Maña del Día/Pet Peeve of the Day: Categories Gone Bad

I have a good friend who sometimes highlights his pet peeve of the day (or "maña del día" in Chilean)  on Facebook, and lately I have found myself doing the same thing in my mind. I am going through my day, minding my own business, and when I am confronted with something rather irksome (or "rawther" as Eloise would say), I think to myself "oh, that is sooo going to be my pet peeve of the day". Do you ever do that?

While these observations can be helpful in processing why something bothers you and what you can do about it, it might be a good idea to couple them with observations of what makes you happy. Pet peeve of the day/joy of the day, pet peeve of the day/joy of the day. You get my point. Because focus on the positive we must, although it is not as easily accomplished.

Any who, today I shall share with you (whoever might actually read this post) a big "maña" of mine. A pet peeve of a lifetime that has been irking me for a while, and hopefully by the time I am finished writing I will be able to come up with a "joy" to counteract it. Pay attention, because I have the feeling that this post will bring on life-changing insights. Seriously. I am deep that way. Here we go:

Henry Cho is a Korean-American stand up comedian who was born and raised in Tennessee. He says of himself: "I am an Asian with a southern accent, to a lot of people, that right there is funny".
I searched hi and lo for a video clip of one of his routines that addresses Asian stereotypes but couldn't find it, so a brief description will have to do. In the scene he depicts, he is chatting with a neighbor who says "hey, I know some Japanese people, you should come see them". Cho's response is "well, in that case, I know some fat people, you should come see them". Or something to that effect. Now if you don't see the humor in such exchange of words, let me enlighten you.

One of the ways in which the human mind works is by categorizing objects, events, feelings, foods, experiences, people, etc. Everything must fit in a category somewhere. This makes the process of making sense of things (cognition) faster and more simple. It is a great strategy of the brain, because really, who has time to analyze every single thing, every time. The problem comes when we oversimplify an item for it to fit in one of our ready-made categories. Did you notice that Henry Cho is from Korean descent? Did you notice that the neighbor told him he should meet his friends because they are Japanese?

I had a Japanese college roommate once. She figured that the fact that I was Chilean and not Uruguayan, or Ecuadorian was of very little importance, since "we are all the same". When I tried to explain to her the err of her thinking, she quickly pointed out to me that surely that's how I thought of her as a Japanese girl. Sadly, she was right. I didn't know enough about her Japanese culture in contrast to other Asian cultures, so my whole life I had thrown her and all Asians into the same category. Her closed mindedness about me opened my eyes to my own closed mindedness.

Why did Henry Cho answer with an invitation to meet his fat friends? well, it could have been anything really. Blonde, skinny, short, tall. The fact that somebody fits in one of your categories doesn't override everything else about that person. I mean, if you are blonde then you must be alike all other blonde people. If you are skinny you must love being around just skinny people, because you are all alike. "Oh look at you, you are tall, you should meet my neighbor two houses down the road, I bet you will get along famously!".  Aaarggghhh!

Taking it to a more personal level, I struggle with this on a constant basis. I happen to live in a very white community where many if not most people have never had meaningful interaction with other cultures and their awareness about diversity is limited. Please now, don't take me for a jerk. I am only talking about this particular issue, I do not intend in any means to put myself above anybody or belittle anyone. I am simply bringing something to the attention of those who mind.

Here are some of the assumptions I have to constantly deal with.  Because I am Chilean, no, even better, because I am from a Spanish speaking country surely I:
-grew up in a small town in the middle of the jungle
-love spicy food
-walked barefoot and picked my meals off of trees
-don't know as much as most everybody else
and my biggest pet peeve of all:
-you must get along with all other people who come from those Spanish speaking countries.

I was talking to an acquaintance once about a Peruvian lady we both sort of knew. I was telling her about the chance I had had to talk to her and get to know her and her story a little better, and about how I thought she was a delightful, amazing person. I truly really like her. But this person I was talking to oversimplified me and the lady from Peru, and brought us both to the ground, just by saying "surely you both got along, since you are both from... you know.... uuhmmmm.... Southamerica". I felt like asking her if she got along with every single gringo she had met. Surely she did, I mean, they are both from ... you know... uhmmmm the United States?

