Intermutuality

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Some Brainwaves I Didn’t Waste…

After my last post, I have done tolerably well (meaning really well some days and not well at all other days…we all do the best we can) at monitoring my thoughts and at least recognizing when I am wasting them.

So what kinds of things do I consider to be worth my energy to think about?

Well, here are a couple of things that I’d blog about if I had myself more together:

Plastic diapers – I recently read this alarmist and judgmental article and was left with the feeling that my baby would be sterile, have autism or possibly even burst into flames if I continued using the polyurethane laminate diaper covers that I have had for 3 years as they likely contain PVC, phthalates, and other neurotoxins. So I called all the makers of all the diapers that I have (about 8 different phone calls) and then called several PUL manufacturers when I couldn’t find the maker of one of my diapers (Captain Fluffy Pants has disappeared off the face of the earth, apparently. It happens. She was a WAHM and has moved on to other things that don’t involve answering emails from someone who bought her stuff 3 years ago) to ask them questions.  One very kind man at a manufacturer’s customer service line assured me there was only a 10 percent chance that my baby would burst into flames. 😉

He explained to me that there was a short period from about 2006-2007 or so when PUL was very popular but hadn’t yet been regulated. before that there was really only one manufacturer who sold it and they didn’t use pvc in their production of PUL. Then cloth diapering got trendy and CPSIA certification became a thing and now it seems like most cloth diaper companies (I say most although I don’t want to generalize…do your own homework and make your own decisions, people) are using certified PUL which means it is presently understood to be the most stable and least toxic plastic possible. Yes, it’s still plastic. It’s not the best thing possible. Yes, ideally we would diaper our babies with hopes and dreams and marshmallow fluff. Okay, maybe not marshmallow fluff, but you get the idea. Natural fibers or bust. I have looked into wool covers for diapers, and even made a few of them myself. But they are too expensive to be something I would use exclusively, and require a lot of extra work to care for that I frankly am not willing to put in at this moment in my life. Even plastic reusable diapers are still reusable (each one of my diapers has now replaced hundreds of ‘sposies at this point) and we are doing the best we can.

 

Food and Community – We like food at our house. We like to make it, like to eat it, like to think about it, like to talk about it, love to share it. We try to eat things that are food, and for a long time that was stressful because I was working out what that meant for family get-togethers and things. I am not good at hiding what I am thinking, so as I went through this process I would make the most unseemly faces every time someone handed us a potato chip or a cookie at a function:

Well, what does that have in it? No way to check. Don’t think too long…it’ll be weird. They said they got it at Giant Eagle…ummm….ok…starting to think too long…quick, decide! Will compromise on: genetically modified foods, conventional vs organic, more sugar than normal, maybe a little high fructose corn syrup. Food dyes? Jury’s still out. Preservatives? Not too sure yet. Probably compromise. Will not compromise on: hydrogenated oils, chemical sweeteners, meat from suspect sources. Crap. Thought too long. Yep, 30 seconds of silence is definitely too long.

So that’s what would go through my head every time we were offered any food. And because it wasn’t settled in my mind yet, I was extremely awkward about it. I was trying to decide each moment what we were going to do, and trying to do it without being a Crazy Hippie Mom. I didn’t want to just say, “no, we don’t eat that,” because it felt judgmental but I couldn’t figure out what to say which ended up being way worse.

My very patient MIL confided to me the other day that I’ve gotten much better about this as I’ve grown into my opinions more. She said it’s a lot less awkward now because I just quietly explain what we do or don’t eat (she only told me this because I asked her if it was okay that I didn’t eat the croutons in our lunch salad because I knew from getting takeout from that restaurant before that they contain hydrogenated soybean oil…E asked me why she couldn’t have them and Iwhispered to her that there were things that weren’t food in them, but that we’d compromise and she could have the salad with the HFCS dressing and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t offended…she’s not the kind of lady who volunteers opinions like that, just FYI. She kinda rocks like that).

Sometimes people will take the choices that I make as a personal indictment, whether they are about food, natural living, or Jesus. Whether they are meant that way or not (they’re not, by the way). It’s not my job for everyone else to be fine with the choices I make. But it is my job to be thoughtful about them. As a church we are called to give an answer for our beliefs to anyone who asks us. It actually says that, in Timothy. And if we’re not instructed to be preachy and obnoxious and judgmental when sharing God’s love, who am I to be any of those ways about anything less important than that (which is everything)?

