Tag: love

Kinship

Maybe this is just in my mind, but my experience in going about my daily chores yesterday, is that we women were just a little teeny bit kinder to each other. There was a little more sweetness, a little more understanding and a little more compassion felt for one another. I sensed it. Deeply.

No matter what your politics are, and no matter who you voted for, as women, earlier this week, we were on the brink of something none of us have ever experienced in our lifetimes before – an American woman as president. And I have to believe, that even in the most diehard Republican woman out there, there was at least a teeny, teeny part of her (that teeny part of her that was promised as a little girl that a woman can do anything), who found that idea exciting and hopeful and vindicating. And yet it was not to be . . . .

There is good that comes out of everything. Yesterday, I found a knowing kinship with other women (most of them strangers to me), that I honestly haven’t felt in a long time. And it was good.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

30 years

Today is my 30th wedding anniversary. I have known my husband since I was 18 years old. We met on my first weekend in college. I have spent my entire adult life with my husband. He is the most important person in my life and he always will be. I’m still very much in love with my husband. I believe that he is still in love with me. I understand that this is special. I understand that this is a rarity. I am totally, totally grateful.

My eldest son just got engaged. My second eldest son has been ring shopping (and I can say this because he and his girlfriend went ring shopping together). What has been my advice to my sons and their significant others for a long and happy marriage? Always, always put your “marriage” first. When you get married, the marriage becomes its own living entity. When you make your marriage the most important thing in your life, and you nurture it, and you believe in it, and you give it your highest attention and your energy, it will give you everything that you gave it, back in spades. (Now I realize that it takes two people who are willing to treat the marriage like a sacred child to raise and to adore and to be committed to in life, but if you do your part, and you believe that your spouse will do the same, then the battle is already won.)

Our married life hasn’t been perfect. Life isn’t perfect. However, my marriage has been the most vital part of 30 years of really good living. My marriage is my sanctuary, my comfort, my joy, my adventures, my framework for how I go about living my life. It’s been perfect for me.

J, thank you for choosing me. Thank you for believing in our sacred marriage as much as I do. Thank you for everything. I love you forever and ever and ever.

Year of the Aunts

When I was shopping with my future daughter-in-law last week, she pointed out a poster of Hocus Pocus with a smile on her face. She told me that she loves that movie. I smiled to myself for a different reason. I immediately thought of my three aunts.

Now, I mean no disrespect to my aunts. My aunts are way more attractive, alluring, kind and interesting than the stereotypical, storybook witch. But to me, in my own inner version of what a witch is, my aunts fit the bill: magical, crafty, resilient, mysterious, wise, attuned to nature, assured in themselves, faithful to Life. My aunts have always been a fun, spoiling, soft spot in my life since I was a little girl, but as I have grown older they have also become my inspirations.

My (only) three aunts are all in their 70s, yet they stay fit and active and “with it.” They are adventuresome and confident. I call this year, “The Year of the Aunts”. This is the first year in a long while which I have experienced one-on-one visits with each of my aunts. This is a rarity. We all lead busy lives and we are all spread out in different states. One of my aunts even lives in a different country.

We women need each other (even as awful as we can be to each other), and we need each other in all forms. We need our female friends, sisters, mothers, daughters, cousins, grandmothers, mentors, and aunts. Sometimes one of our female cohorts is more than just one of those things to us. We women are that powerful. We can be shapeshifters if need be. There is something unrepeatable in the strength at the core of a woman. We know this fact deeply and intimately, and we inevitably share the wells of this female strength and wisdom when we convene with each other.

I have always loved my aunts, but I didn’t realize until this past decade, how much I need them. I didn’t realize how much they teach me, just by being themselves. I didn’t realize the depth of the nourishment I get from each of them, and the familial care and concern they have always held for me, even when we are not with each other. I hope and pray, that I can be the same source of solidity and comfort for my nieces and nephews, in different stages of our lives. My own aunts have treated me, as if this was their sacred duty. Perhaps it is . . . .

