I Got Another One

Yesterday, I ignored my outrageous pile of clothes that needed folding.  

I plucked through them and pulled out Patrick and Caroline's clothes for the next day.  

I gathered them and looked at them and held them close.

I breathed them in and closed my eyes.

I have one more day of doing this...

this...

the mundane...

the boring...

the rituals of living...

I got another day...

she did not.

A lady in my town that I only knew as a "friend of a friend" passed away.

She leaves behind so many, including her son, age 14, and her daughter, age 11.

No more packing lunches.

Figuring out carpools.

No more chances to argue about clothes...

or bedtime...

or homework...

or showering.

No more music that reminds her of something special.

No more silly jokes.

No more snuggles...

or books that keep you reading until way too late...

or chances to try again.

Honestly, sometimes this world is too hard.

Why did she have so few days?

Why do I have more?

No clue.

I wish I could make sense of things that seem utterly wrong...

and rotten.

But I'm no sage.

I just get another...

and I'm not taking it for granted.

I'm going to squeeze this day like it's a soggy pool towel...

kiss my babies about a hundred more times than necessary.

Text those two that think they're big.

Hug that hubby.

Snuggle the pooch.

Dance.

Sing.

Write letters.

Check crap off that enormous list of stuff to do...and smile while doing it.

I get another day!

I'm going to eat good food.

Buy a brand new baby girl something special.

Plan a trip.

Daydream.

Make time for yoga.

Kiss long and hard that sweet guy who spends his days with me.

I'm gonna thank my mail lady.

I'm gonna buy someone a coffee.

I'm gonna give someone the benefit of the doubt.

And pay that parking ticket.

No more nagging.

No more procrastinating.

No more delaying.

I got another.

How to cherish it?

How to hold it dear?

How to make it count?

Fill up that grateful spot and let it flow...

let the universe know how much you love this time...

precious time...

always ticking away...on the good days and the bad days...

Today, you have another...

one more chance...

one breath at a time...

one smile at a time...

let's enjoy it.

It's not coming back...
but it's ours right now.
Grab it.

"I still find each day too short for 
all the thoughts I want to think, 
all the walks I want to take, 
all the books I want to read, 
and all the friends I want to see."  
-- John Burroughs

Nesting Part II

In the fall of 1992, I was pregnant with my first baby.  I went about my days teaching school to some 5th graders and coming home and painting, preparing and otherwise "nesting" in a big way.  That word was unknown to me at the time but I was feathering my nest just like a mother bird...anticipating, smiling, imagining and wondering.  It was a blissful time.  

It was impossible to picture -- us with a baby.

John would take the tiny outfits that we had been given and make the tiny legs walk with their hanger and speak in a  tiny voice..."Here I am!" he would say.

We'd giggle and try to picture us as parents.

Preparing for a baby when it seems that most of the world is preparing for another important birth is extremely special.  It felt like my universe made sense.  I could relate to Mary on the back of that donkey in a big way...and giving birth in a stable didn't seem so bad, better than on the side of the road!

I cherished the idea of a star pointing the way to that stable...loved the royal visitors...every part of the story seemed better for being pregnant too.

As we got the room ready, our hearts ready and our world ready we felt nervous and excited.

There was no way to know how it would all go but it didn't matter.  It felt joyous and right.

And on December 26th, 1992, we met our first born.  He came easily.  He was sleepy and snuggly and the very best bit of Christmas magic around.  We slid into parenthood and marveled.

Nothing can prepare you for the expansion of your heart or the experience of a whole new world.

And so yesterday, as I found myself cleaning and washing and imagining and picturing not just one child coming home from college but two, I couldn't help but smile.

The nesting, it seems, doesn't end.

Like everything, it morphs...

but there is a familiarity to it.

I went into Jack's room yesterday and got it ready.  I lingered over the pictures from high school, the photos, the memories and the feel of having him here.  I moved to Mary Kate's room, changed the sheets, smiled at the pictures and posters and primping supplies left behind in her safe haven.  

It felt a lot like getting ready for babies to be born...and in a way it was...my babies are most definitely in their college cocoon.  They are transforming and growing and changing and slowly being born into adulthood.

It's scary and sacred...just like the months before birth.

So, I guess I'm Nesting Part II.

