We don’t make a big deal out of Thanksgiving by stressing out over special foods and filling the house with relatives. Most of our family has moved to different states and friends are spending time with their families. Still I like to bake a turkey even though two out three of us that will be at the Thanksgiving dinner table are vegetarians. It still like the turkey gravy poured over stiffly mashed potatoes and a healthy serving of stuffing drenched in turkey juices where they have been baking for a few hours with a side of jellied cranberry sauce. A black-berry flavored jello filled with crunchy things like chopped cranberries, grapes, celery and nuts is always good. Often I make home made cinnamon rolls and dinner rolls. I always like to eat a cinnamon roll right from the oven while I cooking the rest of the dinner. Pumpkin pie is my favorite although I usually make an apple and cherry pie depending on how many people come to dinner. It will be Stan, Jamie and myself this year.
Several years we also included Ruthie, a neighbor, at our Thanksgiving feast. Her husband Ralph died a few years ago so it is enjoyable to have her come by and help us with the turkey and leftovers. This year she is going to visit her son in Albuquerque for Thanksgiving. We are going down there as well the day after to celebrate Stan’s sister, Irene’s 80th birthday.
One year about 2004, John traveled from Boston with his girl friend for Thanksgiving. We went all out that year to be sure and make a good impression on Rachel. We spent most of September and October taking down that old kitchen wall paper from the 1980’s and painting the walls a soft designer yellow. What is so designer about yellow? It’s just soft yellow. We added some soft yellow and white gingham wall paper to the back splash and the sofit to add some change in the texture. I found some fabric at a wholesale shop with a splash of painterly flowers in yellows, purple and reds. I made a drape for the sliding door and gently gathered valences to top the other two windows.
The table was set with the hand stamped rust and beige table cloth that we bought on our trip to India years back. I made some kind of floral arrangement (not my long suite) from pine boughs and some orange berries from one of the trees in our backyard. I set the table with my Grandma Anna Swanson’s dishes. They have delicate gold trim and look nice on a Thanksgiving table. I have a couple sets of silverware that I use on such occasions. One that we received as a wedding gift that we bought with money Uncle Vern had given us and one from my mom with the initial “S” on the handles. I bought some cute little white lacy looking ceramic snowmen that I threaded a rusty-red ribbon through the lacy part to decorate them up. Each person had a snowman at their place. I figured we could use them on the tree for Christmas ornaments. We enjoyed getting to know Rachel that Thanksgiving weekend. She made a favorable impression on us and we are happy to have her as our daughter-in-law now.
Other Thanksgivings we served variations of the same types of food. When mom was still alive we invited her over to Thanksgiving. I would pick her up from her retirement apartment a few miles from our home. Even though we had the same type of foods, she must have been a bit of a vegetarian herself in her later years. She ate mashed potatoes with some gravy, vegetable, a little jello and a roll. These were servings big enough for a bird. She liked pumpkin pie too. Once she was finished she wanted to go back to her apartment. We were happy to have a few minutes with her.
Early when I married Stan in 1973 I had to learn had to make all this Thanksgiving stuff over years. It wasn’t always easy as pie to put on a Thanksgiving dinner. It takes practice over years. Now, I like baking the turkey on a baking bag best. It seems to work for me and people always eat the turkey without many complaints. I always like to try a new salad or cookie recipe during one of these dinners, which can be a disaster or a delight.
Gravy is always a problem. None of us know how to make it. Simple, I know, but still we don’t get it. Now I just buy an envelope of turkey gravy that you simply add water and heat up for a few minutes. One year in 1973 when we were first married and lived in Brownsville, Texas people came down to visit us in droves. That Thanksgiving, my parents, my friend Bobby Kline and Stan’s friend, Chuck Germeyer all showed up on Thanksgiving. Some how we got dinner on the table for all of them. No special dishes as it takes years to collect all that kind of stuff. I relegated the turkey gravy to Bobbie and Chuck knowing that Bobbie was a good cook. Well, not in the gravy arena. My parents must have thought – what a fiasco to drive all the way to Brownville to watch their daughter struggle with a simple Thanksgiving meal. I probably bought pies that year. Bobbie and Chuck ended up being very close friends that weekend, but ultimately went their separate ways.
