Mortality

 

There is nothing so certain in life as death. Every living creature eventually must die. Humans are no different. Despite Biblical stories of humans living 900 years, most modern mortals never reach 100. People who live forever in fictional stories inevitably end up yearning for a way to shuffle off this mortal coil.

My wife’s father died at 62 from a rare form of cancer likely resulting from workplace exposure to toxic materials. Her mother died at 77 from complications relating to Alzheimer’s disease. My mother was stricken with colon cancer at 63. But with surgery and chemotherapy, she survived until the cancer returned to take her at 67. My father recovered from a heart attack at 57. He hoped to live to see the year 2000, but on Christmas Day, 1999 he was hospitalized for a second heart attack. He died two days later. We buried him on the eve of the new millennium.

My parents raised five boys who are all still alive. The oldest will turn 75 in July; the youngest will be 63 in October. One of us five had a stroke at 56. We all have medical challenges, but for the most part, we’re doing okay.

On my next birthday, I will be 73 years old. I have acid reflux disease, sleep apnea, high blood pressure and my A1C of 6.5 says I am on the cusp of having Type 2 diabetes. I am overweight, have an enlarged prostate and take a handful of medications and supplements each day. I walk for exercise with occasional visits to the gym, feeling relatively good about my overall health.

I once thought 73 was quite old. I have pictures of my grandparents who died in their sixties. They looked ancient. I don’t think I look nearly as old. My uncle lived into his nineties, which gives me hope that I might have twenty years to live before this body is lowered into a grave. Then I think of close friends my age that have already died.

At my 50-year class reunion, we shared a moment of silence for 61 classmates who had passed away since graduation. Since then, I am aware of several more close friends from high school that have died. There is George, who was a teammate of mine on the Battle of Wits television show. We lost to Taylor Allderdice but had a great time preparing for the contest. George taught me how to curse and swear or at least convinced me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Then, there is Dave, who loved music as much as I. We saw The Band play a concert at the Syria Mosque. A few months later, Dave got caught trying to smuggle a wineskin into the Edgar Winter concert at the Civic Arena. We also had a grand time torturing Fräulein Curzer in German 3 and 4.

When I wrote “My Life’s Story” in fifth grade, I counted Johnny as my best friend. Johnny and I were in Cub Scouts together. We took a wild ride in my wagon while trying to sell stuff to raise money for the Scouts. We both had the wind knocked out of us. Johnny got some nasty brush burns on his back and ran home crying from the pain. Fortunately, no cars were coming in the opposite direction, or our adventure could have turned out much worse. I recently found out that Johnny had died in 2023 at age 70.

About a year ago, someone posted on Facebook the obituary for neighborhood chum Davey. He was a year older than I and lived a few doors up the street. We had great times together, riding bikes, reading Mad Magazine, leafing through his stash of comic books, and listening to The Dave Clark Five while fantasizing about neighborhood girls.

I went to college at IUP and joined a fraternity with some terrific guys. I was saddened when I saw that Sin Man, Sugar Bear and Springs had passed away. Then, in April 2025 I heard that Randy had gone. Randy was my freshman roommate and my Big Brother when I joined the fraternity. We saw ourselves as potential rock stars with our band, Sinderhaus. We built a sound system, heated an old garage with a fireplace made from a barrel that possibly contained toxic chemicals. We practiced for hours in that cold, smoky garage. Randy was an usher at my wedding. We made a point of visiting each other after graduation when I lived in Pittsburgh and he and Sandi lived in suburban Washington, DC. We stayed in touch via email as he moved to Las Vegas and then to California. I found out from another fraternity brother that he had died. I was devastated.

Then in October, 2025 Turk called to try to talk me into attending IUP’s homecoming. Turk was my fraternity pledge brother and sophomore roommate. On a whim, we got up in the middle of the night to drive to Punxsutawney to see if Phil would see his shadow. He honored me by asking me to be his Best Man when he married Deb. He called me every year on Ground Hog’s Day to recount our adventure to Gobbler’s Knob.

I regret that I decided to pass on Homecoming 2025, because a few weeks later, Turk called to tell me he had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors told him he only had a few weeks to live. I missed what would have been a great memory

My two brothers-in-law both died in their early seventies. Robert was a Revolutionary War re-enactor. Okbazghi was a professor at the University of Louisville. Both, gone too soon.