Who knew that it continued?

Never got that tidbit of info.

But, it doesn't matter.  I'm smiling with anticipation.  I'm looking forward to seeing them both walk off their airplanes...ready to look deep into their eyes, hug them tight and drink them in...just like their real birth-days many moons ago.

Welcome Home sweet ones...we missed you!

Have a Coke and a Smile

"What's great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest.  

You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, 

and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too.  A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking.  

All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good." 

-- Andy Warhol

I don't know about you, but where I live Coke is on the way o-u-t.

Nobody drinks it.  

Everyone shuns it.  

If you didn't know better, you'd think it had some actual cocaine in there the way people react.

Around here, children can never have a Coke.

Like chocolate decadence cake, it is hardly ever seen and rarely tasted.

It's a forbidden fruit.

I'm old school.

Yes, I still drink Coke.

(sssshhhh, keep it on the down low...because it is a serious personal flaw)

I have Coke in my fridge regularly.

I do allow children to drink it -- on occasion -- OK, every Friday night.

I'm not belittling childhood obesity.

I'm not a fan of High Fructose Corn Syrup.at.all.

I could use more exercise and could be in better shape...

but there's something about an ice cold Coke that is delish.

And lately, I've been dividing people up into two groups:

those who will have a Coke and a smile and those who don't.

When I visited my friend Beth in the hospital for the first time with her daughter Chloe, I bought her a sandwich at Subway.  I stood there in front of the drink cooler and toiled.  

Was she a Coke drinker or not?

Would she be offended if I offered her a Coke?

What would she think of me?

I chose the Coke.

Turns out I guessed right...she's a Coke drinker.

When the guy who was landscaping my backyard was sweltering under a broiling sun stood up to take a break, I offered him a Coke.  Or a water.  Both would be ice cold.

No question: he went for the Coke.

He gave me a smile.

Yes, we bonded...under the guise of Coke.

When the guy who was crawling under my house and fixing my rogue ventilation came up for air, 

I offered him a Coke.

I didn't even cringe. 

I knew he was one of us.

He guzzled that sucker so fast I felt bad...the man was parched. 

I should have asked sooner.

Turns out that Coke is a pretty great ice breaker.

It leads to conversation.

It helps a busy person to pause, take a break, and enjoy something simple.

It can definitely help strangers reach out to one another.

Just like the smiley revolution, I think passing out Cokes on a hot day might bring about serious world peace.  Or maybe it would help us see we're not so different -- that we really can stop and drink and relax together even if the only thing we have in common is the item we're drinking.

I know, I know.

Coke is bad for you.

It's bad for our kids.

We should be drinking water, or kombucha, or chai or green tea.

Or maybe milk.

I still say that it is a nice part of life.

I'm grateful for the many Cokes I've shared.

I'm grateful for the smiles.

I'm grateful for the fun times, the popcorn, the movies, the pretzels and the deliciousness that Coke brings with it.

I like the way I can break down barriers with a simple question:

"Would you like a Coke?"

More often than not, the answer is yes.

Those are my kind of people.

Come on over any time...free Cokes all around.

Slip Sliding Away

"Darn the wheel of the world.  Why must it continually turn over?  

Where is the reverse gear?" 

-- Jack London

We negotiated.  She wanted a shower.  I wanted to give her a bath.  We compromised as we fortunately can often find our way to do: I'd wash her hair in the tub and chat for a minute.  I'd enjoy her hair, her little face wet with water, her closed eyes and lashes laden with dew drops. I'd notice her leaning her head way back, letting me rinse and rinse and rinse long after it was necessary.  I'd wash her face and touch those cheeks and suck up that smell of cleaning away the grime of the day and getting ready for the night.

After that, she'd get to have a shower on her own.  I'd set it up and hand her the soap and give her the freedom of water rushing down, time alone lost in her thoughts, the privacy and big-ness she is ready for and waiting for.  Darn.

I remember reading a long time ago that we make a big deal about the beginnings.  We take photos of the first day, the first time, the first class and we record them.  But no one gives us the memo on the last day, the last moment, the last time.  Hardly ever can we tell that it's ending.  It just slip slides away...morphs into something new and before we know it, it's over.

