December 10 and 11: I Don't Need to Burn My House Down

Many clutter-reducing experts suggest that no one should have things in their house that they don't know to be useful or believe to be good.

I have never met that ideal. In fact, in Boulder, I sometimes used to fantasize that my house burned down. No more clutter! Just a clean start.

So it has been interesting to populate shelves with only books that I recognize and love. Unread books stay up in the construction trailer. Some books, when I unpacked them, I did not greet with joy. Those I donated to the library.

After four years without photo albums, I felt gratified by the rapturous way the boys greeted the record of their past. If that had burned, that would be horribly sad.

My kitchen is already pretty stripped down, and I'm okay with having a few "extras." Maybe I don't need three 9x13 pans right now, but I think that day is approaching.

I like the feeling of having everything I like and need in one place. I no longer think I will fantasize about house fires.

On the other hand, I am shocked by the quantity of stuff I have yet to deal with. I have stuff in two construction trailers, stuff in the RV and stuff in the white barn.

In order to feel like I was making at least some progress, I spent Tuesday and Wednesday emptying the RV. I went through cupboards and found cookbooks and dozens of DVDs, went through the bathroom closets and found towels and dozens of canning jars. I moved out toiletries and dehydrator, sugar for kombucha and lard for pies.

And, I confess, I paid it forward somewhat, and moved several bulb crates' worth of stuff into the white barn, where I will have to deal with it ... someday.

But one space of the four is now emptied. That is progress!

Phil had a little progress as well. He went to try to toss trash into the dumpster. The sides are probably five feet high, so the bags need to be light enough to lift overhead. Only rarely is a bag filled in space but still light enough for me to lift. Not only that, but we have trash bags in our trash pile that have been there since the spring. After almost a year in the sun and rain, they are disintegrating.

In order to throw our garbage away, Phil used the bucket of the tractor to scoop up the trash and dump it. That worked well and quickly, for the household trash, though he reinjured his ribs in the process. Poor guy: he is so ready to be able to work again!

December 9: In Which Much Is Happy

By Saturday, I was doing better emotionally. I gave Caleb his first real bath! And Caleb enjoyed it. I should say, he didn't cry.

Phil spent the morning putting in a dryer vent. And then, about noon, I had washer and dryer capabilities on the farm for the first time since we moved here.

Washer and dryer. Washer and dryer!

First we washed the sopping towels from the trench disaster. That was a load that took about two and a half hours, because it was filthy and gross. But normal loads, even large loads, take only 59 minutes, and they come out almost dry. The dryer takes maybe 45 minutes.

We kept them going until about 2am. I watched more than half the epic Gandhi while I folded a small mountain of clothes.

And I threw away a good many of Phil’s t-shirts. He had some shirts that looked like Swiss cheese, but had kept them because, if we only do laundry every four to six weeks, he needed every scrap of clothing.

No need to do laundry so rarely now, though, so those worn out scraps can go away.

And then, next morning, we woke up and had clean socks in our drawers!

To celebrate, Isaiah and I made two apple pies. I tried a new pie crust recipe that was superb: it rolled out easily, without breakage. My rolling pin had molded in storage and I threw it away some years back; I recently purchased a new, French style tapered version and I love it. So Isaiah ran the apple peeler-corer-slicer and rolled out all four top and bottom crusts, and I mixed together ingredients and assembled. It was a quick process. Last time I made apple pies, it took me an hour for two. With Isaiah’s help, I would guess I worked no more than ten minutes. (Of course, with the boys getting bigger, I have to share more of the pies, too, but that’s okay.)

We found a wool area rug that had been in storage. No mice damage (hooray!), but something was living in it, or peeing on it. I checked online to confirm what I suspected: baking soda sprinkled and later vacuumed will remove nasty odors. So I tried that: I used a half gallon jar of baking soda and spread handfuls on the rug: scattering it at first, then wiping all over to rub it in.

When I vacuumed it the next morning, the rug smelled like wool. What a blessing!

Due to a forecasted sleet storm (that didn’t affect us, living in the rain shadow), church was cancelled, so we curled up at home and had a peaceful day.

I taped up the various history and science magazines that have been well loved; we watched a few movies; we made muffins and shortbread with cacao nibs and generally just relaxed.

