Ten.Four Hundred & Five
1. That screaching bird again.
2. There are more tomatoes to be picked. I will need to make a meal plan to accommodate all of them. Salads and sauces and simply sliced and sprinkled with salt for a snack.
3. I can feel the soreness in my rib cage and underneath my arm pits and across my shoulder blades. It’s a welcomed feeling.
4. I go to the store at 6:30 am to buy the school supplies I never ordered because I didn’t expect us to still be here. I find every last thing and a huge weight is lifted from my shoulders.
5. I do a deeper clean today-dust the baseboards and wipe down the doors. School begins on Wednesday and I expect another weekend of no showings, but I’m trying to stay faithful to routine so as to be prepared. Trying to always be prepared.
6. We take the older two to a sleepover at a friends and then head out to run work errands. I had forgotten how much I like fancy grocery stores. I buy a magazine, “Women and Weed,” because I am curious about this. Because I got the message that I needed to know how to be in charge of my own healing. The cashier tells me she hopes it becomes a thing. That she wishes her dad who died of cancer could have had the option to use cannibus instead all the other awful drugs his HMO allowed.
7. The three of us eating together reminds me of when he was in pre-school and would join us for lunch. Always so eager to hang out. Always pleasant. Always grateful. The babies of the family are just different.
8. Sancerre and seafood.
9. Movie night with just him. Popcorn and gummi fish in the bed. Jumanji on the screen.
10. The original was better. I am becoming my parents. I prefer the older versions of everything.
Ten.Four Hundred & Four
1. There's the palest shade of blue in the sky this morning and a bit of dusty rose rising to meet it as the sun comes up.
2. I don't even know if you can tell that I pruned away so much vegetation. Everything still seems to be leaping out of containment.
3. Water, water, water. Everything is so dry. Drier than I ever remember.
4. I take us to the trampoline park for a belated birthday celebration. After the first few jumps I don't regret this morning out. All the anxiety exits the body. I am grateful for my body's ability to be able to move in this way. I will be sore tomorrow.
5. Smells Like Teen Spirit.
6. I am sweaty and stinky. I can't remember if I put on deodorant today. It feels like once I committed to wearing only natural deodorant, I forget to wear deodorant period. Which is not like me. Or maybe it's just that we're all using the same bathroom so that I don't have to clean so much while the house is on the market and because I am not where I normally am, routines have fallen apart.
7. The one thing is that this car does have a working radio and I forget how much I miss driving with music blaring.
8. The kid wants a family movie night before school starts. This means, a movie on Sunday night. I want to not forget this request because it's from the almost-11-year-old and I love that he still wants to do things with us.
9. Riesling from the Fingerlakes. Thai-inspired recipe by Rachel Ray. I will need to put this one in the newsletter.
10. A little bit of ice cream. Everything is changing. "God is Change."
Ten.Four Hundred & Three
1. The sky looks heavy though I don't think it's supposed to rain today.
2. I can't wait to talk to her. It's been too long. I don't think we'll be able to fit enough into an hour and twenty-five minutes.
3. The clouds stay low and even though the humidity is high, it's cool enough for me to linger out here this morning with coffee and a journal.
4. My children have watched a lot of television this summer and I feel a little guilty about it. Why am I out here reading and not making them read too? I had better intentions at the start of the summer and after June, none of them really panned out, my thoughts and energy distracted by the upcoming move.
5. Butterfly shadows.
6. I keep touching my face as I talk. That's how I know I'm nervous and ungrounded—my hands won't stop moving.
7. I need to cut back the watermelon again. I find my pruning shears and get to work. There is a cool breeze, but when you're standing directly under the sun it doesn't do much for you. Between the watermelon plants and the tomatoes, I manage to remove a wheelbarrow full of vegetation. I am salty and wet and feel softer.
8. I go through and collect the ripened tomatoes in a bowl. Tonight's dinner requires cherry tomatoes and these chocolate sprinkles will be just right.
9. She's concerned because it's 5:05 and I haven't started making dinner yet. I reassure her that I have plenty of time.
10. Rigatoni cream sauce made from onions and tomatoes, chicken stock, cream, and thin slices of chicken. I welcome the fullness.