She didn't mean to belittle me or her, she didn't mean to be mean, she didn't mean to make me feel like nothing but a southamerican. She just assumed. And although I don't hold it against her, the thought of people thinking of me or anyone else as the result of belonging to a category makes me so mad, I feel like spitting. Or washing something. Or punching that kickboxing bag.

Couldn't it be possible that I like or feel identified with somebody for more important reasons?
When people are far from what is familiar to them, they tend to flock towards those who are similar to them. So yes, it is nice to find someone I can speak to in Spanish, or who has had experiences similar to mine, but that is not all it takes for me to like someone. If that were all, I would be a simpleton of a person, and that I am not. I am as complicated as it comes, with all it's pros and cons.

I mostly flock towards people who:
- hold principles that I treasure as well.
-have a similar education level (although not always)
-are not judgmental
-are kind
-appreciate what I appreciate
-keep me engaged in conversation
-are funny
-use their brains
-have a heart
-etc, etc, etc

And all of that cannot be constricted to one oversimplified category. There are people of all different walks of life that I know and love. There are more that I would love to get to know, because of who they really are. Because of who I really am.

And here is the worst catch of them all, oversimplifying somebody in order to make him/her fit in a category happens all the time, in all sorts of circumstances, even with the ones we love (as my friend Ann and I discovered):
- Betty is a neat, attentive student? that must be because she is a girl
- James is a rough, loud, rambunctious kid? that's because he is a boy
- David likes the current president of this country? he must be a communist
- Your life is not going well? you must be doing something wrong
- Katie doesn't believe in the same things I do? she must be a heathen

Background, culture, language, beliefs, family, customs, are all factors in the formation of any person. But they don't necessarily describe a person in particular. That needs to be done by the person itself, and we need to be willing to observe and listen. Otherwise, how could you truly like, love or even hate somebody?

I raise my voice to this issue because I believe that everyone is special (except for that guy that cut me off on the freeway, he must be a drunk ;-) ). Everyone deserves a chance to be heard and be recognized for who they really are.




PS: As far as the joy to counteract this peeve, I must say that living here has made me comfortable with being different. I LOVE being different (most of the time), tearing down preconceived notions can be fun sometimes. I am who I am and I will happily "describe" myself to anyone who truly is interested in listening. I also appreciate the fact that my daughters can grow up with the guts to be different too. That, gives me joy.

Life after the Winter

My stomach has been tied in knots for weeks now. But I can't help but be comforted whenever I see these flowers.

Read this post to understand the story behind them.

Now that my mother is battling cancer, life, it's purpose, and what comes after it have been the topic of choice for my wondering soul.

Aren't the flowers beautiful?

Who Do I Think I Am?

*be warned. the only purpose of this post is of a cathartic spewing of feelings, thoughts and moods. no need for pity. really. life is good.*

Me on that life-changing day as I left for the airport, back in 1996

Life has a way of taking you places and weaving itself in ways you don't notice until you take the time to look back and retrace your steps. But looking back brings a certain self-awareness that evokes an array of emotions.

You might realize that you have been in a slump for years without noticing, or maybe you will see that you have truly outdone yourself and done a bang up job with your time and talents, or you might have a great feeling of gratitude for all the blessings that are now evident. Maybe you'll find out that there are certain areas in your life that could use improvement, or perhaps you will realize that in the middle of your extenuating efforts to do your best, you might have lost yourself. Even if just a little. And I find it safe to say that in such moment, most of us would have a mixture of all of the above, and maybe more.

I had such a "looking-back" moment a couple of weeks ago.

I went to Chile to visit my mother who is battling cancer, and to reunite our family after many years. Having left my home country at the age of 19, the story of my life and its weavings are spread throughout, and are divided into two main stages: the before (leaving) and after.

Every time I go back home I am engulfed in memories brought on by sounds, smells, places, tastes, voices, people. All the memories of the experiences that made me part of who I am today come back to remind me that I am still their girl, and they ask me what I have done with her.

These questions haunted me even more this time, during a visit that was encompassed around the impending loss of someone who had most to do with my formation.

I realized that I had left too much behind, and forsaken things that used to be intrinsically me, and I found myself gasping for my identity, flapping my arms trying to hold on to everything within reach that could remind me of who I was before: family memories (the good ones), the love for my brothers (despite them), history, friends... oh, my dear friends.

