Chapter Sixteen

October and November 1974
We had our first snowfall in the middle of October, a scattering of a couple of inches that laid only a few days on the ground, but it brought with it a cold that harbinged winter. Gone were the lazy days of summer and Indian summer. It was cold now in the mornings, with ice in the washbowl, and dark by six o'clock. We covered over the summer parts of the garden with straw, and turned our efforts to the squashes and pumpkins and late potatoes. We laid the onions and garlic up in the workshop, braided and thrown over the rafters, and the late herbs as well. It was time to turn on the grow lights in the jardinière.

The dog grew a thick winter coat, and we knew that there were snug times ahead. With a dozen yards of wool flannel got at the Episcopal Church jumble sale, I put up curtains in the bedroom and common room, and made covers for the doorways. George laughed at this and said that we looked like a Tayside lounge, for the stuff was an unbalanced plaid of green and grey.
'You'll thank me in hoary January,' I replied.
'I'm sure you're right.'
As the weather got colder and the days shorter, we were actually pretty snug. The double-glazed windows and our sod roof, with the minor addition of the curtains, meant that we used far less wood than other people with spaces roughly the same size – a little under three cords of wood for the whole winter, as opposed to five or six. This information we got from James, who talked to everybody. Our total wood consumption for a year was equal to theirs, because of our kitchen stove, which of course we used every day. The trick seemed to be that our wood, stacked against the side of the workshop under a little overhang in the roof, was very dry. According to Foxfire Magazine, dry wood burned cleanly with little or no smoke, and this was our experience. We didn’t get creosote in the chimney pipes or gooey messes on the bottom of the stoves. The wood was easy to light and burned very hot.

In the middle of November we had a letter from Jack. They wanted to come up for the skiing on the Thanksgiving weekend and would we mind if they stayed with us?
'The question is rather, will they mind staying with us,' I said to Geordie. 'You saw their house. I don't think the kids will mind sleeping on the floor, but Jack thinks he deserves innerspring mattresses and eiderdown like a birthright.' I patted the sofa, which was a futon.
George laughed. 'Well, they'll live with it or go someplace else, it's up to them.'
'You don't mind?'
He shrugged. 'As I don't know what all the fuss is about with Thanksgiving, I can't say. I wouldn't grudge anyone the skiing here.'

The prescience turned out to be well founded. We sent Jack and Beth very explicit instructions about how to find us, and how to navigate the logging road and the path from it, which we marked with posts before for first snowfall, but on Wednesday they still got lost. Then Jack was cross because they had to carry the kids a quarter mile through two feet of snow to the house. The kids loved it, of course. But, the first words out of Jack's mouth to me were a complaint,
'Why the hell don't you have a proper driveway?'
I smiled, 'for a quarter mile, uphill? Are we the Wilkeses at Twelve Oaks, then?'

We gave them the grand tour of the house and its peculiarities, the workshop, and the privy, showed them where their towels were in the kitchen dresser, and handled the inevitable storm of incredulity and protest from my brother.
'You have an outhouse? Jesus, what do you do in the middle of the night in the winter?' He gestured. ' What are the kids to do? I'm sure as hell not trudging out to the john with a flashlight through the snow.'
'There's a pot under the sofa for you,' I said, nodding. 'I'll show the kids how to use it. It's no big deal, Jack, it's just like camping.'
He shook his head. 'You and Ellen are too much! But you're even more off the wall than she is. I mean, you wrote about all this, but I didn't believe it.'
'Thanks, bro,' I said.
We helped them collect their ski gear from their Range Rover, and we all went cross-country skiing for the day, which helped to quell Jack's bad mood somewhat.

In the kitchen as we were making dinner, Beth examined the set-up with interest, poking into cupboards and reading the jar labels as they ranged on the shelves under the ledge on the window side. She had watched me regulate the stove as if she were a medical student on the first day of surgical procedures.
'I had the ideas from Ellen,' I said of the jars and shelves. ' Her kitchen is pretty much the same. But the organisation is mine.' And it was all very organised, from herbs and spices to grains and flours, to legumes and dried and preserved foods. Everything was in glass and tins. There was nothing plastic, except for a couple of bowl scrapers. Our grinder, for grains and legumes, was an old iron one, and mounted to the ledge. From food to pots to crocks to bottles of milk, it was all organic.