By 1976 when we moved back to Colorado we spent a few years having Thanksgiving dinner with Mom and Dad at their house in Greeley. By that time Mom had forgotten whatever she knew about cooking. She had this technique she used to cook her turkey in a Westinghouse oven that kind of steamed the thing into submission. It was a very over-cooked bird by the time it was served on the plate. Stan nick named it turkey jerky. She was still the best pie maker ever and we enjoyed the visit, just not the turkey. We were all hardy meat eaters then.
As a young couple we felt we had to make the parental break to establish our own traditions. So we started going skiing with the kids on Thanksgiving day. That eliminated the need to go to Greeley for Thanksgiving. Mom was probably tired of making the big meal so she said. We would bundle up the kids in the van and off we would go to try out the new sometimes sparse snow, while the turkey baked in the oven using the automatic oven timer. That was some of the best skiing ever before the snow was packed down with snow grooming equipment. We wore our rock skis so those scraps wouldn’t ruin our good skis. The ski tickets were always cheaper then on Thanksgiving Day. The crowds were light as most people were spending the day eating and watching football games indoors. For several years this allowed us some couple-family freedom and still we had turkey dinner on the table later in the afternoon after a morning of skiing.
Growing up I don’t remember too much about Thanksgiving except the year we ate a pet duck with Marlyss’ family which I told about before.
In school the fall was filled with construction paper cut outs of leaves, turkeys and pilgrims. If we were lucky there might be some printed cardboard cut outs that the teachers would hang on the bulletin boards. We had a few at home too that used to decorate the windows.
Thanksgiving held an important part in our lives when we all took time to say a heart felt grace and reflect on things we which were thankful. Now Christmas has crept into our Thanksgiving spirits with advertisements and sales starting in the stores minutes after Halloween. When I grew up no Christmas decorations were applied to street corners or hung in store windows until Thanksgiving was over. Thanksgiving was such a nice time to sit down and have a delicious meal you’re your family.
Last week we saw a line of needy people around the block at the Jeffco Action Center waiting to pick up their box of food to prepare their own Thanksgiving feast. Other centers are offering meals that day in community halls filled with people in need. It seems the connection to Thanksgiving is missing in some of these contrived experiences.
Sometimes maybe just a simple meal, no matter the content, with a sharing of Thanksgiving for our family, country and freedoms would be more appropriate.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Choir Robes
Choir Robes
Our family belonged to the First Covenant Church in Greeley. Every time the doors opened we were there to support and participate in the activities. Sunday, of course, was the biggest day for church.
My Grandparents, Anna and Carl Swanson, were charter members of this church. It started in a different building than the one I became familiar with. Anna and Carl had probably helped build that first church through sweat and economic contributions. I can just see the men planning and working together. Mostly church members were farmers toiling in the fields to raise crops then milk the cows and gather eggs from the chickens. This was a daily job that takes the computer jocks of today to task when they refer to a team managing customer service 24/7. Farmers were on call to operate their farming operation 24/7 with no backup support except their family. Still they believed in the freedom to worship that this country gives to all its citizens. Together they took precious hours from their farming to come together to build a church. Not just the hammer and nails it took to build the frame and lay the bricks, but building a community of friends and relatives with similar values and beliefs.
The First Covenant Church was connected to the main church in Minnesota. During my Grandparents day the church included mostly Swedish folks. The services were in Swedish as was the singing. I found an old Bible from my Grandmother that was in Swedish. The leather cover was soft with wear as were the pages that were thumbed through over time from hours of reading her favorite Bible verses. My dad, Harold, grew up speaking Swedish at home and at church. He learned English and in school and other public places, he and his brother, Clarence would always speak English. Grandma had a thick Swedish brogue when she spoke English. It was music to our ears to hear her talk. Grandpa spoke clear English as he was in the business world selling and buying cattle and meeting with people of all nationalities. It must have been a challenge for my Mom when she married my Dad to acclimate to the Swedish chat between family members at family gatherings. Still we always said grace before every meal in Swedish.
When we cleaned out some of Mom’s stuff in an old barn I found a wooden orange crate full of dusty song books from the first church. They were only an half an inch thick compared to the two inch variety that the next church used. But the songs were the same melodies with some variation of titles or words. The hymn book was in English, but had many verses in Swedish. I thought some day I would take a book apart and frame some of the songs. They would be interesting on a wall in a music room above the piano.
