a book to take home. I felt like a big school kid then.

As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

After a few weeks, the librarian strongly encouraged me to check out the very limited section of books on tape, assuming that usingthe newest technology at the time might be easier for me than holding books and turning pages. Honestly, I felt as though she was more concerned that I might crumple the corners as my cp hands turned the pages.

Being a teacher, Mom knew that listening to stories was not the same as reading books. Limiting her bright child to tapes to avoid crumpled corners was not acceptable. Mom, who firmly believes that one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar, politely mentioned to the librarian that I had owned books since I was young and was very careful with them. As a young child, Mom gave me old Sears catalogs to look at so that I learned how to turn the pages.

I went onto read the entire Little House on the Prairies series, wishing I was Laura Ingalls living in the log house and experiencing exciting adventures. I also read the very few books available at that time about people with disabilities, including Wren, Ice Castles, The Other Side of the Mountain, and Joni (pronounced Johnny).

Back then, I didn’t know any successful people with disabilities who were much older than me, and I don’t recall any people with disabilities in the public eye. These books, particularly the autobiographies, provided me with much needed role models. They showed me what was possible, despite having a disability. It was one thing to have my parents, teachers and therapists tell me to work hard so that I could accomplish anything I wanted. It was another thing to read about adults in wheelchairs who became teachers or got married. I began to realize what was truly possible. Those books planted the seed, when I was about ten, that I would one day write my own story to help others to see what was possible when living with cerebral palsy.

That one day came thirty years later when I finally self-published my autobiography. The journey was long, but one that I am glad I followed it through to the end.

Grade 4 was also the beginning of another journey; the one from special education to regular class. My classmate Peter, my best friend Sandy and I were integrated into the regular classroom long before for integration, mainstream and inclusion became buzzwords. The three of us joined the regular class in the afternoon for the non-core subjects Social Studies, Science and Music.

Looking back, there is one thing that puzzles me. Grade 4 Music meant learning to play the recorder, a flute-like instrument. Coordinating the fingering with both hands, the breathing, the lips and tongue, and the swallowing didn’t work for me. I could barely get any noise out of that thing. Yet, I did continue practising dutifully and trying my best. I did, however, learn the basics of reading sheet music: Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge and Fat Albert Can’t Eat. Like that does me any good now!

What puzzles me is how I was included in Music, which was an exercise in frustration and futility for me, yet, without parent intervention, I would have been excluded from reading library books, which was critical to my academic career. Even though integration was a positive, advancing experience, I wonder if some suitable adaptations or accommodations may have been beneficial. Obviously, listening to books on tapes was not necessary, but playing a more suitable instrument may have made Music class more meaningful and rewarding to me.

With integration, mainstream and inclusion all of the buzz now, hopefully teachers and educators have found the balance between including the child with a disability and making that inclusion meaningful and beneficial to the child.

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School mornings began early at 6am to allow enough time for me to feed myself breakfast, typically either oatmeal porridge or two pieces of peanut butter toast, each folded in half to allow for easy grasping; and, for Mom to help me to get dressed, including those long-legged braces that were cold on winter days and sticky hot on summer days. It wasn’t that I couldn’t dress myself; it simply took longer than we had on school mornings. Mom’s help on weekdays was one of those instances when practicality overrode independence.

On weekends, when morning routines weren’t precisely timed, I was left to dress myself and, for the most part, went braceless. The freedom of weekends!

Amidst learning to read, print and do math in class, I also had physio, occupational and speech therapy several times per week. The grandfatherly bus driver Mr. B spent all day shuttling us back and forth to the treatments centre, later called the Child Development Centre, for our therapy sessions.

With cerebral palsy, intensive therapy is necessary at a young age to maximize potential physical development. However, that fact didn’t make therapy any more enjoyable to a young child. Tasks like repeatedly grasping beanbags and putting them in muffin tins, climbing up a few stairs to simply reach a brick wall, and being rolled around on a large, inflated ball or tube were monotonous, boring and seemed pointless to this young redhead, but I was a cheerful, cooperative patient and I complied. Trampoline time was the only fun time.

