Image by eclecticlibrarian via Flickr

The book situation in the apartment has finally reached critical mass. Roger and Sophia told me that I shouldn’t bring any more home, and so I’ve declared a moratorium on new book acquisition until the end of the year. Of course, it’s not a complete moratorium, because there’s been a couple that I’ve slipped in under the radar, or for Sophia or Roger themselves (surely that’s okay, right?).

I haven’t seriously updated my LibraryThing account in ages. But I did get a CueCat, and that makes entering books a snap. I was amazed.

Now that my panic attacks have subsided (seemingly completely—I haven’t had one in weeks), I’m eager to get back to work on organizing and volunteering.

Happy Thanksgiving All !!

Its been a tough year all around, violence, economic downturn. But whats important to remember today, is that we are all blessed in some way.

I hope you all have a lovely day with your loved ones, as I will be

Lets Eat!

I truly hope that everyone has a great day, filled with family, food, and fun.  Let’s all take a moment today to  give thanks for all the blessings God has afforded us and our loved ones this past year… 

Enjoy your day!

With 5 days left until my flight home, some blues have set in. Earlier today I was feeling a little overwhelmed at everything I felt I needed to do before I left. I was freaking out about packing (still, and yes it’s my own fault for starting so early), freaking out about still not getting around to dropping off my unwanted books at the second hand bookstore, freaking out about not calling the Apple store to find out if their HQ is shipping my copy of Snow Leopard, if at all, and if they are is it going to end up here in this place I am moving out of and oh man, what if that discount ran out already?, freaking out about moving my shit tomorrow Saturday (I keep thinking tomorrow is Saturday which is also freaking me out) and checking out because I like worrying about things that don’t actually need worrying, worrying about the things I need to finish up at my job, worrying about cleaning out my pantry and wasting food and keeping things and cleaning things, ETC.

I mean, ideally, I want my life here to be this neat Tetris-packed box that I can seal with packing tape and put away to return to, as is. It’s taken me a while to nut up and accept that my life isn’t Han Solo. I can’t keep it in suspended animation. There will obviously be loose ends. I might accidentally leave a bottle of lemon juice in the fridge, instead of leaving behind nothing for the cleaning people to pick up after. I might have to come back next year and go to the Chisholm post office and pick up months-old mail. And with the Moat Festival all the way in March of next year, there’s no way I’m going to have things like the brochure ready and proof-read by next Tuesday because there’s still tons of time and things aren’t yet confirmed or settled. I have issues with letting go of things like this, and not striving for total control for everything (oh sweet power).

I guess another thing that’s kind of adding to my blues about leaving is the thought of home, which all of a sudden is also freaking me out. For the past few weeks, home has buoyed me. I have been so excited to go back. That’s what I’ve been telling everyone and saying. “So excited to go back!” “Can’t wait to go back!” I’ve been so glib with that phrase “go back”. Not to get weird and super depressing, because this doesn’t mean what some people might think it means, but what am I going back to? It’s hard living two lives. It feels like I have a life here in Australia, and one back in Malaysia. It’s of course easier to keep track of the one you live a majority of the time, which is my Australian life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to have my Malaysian life. Sometimes I wish harder than anything that I could have the other life because I miss home so much, and I miss the people I don’t have with me always, and I miss the way things used to be, and the one that really hurts – I miss out. Nothing waits. Nothing and no one is Han Solo. Everything moves so fast and I’m scared that when I go back I can’t re-enter my old life.

I have this fear almost every time I return somewhere, and every time I leave somewhere else. And it’s always keenest closer to date of departure. There’s every chance I’ll have forgotten I felt this a week from now, ensconced again in my Malaysian life. But of course, in my mind, there’s equal chance I’ll find myself in a strange place, paying for my sin of leaving.

Every year, come year’s end, I’ll be on my toes, looking out for the opportunity for rebirth, reinvention, “a clean slate”. Every year I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. Every year I tell myself to stop being so fixated on the future and pay more attention to what’s happening now. I guess I’m not a very good listener. So now I’m looking at the 2 and a half months ahead. What’s going to happen (as if I know). What’s going to happen in Malaysia, what I want to happen, what I should make happen, what horrible things may happen. Then there’s what’s going to happen over here in Australia, roles reversed, what I’ll miss and what’s going to change and what’s going to move ahead.