Over the last six months we had slowly changed our diet to a grain and veg based one, and milk and eggs were really the only animal things we bought; I made butter and cheese and yoghurt. Geordie was starting to go off animal products entirely, so I had begun experimenting with making gluten and using soy recipes from Kloss. I had discovered in my experiments that that master hadn't discovered the best way to make something, every time, and that knowledge was heady. But if we were to have kids, I still wasn't sure if they or I should be vegans, so kept my toe in the animal products world. And I liked fermenting things besides. It put me in touch with those old human traditions.
'It looks like a restaurant,' Beth said, impressed. She smiled, looking about at the lamps and all the gear. 'A Victorian restaurant!'
Geordie came in for the corkscrew to open a bottle of Zinfandel. 'Hello, darling girl,' he kissed my cheek and took a tea towel from the drawer. Then he carried bottle, corkscrew and all into the common room.
Beth frowned.

'You don't have any paper goods, do you?'
I looked up. 'Except to light the stove, no.'
'No, I mean like napkins or towels, or' – she lowered her voice – 'toilet paper. I noticed that in the john – the pile of cloths and bucket. You have to wash all that stuff?'
I nodded. She paused, and coloured.
'And you wash it by hand! '
'I have a hand agitator and a mangle, actually,' I corrected.
'But what about – ' she looked over in the direction of the common room and lowered her voice –' what about your monthlies?'
Talk about Victorian! Monthlies, good grief. 'I made my own pads and I wash them.'
She looked thunderstruck. 'Ew.' Pause. 'Really?'
'Yes, lots of the women around here do.'
'...But isn't it messy? And what does George think?'
I smiled. Oh yes, we must not be real women in front of men! We must always wear makeup, and never bleed or have hairy legs or pits. That was the life I was raised in – to be a perfect, unreal doll. And I was until the Summer of Love smacked me in the face.
'Given that he's never lived with any other woman before he doesn't know the difference,' I said frankly. 'And he wouldn't want a Barbie doll if he did.' I wasn't about to share with her more intimate details of managing bodily fluids. If she wanted to know more about that she could read Ina May Gaskin. But somehow I didn't think she would. Whatever, I wouldn't want to experience their kind of sexuality for anything. I suspected there were words Beth had never used, and if you couldn't talk to your own husband frankly about your own body, then what kind of a relationship did you have? I had to tell Maggie and Shirley about this conversation. They would laugh themselves silly.

'Look,' I said, as gently as I could, 'it's neither practical nor economical to waste a lot of paper up here. We can't bury it, and so we have to burn it and using all the stuff you mentioned would mean we're burning all the time, polluting the air. You might think it's gross, but this is the most commonsense way to live here – and the way that people have lived for thousands of years. What do you think folk did before there was all that?'
'I never really thought about it,' Beth said doubtfully.
I smiled and put my arms around her. 'Oh, Bethy, you are so cute! Think about it, and make choices from there. Live consciously! ' Smiled at her again and went back to my sauce. 'Can you help me pour this out?' I said of the pasta.

I went into the common room to tell the guys and kids that dinner was on. The kids were sprawled out all over the dog in front of the stove and George sat on the sofa, smoking his pipe – which he rarely did- and the room was wreathed in the sweet smell; Jack was going on about the recession and the price of gas.
'I hadn't noticed, actually,' George admitted when he could get a word in edgewise. 'We hardly ever drive and don't buy a lot of consumer goods.' He looked up and thought at me with an expression that said, thank God you're here. Get me out of this.
'Dinner's ready,' I said, coming over.
Geordie laid his head on my hip. 'Thanks, babe.'
I went over to the kids. 'Davie, Barbie, would you like to go sit at your very own special table?'
Davie rolled over. 'We want him to come!' he said patting the dog.
'Ferg isn't allowed in the kitchen during meals, ' I said. 'But you can come and play with him when you're done.' I took his hand. 'Come on, we have special plates for you and everything.'

I took the kids by the hands and herded them into the kitchen, sat them up on the stools from our workshop at the ledge. They had their own little space with autumn leaves and a bunch of dried yarrow, and tin plates that the Wheelers' kids had painted for us at Wobbly. They had cups of carob cocoa to go with their dinner. Above them on the window stave, too high for them to reach, a candle burned in one of our old folding climbing lanterns. Maybe they were bewitched by the calming yarrow, but they were very good the whole meal, on which Beth commented. For us, however, it was not so good.