Maybe people don’t have pianos anymore, just keyboards and drum sets along with stacks of CD. Now the young folks have thousands of songs loaded into an Ipod or MP3 player no bigger than a credit card always on – always connected to ear buds hanging from their ears. A shame really that they will miss the opportunity I grew up with to hear music live played from my sister’s fingers stroking the piano keys. Miss a note or not it was delightful to sit next to her on the piano bench and watch her play. If we knew the song my brother and mother might stand behind the piano for a brief verse or two to sing along.
My dad was a good singer. He must have been a baritone. He didn’t sing high tenor notes like Don Lindstrom or really low bass like my brother Alan. Just clear and heart felt. When he was younger for years he sang every Sunday in the choir with my Mom and the rest of the friends and relatives at the church who could carry a tune. Alan found a 78 vinyl recording of dad singing a solo with the choir that Alan had transcribed to a cassette. Now we are into CDs and digital recordings. I have misplaced that short piece of music with my dad’s voice resonating in joy of life to the congregation. Maybe I’ll find it and listen once more.
My mom sang in the middle range too about the same place that I can carry a tune. There were strong singers in the choir. One big soprano voice came were from my Aunt Marion, Marlyss’ mother. Not really my Aunt, but we all called her that as she married my Aunt Ruth’s brother Rodney Johnson. Aunt Marion could take a deep breath with those big old lungs and hit the high notes as clear as a beautiful crystal glass. From time to time Aunt Marion and Uncle Rodney would sing duets. She was always the power house. Vivian Swanson, my second cousin, had a champion soprano voice too. The kind of voice that makes you stop for a minute just to hear her sing.
My Aunt Ruth and Marlyss (Miki) had low alto voices that carried the harmony on Sunday mornings. My second cousin, Ray Duell had a really strong baritone voice and was asked many times to sing songs such as “Our Father, who art in Heaven” and at Christmas time “Oh Holy Night”. Breathtaking really.
One thing about our church was that we sang praises loudly and with vigor. When I married Stan we went to the Catholic Church from time to time. They are timid singers. The songs were not familiar as the ones I grew up singing week after week. Churches were bigger; there was a choir, but not the rejoicing that you find in the strain of church when I grew up. I went to a mega church with my sister-in-law Irene when visiting in Albuquerque. They really sang and sang and sang until the place was a frenzy of voices shouting out at the words on the big screen up front. The First Covenant Church was somewhere between those two extremes in the singing department.
There was always something going on with the Ladies Aid group at church. They gathered for prayer meetings and to study the Bible one a week or so. Then they would sponsor projects to prepare food for church gatherings. There was a big old meeting room in the basement of the church with a large kitchen at the end. Women would bring food from home and people would line up to fill their plates of the best home-cooking from miles around. This of course was before women entered the workforce in earnest. They had their chores at home and helped feed the calves and chickens, then gave of time at the church. Funerals were not catered, but food was brought in by the women of the church to share with a grieving family and their friends. The Ladies aid reached out to the shut-ins making visits to cheer people up as well as visits to nursing homes to share some joy.
My Grandma was more of a worker then a social butterfly. I fit into that mold pretty well. Give me something to do and I’m happy. Let me chat up a storm with some friends and I’m fidgety. I leave that up to people like my sister who relishes in friendships. I spend time with my friends from work, but there is always a plan or goal to get something done. This week we are planning to decorate and fill Christmas stockings for needy children.
In the front of the church there was a large table and a tall velvet curtain. My Grandma had made some of these large drapes for the church. My Mom took over some of those sewing chores also. It seems they changed the drapes several times a year with the change of seasons; deep gold for spring and dark red for Christmas time. Mom was always busy sewing something for her family, teaching little girls to sew in 4-H and sewing something for the church. This included making choir robes and bows for the children’s choir.
Mrs. Osterberg was the minister’s wife who had responsibilities at the church longer than your arm. She had two daughters, Janet – who was my age and Anne who was a couple years younger. Mrs. Osterberg gathered all the little children from about age 5 – 15 to sing in her children’s choir. The kids had one choir loft on the right side of the front of the church and the adults had the other choir loft on the left side. The kids meet every Saturday at the church to practice. Mrs. Osterberg taught us three part harmony and just beamed every Sunday when we sang our songs on Sunday morning. There were probably about 20 kids or so singing and fidgeting during the sermon up front of the church.