And I tried my Mom’s suggestion to use a wet washcloth to try to take up the orange clay on my jacket. That worked well. I could wear that jacket to town again now. Yay! All that frustration over something quite minor.

Today was the first day I tried homeschooling since Caleb was born. It’s felt like a busy few months. I didn’t get to everything I wished, but it was a good day. Isaiah has been bit by the baking bug, so we made a pumpkin cake today. It was supposed to have a chocolate topping, but after two cups of sugar in the cake, and four cups of powdered sugar in the filling, I could not fathom adding more sweetener. My lips pucker just thinking about it!

I found my steamer pan, to go over a pot. So I made Mongolian dumplings for dinner. The boys aren’t really sure what to make of this new, creative cook mother. The younger two really hesitate about trying new things, but Abraham, after screwing up his courage to taste the little dumplings, said, “This isn’t bad. I’d say, about as good as a hamburger, but not as good as a cheeseburger.”

Phil reassured me that any insurance issues will work themselves out. Not on my preferred schedule, but eventually. And so we breathe deeply and move on, eating pie and cake.

December 6: In Which I Am Very Grumpy

For the last year especially, I have done my best to be thankful. I have a good life, for the most part, and I am grateful for my many blessings. Thanks be to God.

But this morning, after a travel nightmare and another nightmare in which both my best friend from high school and my sister died in the space of a week (although I don’t regularly speak with my high school friend, I expect that dream was about loss from age 17 until the present), I woke to grey skies and rain, which is never good for the soul.

And, really, God? I had less than 24 hours with running water, a legitimate reason to rejoice, before my car gets totaled? Frankly, that stinks.

The first thing in the morning frustrations piled up. I wanted to clean up the kitchen, and went to empty some bagged powdered sugar into a clean canning jar. But though I had packed Sharpie, scissors, paper and tape into a work bag to label jars (since cornstarch, arrowroot, baking soda, and powdered sugar all look like white powder in a jar on the shelf), the Sharpie had gone missing. So that task remained undone.

I went to head outside to use the bathroom. (The doors we ordered for arrival before Thanksgiving have not arrived yet, and so there is little impetus to get a new sawdust toilet made for the bathroom: privacy does not exist. And so we all head outside.) But I had left my farm shoes in the car when I finally arrived home yesterday after 4. Now way was I wearing my adorable Simples, with their blue and white suede exterior and light red bottom, through the rapidly accumulating mud outside the door. So how was I to go to the bathroom? I held it and grumbled internally.

Poor Caleb had finally settled down late last night and slept fairly well. But the frenectomy had not instantly helped him. He was still smacking as he ate more than not (though the promise that he could eat without smacking, occasionally, gave me some hope). He was spitty, and needy.

My good son who had prepared food the night before had done what I also have done many times: not cleaned up after himself. And while I do recognize that cleanup is unpleasant, the reality was that I had bits of food all over. And since my counters weren’t sealed yet, I was facing a long task of scraping, and rings of water damage, and a stovetop that does not look like it will ever be shiny again. (Probably not from scratches, but from dirty pan bottoms, and the residue that causes.)

I realized, too, that the friend who was supposed to visit today, who I had figured could help Phil move the wall unit into the house, was not going to be able to do that in the midst of a rain, when the ground turned to muck. (In the end, the friend did not come down, but Phil went up to town.)

I finally grabbed Phil’s muck boots and went to the bathroom. We had received delivery of a dumpster on Thursday (which Phil had to deal with, too, while trying to manage the insurance and such remotely). But the dogs had torn open dirty diapers and scattered them around, and bags of trash remained here and there.

Our friends’ Suburban was locked, so I still couldn’t get my shoes.

Feeling frustrated and stymied at every turn, I picked up a few bags of trash and pitched them into the dumpster. That was something I could actually do, and finish. And while picking up bits of poopy diaper, in the rain, is not usually my idea of a good time, it fit my mood and gave me a little space to cry for a bit. The thankfulness I feel that my son and I were uninjured still is balanced by the sorrow I feel that my much-loved van is now lost to us.