Well, kids are requiring focused attention again. Those are some brainwaves that I know for sure aren’t wasted.

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Once Upon a Time…Later…

So…Gandalf comes back and he’s all cool and powerful and wise. And…they all lived happily ever after?

Nope.

That’s when the action of the story really gets going. See, Gandalf needed to become the white wizard because he would need all that power to deal with the increasingly overwhelming circumstances that would come.

One thing I have learned from J’s video games, board games and rpg’s is that you don’t want to go after the big bad until you’ve had a chance to level up.

So what does this have to do with me?

Well, I feel like I’ve leveled up. This doesn’t have anything to do with me being on some level that other people have to get to. Or with me wanting to get to some level that other people seem to have reached. That’s not what I’m talking about. But when S was born, some things were forever redeemed for me. God proved certain things to me, to the point where I no longer feel justified in my doubts about what He thinks about me or if I will be given the resource necessary to handle the challenges that arise.

So, when I think about having leveled up, it doesn’t mean that my life has suddenly become crazy in ways that it wasn’t before. I mean sure, I have two kids now. “Two is more than one,” as a friend is fond of saying when asked what it’s like having another child. That’s true. But really, I think I expect more from myself than I did before. Certainly more than I did when E. was this age. When she was 3 months old, I was a post-traumatic puddle on the floor. I think the main thing that saved me from sliding unchecked into depression was Phoenix Coffee, my great husband, and a few close friends.

But that’s where I was. I’m not there now. And I want to live in a way that honors the progress that I’ve made. It feels disingenuous to live as though I don’t know more about myself than depressed-puddle-on-the-floor Katie.

I’ve had some glimpses of this new power. Last week I took the kids and went to visit a friend L.  We had many, many opportunities to fall into old patterns of being stressed by each other. But we didn’t. There were a lot of factors that could have added up to a terrible time…I was only there for 24 hours. We had harvesting, canning, shopping, cooking and eating to do. We had 3 kids to take care of. We had differing opinions about recipes. We had fundamentally different understandings of why I was even there (teaching someone how to can is NOT the same as canning all their produce for them). Really any one of these things would have been enough to ruin a visit in the past. But you know what? I think it was the best visit we’ve ever had. And not just because of the tomato marmalade. We were able to assume the best of each other and respond to each other without our relational insecurities looming large and eclipsing the fact that we were there to have fun and encourage each other in our distinct yet symbiotic (someone who knows canning but can’t farm goes really well with a farmer who doesn’t have a canner) paths. We communicated honestly and without spite or hidden subtext (which I’m bad at hiding in my own speech and even worse at detecting in other people’s). She pointed out that “10 years’ll do that to you,” which I think is true. But I also think that insecurity will block a person from responding in love. But this time it didn’t, because I didn’t let it.

See what I mean? Leveled up.

And I’m hopeful that it’s just the beginning. I want to react graciously when E. is pushing boundaries. I want to not feel the need to fight to be heard just because deep down I am afraid I don’t have anything valuable to say. I want to be a better wife by having more of myself to offer J. I don’t know yet what else I want. I don’t know what the big bad is, but I want to be able to meet it head on.

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Princess Lessons

I am tired of the disney-ization of princesses. I mean, I grew up watching Disney movies and I think it is possible to watch them as a kid and not grow up to be a woman who hates herself or is un-empowered or whatever. But the thing that bothers me is that it could mean so much more.

When I was a little girl, my granny would teach me ‘princess lessons.’ This was not when I learned how to let  a man come and save me, or how to sulk and get what I wanted. This was not a time when I learned how I was the center of the world and everyone should give me what I want (which seems to be the common working definition used when people use ‘princess’ in a sneering manner if you are acting spoiled or selfish). This was a time when I would learn to sit up straight. To say “please” and “thank you.” To be kind. To care about the people around me, and to be helpful. The idea was, if I was going to be my parents’ little princess, I needed to act like it.

So I am reclaiming that title for myself. I reject all of the bad behavior and lack of self-examination that typically defines what a princess is. I want to act as though I am deeply loved and cared about and have the capacity to do great things. I want to create the culture in my home. I want to cook. A lot. I want to affect change in the world. I want to raise passionate and diligent children. I want to waste less. I want to spend my time well. I want to spend and assert myself on behalf of other people. I want to remember that my Father is the King and that even in this odd country I don’t need to assert my own Somebody as that is all to be sorted out in the end.

