Fulks Christmas Letter 2017

Diane & Daniela soak in August's Eclipse

This was the year of literal cold feet, escapes to Branson, Bolivia, binge-watching on Netflix, and questioning a dive-into-new-technology. Jeff does not identify with one of these; guess which one.

What is jolly, round, ours wears a white belt, grants wishes, weighs less than a pound, and is the greatest HoHoWho? It is the Echo Dot, specifically Voice Servant Alexa (Diane repeatedly called her Alexis, but that does not work). As everyone knows (because we are behind the times) upon request she plays Christmas music, turns on the dining room Christmas tree lights, and announces the outside temperature. We love the weather feature. She also has a timer and a host of other silver bells-and-whistles to learn. Turning 62 has its silver side, namely brain exercises around every corner and two $10 each life-time senior passes to the National Parks.

Jeff’s spring missions trip flew him to his favorite city in the world, Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Visiting with long-distance, decade-long friends was particularly deja-vu. Our daughter visited Santa Cruz with Jeff 12 years ago, and maybe Homebody Diane can save enough pennies to join him (for the first time) on his next trip there.

Jeff’s Bolivia trip coincided with Diane’s visit to Chicago in March, for youngest Grand’s 2nd birthday. For that drive, Nana and DeDe road-tripped together. Keeping track of three young grands (today, aged almost 7, 4 ½, and 2 ½) required two sets of eyes. Visits keep us in-synch, specifically March, June, August, October; and, slipped into July the two older grands traveled to our little neck-of-the-woods for their first-ever solo “grand camp” (in other words, no mommy and daddy who were kitchen-renovating) which positively stretched us all. Our in-between Facetime visits are second-best, but they are still connections. Our greatest moment this entire year was hearing that our almost-7-year-old wants a Bible for his December birthday.

In August 26-year-old International Guest Daniela helped us celebrate turning 62. We felt honored to have her with us for 3 weeks. Way back in 2005 Shayna attended Daniela's "Quinceanera" party (the name for Daniela's big 15th birthday). Bolivian Daniela was a trooper. She road-tripped with us to Branson (for shopping), Chicago (visiting Shayna and the Grands), and Tulsa (visiting Nathan). The Solar Eclipse seemed specially scheduled for her final day in Springfield. Take-aways from Daniela’s visit include adding whole-kernel corn to Diane’s pancake batter and, temporarily, we felt like younger parents. One of her take-aways: "Americans have a lot of machines" (like our dishwasher that she thought was a "cabinet" for dishes after they are hand-washed).

It has taken over a year, but Diane finally feels fairly situated in her job at Evangel. Housing students in 54 rentals is a challenging kind of fun, especially when a 30-day notice is not given, an unauthorized pet is discovered, and super-busy is every March. #SomeoneIsWatchingOutForDeDe was and still is Diane’s mantra. Jeff coordinates Evangel's MOL and Behavioral Health programs and he is still a gifted teacher. He stays young doing morning runs at Lake Springfield.

Thanksgiving was the "our-turn" holiday. Three families and two granddogs created one active household. Taking the Grands to the park, swimming, presents-opening, food prep and eating, and playing with toys were sardine-packed into 4 days. Having our son with us is always eye-opening. He introduces us to surprises, like apple peelers, a selfie-stick tripod with remote control (for 2017's family photo), stream-lined travel routes, and ways to do almost anything better.

"There is no spoon"... or trike  (The Matrix)
Youngest Grand chooses to carry the trike

On a sad note, Jeff’s 91-year-old Uncle Bob left this earth 2 weeks before the holidays, and both his widow (they were married 70+ years) and all of us will miss him. The funeral provided Jeff the rare opportunity to be with his East Coast sister, maternal cousins, and his aunt. Times with family are brief and fleeting, but special. For those who have lost a loved-one this year, we send thoughts and comfort your way.

We are reminded of Jeff's Dad, who was an Illinois/Indiana Assemblies of God pastor for over 40 years. Back in the 70s he oversaw a church design and building and chose high ceilings in the main sanctuary. With a recent re-model of the church, the current pastor acknowledged and admired the foresight of Pastor Fulks. He was a true visionary in many ways.