Most of these things resolved in time. I got new Sharpies. Phil came out with the keys, without my asking. I got the strewn about garbage picked up before the heavy rains came, so our farm is a bit less of a trash heap now. Caleb settled in to eat, and he started to do better with his feedings.

But the lowest blow came at midday. I called police headquarters to follow through with what the officer had said. “Don’t bother to exchange insurance information. That’s all in the police report. Just have the insurance call headquarters with the police report number and they’ll get all that information. It won’t be filed immediately, but probably by 5 tonight.”

“Hi, I was in a collision yesterday, and was calling to get the insurance information for the other driver, so I can get the insurance process started.”

“Oh, well, we don’t give that information out over the phone. We can mail it to you, or you can come and get it. Oh, but that report hasn’t been filed yet anyway. Maybe try again tonight after 6pm.”

Although anger may be my go-to emotion generally speaking, I only remember one other time in my life feeling so blindingly filled with rage. Fury that took over until I was shaking and crying. I had a visual on the other driver’s insurance information, but his hand was covering the name, and he appeared to be having a heart attack, so I didn’t ask him to please move his thumb. That bit of common courtesy (and, really, what else could I have done?) is biting me now.

Not to mention the incredibly helpless feeling of being misled by the person who was supposed to be in control. Why say you will file something that day, if it won’t happen? Why assure me that I don’t need the insurance information if I actually do?

Phil walked by during my call, and when I got off the phone (the call placed outside, as our reception remains poor here), I began screaming. I screamed for some minutes, ranting at the top of my lungs, then called my sister and ranted to her.

When she could get a word in, she suggested I take as strong a dose of homeopathic Aconite as I could. I did, felt myself settle back down to a normal emotional range, and then read to the boys for some time.

The day got better after that. Phil caulked the countertop, so I no longer have to worry about water droplets falling behind the sink. He used wood compound on the two joints of countertop along the wall, and, when those finished drying, sanded the surface.

Then I used mineral oil to seal it. So the countertop along the wall is finished, and it looks great. How lovely to have a functional surface.

I made a delicious pasta for Phil’s and my lunch, with roasted garlic. (The boys ate pasta just with butter, cheese, tuna, and maybe capers. Their loss.) I made a nice chorizo sausage-avocado-cilantro-egg sandwich for dinner, for those who wanted to try it.

I continue trying to put my life in order, and that is good.

Phil had an encouraging meeting in town, worked on engineering, shot a possum, held The Peanut (as he calls Caleb). He had a fine day, too.

Except for his visit to the police station. The receptionist was understanding, but unable to help. “I can’t even put a note in a file to please mail the paperwork, because there is no file as of yet.”

So we are completely in limbo, and just have to trust that the officer will not die before he gets the paperwork filed. Because if he does, will we ever be able to have the other driver’s insurance cover the accident?

That’s too distressing to think about.

December 5: Less Than 24 Hours Later

I was in a collision today. I’ve never been in a collision. Well, Phil backed a rental car into a car parked illegally, and Phil hit a turkey that caused $3000 damage to a different rental car, but I have never been in a moving-car-accident.

Caleb and I were heading to his frenectomy. He was born a tongue-tied and has dealt with gulping air and choking—not horribly, but enough to be a concern. I am ready for him to be happier and to stop smacking, so I was very committed to getting to this appointment (not to mention that I didn’t want to pay for an appointment I didn’t keep).

I was almost to the dentist’s office, about two blocks away, 15 minutes early for my 10:30 appointment. The light at the double left turn changed to green as I was approaching. There were maybe six cars in the right lane and one in the left lane. The car in the left lane did a U-turn, so the left lane was clear for me.

I thought, “I shouldn’t race through this turn, because I will probably make it, and none of these cars has seen me; no need to rush through their blind spot.” And then, “I hope I make this trajectory correctly,” as the intersection is enormous and I always want to make sure I stay in my lane when I have to drive the length of a football field without lines to guide me. I flicked my eyes in the direction I would be going, and then, when I flicked back, realized that the driver in the right lane was doing an illegal U-turn. He was older, and I wonder if he didn’t realize it was a double left.