'You say you don't notice, ' Jack went on, inexorably, as George poured out the wine, 'but you must, up here. Things must come hard by.'
'What do you mean?' I asked, passing out the salad –laden plates. I had an idea of what he was about to say.
'Well you don't really work.'
George looked up sharply, putting the wine bottle down and handing Beth her glass. 'I beg your pardon, but we do work,' he said softly, with a glance at me.
Jack took a drink from his glass. ' Yes – oh this is very good! - Yes, I know, Claire wrote about teaching kids music, but that's only part time, isn't it?'
George agreed that it was.
'How many hours?'
'Between twelve and fifteen a week, ' I said, 'it varies.'
'Exactly, ' Jack said, nodding. 'And how much do you make from that a month?'
George looked at me. It was really none of my brother's business, and it was rude of him to ask. But he realised, as I did, that Jack had some game on, and he wanted to see it to the end.
'About two hundred dollars a month,' George said shaking his hair from his eyes. I nodded.
'And how much do you spend?'
'About a hundred.'
Jack paused in his rant, nonplussed. '...Oh. Still, that's not very much –'
'We made seven hundred dollars last month over and above that on instruments and jewellery,' George said quickly, into the breach.
Again, Jack paused. 'Shit, that's more than my house payment!' He said. I smiled and handed him his plate back, full of carbonara. 'Thank you.... Do you make that frequently?'
'Almost every month,' George agreed. He too was smiling. Game on, now.
'Shit. Who'd have thought, from arts and crafts?'
I looked at Beth and noticed she was pushing the remains of salad around her plate. Oh dear. She hadn't said anything since we sat down.

'So where does the money go?' Jack asked, now truly perplexed. He looked about the kitchen.
'Not up in smoke, if that's what you mean, ' Geordie laughed. 'The only herbs we have are culinary and medicinal.' He winked at me. Jack was very red.
'Well I didn't mean –'
'We give it to the co-op, for local projects – like the roads and maintenance of public buildings – or to Oxfam America, for relief projects for the poor.' I said.
Jack was silent for some moments, thinking and eating.
'You work and give all your money away?' He ascertained.
We nodded.
'We were brought up, Jack, to tithe to the church and the poor box,' I reminded him. 'We don't need it.' He stopped, very red, and looked up at me from under his sandy eyebrows. He was really angry.
'But not to throw away money with both hands and live like paupers!' he burst out. 'Jesus Christ, Claire! You have two and a half million dollars sitting in a trust fund and you live like you were in Appalachia!'

We all stared at him, Beth because she was mortified, and Geordie and I because we were dumbstruck. We had no idea how much money was in the trust. I had never asked.
'It can stay there,' I said, after a moment.
'Until when?'
'Until Hell freezes over for all I care,' I said flatly. Under the table, George reached out with his foot and rubbed my leg. Well done, it said.
'It can't just sit there, ' Jack insisted.
'Why not? ' I asked. 'Is there a run on the banks?'
My brother rattled his silverware in frustration. 'No! But it's not doing anything! You should let me invest it.'
The penny dropped. I looked at George. 'Ah,' I said. 'I get it.' He nodded, and so I went on. 'Times are bad so you want to use my money to make yourself rich in speculation.' I turned to Jack and looked him fully in the face. 'Well, you can forget it.'
'But Claire you don't know anything about money.'
'Enough to know that what you are suggesting is wrong.'
'Dad made his living this way,' Jack insisted.' Gave you a privileged life, gave you the ability to live out here like this.'
I bit my lips and stared hard at Geordie. He was beaming peace and loving-kindness at me. 'No, Jack,' I said at last. 'I gave me the ability to live out here like this, by my own study and practise, by my own work with my own two hands. I never used a penny of that money for any of this.'
'What about Juilliard?' He challenged.
'That was on full scholarship.'
'What about Holy Family?' He went on. The girls' Catholic boarding school in Connecticut I went to.
'I didn't choose that,' I said. 'Dad and Mom did.'
'God, you are the most stubborn woman!' Jack exclaimed, reaching past me for the wine. George laughed.
'What sort of trust is it?' he asked Jack. We both looked up in surprise.
'A revocable trust,' Jack said. 'That’s –'
'Yes. I know what that is,' George said softly, holding up a hand. He looked keenly at my brother. 'Why not make it an irrevocable trust?' He looked at me, 'for our grandchildren.' I smiled. Oh what a splendid joke! Tie it all up for generations.
'You want to entail it?' Jack exclaimed, consternated.
I laughed. 'Yes.' That would fix him.