For the first time, Diane has succumbed to the Hallmark Channel’s endless Christmas-a-thon. It keeps her December movie-watching. One can’t help but soak into the Christmas spirit as well as the fun of giving. Diane’s recent read, “Be Nice (Or Else!)” coincides with the Christmas "pay-it-forward" spirit. Guided give-a-ways to others, like Halo oranges and a nativity set or two, don’t feel like we have less afterward… instead we daily receive more, including the depth of who God is... the Ultimate Giver. He sent to earth the Greatest.Gift.Ever: His Son Jesus.

We trust that your 2018 will have value-added extras and meaning. Our family wishes you and yours a Merry Christmas and a Happy and giving New Year!

2017's Family Photo
Oldest Grand has the power, to press Nathan's remote, taking this selfie-shot
Middle Grand holds his reward for cooperating
Youngest Grand cooperates because her older brothers are cooperating

A link to chuckles: Echo for Seniors, Ho!Ho!

Grandma / Moana Connection

        Young mom nightmares could make me into an obsessive clean freak. They include a surprise visit from our pastor, investigating our mold-infested parsonage bathroom on a Monday morning. He plunged through our living room's land mine of toys like an obstacle course. And then there was our middle-school-aged guest who scrawled "Thank You" into my child's dust-covered bedroom mirror. In other words, I helped others feel good about their own housekeeping skills.
         My disjointed family heritage experienced hurt feelings because of disarray and unmet expectations. Criticisms between my mom and her mom (my grandmother) were shot back and forth, creating heated generational divides. To the extent that their mother/daughter visits were close to nil, despite living just 45 minutes apart. 
      For various sad reasons, grandfathers were out of the picture. Having even one steady grandparent or grandparent-like figure in our lives, tolerant or otherwise, was something my 5 active siblings and I lacked. Fortunately, with grace, truth, and time, hindsight can be 20/20. Blogging helped me to see the negative ripple effect intolerance created through the generations. And having my own grandchildren helped me to see my grandmother's unmet expectations; to normalize the generational tensions; to not repeat them; and, most importantly, to move past them.
      The key idea is that children of all ages need their parents, but a bonus relationship is a healthy Grandma/Moana-like connection. At first glance, in the animated Disney movie "Moana," wise Grandma Tala appeared to be a bit off-her-rocker. In reality, she was solidly there for her searching granddaughter. Tala knew that her grounded heritage knowledge was invaluable. Grandma Tala was the actual heroine in the movie as she guided Moana--to venture out to find her found, for the sake of their endangered tribe.
     I strive to be there for my long-distance family, in supportive ways. It would, however, be impossible unless I had found myself. I had issues, spelled with a capital "I". Similar to the woman in Luke 15:8, searching for her lost silver coin. She added light to her search, to spot a valued missing item. She swept the floors, not for the purpose of cleaning, but for finding. She probably got down on her hands and knees, and the by-product of her thorough search was clean floors. Clean floors happened, but that was secondary. She got down-and-dirty to find her found. That silver coin was her key to sustenance, self-respect, and salvation. 

A vivid memory: Dress-up, summer 1960's style
Styling heels, a fancy hat, & pearl necklace
A rare visit with my Wilmette Grandmother
Her shadow is in the forefront

      Connecting first with ourselves equals the earnestness of the woman's need for that silver coin. It can take time to find missing "self." For some, it is cloaked in the deep and dark recesses. Light and time are needed, combined with prayerful intention; because only God knows the heart. As a result, we embrace an inner-sustenance. Rather than pushing expectations onto others and connecting with family out of neediness, we strive to do it as an overflow. We have more of ourselves to give.
     Searching and connection are both messy, but those two processes ultimately put the pieces of our scattered lives together. It takes time; it makes us vulnerable; it cannot be forced. Today, after 4 years of blogging to "Find my Found," I feel more grounded. For the sake of my family, I am a tolerant, salt-&-pepper (or silver-&-gold) grandma. Tolerance is helpful in other aspects, as well, but particularly in regard to housekeeping and orderliness when with my grandchildren. 
     Maybe tolerance creates the difference between cool versus crazy-cray. Cool empty-nesters embrace a larger perspective that marries with an intentional, pre-determined mindset. To understand that young families face busy life-in-pieces. Their lives, as well as children's clothing sizes, activities, and overall needs are ever in-flux. It is inevitable. They do things differently than we did, and they have clutter. (Admittedly, I eagerly contribute clothing, books, and toys to their clutter-cause). Connection is a two-way street with give-and-take perks. We need balanced support and encouragement from each other as we attempt to distinguish between helping versus enmeshment, woven with connection.