I must have learned production projects from my Mom. She sewed up a bunch of those choir robes. They were out of heavy crème colored fabric with a yoke and gathers in a variety of sizes to fit all the kids. At the neck was a big old crispy satin bow. These were also made by Frances and her friends from the Ladies Aid. Each Sunday the kids would gather after Sunday school behind in the crowded room behind the alter to put on our choir robes and have the bows tied. The bows were bright red for Christmas and gold or light teal blue for the rest of the year. My mom was in charge of making sure all the kids got on their robes and had their bows tied and straight. Mrs. Osterberg was a good planner and worked collaboratively with the women of the church to get the maximum help she needed to get the job done. We looked cute as buttons and sang pretty well too.
Our family belonged to the First Covenant Church in Greeley. Every time the doors opened we were there to support and participate in the activities. Sunday, of course, was the biggest day for church.
My Grandparents, Anna and Carl Swanson, were charter members of this church. It started in a different building than the one I became familiar with. Anna and Carl had probably helped build that first church through sweat and economic contributions. I can just see the men planning and working together. Mostly church members were farmers toiling in the fields to raise crops then milk the cows and gather eggs from the chickens. This was a daily job that takes the computer jocks of today to task when they refer to a team managing customer service 24/7. Farmers were on call to operate their farming operation 24/7 with no backup support except their family. Still they believed in the freedom to worship that this country gives to all its citizens. Together they took precious hours from their farming to come together to build a church. Not just the hammer and nails it took to build the frame and lay the bricks, but building a community of friends and relatives with similar values and beliefs.
The First Covenant Church was connected to the main church in Minnesota. During my Grandparents day the church included mostly Swedish folks. The services were in Swedish as was the singing. I found an old Bible from my Grandmother that was in Swedish. The leather cover was soft with wear as were the pages that were thumbed through over time from hours of reading her favorite Bible verses. My dad, Harold, grew up speaking Swedish at home and at church. He learned English and in school and other public places, he and his brother, Clarence would always speak English. Grandma had a thick Swedish brogue when she spoke English. It was music to our ears to hear her talk. Grandpa spoke clear English as he was in the business world selling and buying cattle and meeting with people of all nationalities. It must have been a challenge for my Mom when she married my Dad to acclimate to the Swedish chat between family members at family gatherings. Still we always said grace before every meal in Swedish.
When we cleaned out some of Mom’s stuff in an old barn I found a wooden orange crate full of dusty song books from the first church. They were only an half an inch thick compared to the two inch variety that the next church used. But the songs were the same melodies with some variation of titles or words. The hymn book was in English, but had many verses in Swedish. I thought some day I would take a book apart and frame some of the songs. They would be interesting on a wall in a music room above the piano.
Maybe people don’t have pianos anymore, just keyboards and drum sets along with stacks of CD. Now the young folks have thousands of songs loaded into an Ipod or MP3 player no bigger than a credit card always on – always connected to ear buds hanging from their ears. A shame really that they will miss the opportunity I grew up with to hear music live played from my sister’s fingers stroking the piano keys. Miss a note or not it was delightful to sit next to her on the piano bench and watch her play. If we knew the song my brother and mother might stand behind the piano for a brief verse or two to sing along.
My dad was a good singer. He must have been a baritone. He didn’t sing high tenor notes like Don Lindstrom or really low bass like my brother Alan. Just clear and heart felt. When he was younger for years he sang every Sunday in the choir with my Mom and the rest of the friends and relatives at the church who could carry a tune. Alan found a 78 vinyl recording of dad singing a solo with the choir that Alan had transcribed to a cassette. Now we are into CDs and digital recordings. I have misplaced that short piece of music with my dad’s voice resonating in joy of life to the congregation. Maybe I’ll find it and listen once more.
My mom sang in the middle range too about the same place that I can carry a tune. There were strong singers in the choir. One big soprano voice came were from my Aunt Marion, Marlyss’ mother. Not really my Aunt, but we all called her that as she married my Aunt Ruth’s brother Rodney Johnson. Aunt Marion could take a deep breath with those big old lungs and hit the high notes as clear as a beautiful crystal glass. From time to time Aunt Marion and Uncle Rodney would sing duets. She was always the power house. Vivian Swanson, my second cousin, had a champion soprano voice too. The kind of voice that makes you stop for a minute just to hear her sing.