I got up then and went to the icebox for the shoofly pie I had made for dessert, with one tiny one each for the children. When I sat down again with the pie, I said to Jack,
'I'm sorry you're feeling squeezed in the stock market, Jack. I really am. But I think that your interest in my trust fund is just a little bit the wrong side of greedy. Especially, as you say, when I don't know anything about money.' I handed him a plate of the sticky sweet pie with a smile. Beth was looking at him with her head cocked, with a kind of smirk on her face, a 'see I told you!' look that made me very merry.

In the dark that night, George said of the evening,
'Well, that was interesting.'
'God,' I exclaimed. 'Jack is such a pain in the ass!'
He chuckled and put his fingers over my mouth. 'Shh, shh shh, they'll hear you.' He kissed me. 'You were brilliant,' he whispered. 'What a bonny lass.' I could feel him laughing silently.
'How did you know about trusts?' I hissed.
'Part of my internship at the Phil was in the front office,' he reminded me. ' I learned just enough about non-profits to be dangerous. We had several important donors.'
'I can just imagine.'
He chuckled again, 'oh, sweetheart, what a joy you are. Steadfast. I love you so much Claire.' He kissed me. 'Even if you are an heiress... even if you were a Catholic schoolgirl....'
'Ah now, whatever do you mean by that?'
He laughed again, softly. 'Come here. I'll show you.'

The next morning there was a rather awkward, but funny, incident. Barbie came in to our room, following the dog, as the sun came up. We were already up, meditating, and into the silence, we heard Jack hiss in a stage whisper:
'Don't go in there!'
I opened my eyes, to see my brown-haired niece standing by our bed with her finger in her mouth, regarding us solemnly with big blue eyes.
'It's alright, bro,' I called out. 'We're not naked or anything!'
'Shh! ' George poked me, and then laughed too.
'What are you doing?' Barbie asked.
I smiled. 'Meditating.'
'Do you want to come up?" George asked her.
She nodded and climbed up on the bed, sitting before us with her feet splayed out on either side in the extreme flexibility of childhood.
'Here,' I said, taking her little soft hands. I put them together as if she were praying in church.
'Now close your eyes, and listen for God,' I said. She did, obediently, and we hung out for a couple of minutes with her, in a really good vibe. Kids are so open to that Godspace, they just move right into it, and so did Barbie, because she was only four. But Jack had to stick his fool head through the edge of the curtain and say,

'What the hell are you doing?'
He scared the poor little thing, so that she jumped a mile.
'Meditating with us,' I said, looking over at him.
He barged in fully, in long underwear, and pulled the kid up by the hand.
'I don't want my kids corrupted by any of that Eastern shit.' He said.
I shook my head at him. 'Jack you are so uptight. It's just prayer.'
He glared at me. 'Do you go to church anymore?'
'Do you?' I asked rhetorically. 'I fail to see how that's any of your business,' I said. 'As a matter of fact there was a Franciscan priest at our all Souls celebration –' I wouldn't call it Samhain in front of him – ' and he blessed us all.' It was nice, because it was my birthday.
'Hippie priests in sandals!' he scathed.
'St Francis of Assisi? '
He made a noise and went out, dragging the kid by the hand.
'It's going to be a long day,' I said. I was in a really bad mood now.
'Hey,' Geordie murmured. 'Hey. Look at me.'
I turned round and he put his hands on my face, and we breathed together the guru breath for a while until I felt better.
'We'll work on this,' he promised, 'when they've gone.'
It was just like him to know without being told that there was more going on here than met the eye.
We all went downhill skiing for most of the day, which was a relief. Any ratty feelings could be put into the activity and dissipated, and even Jack loosened up and had a good time. We stopped by the house for the pies for the dinner at town hall, and then headed into town.