I witnessed an accident as a child, and it was terrifying. So I was interested to observe that in the split second that I was braking and realized there was nothing I could do to prevent the accident, I had total peace. There was nothing I could do, I was doing nothing wrong, but two cars cannot occupy the same space. "So this is what an accident feels like."

I was pushed over the median, then drove slowly into the nearest parking lot. I must have been going quite slowly, as the airbag did not deploy and Caleb slept through the whole thing. Right now, ten hours later, I haven’t felt any soreness or pain.

The other car was more disabled, it appeared, but eventually followed. Something had punctured the tire of the vehicle, so I’m sure it was hard to drive. But since four lanes of traffic were coming, I’m glad he was able to clear the road.

“Are you okay?” the passenger asked first thing. The driver got out then. He was shaken to the extent that he could hardly stand, and, when I left, both a fire truck and an ambulance had arrived. I would not be surprised if he was having a heart attack. He was holding his heart and staggering, and I could hardly get a word out of him. I got his name, but no other information.

I told the police officer, when he arrived, that I had a vital appointment that I would really like to make. He took my information, and I drove—slowly—the quarter mile to the appointment.

The frenectomy lasted almost an hour, and Caleb screamed the whole time. It felt like a fitting coda to a stressful morning.

Afterwards, I finally was able to reach Phil. (We had called each other repeatedly at the time of the accident, but were not able to connect. The bummer of living in the country with spotty cell service.)

Then I spent almost two hours on the phone. The insurance company. Phil. Finding the name of a body shop. I was comfortable in the dentist’s waiting room, had a constant stream of tears in relative privacy, and Caleb, exhausted from his ordeal, slept or ate the whole time.

I had a few panic moments. I was an hour from home, and our one vehicle was probably totaled. (Considering that hitting a turkey caused $3000 in damage, and the fact that the passenger door no longer opens, I think a moving collision finished off our van.) The tow truck would come … sometime. I spent 16 minutes trying to tell an insurance person the final destination of the tow truck, and finally gave up. Phil contacted them. I needed a rental car, but didn’t want to get the rental shuttle before the tow truck came. It felt like a stagnating mess.

But now see the provision of the Lord. Besides, of course, the fact that I walked away from an accident.

I called my friend Claire to find out the name of our mutual friend’s body shop. She said, “I’m in town. I will bring you where you need to go. We were going to go to Chipotle in a few minutes. I will bring you Chipotle.” Furthermore, she and her daughters were actually coming to the exact same dentist at 2pm.

When they showed up shortly before 2, I was just finishing getting almost all my stuff out of the van. They had shopping bags to easily transport the various town shoes (less dirty, and stored in the car) and CDs and various building supplies. One noticed the charger that I would have forgotten.

The tow truck showed up then, too. No problem with that.

And, driving separately, Claire's husband arrived also. “I’m taking you to my house and you can take the Suburban home.” So I ate as Louis drove and talked, and then drove the Suburban home. No need to get a rental car, and deal with town driving when I was wiped out. What a great blessing.

Back in mid-October we had asked about buying their Suburban, actually, before I looked at what we had spent for the electrical work and realized we had no extra money at the time.

Caleb slept all the way home. I cried most of the way. I loved that little minivan: its cruise control, how it seated 8, the zippy way it would get off from a stop, how quiet it was, how much it could store.

In some ways, this is a season of both deep gratitude, for the season we’re coming to, and a season of grief.

And then I came in to find Isaiah was making dinner. When the family found out that I was in an accident, they suggested various things to help me: cleaning up, making dinner, praying for me.

I am so grateful they did that, because Caleb's mouth clearly pained him, and he cried inconsolably from 5pm until he fell asleep, wiped out, at 10pm. I am so grateful that he slept during all my calls earlier in the day (I cannot even imagine how bad it would have been otherwise), but sad babies are so hard to deal with. Feel better, baby!

December 4: A Family-Sized Sink

Phil worked out in the blasted trench today. I “helped” for part of it (as in, I added a feeble extra push while Phil strained away), and was impressed to see how very much strength was required to bend the heavy black plastic line.

At about 11am, Phil turned the water on. I think he intended to be cautious, and check the two outdoor junctions first. But the main shutoff valve inside was open, so I went in to check for leaks at that junction and found Jadon in the utility closet, standing with a grin, watching the water push out the air for the first time.

