The Terrorists

Thing 1 & Thing 2

My parents have these two English Springer puppies that my mom got for my dad as a Christmas gift. My dad keeps reminding me that at over a year old, they are no longer puppies but young adults. Minor technicality.

My brother had two English Springers, Berkley and Dominque. Berkley was a brown and white show pony who loved to lounge around the house and sometimes chase rabbits. In his heart he was a lap dog but at 45 pounds he wasn't exactly the right size. My brother and I taught him this trick, we would look at him, get all excited, wiggle our butts while he wiggled his tail and say, "What do ponies do?" and then he would rear up like a stallion from a seated position and give us double high five. Hansel would always tease me that I just taught him to jump on people but he really did the trick too. My brother loved fishing and hunting so he named him after a brand of fishing lures. Dominique was the older of the two by quite a few years. My brother begged my mom to let him get a puppy until my mom finally said he could get a puppy when school was finished and summer started. My brother already had her picked out, true to Anderson nature, he had picked out the runt of the litter, but although she loved all of us, her loyalty was always with him first. When my brother got her he was a typical Jr. High boy that really loved basketball (Michael Jordan) and so named her after a basketball player and I can no longer remember the team that he played for. She was black and white, smaller, more rotund but a real watchdog where Berkley could be a scarity cat. She was much more vocal than Berkley and Hansel had the idea that we would say, "What does loader Joe say?" and then she would growl ferociously. We were not as successful at teaching her this trick. Loader Joe, my uncle, is very quiet and so has gotten a reputation for being gruff, even though he is not at all. He the direct opposite of my dad, who talks a lot. These two were already members of the family, but when my brother died it was hard to imagine what we would do when these last living keepsakes of my brothers died also. Of course, eventually they did die and much sooner than we expected. We missed them terribly. Even though we should just be grateful to all be together, Christmas always seems to be a hard time of year. Hansel's absence is palatable and it just represents another year that he has been gone The pain is not as sharp as when he died, it's still there and will always be there. I sometimes feel like my brother was the glue that held us all together. The loss of my brother has left us with a gnawing hole that can't be filled. To cheer us all up my mom decided to surprise my dad with these puppies. Who can be around puppies and not be happy? Dogs are such an enduring ego-boost, but puppies they are youthful, boundless amounts of energy, but also babies that need our love.

My sister and I had been telling my mom she needed to get two puppies. Well she held strong with saying, "One puppy would be enough." The seller was quite a distance away and so my mom sent her friend to pick out the puppy and to make sure the sellers were reputable. Now for those dog lovers out there, I know you won't be able to imagine having your friend pick out your husband's puppy, but she did. My mom is a dog lover but not in the Montanan sense of dog lover. That is to say she loves all animals but not really a dog lover and since the puppy was for my dad it was not hard for her to have her friend pick it out. After looking at the puppies, her friends said, "you know Rose, you really should get two." After her friend suggested two puppies then my mom decided that we would get two puppies.

Our mission was then to pick up the puppies. My sister picked me up from the airport on Christmas Eve and we drove to pick up the puppies. We needed to pick the puppies up by a specific time because the owners had Christmas Eve plans. As par for the course we were running late. I knew two puppies for an hour and a half car ride were going to be a handful. Normally my sister is much more clever than I am but she must have been dopey thinking of puppies because before we even arrived at the puppy palace I was thinking ahead. I sweetly suggested that if she was tired, I could drive home. She said wistfully, "You would do that?? You would drive home so that I could hang out with the puppies?" I could hardly keep myself from laughing, I couldn't believe this ploy was going to work. It was settled, I would drive home from the puppy palace. After circling the block multiple times with my sisters directions off map quest and my mom's directions we finally found the right place. The little girl was already picked out by my mom's friend but we needed to pick out a little boy. They were all jumping and happy to see us that it was hard to know which one. The owners handed us a cute little boy that seemed shy and the runt of the little, always selling points in the Anderson family; we decided we'd take him. I don't even think we picked up any other puppies. I settled my sister into the front seat with the puppies and we weren't even really out the driveway before she was calling them monsters and telling me to stop so she could get in the backseat with them. She settled into the backseat and they decided to quit biting her and start pawing at her brand new car upholstery. Then they moved on to my big down jacket that I have affectionately dubbed, "My Puff." I swear it has more down in it than my sleeping bag. My sister managed to not let them get the best of her or my jacket because I didn't see any down fly. Within 10 minutes it became apparent that we needed to find a place to buy them something to chew on. With it being Christmas Eve and in a foreign town we didn't really have many options; we finally settled for stopping at a gas station and buying them some leather gloves. In the midst of the puppy wrestling and snow flying, my mom kept calling to find out where we were because she wanted to sneak these bundles of energy into the house. They tired themselves out and eventually we arrived home.