Because I've done this a few times, I'm more aware of the endings as they approach.  I'm on the look out now.  I know.
I can feel it and now I take the mental photograph.

I can't tell you how many baths I've given but I am my mother's daughter and she loves a clean child.  She scours the fingernails (I still remember my fingernails hurting from her own fingernail cleaning underneath mine), washes behind the ears and inside the corners of the eyes.  She gets in every nook and cranny and the result is a very clean child.  

I am the same. 

 I never minded giving baths.  I loved the forced opportunity of stopping and slowing down and cleaning and caring for my babies.  I cherished the smell of a fresh-from-the-the-tub child.  I snuggled in bath towels as long as possible, giggled at the naked adorableness, watched those bouncing booties...but now, twenty years into it, my time is running out.

I know.  I know.  Get over it.  

It's not that big a deal.  But for me, it's another reminder that the joy of babyhood, toddlerhood, preschoolerville and yes even early elementary school is on its way out.  My chickadee is turning seven in just a few weeks and her patient tolerance for my intensive mothering in the bath department is going down the drain...the final whirlpool is beautiful.  It's all very very good.  I'm just noticing.

So, today, I'm grateful for the few baths I have left.  Grateful that I have had the joy and chance of bathing four kids.  Grateful for the bounty of clean water that I so often use with the barest of acknowledgements, knowing there are millions of mothers who would love nothing more than to put their baby in a hot bath and scrub them clean.

Today I'm grateful for my baby and my ability to finally see the bend in the road and know that it's all changing...as it should be...

in all the right ways.

Sweet Husbands

"There is no more lovely, friendly, and charming relationship, communion, or company than a good marriage."  -- Martin Luther

I watched my pregnant friend's husband rub her shoulders last Friday night.  It was tender but nonchalant...perfectly normal.  I saw an elderly man cradle the hand of his wife on his way into church.  I watched a father with a brutal work schedule smile happily as he had the rare joy of dropping his daughter off at school.  

My own dear husband texted me a note of support as I went off to San Francisco at dinner time headed to a meeting about saving ice-skating in Yosemite.  It would be hours away...through the rigamarole of homework and bedtime and little kids.  He went with it.

No sigh.

No wishing it weren't so.

Just support.

I'd like to give a shout out to sweet husbands.

They are often ignored, taken for granted and relegated to the status of ho hum.

Sit-coms like to make them look dumb.

Women's magazines like to make them seem extinct.

Plenty of commercials sell them as nerdy or inept.

It just isn't so.

They are hard working, tireless, considerate and most of all, there.

Day in -- day out -- they show up.

They are the ones with the baby in the front pack at the grocery store muddling their way through.

They are the ones who clean up the dishes, fold the laundry, hug the momma who just found lice in their daughter's hair, again, and clean up the puke.

They hold their wife's hand as they deal with a cancer diagnosis, a job loss or a phone call that makes a nightmare real.

They work hard and worry.

They are the backbone of so many families -- unnoticed and unappreciated.

Today, I am grateful for my gentle, fun-loving, encouraging husband.

He makes me a better person.

He helps me to reach for my dreams.

He tolerates my sassy weirdness and best of all, he likes it.

He makes me laugh.

His loving acceptance and encouragement have been a saving grace for me for years, 

twenty three to be exact -- but who's counting?

I don't know how to explain the supreme comfort in being loved that way but I hope for it, and pray for it, for my own children.

Here is my prayer:

Lord, please help the person they love to be generous, kind, warm-hearted and loving.

Help them to be accepting and forgiving.

Help them to find the good and hold their tongues with the criticism.  

Help them to be honest and fun.

Help them to find real love, enduring love, hopeful love.

Please...

Thank you to the husbands who love their wives and cherish their families.

Thank you to the husbands who man up and do the dirty work...whatever that may be.

Thank you to the husbands who work and work and work and then come home to work some more.

Thank you to the husbands who don't hold back...who encourage and laugh and dance and cheer.

Thank you.

You are a blessing and most definitely the definition of Grace-in-the-Ordinary. :)

Land's End, San Francisco -- March 2013

The Mess

"Life isn't like a book.  Life isn't logical or sensible or orderly.  Life is a mess most of the time.  And theology must be lived in the midst of that mess." 