Thankfully, we were good on leaks. (I think the sink had a small one because some part of the faucet wasn’t screwed on all the way, but that was how it came from the manufacturer, and was simply a matter of tightening it down.)

An hour later, we had hot water, too!

And ice in the ice maker (though the first few batches looked pretty heavily laced with chemicals).

And a dishwasher that runs. I hadn’t bought any dishwashing detergent. I used the Dr. Bronner’s that we have, and Phil said that they looked clean. Great!

I spent an hour making dinner: a steak and hash meal. The steak turned hard and rubbery, and the boys didn’t appreciate the hash (kale, cauliflower, fried potatoes). That was too bad.

But after the meal was done, the space exploded in happiness.

For more than four years, if the dishes needed doing, I washed them away from the family. But today, I washed them with the family. Joe, perhaps a bit bored, was eager to help. I would clean off part of the counter, and he would wipe it down. We loaded the dishwasher together. And then I did some dishes and he did some dishes. “I like helping!” he said, multiple times.

And while we were happily busy together, Jadon sat in the recliner chair and held the baby, and Abraham and Isaiah played a high energy, giggling game of dog and master, or something. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” said Isaiah.

And I got to be a part of it! And I got a clean kitchen out of it, too!

And may I just say that the enormous farm sink we have is a dream. When Phil and I first got married, we had an enormous sink, and I have missed it ever since we moved out of that house in 2002. (The next house had a custom kitchen and was configured in a way that would not allow for an enormous sink.) Today I put in the largest frying pans, the cookie sheet, multiple large pots … and they all fit! And were easy to clean!

Another fun thing: Phil hung up the baby’s Johnny-jump-up. Growing up, I remember singing to my siblings when they were in the Johnny-jump-up, and all the brothers since then have enjoyed bouncing. Because our door is rough-framed, Phil just took a piece of wood, screwed it up, and so has a little platform to attach the jumper. The baby appeared to enjoy it.

I found the fourth and final large Lego box in the storage trailer. We have Lego bits coming out our ears. Joe and I spent some time finding pieces for his special people set. We did a good job. He had been missing perhaps 2/3 of the needed pieces, but by days’ end, he was missing only maybe 15 smaller pieces.

The task before us now is to sort by color, with minifigures in their own category. We'll probably need to keep the boxes separated, too, as one is mostly old school Legos from Phil's childhood, one is special sets all mixed up from Boulder, and two boxes are a jumble of sets we've received since arriving here. It’s a bit addicting to sort, like a constant treasure hunt, or a bit of order imposed on a chaotic world.

End November, Begin December

One of my most long-awaited things came the last day of November: bookshelves enough to store a good many of our books.

Phil, knowing how eagerly I've awaited them, powered through the pain for probably about six hours to put them together, including putting in the electrical outlets below them.

I have always had books in boxes: even in Boulder, I kept Sonlight Cores boxed up for the time I would use them. To actually unpack my entire book collection was a lengthy process, and one I relished. I finally got to sort the entire collection by Sonlight Core; non-Sonlight books are divided into young child, middle grades, and mature. I sorted by sequels, by art or history. Saturday night I got off to a good start, but my floor is littered with piles, waiting for companion volumes.

On the first day of December, I actually made a list of new recipes I would like to try. (One of my most happy unpackings was a three-ring binder of recipes I like; I have missed that binder for years.) I went shopping and found all the ingredients I would need.

On December 2nd, I made sure to at least open all the boxes of books still in the storage trailer. Some of them are Phil's books (engineering or otherwise); some are agriculture books, which we aren't keeping on the Ikea shelves; some are books I haven't read yet, and, as such, do not belong on the Ikea shelves. But the rest joined their companions in the piles, waiting.

As I peeked in the last few boxes, I found table extensions. Now we had a table we could all fit around comfortably. And though we don’t have dining room chairs yet, we have one chair from the original dining room set, four folding chairs, and a spelt bucket, so the whole family gathered around the table for dinner. We sat and prayed before we ate, and then we enjoyed cast iron pizza, which was a delicious, quick, thin crust version.

