Chadwell Street, Angel, Islington
August 10, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Co Cork
A few weeks back, the Irishman and I went on a little trip with big significance: we went to Ireland, to County Cork. For the last 20 years, the Irishman's family has been renting a holiday cottage on the coast in a small hamlet called Oysterhaven. We flew over for a long weekend so that the Irishman could play golf in a family fun tournament, and I could meet his family.
We flew Aer Lingus (of course) after work and landed at 11:30pm, so my first glimpse of the Irish countryside was pitch-black. We drove from Cork to Oysterhaven down narrow country lanes that were bordered on either side by tall hedgerows - we were essentially driving through wooded tunnels. I had to grip my seat tightly and close my eyes when a car came flying towards us (ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD) and pray we wouldn't have the right side of the car sheared off. It was after the first one of those encounters with opposing traffic that the Irishman informed me he forgot to print out the directions - but he assured me he remembered the way. It is at this point that I inform you readers that County Cork, Ireland, does not have street signs. At all.
Once in Oysterhaven (we only made one wrong turn), we were greeted with wine and a peat fire and lovely Dubliners. I met mom, dad, aunt and cousin all within a half hour (after midnight no less) and managed to not be cranky before the Irishman ushered me off to bed. A glass of wine and exhaustion does not make a charming Danielle - he's a pretty smart cookie.
After that rocky start, the rest of the long weekend was lovely and relaxing, full of food, food markets, golf, and awe-inspiring vistas. The Irishman played golf for most of the trip, that being the real reason we were there; his family and their friends set up this fun tournament several years back and take it quite seriously. The course they play on is beautiful, set on a hill with stunning views of the Irish farmland all around. Since I don't play golf I was given the position and title of Official Tournament Photographer and the very important responsibility of documenting the tournament. I took this job quite seriously, including running into the club when a torrential downpour with thunder and lightning interrupted the second nine holes.
Fortunately, the epic storm during The Classic was the only rain that dampened our trip. When I was packing, all of the weather forecasts for Southwest Ireland showed rain and 60°F weather. I was terrified that I was going to be sitting in a tiny cottage with the Irishman's family for four days playing Scrabble and Parchesi while it pissed down. Luckily, the Irish coast is apparently famous for its microclimates; small pockets of independent weather systems that are impossible to predict. Because of these magical environmental conditions, we enjoyed sunshine, beautiful puffy clouds, and temperatures around 75°F.
Our trip wasn't only golf and weather reports, of course. The Irishman's family is full of foodies (now I know where he got it from), which meant we focused a lot on food, cooking, and eating. We went to farmer's markets in Cork and Midleton, and took a side trip out to Ballymaloe - a world famous inn, restaurant, and cooking school. The Irishman's cousin just recently completed a three month intensive course at the cooking school, so we got a private tour of the school which was pretty fantastic. I've never been inside a cooking school, let alone a huge professional kitchen, so I was quite excited for that.
And of course, the eating; one of the real treats of the weekend was 22 of us trooping into the tiny village of Nohoval for dinner at Finder's Inn. The menu is full of fresh fish caught right on the coast, and the restaurant is decorated with eclectic kitchy antiques.
Of course I got to see some sights as well. We tooled around little tiny villages like Ballycotton and the tourist town of Kinsale. Kinsale is adorable, with colored houses and tiny shops and a pretty port with ships and boats.
The Irishman also took me out to The Stack, a huge rock outcropping on the water that he was dumb enough to jump off of in his heady youth. We climbed the cliff to look out over the water, and it was one of them most wonderful, relaxing, and idyllic spots I've ever been lucky enough to experience.
When it was time for us to pack up, say our goodbyes, and make our way to the airport, I was really sad to go. The Irishman's family was lovely and made me feel really welcome, and the Irish countryside was so relaxing and calming. Everywhere I looked I saw something beautiful, and the thought of heading back to a heaving metropolis was almost unbearable. I definitely will go back to Cork soon; I don't think much could keep me away.