-- Charles Caleb Colton

The famous sticky hand given by our dentist...um, thanks.

Yesterday it was dentist day for Caroline and in less than ten minutes upon entering our house The Sticky Hand was gracing our wall.  Awesome!  Random sticky, gooey hand-shaped object...how did this get to be an official prize from the dentist??  Only God knows.  But like some sort of designer jean, it is the preferred item, searched for, carefully pulling and peeling away other inferior potential prizes, to find the goo hand.  Just what my house needs -- something else hair can glom on.  

Could this be the cherry on the cake?  Quite possibly.  

My house is a mess.

Exhibit A: the living room table

Like most of you, my house goes through its fair share of ups and downs.  Clean for literally one minute before someone traipses something in, finds an amazing rock, decides to decorate something cardboard, pulls out a Barbie, stuffed animal, puppet, lego or puzzle piece just for fun.  

I try to get zen.  Try to picture the story the items could tell.

I try to recognize the steep bell curve of messes and know (literally: lived) the fact that the messes do stop...but when you're in the thick of a House Gone Wild it's hard to think clearly.

Calgon, take me away!

Or better yet, fairy godmother, Harry Potter, Hermione, heck I don't care, someone wave that magic wand and make it all better.

cue deafening silence...

Yep, that mess is here to stay...unless I get going, put on some good music and get after it.

Today I'm making my peace with The Mess.

 I'm grateful for my mess-makers, my pile of dirty clothes, that really dingy sink and the yuck.   It wouldn't be home without it. :)

At least Ken looks happy.

"Any idiot can face a crisis --

 it's this day to day living that wears you out." 

-- Anton Chekhov

        How do you do it?  Any hints? Special tricks? Fairy godmother 800 numbers?

Mommy and Me 2013

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering." 

-- Pooh's Little Instruction Book (inspired by A.A. Milne)

Sometimes it happens like a rogue wave...just sweeping you away from your intended plans.  Last night at one in the morning my feverish littlest one woke up in the night, mumbling and sad.  She was thirsty and scared.  Advil was given, covers tucked back in, cold ice water close at hand and just like that: my day was revealed.  Caroline would be staying home from school.  All those other things that busy my days would need to be left behind. Back in my own bed I started restacking the deck...perhaps I could go grocery shopping then, maybe I might find this missing email during a possible nap, potentially clean the desk that is towering with things that need to be dealt with right.this.minute.

The school morning came quickly, two others still needed to get off and then my slumbering tousled six year old came out of her bed like some bear from hibernation.  She was rested and stuffed up but the fever had broken.  She needed to stay home but...

well, let's just say, that I took full advantage of her hushed acknowledgement after the other two left:

big eyes revealed what her heart already knew -- 

It's a Mommy and Me Day!

Mommy and Me Days began in preschool.  Being fourth in line means most of the time other people are hanging around.  Most of the time -- heck 99.5% of the time -- other schedules and important events dictate your day.  You watch other people play sports or sing in the choir or perform in a play.  Most of the time, you are last on the list.  But Caroline figured out even at age three that when those other kids went off to school, she had a Mommy and Me Day.  She knew when her preschool days were, knew when I was working at her school and knew when I was all hers.  

She cherished it and named it and helped me to notice the precious present.

Since she started kindergarten she would lament the lack of Mommy and Me Days.  We would take a bike ride or go get the dog food together but it wasn't quite the same.

Our life had changed.  Schedules were different.  Although that time was something I missed too, there didn't seem to be a natural opportunity to recreate it.

First grade began and the busyness of life took over.  We'd sneak an errand or enjoy her friend's birthday parties together but that luxurious giant chunk of time was nowhere to be found.

Enter the fever time out.

Mommy and Me 2013.  Pretty sad that it took that to make us have the time...but what a fun, fun time it was.  We played a serious set of Hangman, leisurely ate breakfast, walked Buddy and discussed at great length how amazing, sensational and terrific our dog really is. We played Bop It like a couple of kids at Christmas.  We danced and laughed, snuggled and used a pretend brush to paint make up on each other.  We watched our old friend Winnie the Pooh and his Blustery Day...giggled with Tigger, cheered for Piglet and felt sorry for Eeyore.