Ten.Four Hundred & Two
1. I gotta get back to a routine. My body is asking for order.
2. I think I'll take them to get shoes today. I get so overwhelmed by the anxiety that it's easy for me to just shut down. I think getting out of the house today and checking things off the list will give me a sense of structure.
3. I smell like Fever Dreams.
4. Invoices and laundry. Coffee. The humidity is too thick for outdoor reading to be pleasurable.
5. I feel better after the release.
6. I can wear his shoes. Maybe next year I’ll spring for the Jordan’s and we can share.
7. Risotto and sautéed spinach and salmon with buerre rouge. Another gift to myself. Red wine splashed onto my white shirt.
8. The afternoon rains brought a cool breeze and lower humidity. “This house. 3-car garage. It looks beautiful.” “We didn’t want to look at the Home Depot though.” “But you actually can’t really see it because of all the trees.” They live on the other side and back up to a busy road. Neighbors. It stings but it’s honest feedback. They can’t see me tucked here in the corner with my glass of wine.
9. But today I barely thought about the house and that feels like a win.
10. Shower at 7:30. A glass of wine in bed and a few episodes of Queer Eye before falling asleep.
Ten.Four Hundred & One
1. Dark. It's the combination of Autumn's impending return and cloud cover from impending storms. But today is supposed to be a pool day. We will see.
2. It is not yet 6 am and I am already working to detach myself from the outcome.
3. The printer won't stop jamming and it feels like a metaphor for life right now. What's the hold up? What keeps getting stuck? Why isn't it all rolling out the way I thought it would?
4. The sound and scent of summer rain.
5. There is a new bird sound. It sounds more like a long squeal.
6. Our house is over their budget. They don’t like that they can see the Home Depot. These are things I cannot control.
7. I think back to last night when we pulled up to the house, aglow with lights. Inside smelled like Windex and apple pie. I sighed. “It’s a beautiful home.” And I realized that there’s nothing more I can do.
8. “Any nibbles yet?” Three words I did not want to hear today but he says them with genuine concern.
9. Pride & Prejudice on the porch while the pot pie cools down.
10. Early shower and early to bed. Grateful for everyone's support. Feeling how hard it is to ask for support. I remember how when we moved last year I went dark for a month while we transitioned because speaking/writing my fears and anxieties out loud seemed like I was being too much. Who wants to listen to me whine? I can barely stand myself. I need to soften.
Ten.Four Hundred
1. I get no rest when I sleep.
2. Creamsicle sunrise. The clouds thin out to let a little bit of orange peek through.
3. I thought it was cooler than it actually is but there’s no dew on the grass and thhe breeze feels warm. It will be hotter than yesterday.
4. I finish the last few pages of Heart Berries and decide that I didn’t like it and that’s okay. I go back to a wine book and decide that I should probably clean just in case we get a house showing.
5. But first I start a collection of poetry. I read half of the poems and decide I also don’t like this and I don’t have to finish it and that’s ok. Besides, I should be cleaning anyway.
6. She wants me to make pot stickers but I change my mind and say no. I say that I need to keep the kitchen as clean as possible in case we get a showing. “You think we’ll get a call today?” he asks. “No,” I say, and feel my throat close up a little as I wash the baking sheet.
7. I am unable to cry. These tears feel like hey would be tears of self-pity and self-pity feels indulgent and silly and impermissible.
8. Concrete with peanut butter cups.
9. But I’d still rather distract myself with books and sweat in the alcove.
10. 7:15-8:15.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Nine
1. 399.
2. 5:15 run for coffee. I grab 4 pints of blueberries too. Why? Maybe these will become a dessert.
3. I make a mental list of what needs to be done: meal plan, grocery list, shopping, dusting all the baseboards, cleaning hand prints and fingerprints off the windows, water the lawn.
4. Still some time to read before the store opens. Dragonflies and butterflies and the finchs are singing.
5. DOCG Chianti for under $10. I’m intrigued.
6. It is hot. Very hot. But I’d rather sit here right now and fill my head with stories to distract me.
7. I hear them but I can’t see them.
8. I finish Children of Blood and Bone and am not ready for it to end. Now my hands feel restless. I decide that I'll straighten up the kitchen again and then find the next book to read.