We flew Aer Lingus (of course) after work and landed at 11:30pm, so my first glimpse of the Irish countryside was pitch-black. We drove from Cork to Oysterhaven down narrow country lanes that were bordered on either side by tall hedgerows - we were essentially driving through wooded tunnels. I had to grip my seat tightly and close my eyes when a car came flying towards us (ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD) and pray we wouldn't have the right side of the car sheared off. It was after the first one of those encounters with opposing traffic that the Irishman informed me he forgot to print out the directions - but he assured me he remembered the way. It is at this point that I inform you readers that County Cork, Ireland, does not have street signs. At all.
Once in Oysterhaven (we only made one wrong turn), we were greeted with wine and a peat fire and lovely Dubliners. I met mom, dad, aunt and cousin all within a half hour (after midnight no less) and managed to not be cranky before the Irishman ushered me off to bed. A glass of wine and exhaustion does not make a charming Danielle - he's a pretty smart cookie.
After that rocky start, the rest of the long weekend was lovely and relaxing, full of food, food markets, golf, and awe-inspiring vistas. The Irishman played golf for most of the trip, that being the real reason we were there; his family and their friends set up this fun tournament several years back and take it quite seriously. The course they play on is beautiful, set on a hill with stunning views of the Irish farmland all around. Since I don't play golf I was given the position and title of Official Tournament Photographer and the very important responsibility of documenting the tournament. I took this job quite seriously, including running into the club when a torrential downpour with thunder and lightning interrupted the second nine holes.
Fortunately, the epic storm during The Classic was the only rain that dampened our trip. When I was packing, all of the weather forecasts for Southwest Ireland showed rain and 60°F weather. I was terrified that I was going to be sitting in a tiny cottage with the Irishman's family for four days playing Scrabble and Parchesi while it pissed down. Luckily, the Irish coast is apparently famous for its microclimates; small pockets of independent weather systems that are impossible to predict. Because of these magical environmental conditions, we enjoyed sunshine, beautiful puffy clouds, and temperatures around 75°F.
Our trip wasn't only golf and weather reports, of course. The Irishman's family is full of foodies (now I know where he got it from), which meant we focused a lot on food, cooking, and eating. We went to farmer's markets in Cork and Midleton, and took a side trip out to Ballymaloe - a world famous inn, restaurant, and cooking school. The Irishman's cousin just recently completed a three month intensive course at the cooking school, so we got a private tour of the school which was pretty fantastic. I've never been inside a cooking school, let alone a huge professional kitchen, so I was quite excited for that.
And of course, the eating; one of the real treats of the weekend was 22 of us trooping into the tiny village of Nohoval for dinner at Finder's Inn. The menu is full of fresh fish caught right on the coast, and the restaurant is decorated with eclectic kitchy antiques.
Of course I got to see some sights as well. We tooled around little tiny villages like Ballycotton and the tourist town of Kinsale. Kinsale is adorable, with colored houses and tiny shops and a pretty port with ships and boats.
The Irishman also took me out to The Stack, a huge rock outcropping on the water that he was dumb enough to jump off of in his heady youth. We climbed the cliff to look out over the water, and it was one of them most wonderful, relaxing, and idyllic spots I've ever been lucky enough to experience.
When it was time for us to pack up, say our goodbyes, and make our way to the airport, I was really sad to go. The Irishman's family was lovely and made me feel really welcome, and the Irish countryside was so relaxing and calming. Everywhere I looked I saw something beautiful, and the thought of heading back to a heaving metropolis was almost unbearable. I definitely will go back to Cork soon; I don't think much could keep me away.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Bridges in Japan
Image courtesy of Vanessa Pike-Russell
My good friend Spatch (names withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) recently announced she is leaving our company to move to Japan and teach English for a year. My first reaction when she broke the news was "OMFG THAT'S SO COOL." My second reaction was "I'm so proud of you."
It will come as no surprise that I'm a strong advocate of leaving one's home (town, state, country) to experience another culture through full immersion. When Spatch told me about embarking on the adventure of her life, I went on and on about what a great time she will have and how exciting the next year will be and how she will grow and learn so much. Naturally that led me to think about all of the ways I've grown and changed and matured since moving to London, and I decided to devote a blog post to giving young Spatch some words of wisdom for her journey. Fellow expats, feel free to leave comments on your own experiences and any advice you have and I will of course pass them along to her. She is also starting her own blog, so you can follow her travels with me. (Link is coming!)