Speech therapy was the most puzzling. As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

Speech therapy seemed rather bizarre to me. The therapist sat on a floor mat with me lying on my back between her outstretched legs. My legs wrapped around her waist, and her stinky toes were in close proximity to my nose. She then proceeded to stick her fingers in my mouth to wiggle my lips, supposedly to loosen them. She alternated between using her fingers and ice cubes. When the speaking segment of the therapy began, she pushed on my chest in attempts to improve my breathing capacity. After years of this hefty woman pushing down on my chest, I am convinced that was why I was such a late bloomer.

As I laid on my back staring at the ceiling tiles, I was puzzled. What was I supposed to do when I met people in the real world? Lay down on my back, on the floor, before speaking to them? I envisioned myself sprawled out on the ground when meeting a friend at the shopping mall or grocery store. This was not a dignified thought. Not surprisingly, pillow talk is some of my clearest speech!

Photo credit: On Top of the World, National Film Board of Canada

All of this therapy meant much time away from the classroom. One year my physio sessions happened to be scheduled right after recess and I missed most math periods, putting me a grade level behind. I eventually skipped a grade in math, which caught me up with my peers in regular class. In high school, I ended up taking Algebra Honours; obviously, missing a year of math wasn’t detrimental to my learning. I have often wondered what that says about the school curriculum: how much of it is repetitive and, perhaps even, unnecessary?

Once I was integrated into regular class, my therapy sessions were shifted to after school. I then was able to spend my school days completely on academics.

The special ed classroom was where I needed to be during my early school years in order to have the flexibility in my education to maximize my physical development potential.

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I’m taking a brief pause from regularly scheduled blogging to share this story:

On Monday afternoon, Darrell had an appointment with the hospital doctor to check his pneumonia; he is recovering nicely. The appointment was at the Rapid Access Clinic, now located in the Charles Barham Pavilion, which opened in 1970 on the grounds of Surrey Memorial Hospital.

Wheeling up to the main door and entering inside, something felt vaguely familiar; like I had been there before. I heard the nurse mention to another patient that the building had been the extended care facility, which I somehow already knew. But why would I have been in old folks’ home?  When?

Sitting there, waiting to see the doctor, I could feel the history of Surrey within those walls. If only those walls could talk, I bet they would share some amazing stories about the early days of Surrey.

We left that appointment with a new family doctor! One who actually tries to understand me! And, it doesn’t it take half a day on public transit to get there and back. I was ecstatic!

However, I was feeling something more than that, but I couldn’t really explain it. i felt like I was finally putting down roots; like I belong in this corner of Whalley. Whatever it truly was, it felt good and I hung onto the feeling.

Today, I was flipping through a copy of my autobiography, trying to get back into the mindset for writing the next “From Special Ed Classroom to University Graduate” miniseries post, which I began writing on Monday, but then had computer issue for two days; the power supply chose to stop powering!

On the bottom of page 36, I read:

Somehow we joined the choir that practiced during lunch. Considering my speech, it is a funny memory, but it was something David and I could do together during lunch hour. I enjoyed it, although I simply mouthed the words most of the time. The choir performed at the nearby old folks’ home and shopping mall…

That’s it! I had been there before! As a young girl with the school choir. No doubt we performed a Christmas concert for Surrey’s elders. My vague feeling of familiarity now makes sense!

Isn’t it strange how one brief event many, many years ago can still be in one’s memory? I wonder what else is buried my mind’s archives. A whole other book?

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Growing up with cerebral palsy, my school years began in a special education class annex several blocks the main school. Now that is segregation!

But, at age five, I didn’t know the difference. I was excited to be starting Grade 1 with my friend Marika from Kindergarten and soon became friends with my four or five other classmates.

Our teacher Mrs. Rutherford was somewhat apprehensive having me in her classroom. As I share in my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself:

Being non-verbal, my teacher Mrs. Rutherford was concerned that she wouldn’t hear me when I needed help, so she gave me two small brass bells – her mom’s dinner bells – to ring to get her attention. It was soon discovered that the bells weren’t necessary as I was verbal enough to catch her attention when needed.

The bells were soon buried in my desk drawer and Mrs. Rutherford was well on her way to mastering Glenda-ish. The learning for both the student and the teacher continued…

Because getting to the chalkboard was difficult for most of us once we were placed in our seats, we each had an 18-inch square piece of chalkboard at our desks for practicing our printing. It was also easier to work on a horizontal surface rather than a vertical one. Initially, my printing was wobbly scribbles. With practice and extreme concentration, I controlled my jerky movements enough to make my letters almost legible more of the time. I also kept a chalk eraser handy, though inadvertently an uncontrollable movement erased a good letter. In frustration, I did the letter again.