9. Heart Berries. I retreat back into my hot corner of the alcove. Though I am not sweating, I can feel the salt accumulating in the creases of my skin. My eyes are drying out from the hot wind. But I still want to sit here.
10. Lately, I can barely keep my eyes open past 8:30. Sleep comes fast and hard.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Eight
1. I miss the tall grasses and the faint scent of Queen Anne's Lace.
2. Coffee. Leftover potatoes. Bright sunlight. Water from the sprinkler hitting the windows. Where did the cicada go?
3. I watch Monarchs chase one another. Then there's a cricket jumping around my feet. Then a giant bee. This week has been the week of insects.
4. Ruined plans.
5. I am not the only one trying to navigate a relationship with an elder that just won't go right. I feel saddened that so many of us are experiencing that disconnect, but also comforted in knowing that I'm not the only one.
6. Their house is under contract and while I'm happy for them it makes me sick to my stomach. At this point, everything is subjective. We know the home shows well. We know the home is priced right. We know that it has the best lot in the neighborhood. Someone will see it and they will love it like we do. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
7. I pile leftovers onto a baking sheet and warm them in the oven Mostly pieces of roast chicken, Brussels sprouts and turkey burgers.
8. Everyone says to be patient.
9. It's quiet on the street tonight. Except for the house with the newly engaged couple. There is laughter and car doors slamming shut. Sprinklers and the rattle of bike chains. I press my feet against the stone in the alcove.
10. Hot shower. So hot I can barely stand in it. Even with the fan on the steam almost chokes me. And yet it still feels good.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Seven
1. His birthday. Lucky number 7. I like odd numbers best.
2. I can't sleep so I get up before the alarm. 4:45. I've been tossing and turning. I haven't had a good night of sleep in several weeks.
3. I water the garden and the petunias and the hydrangea. The front lawn needs love too. We didn't get anywhere near the same kind of storms my friends got in the east. Everything is so dry.
4. I have to wake up the older two so we can get out to breakfast. It's his favorite place and one of ours too. Hibiscus mimosas, coffee, harvest potatoes, bacon, eggs, English muffin. I am full but in the best way.
5. She and I ride through the neighborhood and take the trail all the way to 5th Street. We are moving slowly though. My thighs are burning. Maybe it's the weight of breakfast. Need water.
6. Price drop is official and we pray it brings bodies through the door. It's hard not to be in a little bit of a panic when you're not sure if there's additional support if we're unable to sell the house. What do you do? Do you rent it? Do we live apart and somehow scrounge the dollars for him to be in an apartment until the house sells? There is a way to make it work no matter what but I'll take option one please. Let's just sell this house.
7. But if only it didn't have to end this way on his birthday. Everything is always my fault. I know that this is what she believes. That I am the reason she doesn't see her grand kids. That I am the reason they don't want to spend the night. That I am the reason we are moving to California. Of course, it's always easier to blame a stranger than the ones closest to you--or yourself. One of the things I've learned through the years is to be extra conscious of how I treat my children now so that they want to spend time with me later.
8. It's still eating away at me.
9. He asks me to make a vanilla cake with salted caramel frosting. Done and done. Everyone is full from a hearty breakfast and lunch and we skip dinner and go straight to presents and cake.
10. I think of a tornado...how in the center it is calm and quiet. That is what we have to do now. We have to keep finding the center where there is stillness. Yes, everything is being broken up and swirling around us, but there is still peace to be found in the chaos.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Six
1. I just don't feel like watering today. I'm wearing the jumpsuit and the hems will get wet if I go in the grass.
2. Deer. Not the mom but the baby that really isn't a baby any more. It looks at least another foot taller and leaps over some of the tall grass before disappearing into the thicket.
3. I still grind the coffee beans in the laundry room so that I don't wake any one up. I just want everyone to sleep for as long as they can.
4. Peace this morning is watching the fog rise up over the water behind the neighbor's house. It's spotting the dear. It's sitting on the concrete step feeling its coolness beneath my feet. It's a few deep breaths before assuming the duties of the day.
5. His birthday is tomorrow and because of what life has become these last few weeks, I am just not buying presents. They are resetting the Target but what I need is still intact. A Cubs hat, a NASA t-shirt, a headset and some Nerf bullets should be sufficient. That's one of the things I love about him is that he's so enthusiastic about everything. He is almost always happy.