To preface the object lessons below, I just want to point out that this is what I've learned over the course of all my travels and personal choices over a lot of years. Many of them are based on the last fifteen months in London, but this isn't the first time I threw myself out of my comfort zone. So this list is actually the working sum of a young lifetime of varied and challenging experiences.
1. Everything you know is not true.
Remember that moment in life when a something made you rethink everything you thought was true and constant? Mine was when I realized the Rolling Stones were good - and my dad had always said they were overrated. My personal frame of reference shifted and I discovered that I could have my own opinions, and they didn't have to be the same as anyone elses. Apply that thought to culture, and it means just because you live in a culture where roasted potatoes belong with meat doesn't mean that other cultures don't think potatoes belong with spinach. Or that potatoes don't belong at all. Or what-have-you. The point is, your frame of reference is shaped by your cultural environment, and a different cultural environment will give another person a completely different "normal". So be open to it, and not judgmental. You might learn something.
2. Try it - you might like it!
This is the corollary to number one. There's no point in putting one's self into a new place, with new customs, and stubbornly refusing to embrace them. You may think something is gross, but to someone else it's a delicacy. Okay, you might not like eel (or think you hate it) but guess what - that's a staple Japanese fish - so try it. Once. You don't have to like it. I guess that's rich coming from me who has yet to step foot into a Cockney eel and pie shop, but I promise if I ever do I'll try it. Promise. You do the same, Spatch.
3. Self-humility never hurt anyone.
Again, linked to the first two, but with more of an understanding of geopolitical history. Those of us in the West have a tendency to examine and ultimately denigrate "others" - non-whites, non-Europeans, non-non-non. But no one culture is superior than another. Approach a new culture, and it's customs, with an understanding of history and an acknowledgment that you have no idea how that history is interpreted by that culture's people. Americans are pretty bad at this; we think we're great while having approximately 300 years of history under our belts, and we assume everyone else shares our self-opinion. Be aware that as a Westerner, people may not think that the Empire was so grand, and be open to the discussion. Again, you might learn something.
4. Don't be ashamed to photograph everything.
A less deep one. Create a visual record of your adventures; you'll treasure it forever. But don't forget to also just look at things without the camera lens. Experience it all before recording it.
5. You are a creating a better version of yourself.
I'm serious about this. The time a person spends outside of his or her home culture truly allows their real self to emerge. It's really scary, but also really fantastic. No one from home is there to judge your behavior or emotions, and you're not limited by cultural mores like you once were, and the end result it a more polished and more insightful human being. Be excited to meet yourself at the end.
6. No one will really understand, and that's okay.
The end is scary to think about, because you're still at the beginning! And the end is probably undefined; who knows what will happen over the course of the next year, who you will meet, what you will do, how your life will change. But throughout the process and at the end, you will struggle to help your friends and family at home understand what you experienced. They will read your blog, see your pictures, and Skype with you, but they'll never truly know what your time abroad was like. That's okay too. Just be prepared for it - for your little perfect secret.
7. You'll keep learning things for a long time to come.
Even after the end, you'll be walking through life and you'll realize that things you did and learned while in Japan continue to reverberate. Things will "click" long after you leave Japan, and you'll make connections that weren't apparent at the time. I think that's one of the really wonderful parts about doing what you're doing; you are storing up wisdom to draw from way into your future. Like a bank!
8. No expectations.
Don't do it. Everything that happens from the moment your plane touches down will be that much sweeter. Besides, you have no idea what to expect anyway. Be open to it all.
9. Keep a journal – it's not nerdy.
Just like #4. You'll look back in a decade and read it and remember everything like it was yesterday. You will also learn more, and understand your adventure more deeply, through the process of writing it down. Your blog will definitely help.
10. Remember where you came from.
Finally, Spatchula, be proud of yourself, your family, your home, your country. Living abroad helped me rediscover the wonder of America, and I trust that living in Japan will do the same for you and Britain. You'll appreciate where you came from that much more for having left it.
It's worth pointing out that Spatch is going to a country and immersing herself in a culture that is completely different than anything I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; so while my reflections will invariably resonate with her, she will come away from her adventure with her own nuanced view on what I've shared. I look forward to visiting her in Japan next year and getting her take on it all over some green tea and sake. Adiosu, Spatch!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
The joy of the English Summer
I can't believe I'm about to post about London being too hot, but there you have it: I may, finally, be fully assimilated.