This is, apparently, my princess manifesto.

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Lesson 1 from George MacDonald

I have recently started reading “The Lost Princess” (aka “The Wise Woman”, “A Double Story” and several other titles) by George MacDonald out loud to my daughter. Usually over tea or a snack.

The pertinent quote:

“As she grew up, everybody about her did his best to convince her that she was Somebody; and the girl herself was so easily persuaded of it that she quite forgot that anybody had ever told her so, and took it for a fundamental, innate, primary, first-born, self-evident, necessary, and incontrovertible idea and principle that SHE WAS SOMEBODY. And far be it from me to deny it. I will even go so far as to assert that in this odd country there was a huge number of Somebodies. Indeed, it was one of its oddities that every boy and girl in it, was rather too ready to think he or she was Somebody; and the worst of it was that the princess never thought of there being more than one Somebody—and that was herself.”


As we finished the chapter, E. looked up at me and said, “I am Somebody!”

“Yeah?” I said, then held my breath to keep from dictating what would come next. I wanted to know what she would do with that information of her own volition. Will she get it?

“You’re Somebody! My dad is Somebody!”

Then later, when a younger and more wild friend hit her repeatedly in the head, she wisely said, “He’s Somebody. But he forgot I’m Somebody.”

I like my kid.

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Normalizing Different

The “popular kids” and I have never been what you’d call close. In high school and beyond I have usually had a somewhat adverse reaction to doing what was mainstream just because. Even when I tried to blend in I did it so awkwardly that it was doomed to fail even before I bought my over-sized flannel shirt (yes, I grew up in the 90s, before flannel plaid was worn ironically in a tight-fitting style).

But one valuable lesson I have learned from them is this: if you act like what you’re doing is normal, other people probably will too.

Or, on the flip side, if you act like you are a freak, then other people will treat you like one.

The first time this post started rattling around in my head it was in the context of breastfeeding. If women continue to act as though it is something to be done exclusively in a separate wing of the house, in the car, sitting on the toilet, or worse, then it will always be something that is considered ‘other’ in some significant way. I’m not saying we should all insist on the right to walk around shirtless until our children wean at age 4 (like they do without social issue in Africa, I have it from friends who live in Tanzania and Uganda). Yelling loudly “I am not weird!” is another way of admitting that yes, in fact, you do feel disenfranchised in some way and have to cover your feelings by making a scene about it. It doesn’t normalize the behavior.

Another example of this that comes to mind is that I was reading a story a while back in which this woman was talking about the first time she refused a plastic bag at Target, since she was only purchasing one small item. Her telling of the story revolved around how everyone had treated her as though she was stealing the item and she was very uncomfortable the whole time. I have to wonder; what was her facial expression and body language like? Did she act like she was stealing it?

I have developed the habit of just calmly stating that I don’t need a bag, or a straw, or whatever. I don’t furtively glance at the cashier or my fellow customers as I say this, or act embarrassed to be refusing something they are offering (obviously this is trickier in certain situations…if a dear relative offers my daughter a piece of plastic crap toy certain to break and spread tiny beads of plastic all over my house it is much harder to refuse in a way that isn’t taken personally…I’m still working on that one!).

On the food front, I know people I respect who will loudly declare something to be ‘poison’ for everyone to hear in a somewhat misguided effort to educate those around them on the dangers of chemical additives in food. I’m not talking about how we explain things at home…I want to be clear with my daughter about why she can’t eat certain things. I tell her that there is just too much in them that isn’t food, so we aren’t going to eat it. Bless her, for a long time she didn’t even recognize most candy as something edible. As she’s gotten older, though, I just explain to her (quietly, off to the side…not on a soapbox for everyone to hear…) the reason we are not going to eat something. And then I tell her that other people have different mommies, so they might eat things that we don’t and it’s not our job to make them feel bad about it.