Although learning to print, and then to write, were important steps in learning to read, it was evident that printing would not be efficient. It took too much energy and was too time-consuming to keep up with my work, and that would only worsen through the grades. Learning to use a typewriter was a necessity.

An electric Smith Corona typewriter was placed at the back of the room, which a few of us shared. When it was time to do typewriter work, Mrs. Rutherford dragged me in my desk chair over to the typewriter table and then dragged me back to my desk when I was done. Then it was the next student’s turn. A while later, perhaps once funding became available, we each had a typewriter at a second desk beside us. We simply dragged the typewriter back and forth as we needed it. It was much easier, especially on Mrs. Rutherford’s back.

As I have only one somewhat functioning hand, I only typed with one hand, my left hand. While typing, I steadied my hand on the typewriter hood to give myself some control over the spastic movements and used my thumb to hit the keys, causing my wrist to be in a dropped-wrist position. This concerned the adults, particularly the physio and occupational therapist. Although this was decades before repetitive strain injury and carpal tunnel syndrome had been invented, they were concerned that the dropped-wrist position would cause damage over the long-term.

They decided a splint with a stick to hit the keys was needed to keep my wrist in a good position. With this contraption snuggly Velcro strapped to my arm, I was expected to have enough arm control to steady my hand mid-air, without resting it on anything, and to accurately hit the keys. And this was less frustrating than printing with a pencil? After a few days, the splint ended up in the back of my desk drawer, and I resumed typing with my left thumb, my hand in its compromising position. I type the same way today, as nothing else feels as natural. For a non-verbal individual who relies on written communication, my left thumb is my most valued body part.

A Smith Corona electric typewriter with a keyguard still occupies desk space. This how I fill out cheques, forms and other such tasks that cannot be completed on the computer.

The typewriter in this photo is my second. The motor on my first, an even earlier Smith Corona model, eventually blew up!

Who knew the learning to type at the age of five would eventually lead me to becoming known as the Left Thumb Blogger!

Previous miniseries post: Catching the Back to School Fever: Launching a Mini Series on My Years from Special Ed Class to University

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With Back to School Fever in the air, I have this small urge to go back to school, if for no other reason than to buy the fun school supplies they have nowadays.

But, seriously, I was one of those strange kids who loved school!

In my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself, I share my first day of school:

I began Grade 1 in my purple heather sweater and purple plaid kilt, treasures from our summer holiday in Edinburgh. I was one bonnie lass!

School was an older building; actually, it consisted of two buildings and a portable. The main building had four or five classrooms for the primary grades, the staff room, changing room and the principal’s office. The older kids were upstairs in the other building, accessible by a long, steep ramp.

As this was before integration and mainstreaming had been invented, all the Special Ed students went to this school, which was actually an annex of a larger school, several blocks away. This was definitely segregation. But, at that age, I didn’t know any differently. I was excited to be starting school with my new notebooks, crayons and lefty scissors. And, I do remember hating missing school when I was sick. It was so boring to stay home.

At this point in this post, I was going to share some of the adaptations that were made for me in the classroom. But, rather than write one lengthy post, I have decided to try something new. After all, isn’t that what going back to school is all about?

This post launches a mini series on my school years: the classroom accommodations made during my elementary and high school years through to seven years at university, the successes and struggles I faced, and how school may have been easier had I had the technology that exists today.

By sharing my experiences and lessons learned, I hope to offer ideas and encouragement to parents with children with disabilities who are still navigating the school system, as well as support for older students with disabilities and for teachers who work with them.

This mini series is still very much under development. Your suggestions, ideas and questions are most welcomed and will help to shape this series.

I invite you to come back to follow this series over the next couple of weeks or to sign up using the form in the upper right corner to receive this series and my other blog posts right in your email inbox.

School is in. Let’s see what we learn by sharing and asking questions.

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In today’s guest post, Damien Patton shares a speech he recently gave at a college explaining why his company has chosen to embrace and push accessibility standards on the web:

Hello Everyone,

I’m Damien Patton, founder and CEO of FindAnyFloor.com, the Web’s Flooring Authority. I am often asked why I created an information portal for the floor covering industry. My answer usually surprises everyone as it is not what people expect.