I’ve described only a few of the people that touched my life and have gone before me. Despite my various ailments and medical conditions, I am still here. I thank God or the Fates or whomever is responsible for keeping the Grim Reaper away from my door, when he has taken so many of similar years to mine. I know that my days are numbered as are the days of all that live and breathe. The best I can do is honor those that are gone by enjoying each of my remaining days with gratefulness, kindness and good humor as I recognize my own mortality.

 

 

Streets of New York

 

The streets of New York can be very confusing. At least they are in the Forest Hills section of Queens where my wife and I own a studio apartment. For example, our apartment is located on 113 Street. While some cities feel the need to add a “th” to make it 113^th Street, Forest Hills, economically reduces it to a simple 113. Simplicity is rather commendable after all, but that simplicity goes up in smoke when observing other street signs as one walks around the neighborhood.

Our apartment is a short walk from where our 7-year-old grandson lives. Sometimes, I meet him at the end of the school day and walk him home. The school is at the intersection of 69 and 110 Streets. His home is at 72 Drive and 112 Street. Logically, that would be a 5-block stroll – two blocks from 110 to 112 and three blocks from 69 to 72.

But logic has no place in the reality of Forest Hills streets. First of all, there is no 111 Street between 110 and 112. Maybe 111 exists somewhere in Forest Hills, but not in the neighborhood of the school. So, the walk just got shorter, right? Five blocks minus one equals four. That’s elementary mathematics.

From the school, we walk along 69 Street from 110 to 112. We make a right turn at 112 and walk another block, expecting to cross 70 Street. Well, as the saying goes, “expect the unexpected,” because the next street is 69 Road! A second sign on the sign pole informs us that 69 Road is also known as Harry Van Arsdale, Jr. Avenue. Aside from wondering who the heck is Harry Van Arsdale, Jr. (a New York City labor and community leader), one is also left to wonder how a road also can be an avenue? But let’s keep walking and wondering what street, road or avenue we might cross next. Another 69? Or do we finally get to 70?

Neither. We arrive at Jewel Avenue. Maybe we’re done with numbers and have moved to minerals? We keep walking and next come to – wait for it – 70 Avenue. We’re back to numbers. Hiking onward, we contemplate: will the next intersection be 71 or remain at 70? It’s 70, but it’s 70 Road.

Striding ever forward, next comes 71 Avenue, then 71 Road. I detect a pattern. So, I am not surprised when we reach 72 Avenue and then 72 Road. At this point I believe I have solved the mystery of Forest Hills street names – first an Avenue, then a Road, then move to the next number. Wrong again! But I’m relieved to be wrong, because the next street is 72 Drive, where my grandson lives. So, what initially looked like a four-block jaunt turned out to be a nine-block journey.

Like 69 Road, 72 Drive also has an alias: Walter Becker Way. Walter Becker was the co-founder of the musical group, Steely Dan. The band’s 1974 album, titled "Pretzel Logic” contains the song, “Rikki Don’t Lose that Number.” Is there a more fitting way to describe the naming of these streets of New York?

Carry that Weight

 

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight,

Carry that weight a long time . . ..*

 I was a skinny kid. As a senior in high school, I weighed a whopping 128 pounds. I felt like the “Before” picture in a Charles Atlas ad and made a concerted effort to gain weight. My older brother had a set of barbells, and I started working out with those for a few weeks before becoming bored with the effort. I also grabbed second helpings at dinner. By prom time I stood at 135.

The summer between my senior year and freshman year in college, I learned to drink beer. All of a sudden, I was up to 150. I was satisfied with a 150-pound body and I was able to maintain that weight through four years of college.

I may have put on a few pounds during the years of my first job but made a concerted effort to lose them before my wedding day. I was a svelte 148 when I married the love of my life at age 24. Of course, that didn’t last long as my new wife was an excellent cook. I crept up toward 158 but found that I was able to shed five pounds almost at will.

I was 30 years old when my wife became pregnant with our first child. We had two more children over the next six and a half years. When my wife was gaining her pregnancy weight, I was putting on sympathy pounds. By the time our third child was born, I had become a man of substance, weighing in at about 162 pounds.