Aunts, I love you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Empathy Machines

Before I get to what I really want to write about today, this:

“Reading is an empathy-generating machine.” – Dr. Vivek Murthy

Isn’t this the truth? When we are having conversations, we are typically taking turns waiting to talk. Our conversations have a tendency to veer off-topic. But when you are reading, it’s just you and the words which you are reading. And written words tend to be more soulful, more thought-out, more vulnerable, more honest than everyday conversations. Reading really helps you to understand how someone else feels about their experiences. Empathy is being able to answer the question: “How do you think this makes me feel?” for someone else, other than yourself. Reading gives you time to absorb and to understand the words, and to make conclusions about the words, without getting defensive or argumentive or confused. I absolutely love to read and empathy is a wonderful by-product of reading.

And also before I get to what I really want to write about today, this:

Credit: @woofknight, X

“Oh to have impacted someone so much that they find bits of your soul and hold the memory of you in things and places when you’re not around.” Isn’t this a beautiful part of the human experience? Isn’t it wonderful to have people (and pets) in your life who come to mind often, even when they are not around. And isn’t it also great to be the person who someone is reminded of, when they see or experience certain things? These are the types of aspects of living life, that my soul crushes on, hard.

Okay, finally to what I planned to write about today:

Yesterday, our youngest son called me around 11 am. And my heart fell to the floor. I knew that my son was at work, my kids rarely call me (texting is king), and also, he has epilepsy. Thankfully my son was fine, but he was letting me know that he had just gotten an emailed letter stating that his longtime neurologist/epitologist’s practice was no longer taking my son’s health insurance.

This was the final push, which we have long-known was coming, to force us to go about finding my son a new practioner. His neurologist is getting close to retirement age, he practices in a town three hours from where our son lives, and he is technically a Pediatric Neurologist. Our son turns 24 at the end of the year.

Already I have a lump in my throat, writing this. Our son was 14 when he was diagnosed with epilepsy. He started with the small seizures called “absence seizures” or “petit mal” seizures which had probably been going on longer than we think. I often thought that my son was ignoring me or distracted with daydreaming, which I know is not out of the realm of things that teenage boys do. (he has two older brothers) However, the summer that he was diagnosed with epilepsy, our daughter and I picked him up from a summer camp (where he had gotten very little sleep) and my son’s disjointed, disorganized, “filled with stalls and stares and pauses” stories about the camp made it clear that something just wasn’t right. Later that night, I found some videos of children having absence seizures on “YouTube” and my stomach filled with dread. I took our son to our beloved pediatrician the next day only to have him confirm my fears, and to quickly recommend one of the best pediatric neurologists in town.

It took a long while to see Dr. W. He had quite the waiting list of people from in town, and from out town, who wanted to consult with him. We went to see his younger associate first, and while this young man was fresh out of medical school, and was eager and obviously brilliant, he spoke entirely too fast, and too matter-of-factly, to parents who were quickly coming to terms that life as we had all known it, had come to an end, and a big change was in store for our family. We decided to wait for an appointment with the heralded Dr. W, to see what he had to say about our son’s condition.

I quickly understood why Dr. W was so popular with his patients (and all of the medical staff). He was kind, down-to-Earth, patient to answer all of the questions and challenges that I was peppering him with, and he took a genuine interest in our son, outside of his epilepsy. It turns out that Dr. W had grown up in a farm town, and he took an interest in studying neurology because he had an uncle with epilepsy who chose never to get it treated. (This uncle would often ride around on large tractors, to the dismay of his family.)

Over the years, we have had many ups and downs with our son’s epilepsy. Epilepsy is tricky because it is treated with heavy-duty brain medication, with heavy-duty side effects, and these medications work differently, with each individual and they can stop working as one’s body changes. There is not a “one medication fits all” situation with epilepsy. There are always more questions than answers with any condition involving the brain. Currently, what is thankfully keeping ours son’s seizures at bay, are three different medications, taken two times a day. Some people with epilepsy can never keep their seizures at bay. We are lucky. This I know. I have never been more grateful for anything else in my life. It took us a long time, and a lot of scary moments with our son having many major seizures, to finally get to this combination that currently works for him. And all of the while, Dr W. did everything in his power to support us, but more importantly, to support our son, as we went through this long process of finding meds with the least side effects, that still stopped the seizures. Dr. W cared for our son throughout high school, throughout college, and throughout starting his sales career in his young adulthood. Dr. W has been a constant in our son’s sometimes otherwise unpredictable experiences.