6. Butterflies.
7. I give myself time to read a few chapters of Children of Blood and Bone before I get back to laundry.
8. I tell her that my plan is to channel all of this energy into creation. To focus on generative thoughts and not on anxiety.
9. I feel good about this game plan. I am hopeful. I am just ready to be done, ready to move forward.
10. Clouds that look like mountains. I can't not hum 3 by 5 when I look at the sky. A bit of a rainbow. Seems like a good omen.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Five
1. Gray skies. Window blinds blowing in from the breeze.
2. He asks me when I'll make a homemade breakfast again. I laugh. I am grateful that he appreciates my efforts in the kitchen. I am annoyed because he sounds spoiled. And because he doesn't understand that right now, with everything going on, this is just what I need to do for a while.
3. The DMV. It's faster than it used to be but I still wish I hadn't lost that piece of paper that would have let me renew my license online. All kinds of people and faces. Quiet time alone in the car. It's good to get out of the house.
4. I sit down in the alcove with coffee and my journal and begin to write. I text him and then come back inside. I decide that the best way to use my energy is to act as if they will come to our house next. I make the bed, start putting away, the laundry, put away the dishes.
5. Those same people now want to come see our house. I make the kids go downstairs and sit at the kitchen counter while I clean the bathrooms and he vacuums the bedrooms. We drip sweat up and down the stairs and finally, in the car.
6. Caramel and chocolate donuts. Sitting in the parking lot. Kids arguing in the backseat. I think of all the times my parents had to do this. I don't ever want to have to do this again.
7. This week's menu says it should be chicken tacos but I don't feel like tacos. I feel like something more hearty, something that feels more nourishing. Breadcrumbs? Check. Pasta? Check. Can of tomato sauce? Check. I take the basket back to the garden and fill it with heirloom and chocolate sprinkles, sage, rosemary, and thyme. I spot another baby watermelon on the vine. The other one is a deep, dark green. I can't wait to see its red flesh. How will I know it's time to harvest?
8. I walk back across the browning grass and think of that home he showed me on the southeastern edge of Livermore. It's a smaller, older, ranch that sits on 5 acres with views of rolling hills and mountains. I think, maybe I could do that.
9. Chicken Parmesan was a way better choice.
10. Tomorrow.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Four
1. 1:18 am. I still do not feel better.
2. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep. I can't shut off my mind. I try to stick songs into my head and nothing stays very long. 1:47 am. 2:16 am. I debate just getting up and starting my day. 3:06 am. The alarm goes off at 4:30. I hit snooze and close my eyes. 5: 15.
3. The smell of skunk and the mist hanging close to the ground.
4. The way the fog has risen and is hanging over everything.
5. Extra pages. More prayers. Still angry. Understanding that the anger doesn’t nothing for me.
6. Meditation for stress.
7. But there’s a resolution and that feels good.
8. I begin Children of Blood and Bone and what excites me are characters that look like me and words that I don’t know but that somehow still feel familiar.
9. Leftovers.
10. Night comes fast.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Three
1. The smell of something burning. One piece of deep dish sausage at 450 degrees.
2. 4:30 alarm.
3. 5:30 alarm. I listen for birds. The windows are open and the air is cool. I close my eyes again.
4. We talk price and market and strategy before we’ve even had coffee.
5. I sweat in the corner but I refuse to move. Something about the heat and the light feels cleansing on a day like today. I set the sprinkler out and the drops that land on my forehead feel good.
6. We watch them leave and wonder if they were the ones that canceled.
7. It's just that there isn't enough energy for words. I feel tired but too restless to sleep.
8. One large monarch butterfly floating from to flower to flower. So much grace.
9. Then we realize what has happened and it's hard to turn off the emotion. Anger plus frustration added to the anxiety.
10. I will feel better in the morning.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Two
1. 4:30, full moon, quiet house.
2. I shouldn't check my phone first thing in the morning but I do and today, specifically I am bothered. But this is not about me. I mean, it is, in a way. And it's hard not to take it personally. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't see it coming.