There is something so precious about good old friends. Those to whom I need not explain how things were for me growing up. No need to explain, because they were there with me, they know me, and remember things about me that even I no longer do. You see, now in the "after" stage I spend a lot of time explaining myself to people: where I grew up, the foods I ate/eat, the kind of education I had, my family, my Spanish, my English, my skin color, my accent, my lack of accent, my height, the music "people down there" like, the weather, healthcare in a South American country, my customs, my thoughts (many times it's assumed that I think as a Chilean and not as an individual) and on and on and on.

I cherish my old friends more than I have shown. They allow me to rest, they get it. But when the time comes (if it comes) to talk to them about life nowadays and what my daily life at home is like, I find myself explaining again, and then all of a sudden, I don't belong anymore. Once more.

My grownup self has taken up residence somewhere strange and foreign.

So if I end up having to explain myself in both places, where do I belong? Who am I? What do I do when I long to come back home, but am left unsure whether it is still home?

I am bothered by the fact that my history is not a continuum. It is one part here, and the other there. I am also bothered by the fact that I have seemed unable, at least until now, to meld both together, so they are not two lives living within me without really knowing each other. Almost like strangers.

It was Friday night and I was sitting in the airplane that would take me away. We hadn't taken off yet when the pinnacle of my look-back moment began, coming in waves of tears that eventually became uncontrollable sobs. I am sure I was quite the spectacle, but I couldn't help it. It was long overdue and it had to be done. Too bad for the guy sitting next to me. At least he was nice enough to pretend to be asleep.

Sadness overcame me. I was so sad to leave "home", leave my mom, leave me. Then the sadness became anger. Why had my life taken me in such direction? how had I let this happen? what would my life be like if I had stayed? what was the use of wanting to be in one place, when I knew I had to be in another?

how had I become such a ridiculous dichotomy of beings? and why do I think it's a dichotomy? why can't I just be one whole? Why did I leave in the first place?

And then the guilt, of course. How could I ever overlook, even for one second, the marvelous wonder that has been my life "after leaving".

The experiences I have had in this second stage have only added on to the "before" and made me into someone I am mostly pleased with. I have found love, I have my own family that is my most precious treasure, and I have accomplished things here that I don't believe I could have anywhere else. I also have found new friends that enrich me and buoy me. My current life that I love, happens to be here, for now.

I have been tremendously blessed with the way my life has been woven. I believe that everything that has taken place has been for my benefit and has given me a great vantage point. I have learned however, that as a co-weaver (in partnership with God), I need to put greater effort towards the pattern that results from all this living so that I can recognize myself as a whole person and let go of the feeling of being torn in two. I want to be able to say, without hesitation, that I am the result of the interaction of many kinds of threads that have come together to make me unique and to make me a happy person.

So, who do I think I am?

Esperando la Primavera

El 9 de noviembre fue el cumpleaños número 44 de mi prima Carmen. Ese día la encontró en la cama de un hospital defendiéndose de la muerte con uñas y dientes.

Nunca nadie se lo había imaginado posible, pero ahí estaba ella, con un solo deseo: vivir y poder volver a su casa, a sus hijos y su esposo. Y ahí estaba yo, a miles de kilómetros de distancia, deseando poder estar con ella.

Son en momentos como éstos cuando te invaden recuerdos tan viejos que ya se te había olvidado que existían. Sentimientos de pertenencia y cariño que la distancia y el tiempo habían desteñido.

Carmen era la estudiosa. Crecimos en ciudades lejanas (ella en Iquique), pero vino a Santiago a estudiar Derecho. Vivió con nosotros ese primer año. Fue mi compañera de pieza. Lo más cercano que tuve a una hermana grande.

Recuerdo haberla ayudado a estudiar. Siempre se quedaba estudiando hasta tarde. Una vez, años después de haberse recibido de abogado, me dijo que siempre se sentía mal por tener la luz prendida mientras yo dormía. No recuerdo que me haya molestado.