Last year, in the summer of 2007 I was lying in bed searching the internet for ideas for my next venture. For whatever reason I came upon WebMD.com. Those of you not familiar with WebMD, it is a FREE medical resource for consumers and physicians alike. Coming from both a high tech and floor covering industry background, it immediately dawned on me, Where is the WebMD of Flooring. I spent the next couple of months searching the internet with a team of professionals to discover what type of floor covering information was on the internet and how it was presented to consumers as well as floor industry professionals. It soon became clear that there was a large void of unbiased, free information, on the internet for flooring consumers and professionals in one central place. In order to find a lot of information, you have to go through dozens of sites and most of the time the sites contradict one another.

The idea for FindAnyFloor.com was born.

Although the above was the catalyst for the idea, it is certainly not what propelled us to who we are today, and this is where we surprise a lot of people. While researching this site I met a woman at a high tech trade show who was disabled through complications during birth, resulting in mobility and speech disabilities. She just so happened to be selling a book that she had written called “I’ll Do It Myself.” Not only did I buy the book, I went down stairs in the convention center and read it in one sitting. I may have missed a few of the trade show classes, but the book gave me one of the most valuable educations I ever received. I, like many people, had no idea the limitations the internet has with regard to people with disabilities. Those of us that are not disabled may take for granted that we are able to search most sites without issue, and at our own pace. Can you imagine if buildings no longer had handicapped facilities such as restrooms, ramps, elevators, & hand rails? I couldn’t either. But this is exactly what most of the internet is like for those with certain types of disabilities.

Imagine a world where you can’t read what’s on the web, you can’t hear the sounds from video files, you can’t navigate through menu’s to other parts of the site; you have just experienced what the majority of websites operate like to those with visual, hearing and mobility disabilities.

The US Government has a standard for their websites that they must be accessible to everyone. This standard is called 508. Although this standard doesn’t apply to non-government related commercial websites on the internet today, I feel strongly that more has to be done to make the internet accessible to all. This is why FindAnyFloor.com is committed to becoming 508 compliant by the end of 2008. It is our goal that others in the online flooring community will take note of the 60 million people in America alone that have some type of disability that may affect the way they use the internet.

From the floor covering industry we are planning to launch a large green living website that incorporates all types of eco friendly building materials as well as items used in everyday life. Our mission will be to create to the largest green site for consumers that will be accessible to all, again hoping that others in that industry will follow suit. It would be great if the concept of creating accessible websites became viral. In the next 5 five years, let’s hope we are looking at a whole new internet, one that is created for everyone and is accessible to everyone.

Glenda’s note: I love when people get the need for web accessibility! If things go according to plan, I will be meeting Damien and some of his team at BlogWorld today. And I’m looking forward to working with him to ensure FindAnyFloors.com and other projects are Section 508 compliant. (See, the trip to Vegas was a business trip!)

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Nineteen months after releasing my autobiography I’ll Do It Myself, I am excited to announce the release of the book trailer!

Yes, I realize the order is somewhat backwards. But, I did not know book trailers even existed until after launching my book. And then there was the process of learning what exactly a book trailer is – similar to movie trailer to create hype for a new movie – and then figuring how to create one.

In the end and with some tips from my wonderfully supportive husband Darrell, I used Camtasia Studios, largely because of its relatively easy of adding captioning – a must for any video! Using my text-to-speech program TextAloud and the voice of Kate, I created the voiceover. The text was then used for the captions. And, I added I brief clip from John Denver’s Sweet Surrender.

I find it amazing that the technology exists to enable me to create such a project, even though it isn’t quite Hollywood style.

So…without further ado…

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With Canada Day and the Fourth of July around the corner, and my tenth wedding anniversary a mere six weeks away (yikes, where do the years go!), celebrations are on my mind. Not all celebrations can be marked with fireworks, marching bands and diamonds. Some occasions require conscious effort to not let slip by without duly savoring.

One such occasion was the arrival of the boxes of my book I’ll Do It Myself. After thirty years of dreaming, thinking, and preparing to write a book, and after four years of writing, revising, editing and much procrastinating, the day the boxes arrived and I held my book in my hands for the first time was what I can only imagine is similar to giving birth. The sight brought tears to my eyes. In that moment, my dream became reality. I had accomplished it! I had written and self-published my autobiography — and I had 500 copies to prove it.