My son was an easy patient. His mother was not. I was a totally desperate, semi-hysterical, pain-in-the-ass, many, many times. (I’m pretty sure that my son and Dr. W probably have some private jokes about his neurotic mother who thinks she knows everything due to her intimate relationship with Dr. Google, and do you know what? I effing love Dr. W for this fact. Dr. W always made our son feel nothing less than a totally normal, awesome guy with an unfortunate affliction which we were going to find a way to control. Usually Dr. W spent the appointments more focused on these sincere questions: “What did our son think about that game last night? Whose our son dating now? How’s school going? Who can I reach out to at the DMV, to let them know that it is now safe for you to drive?”)

When you are going through something tough in life, you are never alone. God sends angels. They are usually in human form. Dr. W will always be one of these “angels on Earth” for me, and for my family. Always. He took “bedside manner” to a down home, yet ethereal form.

So yesterday, with my voice cracking, I told my son that he should reach out to Dr. W for a recommendation of whom he should go to now, for treatment of his epilepsy. The time that we long knew was coming, has now come. Thank you Dr. W, for everything. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, from the bottom of the deepest wells of my heart. I am a grateful witness and recipient, to you living a well-purposed life.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

938. What is the most beautiful city in the world?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. Jane Hirshfield, a famous poet, says this is why we should write poetry: “One reason to write a poem is to flush from the deep thickets of the self some thought, feeling, comprehension, question, music, you didn’t know was in you, or in the world. Other forms of writing—scientific papers, political analysis, most journalism—attempt to capture and comprehend something known. Poetry is a release of something previously unknown into the visible. You write to invite that, to make of yourself a gathering of the unexpected and, with luck, of the unexpectable.” Below is my poem for the day. Write a poem today. I dare you.

“grief crests equally in times of joy and in times of difficulty . . . “ – Chelsea Bieker

Stirrings

Sometimes the ingredients get tossed about

When you had no desire to cook them in your mind

You are left to deal with the churning mess

Of things you thought you had left behind.

I cooked this already. I stewed in it. The meal is done.

Not really, though. It was only half-baked, silly.

In some ways, this recipe has only just begun. . . .

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

400. What’s your favorite accent?

Here She Comes

I’m sorry for the delayed post. It’s been a morning of distractions which is not ideal for a distractible person, such as myself. I’ve shared the following excerpt on the blog before, a poem most often attributed to Victor Hugo’s Toilers of the Sea, but it is too poignant not to share again. I first read it when a friend sent it to me in a sympathy card after the loss of my beloved grandmother. I usually send it on in almost every sympathy card that I ever send because it has always brought me such comfort. Our son’s girlfriend just lost her beloved grandmother and so once again, I texted her this passage today:

“I am standing upon that foreshore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says “There! She’s gone!” “Gone where?” “Gone from my sight, that’s all.” She is just as large in mast and spar and hull as ever she was when she left my side; just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says “There! She’s gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout “Here she comes!” And that is dying.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

512. Have you ever carried a torch for someone?

The Follies of Freedom

It’s a really awkward transition in life, when you all of the sudden realize that you can, and you should, put the focus back on yourselves, after raising a family. It’s all new territory. We raised kids for 26 years. (Our four kids are all adults now, ages 20-28) Our primary focus, decision making, and financial commitments were all centered around our family life. And now, just as our adult children are embarking on their young adult lives, we are also embarking on the same kind of freedom of choice, similar to what they are experiencing. And so are our friends and our contemporaries.