Su mamá, la tía Delia, de vez en cuando le mandaba tremendas encomiendas con cosas de la zofri. Me encantaba verla abrirlas. Ella había crecido en el desierto, y ahora vivía en un lugar mas frío y donde el clima se atrevía a hacer lluvia. Pasaba con frío. Tenía sábanas de franela (de la zofri por supuesto). Yo nunca había ni siquiera visto sábanas de franela; me parecían sofocantes. A ella le encantaban.

Se casó con un buen hombre de la marina, así que le toco cambiarse mucho de casa. Hasta vivieron en Punta Arenas. Me imagino que necesitó de mucho mas que sábanas de franela para pasar ese frío.

Fue profesora en una universidad, pero pronto dejó su carrera de derecho para dedicarse a criar a sus hijitos, decisión poco común en Chile. ¿Será que sentía que su tiempo con ellos sería limitado?

Con todas sus mudanzas y conmigo fuera del país, perdimos contacto. Una nota al márgen: perder contacto con un ser querido parece ser algo fácil de permitir que ocurra, pero es algo que siempre me ha pasado la cuenta. Algo en qué pensar.

Ella ya se fué. Viví cada segundo de esos últimos días pensando en ella. Mis pensamientos y mi corazón estaban en esa sala de hospital. Sentía su angustia que me perforaba el alma. Pero hay algo que ofrece esperanza:

Alma 40:11-12

11...he aquí, un ángel me ha hecho saber que los espíritus de todos los hombres, en cuanto se separan de este cuerpo mortal, si, los espíritus de todos los hombres, sean buenos o malos, son llevados de regreso a ese Dios que les dió la vida.

12 Y sucederá que los espíritus de los que son justos serán recibidos en un estado de felicidad que se llama paraíso: un estado de paz, donde descansarán de todas sus aflicciones, y de todo cuidado y pena.

Carmen no quería irse. Yo no quería que se fuera, pero Dios tiene planes que no siempre podemos entender . He aprendido que nuestras vidas están en sus manos, y lo antes que uno lo comprenda, mejor.

Dios nos provee de todo lo necesario para sobrellevar nuestros desafíos, ganar la vida eterna y poder estar con nuestras familias nuevamente. Gracias a su hijo Jesucristo podremos vivir de nuevo en felicidad.

Mosíah 16:8

Mas hay una resurrección; por tanto, no hay victoria para el sepulcro, y el aguijón de la muerte es consumido en Cristo.

Moroni 7:41

¿Y qué es lo que habéis de esperar? He aquí, os digo que debéis tener esperanza, por medio de la expiación de Cristo y el poder de su resurrección, en que seréis resucitados a vida eterna, y esto por causa de vuestra fé en él, de acuerdo con la promesa.

El evangelio de Jesucristo le da esperanza y paz a mi corazón. Espero que haga lo mismo por tí cuando te veas enfrentado con el dolor.

El día del funeral de Carmen planté cientos de bulbos en mi antejardín. Lo hice porque cada primavera deseo haberlo hecho el otoño anterior para poder disfrutar la belleza de las flores.

Resultó ser el tributo perfecto para mi admirable prima. Trabajé mucho todo ese día, y al final no había ninguna evidencia de mi esfuerzo. Como si no hubiera hecho nada.

No puedo ver esos bulbos ahora, estarán descansando todo el invierno y no los voy a a poder ver hasta que llegue la primavera. Pero espera no más y mi jardin va a estar lleno de narcisos, tulipanes, hortencias, y muchas otras flores. Van a ser hermosas.

También lo será Carmen. También lo seremos todos nosotros.

About the Wait for Spring

November 9th was my cousin Carmen's 44th birthday and it found her in a hospital bed, fighting death with teeth and nails.

No one ever thought this possible, and yet there she was with only one desire: to live and go home to her children and husband. And there I was, thousands of miles away, hoping I could be there for her.

It's moments like these when you are invaded by memories so old, you had forgotten they were there. By feelings of love and belonging that time and distance had faded.

Carmen was the studious one. We grew up far away from each other, but she came to Santiago to go to law school. She lived with us that first year. She was my roommate. The closest to a big sister I ever had.

I remember drilling her for tests. I remember her always staying up late studying. One time, years after she had graduated, she told me she always felt bad keeping the light on when I was asleep. I don't remember it bothering me.