My Aunt Ruth and Marlyss (Miki) had low alto voices that carried the harmony on Sunday mornings. My second cousin, Ray Duell had a really strong baritone voice and was asked many times to sing songs such as “Our Father, who art in Heaven” and at Christmas time “Oh Holy Night”. Breathtaking really.
One thing about our church was that we sang praises loudly and with vigor. When I married Stan we went to the Catholic Church from time to time. They are timid singers. The songs were not familiar as the ones I grew up singing week after week. Churches were bigger; there was a choir, but not the rejoicing that you find in the strain of church when I grew up. I went to a mega church with my sister-in-law Irene when visiting in Albuquerque. They really sang and sang and sang until the place was a frenzy of voices shouting out at the words on the big screen up front. The First Covenant Church was somewhere between those two extremes in the singing department.
There was always something going on with the Ladies Aid group at church. They gathered for prayer meetings and to study the Bible one a week or so. Then they would sponsor projects to prepare food for church gatherings. There was a big old meeting room in the basement of the church with a large kitchen at the end. Women would bring food from home and people would line up to fill their plates of the best home-cooking from miles around. This of course was before women entered the workforce in earnest. They had their chores at home and helped feed the calves and chickens, then gave of time at the church. Funerals were not catered, but food was brought in by the women of the church to share with a grieving family and their friends. The Ladies aid reached out to the shut-ins making visits to cheer people up as well as visits to nursing homes to share some joy.
My Grandma was more of a worker then a social butterfly. I fit into that mold pretty well. Give me something to do and I’m happy. Let me chat up a storm with some friends and I’m fidgety. I leave that up to people like my sister who relishes in friendships. I spend time with my friends from work, but there is always a plan or goal to get something done. This week we are planning to decorate and fill Christmas stockings for needy children.
In the front of the church there was a large table and a tall velvet curtain. My Grandma had made some of these large drapes for the church. My Mom took over some of those sewing chores also. It seems they changed the drapes several times a year with the change of seasons; deep gold for spring and dark red for Christmas time. Mom was always busy sewing something for her family, teaching little girls to sew in 4-H and sewing something for the church. This included making choir robes and bows for the children’s choir.
Mrs. Osterberg was the minister’s wife who had responsibilities at the church longer than your arm. She had two daughters, Janet – who was my age and Anne who was a couple years younger. Mrs. Osterberg gathered all the little children from about age 5 – 15 to sing in her children’s choir. The kids had one choir loft on the right side of the front of the church and the adults had the other choir loft on the left side. The kids meet every Saturday at the church to practice. Mrs. Osterberg taught us three part harmony and just beamed every Sunday when we sang our songs on Sunday morning. There were probably about 20 kids or so singing and fidgeting during the sermon up front of the church.
I must have learned production projects from my Mom. She sewed up a bunch of those choir robes. They were out of heavy crème colored fabric with a yoke and gathers in a variety of sizes to fit all the kids. At the neck was a big old crispy satin bow. These were also made by Frances and her friends from the Ladies Aid. Each Sunday the kids would gather after Sunday school behind in the crowded room behind the alter to put on our choir robes and have the bows tied. The bows were bright red for Christmas and gold or light teal blue for the rest of the year. My mom was in charge of making sure all the kids got on their robes and had their bows tied and straight. Mrs. Osterberg was a good planner and worked collaboratively with the women of the church to get the maximum help she needed to get the job done. We looked cute as buttons and sang pretty well too.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Track Meets
Once a year in the spring we had community track meets for local country schools that included Pleasant Valley School for kids grade one through eight. There was no such thing as kindergarten at the time I grew up. Barnsville, Lone Tree, Olin were some of the other schools that participated. These schools were similar in that the school was contained in one two-story building that taught 8 grades of children.
The teachers were all a buzz about training us kids to do well in competition with the other schools. At a set aside time during the day, we practiced running the 100 yard dash, high jumping and broad jumping. I can’t remember what we wore during this practice time as little girls usually wore dresses or skirts top school. I imagine we just practiced in our regular clothes as there wasn’t any place to change or store our clothes in lockers.