This is also glaringly obvious to me (now) when it comes to sharing faith. I grew up in an evangelical tradition wherein it was highly valued to be ‘bold’ in speaking the truth of God’s love to people. In practice it was often more of the same “I am not weird” rhetoric but dressed up in religiosity. Unfortunately, I was not able to communicate in a way that was at all sensitive to the fact that God might say different things to different people at different times. I was not even able to admit He might change the wording a little. If you tell people in an abrasive or confrontational way, “God loves you!” most people will be put off for the same reason that I suspect people reacted oddly to the woman in Target who was made to feel like she was stealing. If you act like what you are saying or doing is false in any way, it can be sensed. It will ring false and people can tell, even without realizing why they are put off by you.

So in conclusion………..if you really think you should do something, then do it and don’t be afraid to not act like a weirdo about it. Also, I’m certain there will be some point today at which I’ll need to take my own advice, as I do lots of stuff that some people might think is weird. Wish me luck with that.

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The Emotional Palette Revisited

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have come to think of feelings as different paint colors on a palette. The painting we are working on is our emotional interaction with the world around us. We all start out with a  blank canvas and few primary colors, and we get more as we go. Our parents, our peers, and all of our experiences have the potential to affect the hue or shading of our emotional palette.

We all end up with a certain amount of black from the hardness of life. I think for me dealing with depression was like adding black to the palette. Once black is introduced, if you aren’t very intentional all the colors are in danger of turning into a murky disgusting mess.

Remember when you were a child; wasn’t it frustrating when someone else colored on your picture? I think that a hard thing about the idea of painting with emotion is that our feelings are affected by so many things beyond our control.

I start ‘painting’ myself a good morning. The yogurt I made turned out really well and tastes delicious with blueberries and granola for breakfast. Mmmm….add some purple.

It’s sunny outside! Actually sunny! Add some brilliant orange in a few places.

A thoughtless driver nearly crashes into my car and speeds off without a second (or even first) look. Tiny grey-brown spatters. Not enough to ruin the picture or anything, but it does change the mood slightly in a small area.

Go to a playgroup. Watch other parents and enjoy talking about a variety of subjects ranging from everything from Food, Inc. to Magic Cards, and from potty training to our various religious upbringings. Many different colors represented here, and I add a bit from each of them to my day. I like how that mom redirected her son…that particular hue of green matches really well with this part of my painting!

I get stressed out when another parent at Whole Foods doesn’t redirect her kids at all and fails to even notice her son pulled a chair out from under E. and is now laughing about it while she sits bewildered on the floor. Then after several more incidents and side conversations wherein I try to encourage her quietly I say out loud, “Tell him no! What he’s doing is not okay.” The other mom finally hears from across the room behind a plant, gets mad and says “I’m SORRY!” in a way that really means…well…not an apology, I feel certain as I meet her angry stare. There will be no productive conversation there, so I move on. A muddy black splotch–all over the corner where the sunshine was. Shoot. What now? That’s not how I wanted that to look…

I really don’t want to paint such a dark picture right there. So I need some white to balance out and take away some of the murkiness. Or maybe I just need to cover it with white and start again in that spot. Where do I get white? People find it in many unlikely places. A smile from a stranger, a hug from a friend, a flower. I think God puts it many-wheres in the world for the finding, as He is the source of white and understands much more than we do how and when we will need it. And if we ask, we may even find some help for how to incorporate it into our own work to make it more beautiful.

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The Logical Twist

This week, our dear friends JJ. and B. entered into a new phase of relationship with our family.  JJ. gave birth at the beginning of July and will be returning to work soon, and they needed someone to help care for their child four days a week.  We will be sharing food, exchanging childcare and comparing parenting philosophies.  I am so excited to raise children with this woman!  The fact that E. is 2 years older doesn’t mean that I don’t have a lot to learn from her–already because of preferences they expressed, I searched out a simple recipe for diaper area spray to get kiddos’ bottoms cleaner, and began using it on E. as well.

It is a tricky to thing to become, for all intents and purposes, the work-at-home mom for two families.  I struggle over many decisions in my household; it is so hard to strike a balance of everyone’s needs!  The need for thriftiness and to be a good steward of our money. Our need to reduce our waste (yes, at this point I am convinced that it is a need that deserves attention in a much more comprehensive way than is usually granted in the U.S.).  Our need to live out the words of Jesus in a way that is honest, intentional and thoughtful.  J.’s needs which he rarely shares in any form (I had to insist on driving him to the hospital for a minor procedure this morning–then he is grounded to the office to watch movies all day).  E.’s needs which she shares quite vocally and sometimes unintelligably for those of us not fluent in “Elizabethan” which is the secondary language in our household.  The needs of all the people who touch my stuff on its way to me.  Financial needs of those around us.  The hidden poverty which I know exists in my neighborhood but which I often feel powerless to fight due to the stigma attached to it (Victorian novels make it sound so much more simple to care for the poor–just go out into the street and find a poor person and take care of them.  It doesn’t work that way in this day and age; but that’s another post).