      Connection means that I welcome invites to my daughter's starter rental, to be with her and the grands. Sporadically, for just a few nights and days of our lives, who cares about strewn toys, tattered books, spilled food, nasty morning diapers, foul breath, and eye boogers. And, creative sleeping arrangements. The important thing is to be there. Cool.versus.crazy-cray. I enter into their world and choose to chill (stay Grandma Tala "cool").
     Our empty-nester home has moved past the "in-pieces" phase; it is history. Now, because of hormonal forgetfulness disguised as temporary insanity, I crave order and embrace helpful organization. Our surroundings stay fairly tidy after being straightened, unless crafting phases or organization overhauls occur. Every so often, I do take extra steps to thoroughly disinfect and dust (not my favorite things). Any time our long-distance daughter's little ones want to visit, they are more than welcome to be our tumbling tumble weeds, and they might even add (accidental) character marks and untidiness to our orderly home.

      This idea may be on the dreamy spectrum and not for every grandparent. In fact, it probably isn't for the obsessive, the faint-of-heart, nor is it needed for idyllic Beaver Cleaver families. Just keep it as food-for-thought, in the back recesses of the mind. 
      Beware of toys on the floor (watch your step), books missing a peek-a-boo flap or two (be creative), embrace using either unbreakable or paper plates (a sanity saver), and heed to potty-training puddles and floods (baby wipes work disinfecting wonders). And, note the emphasis in the previous paragraph's two key words: Invites and a few days (exception: stay longer for a baby's birth). Especially for empty-nesters, being 24/7 with young children and babies can be quite unsettling at times... and, semi-hazardous for compromised backs and ankles. 
      For those who do venture into the wild, keep the unsolicited, critical lips zipped. After a time, and at the appropriate hour, if our input is needed, someone will ask. I recall Grandma Tala's posture. She dared to appear "off-kilter" as she waited. She observed and was ultimately there at the pivotal hour to provide guidance... when Granddaughter Moana asked for it and needed it most. 

      Whether or not we realize it, those disordered, life-in-pieces together-times do help to keep us all young-at-heart. It takes patience, time, and hard work to develop heritage connection. The benefit is that positive, indelible character marks can be imprinted. Be prepared for crazy-cray accusations to surface. After all, getting down-and-dirty, on our hands and knees, like the woman searching for her lost coin, is the posture needed for praying and playing.

"Down-&-dirty" Gold Ninjago Costume Sewing, October 2017

Cherish.Genuine.24/7

DeRachel

Panoramic Perspective

Prophetess Anna was in the temple the day that Baby Jesus was presented (Luke 2:36). She spent years of her life, and hours upon hours there, worshiping and awaiting the Savior. Widow Anna spent at least 60 years learning the posture of invisibility. For years she had no husband from whom to receive attention, as well as the tangible feedback, “You’re beautiful.” If she was childless, she was considered cursed. IF instead she did have children, they were busy with the day-to-day. They needed to earn enough to support their families and Widow Anna. 

Anna’s rewards of losing self in worship and being in God’s Temple were intangible. Even ordinary. Year, after year, after year. But when Mary and Joseph arrived to the temple that day with their new bundle of blessing, Anna was ready. She had learned the skill of worshiping in the dark; not seeing the answer to her prayers to see the Savior. She worshiped not to get, but to give. In other words, worship was not about her and what she could get; worship was about giving to God. For most, that is a challenging perspective change. 

Changing perspective can be compared to using a cell phone camera’s panoramic capability. Select “pano” and an arrow appears on the screen to guide your shot. Simple. But if a user has a mental block, and moves the phone right to left rather than left to right, opposite the direction of the arrow on the screen, a junk picture rather than a pano is created. I learned this, because it happened to me during my nephew’s ordination ceremony. I wanted a full pano picture showing the audience and the important moment that was happening on stage. I tried again and again to take a pano, but ended up with a blurry floor picture. 

So, I finally settled for an ordinary picture of just the action on stage. User error was overlooked. Later, during the sermon, out of the blue, a light-bulb moment occurred. I had been moving the phone right to left, the wrong direction. Duh! And, I wondered: From where did that random idea fly into my mind?