3. Make a list.
4. I keep my head wrap on even after they get here because, whatever, I am cleaning and sweating and I don’t want to waste a good Afro puff.
5. One of the women used to live in Danville which is right near the other places we are looking to settle to. Synchronicity. I needed to be reminded, at this very moment, that not matter what we’re moving to California.
6. Burger and fries and a ginger ale out on the patio. Hunger.
7. They finally get us in the pool. She and I wade in the water and chat and they splash us in the face. It’s almost too chilly but the water feels good.
8. I need the fresh air.
9. And then I finally feel some peace.
10. Pizza and Collusion and chats with neighbors in the driveway. Being okay with what is. Realizing that I need to do things like buy school clothes and order school supplies. Realizing that we have to keep on living.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-One
1. He's up before me for an early flight. I can tell that autumn is coming. There is not as much light at this time as there used to be just last month. Summer is almost over.
2. I remind myself that there will be no perfection. I can only do the best I can with the resources I have at the moment.
3. The sun is hitting me on the legs in the just right way that warms me. Prayers and gratitude in the pages today.
4. The remodeled store is beautiful but in some ways, I am frustrated by how much has changed. Nothing is where it used to be.
5. I will just finish these pages before I eat lunch. But I know that I'm just putting off the real work that needs to be done.
6. I can start with laundry. I can start with the easy things. I know that my inability to move from the floor is a symptom of Overwhelm. She reminds me that the floor is there to support me and to hold and I then I take a few more breaths before rising to an upright position.
7. Change clothes. Put on loud music. Start by making the beds. It's 4:00pm but who cares?
8. Steak with chimichurri and roasted potatoes and green beans. I realize that I never ate lunch. I keep missing meals and instead, using a book a very small snack as nourishment but that's not ever really enough.
9. We laugh at the robin that keeps bouncing from the driveway to the tree to the lawn in search of the elusive rain coming down from the sprinkler. He can't seem to figure out where to go in order to stay consistently wet.
10. I give myself one more pep talk before I go to sleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety
1. Thursday. It's Thursday?
2. Water, water, water. Both myself and the lawn. And the birds. I love to watch them dance in the drips that fall from the sprinkler. Afterwards they come through and eat bugs and other things. They are so close to me that I can often see that their beaks are full.
3. Three red tomatoes in the windowsill.
4. The lilies are dying and that's okay. I'll buy fresh flowers on Saturday.
5. Very little feels like it's under my control and that feels uncomfortable. But today is better than yesterday.
6. I had forgotten how pretty this place is. And it's the perfect day to rest in the shade at the park while the kids play. We catch up on life. The oldest baby puts red dirt and rock into my hand. We both think it's interesting that the character, a young child, refuses to reveal a gender identity and how curious the theme is in a book so old. We talk about neither of us have looked up jacqueranda or sand verbena.
7. I have only a few more hours before I need to start dinner. I grab Braiding Sweetgrass so that I can finish up the last few chapters. I settle into my chair in the alcove with a large mason full of water at my feet. I will miss this space, this tiny corner of refuge.
8. "Language is our gift and our responsibility." - Braiding Sweetgrass
9. It's a tiny two-person booth and it's not too crowded. We split prawns, falafel, bacon jam crostini, some cheeses with an apricot chutney. We split our lives. It's hard to leave.
10. The moon is almost full and so bright that you almost don't need any other light. It's hard to watch both it and the road.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Eight
1. After months of waking up at 4:30, 5:30 is beginning to feel too late. Too rushed. I like to have my coffee by 6:30 and this is really pushing it.
2. I get wet from the sprinkler. This tiny triangular piece of the yard is hard to water. Hopefully my neighbor doesn't mind me getting her driveway wet.
3. I am still sad about the lost watermelon.
4. I look for the deer and her baby. I always look in the morning. Last summer we'd meet pre-dawn. Lately she likes to come out in the middle of the afternoon. I think the height of the grasses this year makes her feel more safe.
5. Prayers.
6. She reminds me that specificity matters. I had just written it in my journal. I remember so many of my conversations with my Wolf Mom and all of the times she told me to be more specific in my ask. Specificity matters. And there is always refinement.
7. We take the kid out to lunch because it's just him and it's a good break for the two of us from our work for the day. He's a pleasant guest anyway.