Now, I will be adding another whole set of familial needs to the mix.  Someone else’s parenting decisions will have an effect on what I do in my day-to-day life.  It’s a lot to process.  However, there has been some good groundwork laid for this.  We were friends with B. for a long time before he and JJ. got married.  He even graciously took us in for a brief period when we were in between housing arrangements.  In many ways I feel we live out what it means to be the church with them as we share belongings, share life, share resources.  So this “professional” twist to our relationship is really not a twist at all but just the next logical step as we go through life together.

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Suburban Life

I get stuck in a rut sometimes.  A ‘my life is pointless and selfish’ rut.  Living in the suburbs of Cleveland and being at home with E. full-time occasionally leaves me wondering if I should be finding a way to help–someone.  I get that what I am doing is important.  Really, I do.  We eat well because I value food and take the time to shop locally, cook from scratch, grind my own flour and teach my daughter about how to prepare and enjoy really delicious food that is “good to eat and good to think.”  We make our own laundry detergent, toothpaste, facial scrub, etc.

When I feel stuck in my own small world, I go to a list of people that I love (I actually have a written list in my planner book, and no, I will not tell you who is on it and who isn’t!  It is an ever-fluctuating list) and pick someone.  Then, I call them or try to think of something that would help or please them in some way.  It’s all very fulfilling.

But…

I am wondering if my list of people are too much like me.  There are people out there who are poor.  I mean, really poor.  Don’t know where their next meal is coming from, don’t have a winter coat, don’t have blankets to put on their babies, don’t have a place to stay poor.  I mostly don’t do anything that helps those people.

And I feel like I should.

Actually, I know I should.  It seems pretty clear to me from reading what Jesus said and how he spent his time and energy that caring for the poor, the sick and the disenfranchised was of central importance.

The thing I am struggling with is how to become involved in a way that I will maintain.  The reason for originally calling my blog “Sustainably Kate” is that I want to find ways to make changes that will last rather than go by the wayside when I get burned out.  I am looking to make lasting progress, not just follow a trend or have a phase.

I believe strongly that the best and most effective way for us to affect a change in the world is by working within our own sphere of influence.  Our daily relationships provide a great opportunity for letting Goodness and Light flow naturally from our lives to others.  What seems off to me about my sphere of influence is that it seems not to regularly include the poor or the sick.

Some things I have read recently make me think that the Catholic Church has some really great ideas about social justice.  More about that may be on the horizon.

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Lost and Found and Anacronism?

This weekend we celebrated my mom’s birthday.  In the afternoon, we went to the Great Lakes Medieval Faire, and in the evening we saw Lost and Found play (a band I have followed since high school).  It was great fun, but it also reminded me what a small demographic I belong to.  I am a member of the tiny segment of society who enjoys creative anacronism and occasionally goes to concerts held at churches.

I was chatting with some of the vendors that I have gotten to know a little at the faire and it came up that we were going to a concert.  Here’s a rough rendering of how the conversation went down:

“Oh!  That sounds like fun!  I’d like to go to a show tonight.  Where is it?”

“Well, um, it’s at a church.  B-b-but it’s not what you are probably thinking right now…they are total hippies–one of them is even a vegan.”

“Hah!  You’re a christian?”

“Yes.  But again, probably not what you are thinking right now.  I don’t even really like to mention it until I know people better because of all the baggage associated with…well you know.”

“Totally.  I didn’t think you were like that.  I didn’t get that kinda vibe off of you.  I think it’s so cool that you guys are here with your mom.  My mom is very religious (Southern Baptist) and she would never come to any of my things.  Yeah, this is a pretty godless bunch around here.  Most Christians don’t like us too much.”

I wished I could disagree with her, and say that the church welcomes people at least as much as the rhetoric in the program represents.