It’s like I can’t win.

I’ve tried to push all the grey fog in my head by getting the packing to about 98% completion, doing laundry and promising myself a Coke from the vending machine. And of course, venting here. It’s working a bit. I’m just going to sigh it out with a few dozen sighs, drink some tea after the Coke (caffeine central!) finish watching Fanboys (which is probably the cause for my Han Solo analogy), roll around in bed for good measure and hopefully sleep all this away.

* I may also have a cry.

I’ve been a bad blogger, very neglectful.  However, with some much family stuff happening I’ve had a hard time finding a few energized minutes to blog (I seriously hope that makes sense).

On September 24th my Dad found my Grandmother on the floor of her condo. She was rushed to the hospital and we spent the next 3 weeks sitting by her bed, hoping she’d pull through.  We knew she had cancer again, but this time we didn’t know where in her body.  We finally found out that she has pancreatic cancer.  The news was hard to hear.  She’d have less than a year left.  Eventually she was moved from the hospital to Palliative Care.

This past Monday it was decided that she would have a stint put in her bowels.  She had decided that that’s what she wanted.  Her jaundice is severe and has started to show up in her eyes as well.  She’s not hungry, very itchy and in a lot of pain.  Although the stint wouldn’t cure anything, there was a chance that it would help with the jaundice and maybe her appetite as well.  Mom and I waited at the hospital for her to arrive.  After she was settled we left while the procedure was being preformed.  We weren’t ready for what we’d be coming back to.

In order to put the stint into her bowels, they’d have to blow air in to open things up.  According to the surgeon, when they did that her tumor started to break apart and spread.  Her cancer is far more advanced than the originally thought.  Her bowel is leaking air. They couldn’t put the stint in.  Within days her bowel will burst.  She won’t die from the cancer, she’ll die from the infections and complications.

My Grandmother has survived both Breast Cancer and Colon Cancer. She’s 88 yrs old and she’s the only grandparent I have left.  Although I’m grateful for the time we’ve had together over the last 2 months, I’m not ready for her to go.  However, it’s her time.  It’s time for her to be in a peaceful place without pain.

We can learn a lot from the lessons of Thanksgiving. I’m not going to back-story this post with a bunch of historical mishmash. You can find all that here. There are a lot of holidays in the world. Not everyone in the world has a Thanksgiving, but some may have something close. My favorite part of Thanksgiving is that it’s not tied to some religious event. It’s not about one person. It’s not focused on the past. It’s not focused on the future. It’s focused on now. We make Thanksgiving ours. Thanksgiving is about love and compassion. Thanksgiving is about being thankful for what we have and not giving a damn about what we don’t have. Thanksgiving is about spending time with family, those who aren’t yet officially family, and most importantly with people you care about.

An iconic Thanksgiving

What is it we really need in life? A lot of people ask that question. We can look at Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, and at the base, with some of my other important things, is food. It helps, in my book at least, that Thanksgiving involves food. I love food. Thanksgiving brings all my favorite heart-warming foods together in one feast. But more than that, at Thanksgiving we eat together. If you can take time out, look around, and realize that there are people in your life that you care about, and there are people in your life that care about you, well then Thanksgiving gives just about all you need in life. We can learn a lot from the lessons of Thanksgiving.

Can't we all just get along?

Life is nothing but the experiences we share. If we spent more time making those experiences that we share positive and good, we’d all be in a much better place. If we opened our hearts and minds, taking a moment to stop and realize how much we do have instead of worrying about what we don’t or won’t have, our lives would that much richer. No one is saying it doesn’t take hard work to get there, but what in life isn’t made better by investing in something we care about? If I’ve said it once, I have said it a million times, and I’ll say it a million more –

We can learn a lot from the lessons of Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

 My dad: a retired Navy man who served his time during the Vietnam war, cooked for thousands of service men, brought his family over from poverish situations in the Philippines and then worked 2 (sometimes 3 jobs) to make sure we had a good life. From my perspective, nothing could break this man; a small Asian man who has been through more than any one of us could ever imagine. He was tough and I never once saw fear in his eyes.