My mom had visions of puppies in a basket with a bow dancing through her head. She had a cute basket ready for them and she thought they would stay in the basket until morning when she could put it under the tree, over 18 hours away. I think she quickly realized how deluded this idea was when she put them in the basket and instead of them whimpering for their mother and going to sleep they shredded the red bow and leaped out of the basket. She quickly moved to plan B, my mom's forte is new ideas when needed. Plan B was to put them in a room with toys and check on them occasionally until the next day. My dad came home and we sat down to dinner. My mom had put on music to muffle any puppy noises that my dad might here. This was unusual to have music playing but my dad, just happy to see us girls, was none the wiser to the anomaly. About three minutes into dinner my mom, sister and I here the puppies yelping. My dad is a logger and his hearing is not very good so he is still oblivious to the puppy noises. My sister turns up the music. Pretty soon though they were howling at decibels that the background noise couldn't muffle and even my dad could here. My dad quit eating his mashed potatoes, looked around and listened and said, "Are those coyotes howling?" My mom, sister and I didn't dare look at each other but burst out laughing anyway. We brought the puppies out and that is how the little bundles of joy entered out lives.

Once the secret was out, we immersed ourselves in reading about the various philosophies of how to train a puppy. All of our previous pets had not been very well trained for one reason or another. These puppies were different, we were determined that they would be model citizens. Even though our previous dogs had not been the best behaved, it turned out that my parents bookshelf had at least three books on training puppies, some of them even had been highlighted or dog eared and one of the books was all about springers. From all of our copious reading, we found out that getting two puppies at once is something that you are never supposed to do because they bond with each other instead of with you. No advice as to how to train multiple puppies was given to the unfortunate owner who had unwittingly gotten two puppies at the same time. It can also be difficult to teach good "puppy citizenship" to two squirmy puppies. The books confirmed what we already knew, that they have more energy than just about any other dog out there, including Goldens and Labs. It also gave helpful tips about how Springers love to retrieve.....well this was true for one of them but true to the male nature, the little boy really just loved to eat. Despite their disciplinary problems, they nevertheless immediately wiggled their way into our hearts.

Every other pet we've ever had was quickly given a name that had something to do with it's physical attributes. My first puppy was a little of everything but had some golden retriever in her and so because of her color we called her "Butterscotch." These puppies though, they were different, as adults, we agonized over their names. It was as if we were pregnant and thinking of names for our first child. We made lists, we looked online, we tried out names on them. Since they were my dad's puppies, he suggested the name "Dozer" for the little boy. The little boy had weepy eyes and an all black face and was always sleeping. For awhile we humored him and let him use that name. Quickly though my dad's naming privileges were revoked. Someone other than my dad decided "Dozer" did not sound very intelligent and these puppies were sterling puppies after all. Although he was allowed to name the little girl "Lady" even though we protested that it was too common. Eventually, mostly because we couldn't agree on a name for her and after all they were my dad's puppies, she became Lady. We finally settled on Winston for the little boy.

Over the next few months, Winston was in need of lots of care. It turned out his eyes were weepy because he needed surgery. His eyelashes rubbed against his eyes. Two surgeries later, he was in good shape, but the medical problems did not stop there. He also had an ear infection. My dad grossed that Winston was using up all of his beer and coffee shop funds. Then my dad put an oil on to keep the ticks away and he got a skin infection. I was home for the skin infection and a call to the vet over the weekend suggested that we wash him to see if it got better. We washed him so much that the previous water loving dog, would run behind the wood pile every time we got out the hose. Lady on the other hand, who does not love water, would run up to us, sit perfectly and say, "I want a bath!" Well the infection did not get better and Winston went in to the vet. My dad drove and over the drive it became apparent that Winston was not happy to sit on my lap. I guess Winston knew that my dad would become Arch Angel Michael in his life, saving him from near death experiences over and over again, Winston squirmed and wiggled not content until he was on my dad's lap. Finally I told my dad it was going to be a lot easier if he pulled over and let me drive so that Winston could sit on his lap. At the vet, he was given some drugs for his skin issue and when we left, the vet joked with us saying, "til the next time Winston gets sick." A few weeks later, my parents came home just in time to save Winston from suffocation. He had found an oatmeal box in the garbage and had gotten his head stuck in it. Near death, my dad whisked in and pull the oatmeal box off of his head just in the nick of time. The next few minutes they wondered if they need to perform rescue breathing for the puppy. A year later, Winston would find a bone in the yard and lodge it in his mouth while chewing on it. Again my dad had to step in a extract the bone from his throat.