8. I think of how lucky my husband is. How he probably doesn't have to worry about random violent attacks because of his gender or race.
9. As we walk through a sea of bodies that do not look like my own, in a town that I am not too familiar with, I think of Nia Wilson and I scan t-shirts and faces for possible signs of threat. This is what we mean by micro-aggressions. This is what they mean when they talk about the gap in lifespan. Worrying about whether or not you'll live through walking down the street to dinner is a shitty feeling. I am never not aware of my gender or my race and how I am never under the illusion of safety.
10. I fall asleep to them watching Avitar. I think of how I've never seen it and how I don't want to see it. I don't have time for any more of these kinds of stories.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Seven
1. A wall of clouds. But I think I need to water this morning.
2. Dentist. I'll be fine. I should probably meditate or something.
3. Some of the heirlooms are beginning to ripen. There is watermelon vine growing up the side of the house and across another bed. I need to cut it back but I also spot three new baby melons and the thought of accidentally killing them saddens me. But the growth is overwhelming.
4. The dentist is not as bad as I think it will be. We decide that for the time being, I should buy generic mouth guard to help with the night-time clenching.
5. That feeling of crossing items off the to-do list. That feeling of submitting an invoice. That feeling of still doing it on your own terms. That feeling of remembering that you get to choose when and how those terms change.
6. Red-winged blackbird chases away monarch butterfly. I should probably go ahead and pick those ripe tomatoes before I forget again.
7. Laptop on the back stoop because I can't make my way through the watermelon vines to the bench in the garden. I'll need to cut those back before the open house on Saturday.
8. We harvest almost two pounds of cherry tomatoes. I put them all in the little one's shirt. We lost one large watermelon and all the baby watermelons to pruning. It needed to be done but it still felt like Loss. Like hard work and patience left unrewarded.
9. He laughs at my statue but I tell him, "you have your ways, and I have mine." I don't think extra prayer can hurt anything.
10. You know your husband loves you when he makes a Target run for ice cream because the kids ate the rest of it and now you have nothing to put atop the peach cobbler you've been waiting all day to eat. Yes, I am loved. No, I take none of it for granted.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Six
1. Something fell. But it wasn't so loud that anyone else got up. So maybe it's my imagination.
2. Dreams of sunshine and large elk in the backyard.
3. Stamina, strength, patience, community.
4. I just don't want to get out of bed. Maybe, at the end of a week of 4:30 am wake-ups, my body is trying to make up for all the sleep it's missed. I've felt on the verge of a cold for the last several days. I'm taking this as a sign to just stay put and rest.
5. I just want Tiger to win again.
6. He tells me that I look good, the food smells great, the house is clean, but that I look annoyed. It's not that we're having a guests. I'm thinking of the things that need to be done the next week. I'm not annoyed, I'm just, maybe overwhelmed.
7. Also, there is the dentist tomorrow and I really dislike going to the dentist, even for routine things like a cleaning. I'd just rather not go.
8. I am too busy with making dinner and thinking about dinner to pay attention to what we're drinking. But I think I liked the reds the best, a Valpolicella and a Chianti, though the whites were not that bad either, a Saove and a Pinot Bianco, I think. I really ought to pay more attention. I need to get back to tasting more regularly.
9. There is much to do.
10. But this peach crisp might be one of the best desserts I've ever made. It's the crust. Chewy, and crispy, and yet also soft. Just sweet enough. Next time I'll add just a little acid to the peaches.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Five
1. Each day I type the number out and I can't believe it.
2. I dig out the linen pants. It feels like a day for linen pants. The trees are bending and the skies are still low, clouds moving south and west. There will probably be more rain.
3. 11 years. For some reason, 11 years feels more important than 10. Maybe it's the double digits. I also like odd numbers.
4. This time I remember everything on the list but add avocados.
5. Water and reading in the alcove. It’s overcast and breezy and quiet.
6. Everyone wants to know.
7. Why do her compliments make me uncomfortable?
8. Tattinger, Scribe Riesling Pétillant Naturel, Sake flight, Wind Gap Syrah.
9. A big plate of dessert. I should have asked for coffee.
10. Full in more ways than one.