The last few days in London have been a veritable heat wave. 27-28°C and 90% humidity, the air has been heavy and oppressive. It really feels like August, and it really feels uncomfortable. I don't know why I'm complaining; this is no different from summer weather in New York, and I like the heat. But this time around I feel like I can't move. Biking to work leaves me bathed in sweat, even though the ride is completely downhill, and I can't do a thing unless the air-con is on full blast. I feel like such a wimp for not being able to tough it out NYC-style.
Maybe I'm whinging so much because just last week the BBC reported that the Met Office revised the forecast for the rest of the summer, basically saying that summer was over. The second half of July was cool and rainy, with a few washed out weekends, and everyone thought that was it - summer, done. How very British of it to come back with a vengeance, especially now that the Autumn fashion collections are hitting the stores.
Yesterday was so hot, that, when given the opportunity to organize my company's weekly Time for Tea afternoon snack, I decided the only way to go was to serve iced tea. I made raspberry iced tea and lemon iced tea, and served them with chocolate chip cookies (store-bought, I'm afraid). I was quite proud of my efforts, but more amused by the fact that all of my British colleagues avoided the iced tea. They could not comprehend the idea of serving tea cold, with ice - it was an idea completely foreign to them and absolutely ridiculous. Forget refreshment - why would one drink tea cold?!
I must not be 100% Britishified afterall.
The last few days in London have been a veritable heat wave. 27-28°C and 90% humidity, the air has been heavy and oppressive. It really feels like August, and it really feels uncomfortable. I don't know why I'm complaining; this is no different from summer weather in New York, and I like the heat. But this time around I feel like I can't move. Biking to work leaves me bathed in sweat, even though the ride is completely downhill, and I can't do a thing unless the air-con is on full blast. I feel like such a wimp for not being able to tough it out NYC-style.
Maybe I'm whinging so much because just last week the BBC reported that the Met Office revised the forecast for the rest of the summer, basically saying that summer was over. The second half of July was cool and rainy, with a few washed out weekends, and everyone thought that was it - summer, done. How very British of it to come back with a vengeance, especially now that the Autumn fashion collections are hitting the stores.
Yesterday was so hot, that, when given the opportunity to organize my company's weekly Time for Tea afternoon snack, I decided the only way to go was to serve iced tea. I made raspberry iced tea and lemon iced tea, and served them with chocolate chip cookies (store-bought, I'm afraid). I was quite proud of my efforts, but more amused by the fact that all of my British colleagues avoided the iced tea. They could not comprehend the idea of serving tea cold, with ice - it was an idea completely foreign to them and absolutely ridiculous. Forget refreshment - why would one drink tea cold?!
I must not be 100% Britishified afterall.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Spotted: Pearly King
London Underground, Northern Line - Bank branch to High Barnet.
He entered at Old Street.
August 3, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Two things that inspired me to write.
As a followup to my last post about finding the impetus to put fingers to keyboard, I felt compelled to tell you about two articles I just read regarding reading, writing, introspection, and life plans.
The first is courtesy of my main information source, The New York Times. Their "Ideas" blog is a pretty reliable column for finding quirky and thought-provoking fodder (it damn well should be for being called "Ideas"), and this post didn't let me down. I am intrigued by the paradoxical suggestion that digital communication is actually improving human skills in writing. And I have hope that I can overcome my simultaneous writer's block and failure to follow-through.
The corollary to my perceived self-faults is my latest personal fad: writing my 5 year plan. I admit, I'm not that close to 30 but it's creeping up with increasing speed. Lately I've been trying to sit down and figure out "what I really want out of life" and frankly it's excruciating. Therefore I've been compounding my lack of follow-through and refusal to write by also refusing to actually think about making big life decisions. (I'm really good at backing myself into theoretical corners, in case you haven't noticed). So I was cheered up immensely by this list, recommended by the same Week in Review columnists who bring you the NY Times Ideas blog, of people who were in completely wrong-for-them careers at 30. Not that I think I'm in the wrong career per se, but more about considering what it is truly makes me tick and prioritizing it in life.
So look - if I can just keep on writing, and get better at it, I might just figure it all out by 30. Like Sylvester Stallone did.