From the very beginning they had such distinct personalities. Although both of them just want to please, Lady is much better at listening and LOVES to retrieve. Where as Winston just likes to have his ears scratched and will only retrieve when you throw something in a body of water where he can paddle around. When around the water, he will jump in to retrieve leaves that are floating on the water and Lady will wait on the dock. Winston will retrieve whatever has been thrown and sweetly hand it over to Lady who will proudly present the object to me. What a team they make.

One day my parents returned from town to see them peering out the picture window. My dad thought it was cute to see them peering out the picture window when he came home until he realized what a disaster they had created. SHOCKED!! They had just taken a quick run to town and home again home again jiggity jig only to discover the two terrorists had completely turned the house upside down. They ate suet and as a result had experienced gastric issues and pooped all over the house. In the kitchen they jumped on the oak table putting scratches on it. Then they chewed up my dad's lunch box to retrieve his "good pizza". They apparently were not interested in the apple that was also in the lunch box. My dad was determined to save it and eat it later; my mom nixed that idea and told him they were not saving an apple with puppy slober on it. As my parents walked throughout the house in shock, the puppies gleefully followed behind, all wiggles. They entered their bedroom and the two jumped on the bed, with plenty of energy still left over they started a tug of war over the quilt on the bed. The kibosh was quickly put on their bad behavior. Stuffing innards from an Ottoman were strewn across the house. The puppies taking after their parents were real bibliophiles; library books had been damaged past repair, marring my mom's already damaged reputation. She frequently returns books late, racking up library fines as quickly as my sister racks up parking fees. Now in Wisconsin you can go to jail for not paying your library fees. I joke that we should buy my mom get out of jail free cards for her library fines. My brother used to color in library books too, particularly loved the "wild Baby" book. Moving on from the kitchen to the living room, they found my mom's antique doll from childhood (my grandma still doesn't know) on a small rocking chair and ate the rocking chair cushion and the doll. But they were only getting warmed up, they demolished my dad's 4th grade penmanship book, an antique item that my dad had recently proudly salvaged from my grandparents home when they died. Still staggering from the rest of the damage, they discovered the brand new leather couch that my mom had saved for for years. Thing 1 and Thing 2 and chewed up one of the leather couch cushions. My parents had just tasted parenthood all over again.

For weeks, I did not hear much about the puppies. My passive parents had had their chicken cooked this time. My dad had had the seat for the Forwarder fixed by a man named Dupay. The decided to see if he could fix the leather couch cushion. Dupay the couch fixer took one look at the cushion and told mom that he would shoot the dogs. Even my mom was not considering shooting them. Then when he said he didn't know if he could fix it, she said, "that's OK we'll take it somewhere else" and he said forcefully, "NO you don't understand there is no one else. I'm it! I'm your man for miles around (he was about 40 miles away). If I can't fix it no one else can". A bit of an eccentric, the next day he called at 5 AM and gruffly told mom to come get her dam cushion and come see what a nice job he had done. Shocked at the early morning phone call but hoping he had fixed the cushion, she said OK but she needed to eat some breakfast and he said OK but hurry up . Then she reminded him that she was and hour away and it would take her awhile to drive out and he said OK but hurry up. The cushion looked beautiful and the last time I was home, I couldn't even tell where the damage was.

Winston and Lady continue to wreak havoc on the Anderson household but nothing to that degree. Lady's new trick it to bark like she wants to go out and then let Winston rush out the door while she eats his food. Winston's new trick is to open the three foot high metal gate that keeps them in their place in the house.