Everybody was there, and the talk was loud, in the room festooned with leaves and pumpkins and cornucopiae of candy corn. The Zen quilters had made runners for the tables and it was very inviting and warm. I put our sweet potato pies over on the buffet table and introduced Beth to Maggie and Betsey, who were there.
'You have worked so hard,' Beth said to them, looking at the room.
'Nah,' Maggie said. 'Everybody pitches in. Welcome!'
There was a group blessing led by Joe and James, with everybody holding hands, and we sang the Merry Meet Merry Part, Till We Merry Meet Again song, before queuing up for the food:

'By the Air that is Her breath,
By the Fire of Her bright spirit,
By the Waters of Her womb,
By the Earth that is Her body.
Our Circle is open -- Yet unbroken.
May the peace of the Goddess be ever in our hearts.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.

'By the Air that is Her Wisdom,
By the Fire of Her bright Courage,
By the Waters of Her Love,
By the Earth that is Her Strength.
'Our Circle is open -- Yet unbroken.
May the love of the Goddess be ever in our hearts.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.

'We're the keepers of Her Wisdom,
We're the keepers of Her Courage,
We're the keepers of Her Love,
We're the keepers of Her Strength.

Our Circle is open -- Yet unbroken.
May the joy of the Goddess be ever in our hearts.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.
Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.

That didn’t go down too well with Jack, who harrumphed loudly as we got our plates.
'Chill out,' I muttered to him.' It's just a song about gratitude.' Behind me, Geordie put his hand on my back.
Jack didn't find the food any better – it was vegetarian, not a turkey in sight, though there were plenty of nut roasts and cranberry sauce, close enough to fool the staunchest carnivore – including James, who sat across from us with Betsey, a plate before him heaped as high as Mt. San Jacinto. Joe and Maggie and their kids were to our right, and Shirley and her little Jewish husband David to our left. Mike and Karen Oldfield were at the next table at about the same latitude, with Dave and Carrie Morrisey and the Burkes and their four kids. After some eating went down, the kids were all running around together, carrying on, stopping at whichever Mom happened to be nearest once in a while to check in. Even my niece and nephew joined in on this mayhem, laughing and running and free. I half heard Jack make a blue remark about 'communes' saw him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I steadfastly ignored him.

After way too much dessert, the Carolina Sweethearts were prevailed upon to give some music, so we went up to the end of the room where our set up was, and whiled away a couple of hours in some get-down bluegrass; it was the only completely free-feeling part of the evening to me.

Finishing off we played Will the Circle be Unbroken,
Well I followed close behind her
Tried to hold up and be brave
But I could not hide my sorrow
When they laid her in that grave.

'Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by Lord, by and by,
There's a better home a-waitin
In the sky lord, in the sky.

'I went back home Lord that home was lonesome
Since my mother, she was gone
All my brothers and sisters crying
What a home so sad and alone.

'Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by lord, by and by,
There's a better home a-waitin
In the sky lord, in the sky.

' One by one the seats were emptied
One by one they went away
Now that family they are parted
Will they meet again some day.

'Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by lord, by and by,
There's a better home a-waitin
In the sky lord, in the sky.

' I was singing with my sisters
I was singing with my friends
And we all can, sing together
‘Cause the circle never ends'

Tired and happy, we wended our way to the jeep at midnight; George with sleepy Davie sprawled across his chest while Jack carried Barbie.
'I don't think we'll come back with you,' Jack said unceremoniously at their Range Rover. George and I looked at one another. Beth protested.
'But all our clothes, and skis, and the children's toys are at the house!'
'We can send for them,' Jack insisted, looking me dead in the eye. He was so full of bad feeling. Resentment, disapproval, even hate.
'Don't be stupid,' I said. 'It's the middle of the night, and a three-hour drive.'
'We'll get a hotel.'
'There aren't any,' George offered,' unless you go to Palm Springs.'
'Then we'll go to Palm Springs.'
'But they won't be open now,' Geordie continued.
'Then I'll drive.'