It’s fun and inspiring to watch our friends and family and contemporaries in their surprised giddiness, enjoying their new found freedom. It’s enlivening to watch “our people” move to new states, move to different houses, take vacations by themselves, put less focus on their jobs, enjoy rekindled or new-found romances, and focus more on their own re-discovered hobbies and interests. It’s delightful to get to experience our adult children as interesting adult contemporaries with their own lives. It’s a relief to no longer have the everyday family responsibilities, and to no longer have to make choices about other people’s lives, besides your own lives.

In my experience, it takes a while to realize that you are “there.” You’ve crossed the finish line, only to enter into your second lap of life. You feel a little guilty and giddy and amazed and grateful and confused and daunted and relieved. It’s a heady mix.

We parents are so used to taking care of other people other than ourselves, it feels strange to no longer have to do this. (I write this realizing that many of us empty nesters are having to caretake older parents, and sometimes grandchildren and so this freedom of responsibility is not quite over for many. I don’t mean to come across cavalier.) Still, when you realize that you do have more freedom than you’ve had for a long, long time, you almost feel incredulous. You almost feel like you need permission. I have the same feelings now that I had when they handed us our first child, and they wheeled me out of the hospital door to our waiting car. “Really? We can just take this baby home? You’re entrusting us with this whole other human life? Really?” I have the same feelings that my twenty-something kids seem to have, when it dawns on them that my husband and I have no “real say” (nor a desire for a “real say”) in how they choose to live their adult lives. They’re adults. The keys to their lives have been handed back to them. They seem puzzled, pleased and scared. This freedom of choice is exhilarating and a little fearsome and daunting at the same time. If I were a mind reader (and we mothers really are kind of mind readers of our kids, right?), I could see their thoughts as being this: “Oh wow, what if I make a wrong decision? This is all on me now. Where do I even begin?”

Facts are, the best part of this second go-around of freedom in our adult lives, is that we better understand, that there really are very few “wrong” decisions in life. When one of my friends recently purchased a second house, I asked her if she was worried about making the wrong decision. “No,” she said. “If it isn’t right, we’ll just sell it.” Those of us in these middle years, have usually bought and sold at least one home in our lifetimes. We get that there will always be places to live in and different environments to experience. We middle-agers get that even our worst decisions, have provided us with guidance and wisdom to put towards moving forward on our paths. We understand that nothing is truly insurmountable because we have a lot of experiences under our belts, that once seemed insurmountable, until they weren’t. Perhaps the only wrong decisions, are not making any decisions at all.

If you are feeling like me, and you feel like you almost need permission to be a little “self-focused” in this new phase of life, here it is: Permission granted. Great job on raising your family! It is not an easy task. You did well. It is time to celebrate “you”. It is time to love on “you.” It’s time to wind the circle of focus back on to your own life, and to rekindle the parts of you that may have gotten lost or neglected along the way. Go for it! As the favorite Dr. Seuss book goes, that so many of us read to our children, so many times, “Oh baby! The places you’ll go!”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2677. Do you think you can learn something from everyone you meet?

Vulnerability Hangovers

I have a slight hangover today. And no, I didn’t drink too much last night. It has more to do with what I chose to write about on the blog yesterday. Brene Brown coined the term “vulnerability hangover” to describe feelings of shame, anxiety, exposure, self-doubt after being open and intimate about our true feelings, or about life situations which we have kept previously private and mostly to ourselves. We all walk that line of what we feel comfortable exposing about ourselves and our lives, and what we don’t. And sometimes, we tiptoe off of the line, or sometimes we even take a surprising leap (even surprising to ourselves) off of that line, and then we are stuck with the muddled feelings of relief yet regret, depletion, embarrassment, and ambiguity. These feelings are sometimes called “hangxiety” and they mimic the feelings that can occur in our bodies after a night of partying too much, with concerns that we’ve humiliated ourselves in the worst possible way.