Her mom, Aunt Delia, would send her huge packages every now and then and I LOVED watching her open them. She had grown up where it's hot and dry, and now she was living where it was cooler and where the weather actually dared to rain. She was always cold. She had flannel sheets. I had never even seen flannel sheets and they seemed suffocating to me. She loved them.

She married a good guy from the navy, and they moved a lot. They even lived in the southern-most city in the world, next to the penguins and huge icebergs. I bet it took a lot more than flannel sheets to keep her warm.

She taught at a University. But soon she gave up her career so she could raise her children, a decision that goes against the grain in Chile. Did she feel her time with them would be limited?

With all her moving and my leaving the country we lost contact. About that: losing contact with a loved one seems like such an easy thing to let happen, but I have always come to regret it. Food for thought.

Now she is gone. I lived every waking second of her last days thinking of her. My thoughts and heart were there. I felt her anguish and it pierced me to the very soul. But there is one thing that offers hope:

Alma 40:11-12

11 Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.

12 And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.

She didn't want to go. I didn't want her to go, but God has plans that we cannot always understand. I have learned that our lives are truly in his hands. The sooner we realize it, the better.

God provides us with everything we could possibly need to overcome trials and have eternal life and be together again with our families. Thanks to his son Jesus Christ, we can live again, in happiness.

Mosiah 16:8

But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.

Moroni 7:41

And what is it that ye shall hope for? Behold I say unto you that ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised into life eternal, and this because of your faith in him according to the promise.

The gospel of Jesus Christ brings hope and peace to my heart. I hope it does to yours when you are faced with sorrow.

The day of Carmen's funeral I planted hundreds of spring bulbs in my front yard. I did it because every spring I wish I had done it the previous fall to be able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers.

It turned out to be the most perfect tribute for my amazing cousin. I worked so hard all that day, and at the end, you couldn't tell I had done a stitch of work.

I can't see those bulbs now, they will be resting through the winter and I won't be able to see them until spring comes. Just you wait and my yard will be filled with daffodils, tulips, hydrangeas, and so many other flowers. They will be beautiful.

So will Carmen be. So we will all be.

Wake Up and Say Cheese!

Other than the first day of school, there is no other school morning filled with more motivation to get up early than picture day. Sofia was up and dressed by 6:50am ready for me to do her hair. So with my limited supplies and hair fixing talent, we got both Victoria and Sofia ready and out the door AND on time (because I consider getting to school before the late bell rings, as on time). I have beautiful girls, so really, it doesn't take much.

Today is also Thursday, so I got to go staple homework for Victoria's teacher and take in the refreshing view of all the children around the school, ready to have their faces immortalized. All ready in their own (or their parents') way.

It turns out that just by simple observation you can identify a few categories in what becomes a kaleidoscope of looks.

1. The kids (moms) that picked their outfit the night before, laid it all out with matching accessories and a plan for their hair. Maybe the clothes even got ironed.

This category can be divided into two subcategories:

1.a. The "within reason" category, where the children are prepared and well groomed, but still look like themselves, look within their age group and their clothes still reflects the setting (as in "school").

1.b. The "over the top" category, where the children have had their hair gunked up, twisted, pinned and/or spiked to the death. Some girls wear their fluffy church dresses, maybe even heels (!!!???), and makeup. Oh yeah, by 4th grade makeup is a must, and it becomes thicker as you go up in grades. And what is it with those 6th grade girls who feel like they need to look 18?!!!

2. These kids (moms) forgot about it until the morning of, threw on a clean shirt and did their hair the best they could, brushed their teeth and rubbed off with some spit that pesky milk mustache.

3. Picture day was forgotten altogether.

4. The mom remembered and prepared the child for the picture, but the child might have been better off if she had forgotten about it. Enough said.

This year I consider myself to be a low 1.a. My girls knew what they wanted to wear last night. I would have chosen something else, but I learned a few picture days ago not to pick that battle. One of the shirts had ruffles that had to be ironed but I didn't do it until this morning. The hair was done with just a few spritz of spray gel and hopefully it stayed put until pic time.

There have been times when I have been a 2. And maybe one of my girls, at some point of her short picture day history, has considered me a 4. Oh well.