The first is courtesy of my main information source, The New York Times. Their "Ideas" blog is a pretty reliable column for finding quirky and thought-provoking fodder (it damn well should be for being called "Ideas"), and this post didn't let me down. I am intrigued by the paradoxical suggestion that digital communication is actually improving human skills in writing. And I have hope that I can overcome my simultaneous writer's block and failure to follow-through.
The corollary to my perceived self-faults is my latest personal fad: writing my 5 year plan. I admit, I'm not that close to 30 but it's creeping up with increasing speed. Lately I've been trying to sit down and figure out "what I really want out of life" and frankly it's excruciating. Therefore I've been compounding my lack of follow-through and refusal to write by also refusing to actually think about making big life decisions. (I'm really good at backing myself into theoretical corners, in case you haven't noticed). So I was cheered up immensely by this list, recommended by the same Week in Review columnists who bring you the NY Times Ideas blog, of people who were in completely wrong-for-them careers at 30. Not that I think I'm in the wrong career per se, but more about considering what it is truly makes me tick and prioritizing it in life.
So look - if I can just keep on writing, and get better at it, I might just figure it all out by 30. Like Sylvester Stallone did.
What is wrong with me?!
Lately I've been doing a lot of introspection. It's easy to do in London; something about the weather, all of the dense low-lying clouds, and the cozy chimneys of Georgian rowhouses makes a person more introverted - even in the summer. My recent introspection has been focusing on why I can't follow through on my personal resolutions. For example, I've made the following vows to myself over the last month:
1. I will run in the morning before work 3x per week.
2. I will only eat 1 piece of chocolate per day.
3. I will not buy pasta anymore.
4. I will stay on my budget.
5. I will blog every day.
Guess what.
I broke each of these vows pretty much within in the week.
It is hard enough to make life changes, period; it's even harder when you wake up and realize that you lack willpower. That realization was a pretty low blow. I always thought of myself as motivated and driven, but I guess it was always in the context of striving towards earning something I really wanted. Losing a stone is something I really want... but I want some cookies first. Saving money to buy a house one day is also something I want... but I also really want those shoes.
And blogging, well. I like to write. I have ideas for posts all of the time. But when it gets down to writing, I can think of about 100 things to do besides draft a post. Including cleaning. I hate cleaning.
Does anyone else out there in the blogosphere have this issue? You must have! Any advice you'd like to share, and maybe a bit of reassurance that I'm not the only person out there with dreams that she can't for the life of her make come true?
1. I will run in the morning before work 3x per week.
2. I will only eat 1 piece of chocolate per day.
3. I will not buy pasta anymore.
4. I will stay on my budget.
5. I will blog every day.
Guess what.
I broke each of these vows pretty much within in the week.
It is hard enough to make life changes, period; it's even harder when you wake up and realize that you lack willpower. That realization was a pretty low blow. I always thought of myself as motivated and driven, but I guess it was always in the context of striving towards earning something I really wanted. Losing a stone is something I really want... but I want some cookies first. Saving money to buy a house one day is also something I want... but I also really want those shoes.
And blogging, well. I like to write. I have ideas for posts all of the time. But when it gets down to writing, I can think of about 100 things to do besides draft a post. Including cleaning. I hate cleaning.
Does anyone else out there in the blogosphere have this issue? You must have! Any advice you'd like to share, and maybe a bit of reassurance that I'm not the only person out there with dreams that she can't for the life of her make come true?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
All of the things going on in London while I haven't been blogging.
I recognize that I haven't really updated Bloody Brilliant with anything about London in a while. I thought about all of the things that have happened since my last post, and it's been a lot! So here is a little "Month in Review" for July.
Amwell Village Fete
One of my favorite things about London, and England, really, is the village fete. Sort of like a town fair, the village fete is a really great gathering of people and businesses in a community. Village fetes happen all over London, in various little neighborhoods and corners of the city. They also take place out in villages throughout England. Earlier in July, a small hidden gem of a neighborhood along my new walk to work, Amwell Village, hosted a fete and it was absolutely charming. The theme was Through the Looking Glass, and there were costumed players and Madhatter Tea Party tables along the road. My friends Rose and Emily had a stand at the fete selling their crafts and emptying their closets, so I wandered down with the Irishman to say hi.