Moving out of self, to others and to God, is like my light-bulb moment. That is what it takes to "get" it. Finally seeing the critical fine-line difference; internalizing the direction change that creates the bigger picture. Using my lips, my lungs, my life, and my being to worship--to give. Maybe that is why Anna could see God's unseen announcement: 

Baby. Jesus. Is. Special. 

Anna’s worship postured her mind for God to show her things beyond understanding; left to right; new perspective. And then she did what she had been doing all along, for years with God: She shared the special news with others in the temple that day... 

Anna. Gave.

"Pano"-fail

The Power of H.U.G.

Maybe hugs strike me so strongly because it was a foreign concept during my moody blues, lone-wolf childhood. I didn't want hugs and rarely gave hugs. Because of that background, noticing the hug that is forced is a natural sense.

The kinds of hugs are as many as there are flavors of ice cream. There are cordial ones, thank-you hugs, greeting hugs, stoic hugs, half hugs, obligatory hugs. And then there is the uninvited, un-coerced, surprise hug. Between two willing people. One with the warmth of emotion that lasts because the embrace was intentional, long, and most importantly safe for both. That is the kind of hug I'm talking about. Coming when it is least expected, making it most appreciated.

Identifying with my grandchildren triggers a "hug-void." I realize what I missed as a child. Even though tough Grandson #1 many times acts too old for hugs, his initiated, long, natural reflex bear hug remains keenly in my memory, days later. That boy knows how to hug! And remembering Grandson #2's pleas: "DeDe, am I going to sleep in the same room with brother so I won't be afraid?" And "DeDe, will you carry me?" (even though he is solid and heavier than I should lift). The requests make sense to me (it's scary for a 4-year-old to be separated from his parents for days) and I reply, "YES!" and again "YES!" Fulfilling those requests is like sending through time and space long-overdue hugs to my dearly-departed Dad.

And then during the last few farewell moments, there is puzzled Grandson #2's goodbye hug, "Are we leaving you, DeDe?" After being together for a short (but long) 3-nights, 2-1/2 -days straight visit, without their parents. Fishing and kayaking; building and running an obstacle course; creating cookie cutter Play-doh fish with 3-D gills; thrift store shopping; playing tabletop pool; building Lego sets together and a marble run course; eating breakfast pancakes, evening chicken nuggets, and Pineapple Whip; and, creating killer whale/Star Wars-themed video greetings to text to far-away Mom and Dad who busily paint and renovate their kitchen.

Time never stands still. It keeps on ticking. It will most likely be 3 months before our next visit together. Grandson #1's new front tooth will be fully grown in; and skinned knees will occur; and first grade and pre-school will begin for the boys. I realize that our short time together was a huge gift: "Thank you for coming SO FAR to visit DeDe and JJ!" H.U.G.  

H.U.G.
Help.Us.Give. more than we get. 

AND, 

He.Unconditionally.Gives. way more than we deserve.

If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children,

how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

(Matthew 7:11)

Thank you, Lord, for filling my "hug-void."

The Grand's Secret

Grand moments for me are too few and potentially fleeting. Many times it is the little things that are most awesome. 

My 20 oz. water thermos (with a fun pop-up top) travels where I travel. For over 6 years it has ridden with me to and from Chicago to visits with the grands. We are pretty much one; inseparable except for when once and only once I left it, and Grand #1 made sure I knew it. It is "DeDe's thermos," and they know it. This last trip, Grand #2 asked, and I let him, drink from it (ew, but then again, in a way, it is endearing). As he sips, his older brother, ever-cautious Grand #1, observes. Maybe he feels an association or deja-vu moment that compels him to remember and confess a deep, dark secret. He shares the grand secret: "DeDe, when I was little I used to pop-up the top and sneak sips from your Thermos" (ew, but then again, in a way, it is mega-endearing because when I am long gone, he might fondly recall those sneaks and his confession).

And writing this blog resurrects a confession made just a few years ago. But first a brief back-to-the-future explanation. I was raised with basic moral values (don't lie; don't steal) in an isolated and turbulent, non-Christian home. In 1975, at the age of 20, I escaped it all and became a fully devoted follower of Jesus Christ. At least I believed I did. 