My chosen career was a lawyer, meaning that the bulk of my time was spent sitting behind a desk in an office. Still, I intentionally parked my car about a mile from my office, so I had a nice morning and afternoon walk. If the weather was pleasant, I would stroll around town during lunch hour. On several occasions, I rode the bus to work and then walked the three miles from my office to home. All that walking helped me to maintain my weight around 165, give or take a few pounds.

I retired after 30 years as a lawyer and somehow I was able to stay in that same range for the next eight years. Then came 2020 and the COVID pandemic. Between the idleness, the stress and, admittedly, the beer, I gained 15 pounds. I’ve carried that weight ever since.

Since the end of the pandemic, I have made several efforts to lose my pandemic paunch. My Medicare Advantage plan offers a free gym membership, so I joined LA Fitness. I signed up for a personal trainer and did weekly workouts with him for five months. Between those sessions, I walked around town or used the treadmill at the gym, striving to get 10,000 steps a day. Despite those efforts, my weight stayed the same or maybe increased a pound or two.

I tried to convince myself that I was at least toning my body even if the weight wasn’t coming off. But mirrors belied that hope as did my need to buy bigger pants.

Recently, I’ve begun a program of walking every day, watching my carbs, and lowering (but not eliminating) my alcohol intake to wine with dinner and one beer in the evening. I find that if I work really hard at this program, I can shed a pound or two over a week and a half. Unfortunately, one day of indulging myself with a second beer and a small bag of potato chips will put those pounds right back on.

Perhaps that is the scourge of old age that carries with it diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and sleep apnea along with weight that comes easily and doesn’t want to go away. And if I’m “gonna carry that weight a long time,” I am content, given the alternative, to still be healthy enough to walk, play board games with my wife, and strum my guitar.

 

*Carry that Weight, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, Abbey Road LP (1969)

Kryptonite

 

Well, I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind
I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time
But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
I feel there's nothing I can do, yeah

 

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?

 

Superman’s original motto was “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” DC Comics revised that motto in 2021 to “Truth, Justice and a Better Tomorrow” to better appeal to an international audience. But this story is about the United States of America, the world’s superpower- the planet’s Superman. So, the original motto applies.

Truth: To be truthful is to be factual. Shortly after Donald Trump began his first term as President in January 2017, America was introduced to the concept of “alternative facts.” Presidential counselor Kellyanne Conway defended a statement by Press Secretary Sean Spicer that Trump’s inauguration crowd was the largest ever – a provable lie, though Conway claimed it was an “alternative fact.” News correspondent Chuck Todd responded, "Look, alternative facts are not facts. They're falsehoods."^[

That didn’t stop Donald Trump from lying constantly. During his first term, the Washington Post fact checker counted 30,573 lies or misleading statements from the 45^th president, culminating in The Big Lie that the 2020 Presidential Election was stolen from him. Despite numerous court opinions and investigations in the states where Trump alleged fraud, none was found. While all available evidence pointed to the fact that Trump’s Big Lie was, in fact, a lie, millions of Trump supporters believed him and four years later, still believe him. And Trump continues to brazenly repeat the Big Lie to this day. Sadly, in Trump world, the only truth that matters is the truth that springs from the mouth of their Dear Leader. However, those outside the cult are willing to point out that the lies have not stopped.

Justice: Martin Luther King famously said, “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” That bend took a serious turn in the wrong direction in the person of Donald Trump.

Trump’s known crimes and ethical transgressions are too numerous to list here. He was convicted of 32 felonies by a New York jury. He was found liable for defamation surrounding a sexual assault and sentenced to pay $83 million. He was found liable by a New York court for business fraud and sentenced to pay $354 million. He was impeached for withholding aid from Ukraine while attempting to extort an agreement to investigate a political opponent. He was charged with stealing classified documents. He was charged with election interference based on his efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 election. Those efforts amounted to staging a coup as he urged violent supporters to stop the certification of Joe Biden’s election victory.