Because I chose to self-publish and, hence, didn’t have a large publishing house to fund an official launch, and because it was December and lugging precious books in the rain wasn’t appealing, I did not know if an official book launch was in the near future. Yet, I felt the moment deserved to be savored, to be recognized, to be celebrated.

An impromptu Book Arrival Celebration was planned for a Sunday evening, in our home. I intentionally did not call it a “book launch” as that would have precluded me from having a launch at a later time, at another location. After all that work with my left thumb, I was all for celebrating as many times as I could get away with! (That reminds me, the official book launch is still waiting to happen…)

After an evening of sharing good food – thanks my friend’s sister who catered a large company Christmas party the night before and saved the leftovers for us – and good wine with good friends, I felt totally contented, reflecting upon the fact that I was now a published author. Although, that did take some time to fully sink in!

However, it doesn’t take writing a book to have a reason to celebrate.

Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living!
~ Amanda Bradley

What do you celebrate? Do you need a reason or an excuse to have celebration?

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Two weeks ago I shared how I was collaborating with my Australian friend Suzie Cheel to raise funds for her to come to Vancouver for Michael Losier’s Law of Attraction Certified Facilitators Program.

We met Tuesday evening in downtown Vancouver!

We had met very briefly at BlogWorld in Las Vegas last October, but didn’t get a chance to chat. This time, after logging into Liz Strauss’ Open Mic Night for a few moments, we shared a meal and had time to talk. Suzie enjoyed some local cuisine: a wild salmon burger and an Okanagan pale ale. And she received her first lesson in Glenda-ish. She has potential!

Being in the same time zone, in the same location, face-to-face was great! The internet has opened the world to me. Meeting my invisible friends in person is icing on the cake.

Unfortunately Vancouver’s weather didn’t cooperate this week, presenting Suzie with colder and wetter weather than the winter she had left back home. I’m so relieved she did bring her winter boots after I had said that she didn’t need boots in June! Otherwise the woman would have had popsicles for feet all week!

Thursday evening was the “Applying Law of Attraction To Your LIFE! ” seminar with Michael Losier, author of Law of Attraction: The Science of Attracting More of What You Want and Less of What You Don’t and host of The Law of Attraction Radio Show on XM156 Satellite Radio with Oprah & Friends.

(I really struggled with whether or not to include this photo of me with Michael in this post. It definitely isn’t one of the most flattering photos of me. But, sometimes, my cerebral palsy isn’t pretty. Sometimes it downright sucks and it can be difficult to take a good photo of me at times. I debated whether to omit the photo, to doctor it or to include it as is to show the real me. I’ve strived to be open about my disability here on my blog, so I hope I’ve made the right decision by including it. The exciting point to note about this photo is my book I’ll Do It Myself in Michael’s hand!)

Listening to Michael speak about the Law of Attraction, I was intrigued by how Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking, Wayne Dyer’s Power of Intention, Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth and the Law of Attraction all point to similar underlying concepts yet they use different language and come at it from different perspectives. I think there’s a fascinating Masters thesis in there somewhere, if someone was so inclined.

What intrigued me even more was Michael’s story of his journey with his book: a local guy (he’s in Victoria, BC) who self-published and, eventually, was offered a million-dollar book deal, which he turned down twice before a publisher made an offer that required no changes to his book! For this Left Thumb Blogger who self-published her autobiography, I’m sure my eyes were as big as saucers, listening to his story!

Sitting on the Skytrain on my way home, something hit me: Michael has a radio show on Oprah’s radio station, and, if I understood him correctly during the seminar, he is doing a webcast series, much like Eckhart Tolle did, with Oprah this fall. Holy smokes! My autobiography I’ll Do It Myself is one person away from Oprah!! That realization was a high-water moment!

I celebrated the closeness of the match and I will definitely keep it in my Vibrational Bubble. Next is to allow the Law of Attraction to orchestra events and circumstances to respond to my positive vibrations!

Meanwhile, I am going to revisit how to get a self-published book listed on Amazon, so it’s easily findable should Oprah be looking.

All this came to be because of my hairbrained idea for a worldwide event on Twitter to support Suzie’s Big Hairy Audacious Goal. Watch for what this Hairy Duo cooks up next!

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