Then, on June 2nd 2009, my dad went through his usual routine of lovely retirement life. He spent all morning gardening, mowing the lawn, and cooking. Then he took off to spend time with his friend to play a good match of tennis. All of a sudden, he felt faint, blacked out, and nearly dropped to the ground. Thankfully, his friend caught him just in the nick of time. Dad contributed his fainting episode to the heat and fatigue, but attempted to call me on his cell phone. The call did not go through, however, because they were in what is called a “dead spot” in which cell phone signals could not go through. Somehow dad managed to drive himself over to my house, which was closer than the emergency room. His friend could not drive; so-somehow they managed together. When my husband answered the door, dad did not look well. We offered him a drink and suggested that he lay on the couch to catch his breath. All of a sudden I saw a look of panic in his eyes- I asked him if he was having chest pain, he said “yes”. I asked him if his chest felt heavy, he said “yes”. I threw dad in the car and sped off to the nearby emergency room ( 5 minutes away).

In the emergency room, although I knew something awful was happening to my dad- we still had to go through the usual process of signing in. After waiting a few minutes, and as my dad continued to lose color, I made an urgent plea for someone to please look at my dad because he was having chest pain. I also had to tell them he was short of breath (to speed up the process). Because my dad has a high tolerance for pain, you would not know what was going on inside his body by just looking at him. In minutes, they took my dad to the back as I filled in the paper work. My husband had called my brothers and they were on their way. Thankfully, an old family friend (more like family herself-I call her auntie) was working that evening. As one of the nurses there, she was able to get involved with dad’s care. As I was lead to the back, I immediately saw my dad hooked up to monitors and oxygen. They were in the process of applying the defibrillator pads on him and when I looked at the monitor myself- I was panicked and shocked. The monitor told me he was having an acute heart attack. My body began to tremble and the doctor began to speak about how dad was having a major heart attack and my aunt voiced how I got dad there JUST in time. My two brothers arrived in the emergency room just in time before dad was taken via helicopter to a specialty hospital for an emergent stent placement to unclog the blocked artery.

As with my dad, heart attack signs can manifest in several different ways. Because everyone is different, our bodies cope differently with major stressors and diseases. Be an advocate for yourself and for the lives of your loved ones- seek immediate help and attention when you KNOW something just isn’t right. Heart attacks sign aren’t always as dramatic as what we see on television. Ideally, it would have been better to have called 911 for dad. As a nurse and daughter, I made the mistake of taking over and not taking that moment to think from a clearer perspective. I did what I had to do, what was right for the patient at that moment…but I wasn’t in the hospital and this wasn’t a patient, he was my dad.

According to the American Heart Association, “…most heart attacks start slowly, with mild pain or discomfort and often people affected aren’t sure what’s wrong and wait too long before getting help”. The key is time and immediate intervention!

Heart Attack Warning Signs:

Here are signs that can mean a heart attack is happening:

 • Chest discomfort. Most heart attacks involve discomfort in the center of the chest that lasts more than a few minutes, or that goes away and comes back. It can feel like uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness or pain.

 • Discomfort in other areas of the upper body. Symptoms can include pain or discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw or stomach.

• Shortness of breath with or without chest discomfort.

• Other signs may include breaking out in a cold sweat, nausea or lightheadedness

As with men, women’s most common heart attack symptom is chest pain or discomfort. But women are somewhat more likely than men to experience some of the other common symptoms, particularly shortness of breath, nausea/vomiting, and back or jaw pain.

Learn the signs, but remember this: Even if you’re not sure it’s a heart attack, have it checked out (tell a doctor about your symptoms). Minutes matter! Fast action can save lives — maybe your own. Don’t wait more than five minutes to call 9-1-1 or your emergency response number.