Together this six year old and 40 something mom added up to 22...belting out and dancing to Taylor Swift's song.  Our math may be wrong but we have some rockin' moves...no doubt.

We had chicken noodle soup for lunch and became chefs...wearing our aprons and cooking up brownies and other treats that were necessary, so necessary for healing and fever breaking and general good health.

So today I'm grateful for the forced time out.  Time out of schedules and other people who come first.  Today I spent the day exactly as it needed to be spent...thank you Advil, thank you little bug, thank you Caroline.

Learning the Hard Way

"Did you know that even when you do something bad, really bad like what happened today, that your mom and dad will not run away and they will still love you?" 

                                                                  -- Caroline (age 6)

My kids did something bad yesterday.  Really bad.  Patrick made some really bad choices.  Caroline helped instigate it and Mary Kate got in on it a little too late.  All the way around it was bad, with a capital B.  There were a lot of tears...some yelling and the ever present, awkward intruder who always makes his presence known as the unwanted houseguest he is, blame.

There was no getting around it.  Patrick had the choice between right and wrong and he chose wrong.  When I asked him why he would choose wrong he told me an honest truth: "Because I wanted to." Since that is usually the reason we all choose wrong I wasn't surprised by his motivation -- just a little bit stunned at his candor.  I had my lecture all ready for being honest and telling the truth...he beat me to it and spoke the truth.  I had to change it up and talk about why we must stop ourselves and choose right and refuse to do the things we want to -- especially when they are wrong.  I had to hold up the mirror to his moment and help him see how it was wrong...had to help him see the dark side within himself...and those of you who think people with Down Syndrome are "angels" who are "happy all the time" and are "pure" and can never make wrong choices well...you might want to rethink that.

I have seen Patrick be sneaky, dishonest, and even a little mean.  It's not very often, but it's not an impossibility.  I remember the first time he tried to manipulate me, he was only five.  I smiled and cheered inwardly...it was age appropriate and fantastic!  He was trying to find a way to get his needs met and he knew I was going to shut him down.  Like any ordinary kid, he tried the sneaky way.  It didn't work but I was proud of the effort.

As Patrick begins to navigate the older world, the stakes are higher.  Like all teenagers, he can mess it up big time.  But just because he has Down Syndrome doesn't mean that he should be protected and prevented from blowing it.

My tolerance for my kids making mistakes has grown.  When my kids were younger I wanted to be the buffer between any misfortune and my child.  I wanted to point out the obvious pitfalls and have them avoid them.  Now I know that this is where the real learning takes place.  This terrible time, between the tears, the apologetic hugs, in the thick of feeling forgiveness and regret is where the character building happens and where kids decide what kind of person they want to be.

We had a long conversation about making the hard decisions...about choosing right even when no one is watching...about knowing the differences and following through.  It was sad and bad and pit-in-the-stomach queasy but that is what parenting is about.  It's about seeing the dark side and facing it head on.  It's about confronting a problem and not sweeping it under the rug.  It's about holding up a mirror to our children and ourselves.  It's a hard, hard road but one I'd never miss.

Caroline's take away from that hard day was both heart-warming and heart-wrenching.  No, moms and dads are not going to run away.  We're here to stay and yes, we will not let you choose wrong.  We're here to make it clear and help you become the person you are meant to be. We're sticking around and seeing this through.  We love you, mistakes and all.

So today I'm grateful that I get to be here, day in and day out, helping my kids learn how to be good, kind people...even when they are learning it the hard way.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

   "My home is not a place.  It is people." -- Lois McMaster Bujold

I've heard it said, "You can't go home again." and I've worried about that.  Because if that sentiment is true, what happens to Jack, my oldest who has left home and is in the very first few months of college?  Is it possible that he won't ever return home with the same heart, the same self, the same Jack-ness that we love and adore? What does that mean?  Where do we go from here as a family?

I had some crazy feelings of excitement and trepidation as we ventured onto an airplane just John and I headed to Los Angeles to see Jack for the first time in two and a half months. I was simultaneously tortured by the idea of seeing him for just a few hours and thrilled with any time at all.  Like a wilted flower, any drip of water would do.  When it became clear that we would for sure get to see Jack, John's face was lit up with a smile that wouldn't stop.  He kept looking at me, smiling.  I kept brushing him off.  I just wasn't sure.  Were we going to be cramping Jack's style?  Would he want us there?  How was it going to play out?  It felt unreal and dream-like and I couldn't quite picture it at all. Most of all, I wondered, would Jack be the same? 