Motel M

I just left Motel M or Murphy and Mary Kay's sweet set up in Canyon. Here are the top ten reasons this place rules:
1. As far as I can tell the skiing is always good.
2. I didn't have to cook anything while I visited and the food was yummy (thank you MK & Murphy).
3. There is a shower with 2 heads. I think in some ways it's better than going to Chico because you don't have to leave the house.
4. I pretty much stayed in my pajamas all weekend and just put on more clothes to ski.
5. You can ski out the door! I didn't even have to break trail.
6. There are no social obligations.
7. There's a wood stove and it's always toasty.
8. It's quiet and beautiful. I love the tradition of drinking a beer before going down roller coaster. It's just steep enough that you feel justified drinking the beer but not really steep enough to feel like you need more than a beer! It really is a morning constitutional.
9. You have to snowmobile to get there. What a trea! I'm sure this vacation would have cost a tourist thousands.
10. The company and coffee were fabulous. Thanks again MK and Murphy!

So Thankful to be in West Yellowstone Learning to Ski

In the first three hours, I at least doubled my knowledge of skiing. I arrived and was whisked off to a waxing lecture where the Swix expert talked about putting on base waxes, all kinds of fluorocarbons and molys and then powdering the skis. I was completely floored to learn that there were multiple irons that might be used to apply the wax and the temperature was absolutely critical. The take home point was when in doubt wax for colder temps rather than warmer. It became apparent that I needed three days just on waxing and even then I still might not understand waxing. With our registration, we were given free Swix waxing aprons that proved to be incredibly useful. After going to the waxing lecture, it was obvious that I had waxed skis way too little in my previous years of skiing so we headed to the waxing shed. With Peggy's gentle coaching we managed to wax our classic skis and my skate skis. The fog in my head from the lecture began to clear and I realized that I needed to buy waxing tools. Today at lunch I went to the ski shop to buy waxing tools. The woman at the store completely demystified the art of waxing in a ten minute conversation. Although I was very happy I had had the Swix primer the night before, I thought the ski shop version was more my speed. I can hardly wait to wax my skis and take them out for spin.

Well I always new that I was not the best skier out there but with years of skiing under my belt and two semester long classes, I didn't think I was that bad until today.... when I was put in the most remedial of groups. In the morning, with skate skiing, I expected it. I haven't skate skied that often, with the classes, the instructor was a stereotypical coach, leaving us behind if we couldn't keep up. There was no way to blame the equipment because for skate skiing, I had just bought a new pair of boots that really purred. My skis were actually waxed properly unlike the last two years where I've been skiing on waxed skis but I didn't know I was supposed to remove the wax, leaving only a thin layer of wax. With all the new improvements to my equipment, there was no one to blame but myself. Norm Bishop, a nice older gentleman gave me an accurate assessment of my skiing. He gave me multiple drills to help improve my techniques. By the afternoon session I was ready to show someone that really could ski. Yes and ski I could but I still had no technique.

In the afternoon, Norm realized that we had vintage three pin bindings and quickly tracked down some demos skis for us. He was worried that our three pin bindings would tear up the track. The truth is the track was already in poor shape but I thought it was a great excuse to demo skis. However, I do believe the beautiful equipment was lost on my skiing ability. We were treated to trying Salamon demo skis and boots which came complete with a waxing job from the pros. While everyone himmed and hawed over which wax to use the Swix experts had out two sets of skis waxed and ready to go in seconds. The highlight for me was not the skis but listening to experts melodic Midwest accent. I was delighted to discover the waxing experts were from North West Wisconsin (my stomping grounds) and I relished listening to the long "O"s in their dialogue. They didn't seem quite as delighted to discover that I was from Wisconsin, in fact I think they were surprised to learn that I had lived most of my life there. Maybe they were just distracted by the waxing task at hand. Or maybe I'm losing my accent. weep, weep. Shoot have to go back to my people to pick it up again. They pushed us out the door and asked us if we need poles. We said no but they probably would not like our poles either (they were almost as old as the three pin classic waxable skis.). The instructor humbled me with pointing out my many skiing problems. He also had valuable feed back and good drills.