 American Heart Association: http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=3053

Shilpa Shetty, yet another Bollywood babe, married with London-based businessman Raj Kundra in a lavish ceremony in Khandala.

What is strange is Shilpa is 34 and Raj is 33 and also Raj is a divorcee with a kid. Well, after all some wise man said, “Love is blind”.

Shilpa shot to international fame with her stint in UK reality show ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ for the racism row between her and Jade Goody. They did patch up after that. Were Jade alive today, she would have been the best friend from the bride’s side, probably.

The bride wore a burgundy and red saree, embellished with Swarovsky crystals, designed by Tarun Tahiliani while 33-year-old Kundra, who arrived at the wedding venue in a horse-drawn chariot, was dressed in a maroon and gold sherwani designed by Shantanu and Nikhil.

The marriage combined the rituals of the Mangalorean bride and the Punjabi groom with the vows being exchanged according to South Indian tradition while pre-wedding rituals like ‘Mehendi’ and ‘Sangeet’ conducted as per Punjabi tradition.

Wish the couple a Happy Married Life.

Today is a day I need to mark with celebration, or at least a little quiet introspection.  It feels like a milestone of sorts.

Today I start maternity leave.

I’m home alone.

I’ve been working full-time more or less, for the past ten years.  On the odd occasion when I’ve been out of the office on a week day, I’ve wandered around public places like an anthropologist on a far-away mission.  The daytime people (grandparents, mothers with strollers, students set free from classrooms) seem like a whole other tribe.  And now, for the next twelve months, I’m joining them.

It seems odd to have so little structure to my day.  Luxurious, but a little wasteful, too.  I have a lot to do, but most of it is solitary, which is the biggest oddity of all.

I’m not going to be alone for long.  The baby shrugs and turns as I write that, reminding me that our journey together has already begun.

Any suggestions on how I should mark these changing days?

Recently I experienced the death of my mother. This meant that the Belfast Telegraph would receive a substantial sum of revenue from our family, which one doesn’t think about when they are grieving.
I reckon that the Belfast Telegraph made somewhere in the excess of £500 from our family, for what, not very much when you think about it, it seems to be more to with the culture of death and tradition.
It is a total waste of money to advertise the death of loved ones, and I believe that the amount of money that is made from this industry is unethical to say the least.
At the time I didn’t have a problem with this, some people may even get comfort from it, knowing who shares their grief at the passing of a loved one. But when I was billed for my personal insertion I phoned the number on the invoice to pay my bill, during the opening times listed, but I kept getting a recorded message stating the hours of business, after hanging onto and being charged for being kept on an open line after joining a queue, I had eventually to go into the Belfast Telegraph offices to pay my bill, because I was cut off, it seems to me that even the Belfast Telegraph don’t even know their own hours of business. What annoyed me was that I was charged for nothing, hanging onto an open 0870 line, and not being able to settle my account with the BT.
What further annoyed me was the insensitive way the BT staff carry out their business, a week after I had settled my account with the BT I received a reminder that my bill was overdue, when I phoned again I was answered this time by someone, an actual person for a change, but it might as well have been an automated service, because their only interest was in clawing money from the grieving with no sensitivity, I asked to speak to their supervisor but after a few minutes hanging onto the 0870 number, the supervisor went into hiding.
At a time of grieving you would think that BT, staff would be trained in the customer services of dealing with customers at probably one of the saddest times a person could experience. They could learn a lot on how Funeral Directors do their business, and another good example of customer services was the Registrar’s Office at Belfast City Hall, I could have been dealt with better, they were A1. I met a very carry individual when I was registering my mother’s death.
As far as complaining to the Belfast Telegraph I believe it would be a waste of time, because I think I would get the same short shift as I got when a supervisor went into hiding from me on the phone, that being the case imagine what spiel they would spew out in a letter.

However this Gentleman already wrote the words perfectly. My sincere thanks.

IF……………..

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

            ~ Rudyard Kipling~

I’ve read this bloggy carnival over at Conversion Diary before, but never taken part.  Well, today it is the perfect thing for me, since I have some random things to mention, but not much of a coherent post.