At every turn, Trump has sought to thwart justice through delays, a questionable immunity ruling by a highly politicized Supreme Court, and dismissal on a technicality by a friendly Trump-appointed judge in his home state of Florida. His attempt to overturn a free and fair election resulted in a second impeachment. But justice was once again denied as Senate Republican Leader Mitch McConnell urged Republicans to vote against conviction on the technicality that Trump was no longer President. This allowed Trump to run for President in 2024; a conviction would have forever barred him from office.

Where justice had been served by the conviction and imprisonment of over 1,500 people who stormed the U.S. Capitol during the January 6 insurrection, Trump pardoned or commuted their sentences on the first day of his second term as President. Where in the arc of the moral universe does that place the United States, which put him back into office?

The American Way: Nearly 250 years ago, a small group of patriots had a dream of a better way of living than under a despotic king. After defeating the king’s army, they hammered out a Constitution that set up a form of government that didn’t exist in their world. When asked what form of government the founders had agreed upon, Benjamin Franklin replied, “A republic if you can keep it.”

The Constitution established a government of checks and balances among three distinct branches, each with their own role. Any sixth-grade civics student will tell you that the legislative branch makes the laws, the executive branch, headed by the President, carries out the laws and the judicial branch interprets the laws.

The new Trump administration seeks to consolidate all governmental power in the President. In a few short days after taking office, Trump is already attempting to assert dictatorial powers through issuing a series of Executive Orders, some of which have been challenged. His order purporting to end birthright citizenship, which is guaranteed by the text of the 14^th Amendment, was ruled as “blatantly unconstitutional” by a federal judge. But Trump will appeal any adverse judgments, betting that they will be overturned by a Supreme Court that has shown its willingness to bend to Trump’s will.

Conclusion:  A liar, an unpunished and defiant criminal, and an insurrectionist attempting to take on dictatorial powers, Donald J. Trump is kryptonite to the Superman that is the United States of America.

Exposure to kryptonite drains Superman of his strength and powers, causing severe pain. Prolonged exposure will cause him to die.

Based on his first term and what we’ve seen so far of his second, I think the country has gone crazy to put this man in the White House. So, can we still call it Superman?

To paraphrase the lyrics of the song “Kryptonite” by 3 Doors Down:

I watched the nation float to the dark side of the moon,

I feel there’s nothing I can do. . . .

 

Except, resist! Speak out! Insist on the Truth! Seek justice! Fight to keep our republic!

 

Songwriters: Bradley Kirk Arnold / Matthew Darrick Roberts / Robert Todd Harrell; “Kryptonite” performed by 3 Doors Down.

What Comes Next?

If you are anything like me, you woke up on Wednesday, November 6 with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. That is, assuming you slept at all Tuesday night after it became clear that Trump would win Pennsylvania and, likely, the other swing states and the election. That feeling hasn’t left me, but at least I was able to get a good night’s sleep last night.

It will take me time to get over the fact that fellow Americans have voted to put back into the highest office in this land a man who was twice impeached for high crimes during his first term, who was convicted and is awaiting sentencing for 34 felonies, who tried to overturn the results of the last election with lies, deceit and violence, and who has promised to be a dictator who will go after fellow citizens who disagree with him with U.S. troops.  I cursed what I perceived to be the stupidity of the American people who wanted such a person to lead this country. They got what they wanted; I, and millions who think the way I do, did not.

So, what comes next? Do we fight? Do we demonstrate? Do we declare fraud and try to change the result? A time to fight will come – perhaps sooner than any of us would like. But here is what I suggest for the short term – say, the next 30 days.

• Take a deep breath. Calm yourself. You probably have been on edge for weeks, months, maybe since the last election. Take a break from politics. Make plans to see a movie, a play or a musical;”
• Unplug from cable news – cable news pundits will speak ad nauseum about why this result happened. You don’t need to hear that. Buy and read a local paper. See what’s happening in your community. Follow your favorite sports team. Read and enjoy the comics;
• 
  Take some long walks. Clear your mind. See the beauty in the changing leaves. Breathe the crispness of the autumn air;
  
• Reconnect with friends and family – even those who voted for Trump. Don’t discuss politics – talk about the weather or sports or that new Tom Hanks movie, “Here”;
• Pick up a book – a fiction or fantasy – I started to read “Babel,” by R.F. Kuang.
• Lose yourself in some good music – “Blue,” by Joni Mitchell, The Band’s second, eponymous album, “2:00AM Paradise Café,” by Barry Manilow, or “The Carpenter” by The Avett Brothers
• Go to church, seek God, pray, meditate.
• Rest, recover, regain your strength. Eat healthy foods, drink plenty of water.