I don’t have regrets about what I revealed yesterday about being estranged with family members. Authenticity is really important to me. I don’t care to create false images. I believe that a lot of unhealthiness in our society is related to image-consciousness, putting too much focus on what others think about us. (hint- they don’t really think much about us at all) This image-consciousness keeps a lot of things that need to be addressed, instead hidden, avoided and pushed under the rug. But, when you put the “tough stuff” out there, you sometimes feel weirdly naked and vulnerable and exposed. You allow yourself to be judged. You put your “humanity” out there, and then the image-consciousness bit in all of us, feels defensive and threatened and wants us to dive back into our safe, snug holes. We dread the idea that our Pandora’s box isn’t able to be closed again.

I was so grateful for those of you who commented on the blog yesterday. I know that this takes courage. Your comments took some of my own “hangxiety” away. Thank you. Many times friends and family will text me individually about one of my blog posts. They don’t feel comfortable commenting on my public blog space. It’s okay. I respect, and I understand this.

Interestingly, yesterday’s blog was one of the most read blog posts I have written in a long time. When we have the courage to “put ourselves out there”, we give others the permission to do the same, and barriers come down. Compassion and validation and community takes the shining, natural place of the individual masks which we all like wear.

My daughter is currently in a position where she is helping girls through the experience of rushing sororities at her huge southern university. Rushing sororities can be a very grueling, intimidating, and humiliating process. In its best light, the Greek system is meant to help people quickly find a group of friends with similar values and interests, and to create an instant social life and helpful network, for those who find themselves on huge campuses with mostly strangers. In its worst light, the university Greek system is full of judgment, cattiness, and based on first surface-level impressions without having the time to get to know a person in their “wholeness.” It’s really brave for a young person to put themselves out there in this way. I imagine most of these young ladies go through vulnerability hangovers throughout the entire process. My heart aches for their needless self-recriminations and fears. I want to hug them all.

I vividly remember once being in a group therapy situation, where I was describing a situation that had happened, in more of a logical, factual, clinical, flat-toned kind of way. “How did that make you feel?” the facilitator asked me. I answered him with more logical, sensical, matter-of-fact words, as if the situation was casual and had happened to someone else. “But, aren’t you angry?” he asked me pointedly, staring me down. “Of course I’m angry!! Why shouldn’t I be angry?!? This was wrong! It hurt! I didn’t deserve it!!” I blurted out emotionally, and loudly and full of tremorous rage. My explosion seemed to bring the room to a hush. Even I was surprised by my outburst. I had such a vulnerability hangover after that situation, I remember going to McDonalds right after the meeting and binging on chicken nuggets and cheeseburgers.

I write this blog for me. I love to write. Writing is my favorite creative outlet. It is my favorite path back to me. But I also pray that this blog helps people. I pray that things that I have gone through in my own life and my experiences that have I learned from (in good ways and bad), as “a mother,a daughter,a wife,a friend,a writer,a woman,a sister,a niece,a dog-lover, and mostly just another human being” can be a source of comfort and guidance and validation for others. We when share our passions and our ideas and our talents and our vulnerable hearts with others, that’s when we realize how connected everything really is on this Earth. When we share of ourselves, that’s when we realize that we truly are not alone. We all have the ability to be someone else’s “angel on Earth”, and also the beneficiary from “angels on Earth” from time to time. The system is designed that way, if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and true and open and to surrender to our own deepest wisdom.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2036. What’s in your perfect trail mix?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. This past week our middle son and his longtime girlfriend and our granddog, Otis have been visiting, which means we have gotten even more bonus visits with our youngest son and his girlfriend, who live in our town. We are picking up our daughter tonight from her summer away, where she was studying abroad. I can’t wait to bring her home. My heart is full. I’m happy that we are a “place” which our adult children still want to come to restore themselves. I found this poem in a blog that suggested that we all could change our own personal stanzas to this poem which so aptly says, “I am from those moments.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2179. Which part of democracy do you not agree with?