Unlike children raised in church, feeling God's wrath via spiritual leaders and through their parents (mine were busy wrangling 5 other siblings), I felt like a naturally good person. I saw through rose-colored glasses. I was invisible; in a brain fog (induced by an undiagnosed milk intolerance). I wonder if any other Christian on this planet can identify with my childhood experience. But on one specific spectrum, possibly they can? To one degree or another, for mental health's sake, most everyone does it: Denial. I was the DeDenial Queen.

My "saved" new life included attending church weekly. I read the Bible, prayed, tried to do right, and taught children's Sunday school for years (even though those pre-schoolers probably taught the Bible to me, instead). Life was good.

It wasn't until years later (I am a slow learner), after a mega-series of "suck-it-up-and-do-what's-right" calamities (Becoming Job; close calls, closest lives spared; back-to-back blows; times 10 years; pride stripped; hitting rock-bottom desperate, already dealt with in other blogs), that I finally faced my subtle and unacceptable humanity. In other words, the ugly thoughts and reactions that surface when life doesn't go my way or as planned (entitlement behaviors that I had previously ignored or polished over). Until that providential marker on the timeline of my life, denial saw only the good. The big reveal exposed my filthy rags. I was unclean and felt shame about sneaky misjudgments and prejudices. Sins that I should have confessed, but instead justified. I should have felt remorse way back when I was saved, but never did. 

Too few years ago, I felt compelled to confess to the grand secret (prior to this, a secret even to myself): "Jesus, I am a sinner." I privately whispered the dirty specifics and was prepared to face, rather than run away from, the consequences. I healthfully embraced remorse and shame, but only temporarily (a masochist I am definitely not), because my Savior had already literally and mercifully taken 49 lashes for me.

That "aha" moment or confession will not be forgotten. Today, to a degree, I have experienced the shame that sinless Jesus took upon himself when He hung naked on the cross, for my sins. And, too, I finally identify with the most miraculous: His resurrection. The resurrected King is resurrecting me... from shame, to perfect love (which includes natural consequences), to resurrection, to manicured freedom. 

Professionally-manicured fingernails are the best! (envy is involved in that statement). They are much better than unskilled, self-manicures. My former righteousness actually resembled a strong-willed toddler's crude eye-hand coordination skills at self-polishing. Quite the disaster. In a way, I self-polished my righteousness, and the eyes of my understanding were still darkened. 

In him we have redemption through his blood,

the forgiveness of sins,
in accordance with the riches of God's grace
that he lavished on us

 with all wisdom and understanding!
(emphasis added)

(Ephesians 1:7-8)

Today, I love God even more, because I have experienced His grace and faithfulness. Freedom for me is combined with the skilled Technician's shaping of... my life. I once was blind, but now I see. Instead of simply embracing a new life, there is the potential of a 3-D new life (stuttered 3-DeDe) which is still in the discovery phase; in-process; from glory-to-glory. His careful, shaping, fashioning, regular manicures are resurrecting me; to each day "go" (Mark 16:7). 

And now, as always, back to the Grands. Do my Grands have cooties? They probably do, and mouth crumbs, too! but who cares? I confess that I adore them!

The Womb

Disclaimer: Read only if you appreciate food crumbs that collide with drool (and prefer detail to denial). Otherwise, cutie is drooly instead of cutie-patootie...

This story's photo-bomb

Just minutes before my 10 a.m. departure to head back to far-away home, after 4 active days at the grands' homestead, I remember my teeth. Because of busyness and a brain that isn't used to 24/4 multi-tasking, less attention was given to trivial things like my mouth, and hair styling, and make-up, etc. Survival is the name of the game. Some say Chinese water torture, I say, brain exercise; or, Olympics weight-lifting (lifting a 3-year-old into a car seat at my age deserves a medal); and even, a stretch to flashback material for "This Is US;" and/or, "Gilmore Girls" (The Edge of Reason) random chatty.

My teeth are clean, but slimy, destructive critters are growing in between, in dire need of a flossing. I quietly slip into the basement stairway and sit. The stairway is the width of spread-elbows and walled. It offers a peaceful, centering-moment prior to goodbyes, and it feels so good. It is a tight, but cozy and safe place. My luggage is situated together at the curved portion of the stairway, which is a bit wider than all of my luggage. I rarely travel light. One heavy suitcase holds the weight of a kitchen sink. And there is a duffel bag with clothes and two other catchalls with DeDe toys and DeDe food. All are ready to be carried to and packed into the car. 