Then, thirty days from now, re-engage. Join with other like-minded patriots to fight for women’s rights, for voting rights, for defending our constitution and for keeping our democracy, and the America you voted for and will vote for again. And take heart. Trump is 78 years old. And when he takes the oath of office on January 20, 2025, he will be a lame duck, his term limited by our Constitution to 4 years.

A Post Endorsement

Much has been said about the Washington Post’s non-endorsement of a Presidential candidate in this election. (Yes, I cancelled my digital subscription to WaPo after reading that owner, Jeff Bezos, had put the kibosh to the endorsement of Kamala Harris, which had already been drafted by the paper’s editorial board.) I read Bezos’s explanation of his “principled” decision to not endorse any candidate, which had the distinct smell of cowardice.

And if can criticize Bezos’s silence for being a cowardly decision, it occurred to me that my silence could also be interpreted as cowardice. 

Consequently, today, this Post loudly and unequivocally endorses Kamala Harris for President of these United States.

Why am I endorsing Kamala Harris? Let me start with this: she is not Donald Trump. I lived through Trump’s first term and remember clearly how bad it was. He withheld military aid to Ukraine in order to try to extort from its new president an agreement to investigate Joe Biden. Trump was impeached for that, but his sycophants in the Senate voted to acquit him. With the assistance of the slithery, senior Senator from Kentucky, Trump was able to appoint three Supreme Court justices – enough to overturn Roe v. Wade, removing a constitutionally protected right that women had possessed for fifty years.

He bungled the response to COVID. Rather than encouraging Americans to get the vaccine that was rapidly developed to Trump’s credit, he sided with anti-vaxxers who discouraged its use. He tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act which prohibits insurance companies from denying coverage for pre-existing conditions and allows young adults to remain covered by their parents’ health coverage till age 26, rather than 18. His signature achievement was a tax cut that mostly benefited corporations and wealthy Americans. He lied constantly during his term in office – over 30,000 false or misleading statements. And he authored the Big Lie – that he won the 2020 election. He used that Lie to try to overturn the election results by fomenting an insurrection, which resulted in a second impeachment.

I could go on about how Trump is a convicted felon, a man found liable for sexual assault, a man found liable for hundreds of millions of dollars for cheating on his state taxes, a man who threatens to use the military against American citizens who oppose him. But, enough said about a boastful, but craven little man who was handed a fortune by his father and who would like to be President again to avoid prison.

My blog Post strongly endorses Kamala Harris because of who she is and what she believes. She will fight to restore a woman’s right to choose. She will stand with America’s allies and not kowtow to dictators and strongmen as Trump prefers to do. She supports unions and the middle class. She supports reasonable immigration reform including the bipartisan compromise bill that Trump single-handedly killed. She is a key member of the Administration that produced the best economy in memory with low unemployment, inflation low and trending downward, and stock prices soaring. She has had experience as a prosecutor, a Senator, and a Vice-President. She promises to listen to dissenting voices and to include a Republican in her cabinet. She is a voice for America’s future rather than a call to return to its past. For these reasons and so much more, Kamala Harris has this Post’s endorsement.

Eclipsing a 46-Year Anniversary

A solar eclipse is special. While they are not that rare from a global perspective, they rarely show up in the same place. A few months ago, my son told my wife that a total eclipse was going to occur on our 46^th wedding anniversary – April 8, 2024. The path of the eclipse would pass just a few hundred miles from where we live. We decided this was an event that was made for us.

Apparently, a lot of people felt the same way and had been making plans to see the eclipse months before we learned of it. Hotels between Erie, Pennsylvania and Cleveland, Ohio were booked solid. Finally, my wife found a two-star hotel called The Skylight Inn in the town of Willoughby, Ohio – about 20 miles from Cleveland.