1.  I missed my own 2nd Blogiversary.  Oops.  Does a blogiversary count when you only post about once a week?  These last few months have been insane, I tell you, and blogging really was on the back burner.  I’ve missed it, and I’ve missed my usual rounds and comment-making.

2. My blogroll disappeared at some point.  Maybe it was during a WordPress upgrade?  I don’t know, but all my linky love is gone.  I hope to resurrect that sometime in the near future, and maybe even update it a bit!

3. A guest poster (whom I love dearly) will be sharing here on Monday how to make lefse!  I can’t wait for you to read her tutorial and see all the fantastic step-by-step photos to go with it.  Also, remember that day will be the drawing for the Disney on Ice tickets, so sign up while you can!

4.  Pioneer Woman is here in the Twin Cities tomorrow!  Anyone else going to meet her or get your cookbook signed?

5. Another thing I’ve been slacking on is Anja’s monthly progress updates.  She has changed so much since her 23-month post (since she’s now almost 27 months!), and I have so much to share.  Be prepared for a doozy of those coming up!

6. Though I haven’t had the mind to put up any Christmas decorations yet, we’ve been listening to Christmas music around here for several weeks.  I have several favorite CDs that get played over and over.  Any you’d recommend I add to my collection?  I budgeted for one new CD this year.  Speaking of which, if you haven’t been over to see Tsh’s 12 Days to a Peaceful Christmas, I highly suggest you go.  We’ve been using it to plan our holiday season.  Probably my favorite exercise she’s had us do is describe our ideal holiday and make a plan to celebrate in such a way.

7.  What are you doing for Thanksgiving?  Do you have any family traditions?

And a photo of my girly girl, dancing in her tutu and jammies…

4 story walk to get a Birth Certificate
Who ever thought, it’ll turn into a Death Certificate

I know we keep harping on about how sudden death can occur, but till it hits closer to home you really don’t stop to think.. what if it’s me or worse what if it’s a loved one?

Last night spent the most awkward half hour of my life at a funeral house of a family friend. The women bawling each time somebody shows up, or the phone rings. It was such a sudden thing, that people still call and ask for him. What words can you offer to lessen their suffering? Take heart in the fact that he didn’t suffer at all? Yeah right. All I could offer was just silence.

The fact that they were of a different ethnicity and most of the wailing was happening in a language that I understood only a little of, didn’t matter. It was obvious, what his wife was saying, his sisters and his nieces. But still, all I could offer was my solemn silence, and a mumble of “deepest sympathies” that didn’t offer much to them.

Just as you close this page, don’t close your mind to the fact of how much this life we have is taken for granted. Every moment is precious. At the risk of sounding like one of those cheesy email fwd’s, take a moment to show the people you care, your love, give them a tight hug, call them up even if it’s the middle of the night. I know he would, if he could..

R.I.P. Uncle R.

Such is the magic of embracing someone close. There are times, when I totally feel knocked out. I break down, almost into tears and to my rescue; I just go and hug my mom very firmly. That very moment I feel no grief is worth it but, being close to the most precious person on earth. It helps tremendously, its warmth and security is entirely uncanny to me.

I have decided to start my own website since I have vast experiences with my Bipolar and helping my family deal with it. The website will include my blogs, information and sources for friends and family of those dealing with Bipolar, methods of coping for people with Bipolar, as well as a discussion board for people with Bipolar and our loved ones. I will also be starting a hotline for people to call when they feel they need someone to talk to. 

www.awanderersmind.com

The site isn’t even close to being completed, but its a start and it has a few ways to reach me in the mean-time if you need someone to talk to. So far it’s just a landing page, so bare with me as I struggle to finish it. LOL

www.awanderersmind.com

Now keep in mind, I’m only one person so if my phone line is busy, leave me a message or call back when its convient for you. More then likely the best way to reach me will be on one of the 2 messengers I use. All your information will be kept private and just between us. Trust me when I say you will help me as much as I want to help you!