We got to his dorm and took the elevator up.  We walked the halls that at the beginning of school had been freshly painted, new and clean. Today, they were dirty, lived-in and rather collegiate looking. We knocked on the door and found three room-mates missing and three girls sitting in the living room with Jack in the shower...so college...so classic.  We introduced ourselves and heard their stories. Zoe from Dallas, Aubrey from San Diego, and Jordan from LA.  All were together and friendly and polite.  Zoe gave us the run down of the plans for the day.  We made small talk and visited until Jack popped out, clean and ready to go. We hugged and took a good long look at the newest incarnation of Jack: college guy.  He was smiling, excited and happy.  He was ready to show us around and we followed his lead and got ready to go.  Zoe, ever the cruise director, handed Jack a list of phone numbers that he could use since he had misplaced his phone. 

First stop: book store.  We walked across campus and noticed mothers and fathers and sons and daughters just like us.  We felt part of something and yet a cloistered bubble of three at the same time. We decided to get some red for the football game and put on our required USC clothes.  We watched guys paint their entire bodies, we saw Trojans and cheerleaders and families and fraternities and an entire college scene that seemed scripted and watched Jack maneuver and make his way.  He greeted friends as he passed through and knew instinctively where he was going.  He guided us through it all.  He seemed comfortable and confident.  This was his turf and he wanted to share.  He showed us where he practiced volleyball, where he filled out paperwork for the screenwriting program, where he hung out with friends.  Best of all, he was genuinely himself, nothing was lost or missing, totally himself but with a bit more.

I don't know when I first felt this, maybe it was eating a hot dog at the Parents' Barbeque amid red and gold swaying balloons or it could have been as we were rushed along with the sea of red making its way to the Coliseum, but I knew that my heart was here.  It didn't matter what I was doing or the thousands of people beside me, as long as I was with Jack, my heart was here.  It was then that I realized for perhaps the first time that my heart is indeed cut into four very large pieces and they are outside of me.  

I guess since my kids have always been under my roof and generally with me that I was tricked into thinking that my heart was in my home.  But being with Jack and feeling a piece of myself there, I know now that my heart is wherever my children are.  Somehow, in the strangest way, I feel comforted by this.  I feel as if I have unintentionally made four horcruxes and stitched a little piece of my soul into Jack, Mary Kate, Patrick and Caroline.  They may travel the earth but they have my heart and that is where my home is -- wherever they are.

We kicked the flagpole and wished for good luck.  We resisted the bacon wrapped hot dogs with sizzling vegetables tempting us on our way to the stadium.  We walked by the rose garden planted in the early 1920's and filtered our way into the LA Coliseum.  We went down into the student section almost onto the field and were greeted by Jack's friends with a warm welcome.  We basked in the balmy southern California sunshine, the sublime joy of an afternoon of nothing but football and Jack and started learning the Trojan way.

If you've never been to a USC game let me tell you one thing: they live large.  They must have taken lessons from the British because nobody does Ceremony and Pomp better than these guys.  Out comes the fairy tale white horse with a Trojan atop.  He leaps off the horse and plunges his sword into the soil.  A cheer releases from the thousands of people and the game begins.  The band with full regalia plays its heart out.  The cheerleaders give it their all.  Gigantic flags are waving with an individual U and S and C and a Trojan all working together.  Smoke comes billowing out of a side entrance and with music playing, cheerleaders yelling and the crowd chanting, the football players rush onto the field.  

The game was fantastic...triple overtime and a heartbreaker of a loss...but that was beside the point.  We were with Jack.  Suddenly, we had to rush to the airport. We had to kiss our sweet son good-bye.  We got a glimpse of his world and had to head back to ours, where three other hearts were waiting.  We knew that we had found our way back home and that Jack would too.  Thanksgiving isn't that far away.

Change is inevitable.  Babies grow up.  Kids move out and we must adjust our sails or get stuck in stagnant waters.  This week-end, the grace that filled me up was learning that my home and my heart are where my people are...no matter where on the planet that takes me.