Living the Dream

I’m annoyed with myself, and with all of last night’s events. I went to bed early to read myself to sleep and thus, I missed watching one of the most feel-good stories of the Olympics with my husband: The outcome of the Men’s 1500m Race. I was woken up several times in the night, once with my husband coming to bed, giddy about what he had just witnessed in Olympics history, then around 12:30 a.m. when I heard a door opening and shutting in my house (my middle son had been at our youngest son’s apartment helping him put together a 1000 piece bedroom dresser, and then decided to come back here – thankfully he texted me that the mystery door noise was him, and not an intruder. My husband slept through that disturbance.) And then, around 4 a.m. our collie, Josie, started panting and pacing, and so I put on my grumpy pants, and I took her out into the humid darkness to do her thing. (My husband and my son slept through that wake-up call, as well.) Why do we mothers hear all of the noises and distress calls of the night? Is it primal from the days when we were waking up with our babies on the hour? I’ve retired from raising children. Shouldn’t my internal alarm system be set to “off”, now? Sigh. Enough rant, back to the feel-good story:

For the first time in 112 years, two American men were on the podium for the 1500m race. This was entirely unexpected. The favorite runners to win were a Norwegian and a Brit who had apparently been trash talking each other all week. Cole Hocker, an American runner from Indiana won the gold medal and broke an Olympic record, and his teammate, Yared Nuguse from Kentucky won the bronze. (Britain’s Josh Kerr came in second.) I watched a few interviews with the young American men/medalists, and both talked about how it was actually good to be “under the radar”. They believed that they were every bit as good as the other lauded runners, and they stated that this belief in themselves is vital because long distance running is largely a mental game. According to these athletes, if you are at your physical peak, the hardest part of it all, is the mental game. Yared stated that towards the end of the race, he just repeats to himself, “Stick with it. Stick with it.”

Yared Nuguse is a first generation American. His parents were political refugees from Ethiopia and became American citizens in the 1980s. As I was lapping up all of the background stories on these runners, I ended up on a runners’ site on Reddit. This exchanged really moved me:

Did any other immigrants to the USA get emotional when the camera flashed to Nuguse parents crying? Maybe it was just me, but I felt immigrant tears of joy…it probably took A LOT to get to the USA, and now to win a medal for this country…only other immigrants would understand the depth of their tears… (tcumber)

I’ve been following Nuguse since his NCAA years. Extremely happy for him (and Cole). It would have been one thing to win an Olympic bronze in a slow race because of some fluke, but to PB in a race that sets the Olympic record shows he left it all on the track. He’s already one of the top 5 milers of all time, but he’s now also the 9th fastest 1500m runner all time, and looks like he could go faster. (DomDeLaweeze)

He made our entire ethiopian household proud. My mom choked up when they panned to his mom. (Besk123)

Yes!..because your mom is probably intimately aware of the struggle and sacrifice to get here, and to see what can happen in this country with just ONE GENERATION.

THIS is the American Dream we all came for, and are willing to work so hard to attain…a better life not only for ourselves, but for our families.

I shed happy tears with them because I understood…many of us understand. It is more than winning a bronze medal. It is understanding where they started, how hard they all worked, and where they are all now….in Paris…at the Olympics…watching their son do so well. He could have finished last…there is still pride that he got there and did his best…but he won a bronze.. Oh my….

Sigh…someone just cut some onions beside me….(tcumber)

When I read that, I must have been cutting onions. I write this with a lump in my throat. With all of the negative, divisive political hoopla swirling around us these days, we must remember what really makes us great. We are a nation of Native Americans, who are only just recently getting the recognition which they wholly deserve for their reverence and caretaking of our beautiful land for generations and generations, and then of waves and waves of immigrants (some brought here against their will during the horrible scourge of slavery). Regardless of our beginnings, all of us here have been chasing the American Dream in one form or another, and attaining it, again and again and again. . . . . . My belief is that the best of us Americans, in this vast country, understand this incredible, vast, realizable potential for ourselves, and for our fellow citizens. The best of us fly under the radar, but continue to make sure that the American Dream continues to flourish. The majority of Americans know that it is a mental game to live a Dream. The majority of Americans, all persevere in our lives and in our beliefs, knowing that the key to realizing the Dream is to “Stick with it. Stick with it. Stick with it . . . .”

Stick with it.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

407. Has anyone ever approached you thinking you were someone else?