I start seeing a Psych Doctor again in 2 days. Am petrified of the idea of going back to a Doctor for my Bipolar and my Borderline Personality Disorder. It just felt like every time I have to go see a Psych Doctor I get nervous of how they might react and I quit going. Mental Health issues suck. I don’t know about most of you but my mind is so clouded and foggy that I can’t think straight half the time. LOL. And here I want to start a Bipolar helpline. LOL. Nah, that I can do. I’m very good at helping people, I’m just not good at taking my own advice, like most of us. 

So wish me luck!, I know I’ll make it through the Psych Doctor intake, go home and work on my wonderful new websitea dn make someone happy that day. LOL.

www.awanderersmind.com

Have a great day everyone, I’m sure I’ll be back to write later. My mom has me making Buckeyes for her friends at work, so it might be a late night writing. LOL

I remember growing up.

It’s still a surreal memory for me.  The people, the environment, the culture.

I wouldn’t say that I grew up in the ghetto, but now that I think about it, it sure was a disadvantaged community.  The drugs, sex, crime, youngsters standing on the corner waiting for some trouble, the constant roar of the police sirens, the soft popping of gunshots going off in the night.

And in this, I learned my first lessons on women, relationships, people.

***

I remember you, who I called my sister.  One of my greatest wishes as a child was to have sisters, as it was just my brother and I most of the time.  I remember begging my parents for a little sister, and half-wishing that I hadn’t been the oldest child.  I wanted an older sister to take care of me, and to be able to take care of a younger sister.  So here, you came in.

You lived in the duplex next to mine, and was a year older, but in everything, we were as close as blood siblings could be.  In you, my needs for and older sister was fulfilled.  I remember your kind heart, the way you knew how to make every situation better.

***

I remember that cold day in June so clearly.  The strobe of the squad cars’ lightbars, the detective trying to ask me questions, my tears streaming down my cheeks, diluting the blood stains on my hands.  It still feels like a lucid dream, something unreal.  You were only 14 then, and I 13.

***

You had just gotten together with him for a few months.  I remember respecting him so much, as an older brother, a friend, my protector.  Through him, I had found my place.  But he was a player, even at his early age of 19.  That was how all us boys grew up, caught up in crime, reveling in our bedroom exploits, chattering about it excitedly as the sparrows do over a bit of seed.  I didn’t respect women then, but I respected you.

On that day, I rushed excitedly home from school to tell you something that now slips my mind.  I rambled up the flight of stairs, and pushed the door to your duplex open.  The kitchen was swept clean, dinner set out neatly in the way that you always do.  I can see now why your mother and little sister always valued you.

I called out your name, but there was no reply over the shower, so I waited patiently at the little dining table that you always tried to make homey.  After some time, I sensed something wrong, and went into the bedroom.  Softly knocking on the bathroom door, I didn’t hear any reply.  I opened the door, and there was no one there.  I turned off the shower, and noticed the wet footprints on the vinyl floor.

Only then did I have that sinking feeling inside.  I made my way quickly out, and saw the ruffled blankets, with a tuff of raven hair on the side.  I remember now, pushing those blankets over to the side, only to see you still wrapped in the towel.  The gleam of steel caught the corner of my eye, and my heart started to panic as I saw the gun resting awkwardly on your chest.

***

The call of the ambulance sirens, the buzzing background drowned out the spinning in my head.  I read your note again and again, how you explained that you couldn’t take it anymore that your man had used you, left you.  I remember how I cried out against God, against the world, against everybody for taking my friend away.  How he denied all culpability in destroying you, and left to Texas to live out his life.

***

Years later, I received a phone call from his cousin.  Her muffled crying came out so clearly.  He had been shot based on a grudge.  Only then through his death did he let go of his pride.  I heard how he had admitted to his cousin that he felt truly sorry for what happened in our youth, but never had the ability to look over his pride and denials.  He had lived the rest of his short life in shame and regret.  Pride makes men do strange things, and above all, takes away our ability to reason out the truth.

***

This was my first lesson, and I remember it well, every time I bring you new flowers at your resting place.