Tonight after eating a Thanksgiving meal that was not traditional but very yummy, determined to get my money's worth out of the clinic, I dragged myself from the hotel for a lecture on technique. Unfortunately I don't know the lecturer's name but he had some very good take home messages: watch experts because we learn from aping others, work on balance, poling is really the same in diagonal and classic, etc. All of it made sense but the highlight of the presentation was when he told us of his first trip to Norway. He told us of his expectation that all Norwegians would be exceptional skiers. It turned out that none of them had any technique (just like me) and they all loved to be outside (just like me). Nothing made my bruised ego feel better than to learn that a whole country that is looked up to for their skiing abilities actually has no technique. Additionally, he said they don't want to learn to lift their feet or learn technique because they think "it's flashy.". Well I'm still going to try to improve my technique, but in the mean time, I will just take comfort knowing there are others out there. Maybe it's my Scandinavian (Swedish) heritage rebelling against technique, but until I learn it, I just need to remember getting outside with mother nature is what it's all about.

Good Reads

I had an epiphany today and it is: I judge people based on what books they are reading. I know I should not admit to judging people at all and if I was a good person I would not judge people. However, I am an honest person and recognize my short comings. Recently a friend asked me to join Good Reads and I had some apprehension about joining a social network where everyone looks at what I'm reading. Not only do I not want others judging me but I know I will judge my friends based on what they are reading and how they rate a book. I think people generally assume from my quiet persona that I am well read but I am not. I can justify my being a "book judge" and my justification is this: books are my good friends and just about everyone forms an opinion about someone based on their friends.

Mom for Town Board

On the drive over to my grandparents, my parents starting talking about the town board and I realized how much power they have. I am trying to convince my parents to run because they would be so good. My dad gets mad, which for him just means he kind of growls out, "Heidi, why are you always trying to ruin everyone else's life?" So I switch to trying to coerce my mother into a new political career. My mom decides to say she is fed up with them telling her what to do. She tells me that she just got a letter from the county telling her that their records indicated they had not had their sewage pumped in the last 3 years. So I think, if you don't have your sewage pumped in a timely manner, don't you have bigger problems so why is the county regulating this? My mother says exactly. Turns out they have had their sewage pumped 2 years ago which is one of the many reason she is so upset with getting this letter. She wants to write them a letter back that says she only uses the bathroom at school and my dad only goes in the woods and there for they don't need to worry about her sewage. I say, you could turn this into your campaign issue, create a tag line for your campaign. While I sit in the car and try to pull something clever out of my youngish brain, my mother whips out, "I may be full of B.S., but that's my business." I like it, I think my mother is going to decide she needs a career in county politics yet.

Coffee Clutch Chatter

Boy I think if there is something that everyone can relishes is listening to a good story. There's such a knack for being able to deliver a story well and knowing when to embellish. My brother was amongst the best storytellers. I used to beg him to tell me stories.

Amongst my favorites was a story he would tell about fishing with my grandpa and my grandma's brother, Richard. My very strong willed grandpa was in the navy and has no fear of water or at least none that he would admit to. In fact he always says, "Anyone can survive in the water, it's fear that kills you." And Richard although having spent his entire life in Northern Wisconsin, a landscape dotted with lakes, as a defense against drowning, he was taught to be fearful of water. Even though he grew up fishing on the lakes in all seasons and I have driven out with him on a frozen lake with only the thinnest of ice, he would never dream of jumping out of the boat and going swimming. Richard is also a very serious fisherman, he has always seen it as a way of providing food for the table. My brother, of course it was never critical that he catch enough food that he would not go hungry, was still a very serious fisherman. My grandpa on the other hand, although he liked fishing and would pay huge amounts of money to go on extravagant fishing trips was not as serious about fishing.

One hot summer day, my brother, grandpa, and Richard were in the boat at North Lake and apparently bored with fishing, my grandpa proposed that he could jump out of the boat with all of his clothes on and swim the length of the lake. Wanting to enjoy the good fishing, my brother and Richard tried to ignore my grandpa. My grandpa has always had a "By GOD I'll show you attitude" and kept trying to spark interest in his swimming across North Lake idea. North Lake is not large by any standard but not pond size either; certainly enough water that one could drown. Richard can't swim a stroke and is also a perpetual worrier was very upset that my grandpa was considering jumping ship and also probably annoyed that he had ruin the fishing with the interruption. "Now Chuck, why would you do that?" Richard's fretting only caused my grandpa to become more and more animated about his prowess swimming abilities, even wagering money, that he could swim the entire length of the lake. For much of my grandpa's adult life, he has always had lots of money and generous by nature, he has always had the luxury of buying forgiveness. So my grandpa kept winding up, making my brother and Richard more and more nervous that he was going to jump in with his shoes on. At this point, when my brother would tell the story, imitating my grandpa, he would puff out his chest, broaden his shoulders and straighten out to his full six foot three inches bellering, "I'm buoyant, buoyant as duck." We would all be roaring with laughter, knowing Richard would be sick with worry and Grandpa would have been determined to show them and Hansel was just thinking, "Here we go again." You got to hand it to my grandpa though for having such faith in his 70 year old body. I don't even think at 33 that I would wager money on my swimming abilities in all of my clothes.