The high jump was a pole supported by two uprights with nail holes every inch. The nail was moved up for every increment as kids competed. We all stood in line and took turns jumping over the pole into a sand pit. If the pole was knocked off, then you dropped out until there was a declared winner. The younger kids were eliminated early on while the older kids keep on trying to jump over the pole. I’m not sure how that system worked to increase your skills as the poor performers were pulled aside while the high performers had more and more time to practice.
I liked high jumping and always tried real hard to jump high enough to the keep the pole suspended. I can’t imagine wearing dresses as the flare of the dress would have caught on the pole. I think we just kind of stepped over the pole anyway instead of jumping like the athletes do now with style and finesse to barely clear the pole.
Broad jump was also a fun sport. We would run as fast as we could and leap at the starting mark into the sand pit. They didn’t really explain the finer rules of board jumping. They just said to jump as far as you could. I think we had three tries to beat our and other children’s scores. Some times you would fall back onto your hands or touch your feet over the starting line and lose a good score.
Running was never my game. We had to do it anyway. There were kids who were built for running that did the 100 yard dash in record time; at least lightening speed compared to us slow pokes. There were relays where we ran with a baton back and forth in teams of four trying to beat out the other competitors.
Once we were trained, off we would go to the other schools to compete. I think our Mom’s volunteered to take a car load of kids to the school that was hosting the event. It must have been an all day affair. By this time we must have wore jeans to school on event day. Little kids really didn’t wear short at that time.
It was always a fun day. When we participated in our events that were grouped by grades ribbons were handed out: blue for first place, red for second and white for third. The rest of us received green or yellow ribbons for participating.
In between events we hung around with our friends and gossiped about the kids from the other schools. The Mom’s must have brought sack lunches for us to eat as we sat on the grass under a tree. I don’t remember that there were any concession stands for pop or candy. This was very low tech and probably helped keep kids slimmer than our counterparts today who are always sporting a big sugary drink, chips or candy bars.
The teachers were all a buzz about training us kids to do well in competition with the other schools. At a set aside time during the day, we practiced running the 100 yard dash, high jumping and broad jumping. I can’t remember what we wore during this practice time as little girls usually wore dresses or skirts top school. I imagine we just practiced in our regular clothes as there wasn’t any place to change or store our clothes in lockers.
The high jump was a pole supported by two uprights with nail holes every inch. The nail was moved up for every increment as kids competed. We all stood in line and took turns jumping over the pole into a sand pit. If the pole was knocked off, then you dropped out until there was a declared winner. The younger kids were eliminated early on while the older kids keep on trying to jump over the pole. I’m not sure how that system worked to increase your skills as the poor performers were pulled aside while the high performers had more and more time to practice.
I liked high jumping and always tried real hard to jump high enough to the keep the pole suspended. I can’t imagine wearing dresses as the flare of the dress would have caught on the pole. I think we just kind of stepped over the pole anyway instead of jumping like the athletes do now with style and finesse to barely clear the pole.
Broad jump was also a fun sport. We would run as fast as we could and leap at the starting mark into the sand pit. They didn’t really explain the finer rules of board jumping. They just said to jump as far as you could. I think we had three tries to beat our and other children’s scores. Some times you would fall back onto your hands or touch your feet over the starting line and lose a good score.
Running was never my game. We had to do it anyway. There were kids who were built for running that did the 100 yard dash in record time; at least lightening speed compared to us slow pokes. There were relays where we ran with a baton back and forth in teams of four trying to beat out the other competitors.
Once we were trained, off we would go to the other schools to compete. I think our Mom’s volunteered to take a car load of kids to the school that was hosting the event. It must have been an all day affair. By this time we must have wore jeans to school on event day. Little kids really didn’t wear short at that time.
It was always a fun day. When we participated in our events that were grouped by grades ribbons were handed out: blue for first place, red for second and white for third. The rest of us received green or yellow ribbons for participating.
In between events we hung around with our friends and gossiped about the kids from the other schools. The Mom’s must have brought sack lunches for us to eat as we sat on the grass under a tree. I don’t remember that there were any concession stands for pop or candy. This was very low tech and probably helped keep kids slimmer than our counterparts today who are always sporting a big sugary drink, chips or candy bars.
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