'Jack,' I said, 'I don't know what's bugging you so much, but it won't be solved by doing this. Be sensible.'
He exploded, drawing stares from passers-by going to their cars. 'Sensible! Says my hippie sister with her hillbilly house and godless pagan commune friends. You make me sick.'
'That's quite enough,' George said quietly, shifting Davie up on his shoulder. He glanced at Beth, who was crying softly. 'I won't allow you to speak that way to my wife,' he went on softly. He looked at Jack for a long time, steadily, neutrally. 'You can rant all you want all night, and say whatever you want to me, and I'll hear you. But you will not speak that way to her. It is very late, and we were up early. I should not like it on my conscience if you should meet with an accident. These are dangerous mountain roads. It's slick and likely to be icy. There are no lights. For the sake of your family, if not your own, come with us,'
'Jack!' Beth cried. 'The children!'
'Be quiet!' He said sharply. He looked back at Geordie, who faced him with calm neutrality for several more minutes. The cold of the night was setting into us all. Finally, finally, Jack sighed deeply and said,
'Okay.' He nodded like a child and herded his family into the car.

'What did you do there?' I asked George in the darkness as we turned onto our logging road. 'Something I learned at Findhorn,' he said quietly. 'From Peter, who learned it in the RAF. From MI6...' He glanced at me. 'It's a form of mind-control, and I don't like to use it. But I really felt that lives were at stake....'
He was silent for a long time as he drove. Then,
'Jack wasn't ever in Viet Nam?' He ascertained. He knew he wasn't, so I was puzzled at the double-checking.
'No. Daddy got him out of it somehow... Why?'
'I think he feels guilty.' There was silence for a while again. Then, 'did he have any really close friends who were there?'
'Oh yes!' I had an instant image of his best friend, Matt Carberry. Matt played the bass, was a CO, and went over as a medic. I told Geordie this.
'What happened to him?'
'He was blown to bits and came back in a shoe box.'

'Jesus!' He looked at me. 'Someone who talked like you, and Ellen, about peace and love and right livelihood.' It was not a question.
'Yes.'
'Did Jack agree with him?'
'Heck no! He told him he was a nancy.'
'And Matt went off and died.'
I nodded.
Geordie considered. 'He probably thinks that "peace love and right livelihood" killed him. That if he'd been a real man, carrying a gun, he wouldn't have died. So there's conflict. It would explain a lot. But he can't face it....' He looked at me and smiled in the darkness. 'And our loving peaceful friends just pushed him to the limit. Poor blighter.'

Jack was very subdued in the morning. We woke very early and did our meditation in peace, and were sitting drinking tea at the kitchen table when he came in, looking like death.
'Will you be all right to drive?' I asked him.
'I don't know,' he admitted, rubbing his head. 'Beth can drive.' I was relieved that my know-all macho brother was admitting a human incapacity. He lumbered over and sat down at the table heavily.
'I had a strange dream,' he said. 'Claire do you remember Matt?'
I glanced at George, and nodded.
'Well, I had a dream that he came to my office and told me I was an asshole,' I stifled a smile, 'really told me off for not going with him to Nam, that if I had gone with him, he would have been okay, wouldn't have run over that landmine.'
There was the guilt, pointed out to him by its object.
'What did you say?' George asked.
Jack was silent for a moment. 'I told him he was a pantywaist and that real men weren't out there driving ambulances, but were in the forests clearing out the Viet Cong.'
There was the ambivalence.
'He was awarded the purple heart, Jack,' I said, aching.
'Fat lot of good it did him,' Jack said, and his eyes filled with tears. I got up and got him a towel, but he shook his head.
'I'll be all right.'
'I'll make you some coffee, then,' I said.
'Thanks.'

While I made the coffee, George asked him about Matt, and his life and their friendship, and how they left it. Jack unwound a long and complex tale, slowly drinking the black coffee before him. But when he came to how they left it, he shook his head and balked.
'I let him down,' he only said. 'I was an ass to him. I was a big cruel jerk. And I never apologised.'
Davie came in just then, in his footed pyjamas, and laid is head on my leg. 'Auntie Claire,' he said. 'I want to stay at your house with Ferdus.'
Beth must have told them they had to go home. I smoothed his hair. 'You can come back again and play with Fergus, ' I told him.

When they'd gone, we grabbed our ice gear and went climbing with Rob for the next three days. Hanging off a frozen sheer face and bivying in a sling is extremely bracing to the mind and clears the head wonderfully.