Lacking the time and inclination to change into more normal clothes, we just showed up in our costumes.  When we got to the Church where the show was being held, we were offered a private room to sit in and eat our food.  It was very nice and roomy with lots of couches and people seemed to take special care to come and offer us baked goods and welcome us to their church.  A couple of the people who came in said, “were you out in Geneva!?  That’s a great festival.  Did you have fun?”

But there were many more who looked at us as, at best, an oddity.  I apparently got several angry looks from men that D. said seemed to imply that I was dressed inappropriately (I was wearing a halter top with a meshy-shrug sweater over it and a floor length flared skirt).  D. was confused by this as he is my brother and would not have bought anything for me to wear that was immodest as that would be, um, wierd.  J. pointed out that my clothes probably drew negative attention not because they were actually inappropriate, but because they were different.  If I had wanted to fit in, I could have worn short-shorts and a tight t-shirt or tank top and no one would have noticed me.  But…even when I have tried to fit in in the past it never works anyway; so I have mostly stopped trying.

The thing that I took away from the whole experience was that I am not sent to the people in that particular church, and so it is not necessary for them to approve of me.  I am to be gracious and loving to all people the best I can, and wherever I see that God’s grace goes out from me and seems to take root in another person I am to encourage that growth the best I can.  Even at the ren faire.

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Respect the Tantrum

My friend Kate came to visit.  Yes, another Kate.  She’s actually one of the first Kates I ever met.  One of the ones who made me want to be a Kate instead of a Katie.  That’s how cool she is.  She lives in Africa, so she came home at Christmas-time, and was here again for six weeks and we got 3 whole days as a visit!  E. has seen her only 3 times since she was born, with this being by far the longest time spent together.  We went to the playground, we used our swingset, we went to “Whole Toods” and “Teenix Tottee”  (Phoenix Coffee).  We watched movies and drank tea together.  E. was over the moon.  So was I, to be with one of my closest friends.

In an incident of spectacularly bad timing, about 5 minutes before Kate was supposed to leave, E. got Very Upset about something or other and started to have a temper tantrum.  I don’t really remember what she was originally crying about, but a couple of minutes in, I said, “Okay, honey, Miss Kate has to leave.  It would be better if you could be in charge of your body and calm down so you can say bye to her.”

Then things went from bad to worse.  She looked at Kate and screamed twice as loud.  Real tears began to fall.  She literally could not stop crying and I could tell that her emotions had gotten much too big for her to even begin to process, let alone control.  So I picked her up and said, “Your feelings are too big for you right now.  I am going to hold you and keep your body safe until you are ready to be in charge of it again.”  She alternately thrashed and clung to me for about 4 or 5 minutes which seemed like hours.  I asked her, “are you sad because Kate’s leaving?”  “Uh—-uh-huh!”  Me too!  Kate said, “Me too.”  We all started crying.  But she had to go.  So as all of us cried, she got in the car and began to back down the driveway.  The whole time, E. was saying (and signing), “Love you!  love you.  love you.  love you.  love you,”  so that Kate would know.  As her car pulled away, E. sighed a huge sigh, looked at me and said, “She gone!  I not say love you.  I talk her on the computer.  I sad.  I want yogurt!”

Would it have been better and easier if E. had sweetly kissed her on the cheek and smiled and said “check you later!?”  Of course.  But I do not regret allowing her space to feel what she was feeling.

I think too many times we as a culture want to act in appropriate ways and so we don’t acknowledge our feelings.  Emotions are not right or wrong.  They are what they are.  They certainly can be based on false thoughts or beliefs and those must be confronted and fought with everything we can muster, but to stuff our feelings down without challenging the lies underneath them can have disastrous consequences for our selves and our relationships.

A very wise friend (okay, it was Kate.  I really do have other friends, but this post is apparently dedicated to her) said once that emotions are like a very persistent door-to-door salesman.  They knock and when you open the door they approach you with whatever they bring.  If it is something you don’t want, you have a choice to make. You can slam the door in their face.  If you do this, they will come back over and over again at the worst times, until you don’t have the energy to turn them away anymore.

The other option is to say, “Alright, you can come in and sit on my couch.  You can talk to me about your Acme brand windows that I don’t want.  But I have things to do.  I have to make dinner and pack for a trip.  I also have to update my blog.  I will not allow you to keep me from doing the thing that lies next to me undone.”