I hope that the fact that we only purchase a class picture doesn't traumatize the Kenrick girls for life. It seems like kids are supposed to gauge the love of their parents by the amount of school pictures they purchase. Lifetime has told them so. And why is Lifetime the one and only school picture provider? I guess that's a whole other topic.

Anyway, in case I managed to offend someone by some of my categories, here is one of my school pictures. This kind of humiliation should suffice as an apology, right?

I think the day this picture was taken, I was a category 3. Can you tell?

What memories do you have of school picture day?

*disclaimer: my categories list has nothing to do with how expensive or cheap or trendy the clothes are or look. I couldn't care less about that. In fact, both Sofia and Victoria were wearing items from the thrift store.

A Penny For My Thoughts?

Image: posterize / FreeDigitalPhotos.net


Couponing is all the rage these days. I tried it myself only to find out that I do not have the patience or the brains to keep it all straight AND stay sane at the same time. Keeping track of children at the store is challenging enough.

I used to feel guilty about this. Yep, because I needed one more thing to feel guilty about. I felt that since we are not rolling in cash, it was my responsibility to do everything in my power to make the best use of that hard-earned money (yes, hubs has a job again). But with time, I realized that it is up to me to decide how I would do that. Coupons are not the thing for me. Not now.

I decided that it is worth our money to have the simplicity and convenience of couponless shopping. So while I still use coupons for diapers, restaurants and some entertainment, I have given myself freedom to not chase after sales or buy diapers in one store, shampoo in another, and bread somewhere else. Ad matching you say? uuuh, thanks but no thanks. The freedom to cruise through checkout without juggling melting toddlers and a stack of coupons is priceless to me. I choose to pay for that convenience, thank you very much.

And so I am free, until I innocently stand in the checkout line behind someone who is concealing a 3-inch-high stack of coupons. Then it is all over. Convenience all gone. Of course I don't find out about it until all my stuff is on the conveyor belt.

Just a couple of weeks ago I went to the store (yes, it was Walmart) with the 5 and 2 year olds in tow. They were doing great and I was keeping the trip short so we could all make it back to the car still happy. Checkout time. Only one person ahead of me, already checking out so I started loading my things onto the conveyor belt. Swift is what I like. Then I noticed that the lady ahead of me is getting a lot of the same things. Cat food to feed an army (of cats), cream cheese to last a lifetime, and some other items I didn't have time to make out because next thing I see is this woman pulling out a pile of coupons so tall, I knew I was in for it. She could have told me. I would have appreciated the warning.

So one by one, the cashier goes through those blasted coupons. I tried to be all nice and friendly and made small talk with this lady. She proudly told me about her "technique". She pulls newspapers out of the big recycling containers and then finds the sales to match them. "It is amazing how people just throw away the coupons. The recycling containers are full, I don't even need to climb in". While I admired the dedication of this woman, I knew those people have good reasons to just throw their coupons away. Luckily there was a display of pillow pets by the checkout stand so the girls kept themselves entertained, but to be honest, after a few minutes of coupon-scanning, I wished that Jo would give them a taste of what she can pull at a store when she is in a bad mood. That way they would "feel" the inconvenience that was being imposed on me.

It turned out that the store actually owed the lady a whopping $60 for shopping with them. Wow! But money is money, so here comes the manager to go through the whole stack of coupons AGAIN!. I was done being patient. Really done. I told the manager about how careful the cashier had been the first time around and could you please just trust him because I have waited enough. No, she must check again, and then a third important person comes and grabs some of the coupons. AAAAGGGGHHHH! I paid for the convenience of waiting behind this person AND full price for my stuff!!!

I had no choice but to grab my things and move to the next checkout. Fuming, I told this other cashier that they should have lines just for couponers. She just shrugged and said "I wish we could". Didn't she see my frustration???!!!! Of course you can! and what you need to say is "You are so right we'll take care of it right away". "Your highness".

Why share this story? no reason other than to vent one of my many frustrations in life. But I truly believe that stores should have one checkout with a sign that says "WARNING, over 10 coupons accepted here".

If you are a couponer yourself and you are at a store with a total lack of warning signage, then please, kindly flash your coupons to those who dare stand behind you so we can choose a different fate.

I never knew if the lady got her $60. If she did, I should have gotten half.

And now a penny for your thoughts: What does couponing do for you?