Now that he's gone, when I hear other people telling stories and they almost always seem inadequate, I find myself wondering what the qualities of a good storyteller are. I have determined that being a good word smith does not hurt. He was a word smith and one my fav terms that he coined was "Chronic Slug Bug." Being able to make good noises also helps. I've never been able to make good sound effects except for imitating the sound of bison in rut and only my good friend Jessie really seems to appreciate this talent of mine. My brother and my grandpa had a habit of rubbing their ear in the middle of a story. Some good storytellers still remain though. When visiting my parents, I really enjoy listening to my dad and uncle and friends talk over coffee. Even if the talk is just talk, the sounds are melodic. I wonder if they are better at oral communication because that is what the entertainment for their generation has usually been? They seem to always remember details for things 30 years ago much better than I can remember something from the day before. I wonder if this is because today we are so bombarded with information that our brain just doesn't remember the details. Also there are more ways of recording life events (videos and pictures). Being male and since eating is a recreational activity in the Midwest, it also happens to be one of their top ten topics for coffee chatter. Of course none of them are incredible cooks (my dad does fix a mean breakfast) but they all seem to posses the ability to critique restaurants as if they were being paid by Savour magazine. One morning the conversation swung to a supper club that is nearby and the quality of food has fluctuated over the years. They described the bread with sound effects: "as if they took an air hose and filled up the bread." Of course in the Midwest light foods are not looked up as delectable and they were not being complimentary.

Later on my dad took me for a tour of his new logging job. Where I learned, and for the record, IKEA does not buy tropical lumber. My dad, an ol' logger, who has no idea how trendy fabulous etc, IKEA is, casually pointed to a log pile and told me those logs he sold to a mill in Stanley that sold them to IKEA. For all of you who I've walked through an Ikea store with suspiciously looking at the wood, I'm sorry, little did I know that they really do buy wood from our country. I admit, I probably would not have believed anyone but my dad but he does not lie. As my dad continued the tour through the woods, we came across my Uncle Bobby coming to the job for load of logs. He's amongst the very best storytellers and always can make a person laugh. At the logging job he jokingly asked my dad if he was giving me the scenery tour. Then told my dad that my great uncles were coming at noon to see the job. I really wanted to just hang out and wait for them to show up. All three of them have this strong Swedish Brogue that reminds me of my grandpa, who was a pillar of kindness but also had wonderful stories. So my uncle told my dad that the other sawyer, Larry, was not limbing the trees well but "Joe [skidder operator that my brother referred to as loader joe] is always pinching Larry's butt." So if you've ever been to a logging job you will realize it's hard for the cutters to limb trees well if the skidder is right there waiting for you.

Snickering over Sugar, Baby!

The evils of sugar. Day two of saying good bye to refined sugar, at least for awhile. Yesterday I was jonesing for some sugar so I called my sister and left her a desperate message that I needed some inspiration to not eat sugar. She called back in all earnestness with this response. Her advice: " You need to go to the store and buy a back of snickers hallo ween candy because snickers really satisfies you. Then you can just eat one bite size candy bar a day and wean yourself off of sugar." Well I just started laughing because what sugar addict is satisfied with a little candy bar??? And who ever really believed that tag line that snickers really satisfies?? So I called my best friend and told her my sister's gold star strategy. She called me back and said she had a better idea that would be more effective. Her plan: Go to the grocery store and buy 3 or 4 bags of snickers bars. Then eat them all in one sitting or however many it requires to puke my guts out. Then, she thinks that should take care of the sugar craving for awhile. I've decided to not try either plan but just keep thinking about how EVIL the white powder is.