We weren’t sure what we would find in Willoughby in terms of restaurants, grocery stores or other city-type amenities. So, we packed a cooler with food and brought gallon jugs of water to sustain us in the event Willoughby turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, or its food options were limited by eclipse seeking hordes. We also brought two brands of beer to enjoy during the eclipse – Oberon Eclipse if the skies were clear or Levante Cloudy and Cumbersome if thick clouds obscured our view of the eclipse.

We got on the road around 11:15AM on April 7. After meeting our son for dinner near Pittsburgh, we arrived at the Skylight Inn around 8:00PM. The Skylight Inn is an old-fashioned motel and quite deserving of its two-star rating. But our room was clean, and a new, vinyl plank floor had replaced what we assumed had been a worn, dirty carpet.

We spotted several restaurants within walking distance and decided to take a chance on Applebee’s. It wasn’t overly crowded; we were able to get seats at the bar. We ordered drinks and an appetizer. My wife struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to us. She told him we were there to see the eclipse, which was occurring on our wedding anniversary. His name was Antonio, and he surprised us by paying our tab, proving that kind, generous people are everywhere, including Willoughby, Ohio.

The next morning, we ordered a hearty breakfast at the Bob Evans next to the hotel. Happily, sustenance was not going to be the problem we feared it might be. While we could have seen the eclipse from the hotel parking lot, we found a park a few miles away on the shores of Lake Erie. We realized that we did not have chairs or even a blanket to lie on while we waited for the eclipse to begin. On our drive to the park, my wife spotted a thrift store where we found a thick wool blanket for the unbelievable price of $5.62. We arrived at Osborne Park around 10:00AM and spread out our blanket on the crest of the hill overlooking Lake Erie.

Osborne Park was the place to be. The local community had organized an eclipse party there with food trucks and music from the local radio station. Park employees were handing out eclipse glasses at the entrance to the park, though my wife had already purchased glasses for us from a trusted source.

A brilliant blue, cloudless sky greeted us upon our arrival around 10:00AM. By noon, high, thin clouds started to move in. The forecast was “partly cloudy,” so we prayed heavier clouds would stay away. Now and then we would check out the sun with our protective glasses. They were so dark we could see nothing but the sun. Seen through our eclipse glasses, the sun looked very much like a full moon. We learned that the sun is 400 times larger than the moon, but also 400 times further away making them appear to be the same size when viewed from Earth. These conditions are unique to Earth. No other planet in our solar system has the right conditions to experience a total eclipse of the sun.

The eclipse was scheduled to start shortly after 2:00PM and to reach totality at 3:13PM. Shortly before 2:00, we felt a noticeable drop in temperature as the moon’s shadow made its way toward Willoughby. Around 2:10, we first noticed the moon taking a bite out of the sun. We checked the moon’s progress over the next hour as the sun went from appearing as a full moon, to a fat crescent, to a thin crescent and finally, to a thin fingernail clipping. Minutes before totality, the radio station announced that they were stopping the music. Then, totality. We took off our glasses and looked up in awe.

Being in the presence of a total eclipse of the sun is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It is difficult to describe the emotions we felt as darkness enveloped the earth, and the bright sun became a black ball surrounded by a thin, white corona. My wife said she felt we were looking into God’s eye. A star was visible in the dusk-like darkness. Looking towards Lake Erie, we saw orange and pink clouds on the horizon that mimicked a sunset, though the sun was high in the sky in the opposite direction.

Less than four minutes later, the thinnest crescent of the sun emerged from hiding. That tiny slice of the sun was enough to turn darkness into daylight. We saw a flock of Canadian geese flying in a straight line rather than their typical V formation. Then they settled onto the surface of Lake Erie, perhaps fooled into thinking it was time to bed down for the night.

We remained in the park for another hour as the moon continued its journey, allowing the sun to once again be free of any obstruction. We chatted with some of the other eclipse watchers and then drove into Willoughby’s quaint downtown. We shopped a little, ate dinner and headed to Pittsburgh to spend the night at our son’s house. Heavy traffic from thousands of other eclipse seekers meant that the normally 2 ½ hour trip would take us 4 hours to complete.

Our wedding anniversary comes around once each year, and there is not much special about the 46^th. But viewing a total eclipse is a once in a lifetime experience. It may have only lasted four minutes, but it made our sojourn to Willoughby, Ohio an anniversary that we will always remember.