Pierogies
The Irishman and I have been cooking a lot, and few weekends ago we went chef-crazy and made our own raviolis that turned out a lot more like pierogies. We used a Jamie Oliver recipe for roasted red onion, Maris Piper potato, and balsamic vinegar raviolis; I wasn't really thinking straight until I took the first bite, but the texture and filling made them more like raviolis. The Irishman, despite the influx of Polish workers into Ireland and the UK, has never had pierogies, so it was not only educational to make but to eat as well. We had to improvise, as you can see...
The Notting Hill Traveler's Bookshop
A few weeks ago I was in Notting Hill looking for a different bookshop – a cookbook shop called Books for Cooks – when I stumbled on the famous Travel Bookshop from the movie Notting Hill. A lot of other Americans found it too (obviously).
Karma Kab
Finally, someone at work hired the most excellent Karma Kab to transfer people to an event. It is a fabulous, glittery, fake-flower-ful mode of transportation. People were giddy when it pulled up outside, complete with Hawaiian kab driver, and we all posed for pictures with it. Two days later, I saw it cruising on the streets of London! I really want a ride in it soon... hint hint.
Amwell Village Fete
One of my favorite things about London, and England, really, is the village fete. Sort of like a town fair, the village fete is a really great gathering of people and businesses in a community. Village fetes happen all over London, in various little neighborhoods and corners of the city. They also take place out in villages throughout England. Earlier in July, a small hidden gem of a neighborhood along my new walk to work, Amwell Village, hosted a fete and it was absolutely charming. The theme was Through the Looking Glass, and there were costumed players and Madhatter Tea Party tables along the road. My friends Rose and Emily had a stand at the fete selling their crafts and emptying their closets, so I wandered down with the Irishman to say hi.
Pierogies
The Irishman and I have been cooking a lot, and few weekends ago we went chef-crazy and made our own raviolis that turned out a lot more like pierogies. We used a Jamie Oliver recipe for roasted red onion, Maris Piper potato, and balsamic vinegar raviolis; I wasn't really thinking straight until I took the first bite, but the texture and filling made them more like raviolis. The Irishman, despite the influx of Polish workers into Ireland and the UK, has never had pierogies, so it was not only educational to make but to eat as well. We had to improvise, as you can see...
The Notting Hill Traveler's Bookshop
A few weeks ago I was in Notting Hill looking for a different bookshop – a cookbook shop called Books for Cooks – when I stumbled on the famous Travel Bookshop from the movie Notting Hill. A lot of other Americans found it too (obviously).
Karma Kab
Finally, someone at work hired the most excellent Karma Kab to transfer people to an event. It is a fabulous, glittery, fake-flower-ful mode of transportation. People were giddy when it pulled up outside, complete with Hawaiian kab driver, and we all posed for pictures with it. Two days later, I saw it cruising on the streets of London! I really want a ride in it soon... hint hint.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Glastonbury, Heatwave, Wimbledon
It's been a scorcher this past week; up to 90 most days, and as I sit here at 7pm the sky still has that hazy baking look to it. Frankly, I love it. I feel like I'm in Manhattan in August (even though it's only July!) and everyone's white pasty legs are out in full force. I'm even wearing shorts at the moment (long trouser ones, of course).
It's the end of a full-on 'British' week as well, with Glastonbury having taken over last weekend and Wimbledon going wrapping up this weekend. Most of the English people I know are beside themselves, flipping between BBC channels to watch recorded sets of Blur reuniting and Andy Murray taking on the world. Tennis fans are sweltering under the blazing sun on center court, while the festival-goers were treated to the usual mudfest.
Obviously I only had eyes for Bruce as he rocked for 2 hours at Glastonbury and was absolutely amazing. I had to explain to the housemates why he was so great (they looked at me like I was odd when I said his songs were anthems capturing the raw power of teenagehood, meant for playing while driving cars fast), and secretly clapped my hands with glee when he ran into the crowd.
Even though the week has been 150% British, it will end with a literal bang on Saturday, 4th of July, with a kickball game hosted by American friends and fireworks in Battersea Park. I'm highly looking forward to showing my fair English friends how we Yanks handle the sun and kick a ball.
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