I dig for the floss and start the slippery cleaning process that really needs three hands. All of a sudden the basement door cracks open and there is our "little." With binky in-mouth which, at times, is like a temporary Mr. Potato Head face feature, or a carrying handle on her lips like a handle on a portable dollhouse. Binky is there at bed times and at times when she is uncertain and wants company. The mid-morning binky-fix means that Nana's and DeDe's departure is creating uncertainty. She was liking her Nana/"little"/DeDe trio and our sandwich-like hand-holding walks to brother's bus stop, and book-reading, and giggling times.

Our "little" sits on the step above, and the tight space turns into a brief cocoon or womb. Roles shift, and rather than me observing her play, she watches DeDe perform her slimy deed. I say "hello, cutie." And even though the drool is scary, I lean in to kiss her (actually to kiss her binky which sometimes is a safe barrier, this time between my flossy lips and her foody lips). The extraordinary thing about affectionate 2-year-olds, who are drawn to their safe grandparents, is that after the kiss, she, unsolicited, leans in and gives me a long hug. I kiss her binky again, and she unexpectedly leans in to hug me again.

It's about the womb and B.C.-baggage

And later, the feelings associated with that stairway experience trigger an akin deja-vu reminder, to a special niche in my home. My War Womb. It is located in a small corner of the utility room. With one quick adjustment, a cocoon or womb is created between the coat closet door and the door to the garage. Which is about the width of my daughter's basement stairway. It is a quiet, me-zone, that sometimes is the last place that I think I should be. But I know, that I know, my mind needs centering. 

At times, too many days and experiences pass between visits to my womb. And slimy-like, destructive critters grow that need to be "flossed" away. I need Jesus more than anyone on this planet! I slip away into the womb to perform de-cluttering of my mind and cleaning of my heart. 

Roles shift from busyness to concerns for others; and, too, some B.C. [before Christ] -baggage bubbles up. Heavy, generational, kitchen-sink and other baggage. I feel entitled and insecure, and it can debilitate me. Scarcity overtakes abundance. I am needy, with attachment issues and feelings of invisible. Like warring and disparate universes. Why can't we live closer to our "littles"? What about my husband's career aspirations that fizzled? And, the mother of all wars: Why did I never really experience a grandma's love? and, why did I lose my mom suddenly and so young? before the generational baton was passed or communicated? 

Garbled heritage as deep as mine is rarely ready to be received by others. The family code of silence is deafening. 

With God's help and sublingual vitamin B-12,* these thoughts and the feelings associated with them don't pull me down as much as they did in years past. I recognize them, and I eventually find time to face them, head-on, in my cathartic War Womb. And then I wait. In my womb. Where I need to feel visible to a Holy God. It is the thing I prefer to avoid because Holy is scarier than a "little's" drooly. Nevertheless, I have learned that God's presence is what I need most. 

God provides inspiration and a fresh, clean presence. And, I feel the desire to lean in closer to Him. And I pray for others. And then, immediately, or sometimes it is throughout that day or the next (maybe when I am listening to music or driving in the car) I AM responds, with a long hug !Huge! Grand is what it is. As illogical as it may seem, His hug is even more grand than one from any of my "littles." Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God (Psalm 38:15).

¯You say good-bye, and I say hello¯ to unexpected, simple, cutie-patootie, and to other, experiences and MEMORIES. Sigh.

(For my memory: Grand hugs; balloon fascination; bus stop Nana/"little"/DeDe hand-holding walks, like a sandwich; Duplo- and Lego- and Mouse Trap-building; book-reading; movie-dance giggling; and booty [stair] sledding).

*Sublingual B-12 means that this special form of vitamin is placed under the tongue to dissolve. After a few minutes, others swallow it, but I spit it out and rinse my mouth thoroughly (three times). Never swallowing any B-12 because my digestive system fights it. There are two of the many things I have learned through dispelling heritage research: My maternal great-grandfather and his sister both died of Pernicious Anemia. Which results from the inability to absorb B-12. And, I need Jesus more than anyone on this planet!!!