I feel a bit like I've been exhaling stress for the last two weeks. I hadn't wanted to think about how very restrictive the single-toaster-oven, no-dining-table, small-fridge life had been. But I can think about it now. In retrospect, that was tough.

On December 3rd, I was up at 5am, ready to keep sorting books. Getting my life in order is so satisfying, I didn't even need a nap all day.

I made pumpkin bread for breakfast for the boys, and fancy friend rice for Phil. It all tasted so wonderful.

The weather was pleasant, so I moved more boxes of books, and rearranged things so that we could extricate the triple bunk bed. Phil disassembled it, and the boys helped carry it down to where we reassembled it.

We do plan for the boys to have real beds one of these days, with real sheets, but that is another expense and another design-build project for Phil, so I don't think it will happen this December. And rather than have the boys sleep on mats on the floor of the playroom, it is much nicer to have them stashed in beds.

To celebrate, we got out the flannel quilts that were given right before we moved and never used, as I didn’t want them to get dirty. That was a fun addition to their beds.

With the floor mats removed, the boys cleaned up the Legos. It took some time, but they worked with good cheer. And then the sleep room and play room were both dry mopped and clean. Ahh.

I made meatloaf for dinner and everyone had seconds and everyone liked it. Will wonders never cease, as my Mom would say.

And the bookcase, though not done yet is looking really good. I have too many books for the space that's left, but I'll figure it out.

On a completely different note, Abraham's drawing skill has been improving dramatically lately. His drawing of Calvin and Hobbes in a tent made me smile: lanterns, snack, comic book, bread, tuna, pickles, can opener, gun....

November 29: Three Years Running

The last two years, the Thanksgiving weekend has proved unfortunate for us. After a pleasant day with friends and family on Thursday, something unpleasant happens later.

In 2011, our cow Catherine went down. Phil figured she was almost dead, and we had the vet out for the first and only time. She got up unassisted before the vet arrived, but he basically told us that we were starving our cows with our rotational grazing practices. We were doing our best, but were clueless. We know a lot more now.

In 2012, our neighbor graciously brought us a deer he had shot. Phil jumped to get the hook for hanging, and strained the ligaments in his finger, which basically stopped all construction for the next two months. It was a frustrating time for us, one of the hardest I think we’ve been through.

Sadly, 2013 continues the string of unfortunate events. When we arrived home about midnight, the ground had frozen. We have a floodlight, but it doesn’t reach up quite high enough now for us to walk in the light all the way from car to door. There are several dozen feet without light.

Phil usually brings a flashlight with him, because he prefers not to walk in darkness. For some reason, though, he had no flashlight and turned off the lights of the car that we sometimes use to light the way.

I carried down the foodstuffs and diaper bag, and was heading back up to get sleeping Joe when Phil yelled for me to help. “I can’t breathe! Take Caleb!”

He wasn’t having a heart attack, thankfully. But he had slipped or tripped on a hump of frozen earth (mounded up due to the digging of that blasted trench) and fallen, not to the ground, but onto the clawfoot tub sitting there. On the right side, Caleb was unharmed (though startled and screaming). On the left side, Phil probably cracked some ribs.

I dosed with Arnica, and Phil woke late this morning without any apparent bruising. But almost any movement was agony for him. By midafternoon, he said, “I am going crazy! I can read, but I don’t want to read! There are things I want to be doing, but I can’t!”

In the evening, he was holding Caleb in the recliner while I finished dinner. Isaiah, affectionately, pulled the back of the chair down. The angle was such that Phil’s ribs did something excruciating. He cried out, and when I got there to grab the baby, I think he was fighting back tears.

It would not be my preference to have Phil out of commission for the next month or so. But now that I have a table, and a real workspace, I can haul dishes back and forth as needed, washing in the RV. A work stop, so close to completion, is probably worse for Phil than it is for me.

I spent my day continuing to shuffle kitchen goods. I think I have gone through the RV cupboards and closets. There are some more things to wash (not enough time for that project to be done yet), but I felt like I made good progress.

I found a couple little jars of Thai curry paste that I had forgotten about. I had a chuck roast thawed and waiting to be eaten, and I made Thai Massaman curry, with potatoes and beef in a red curry coconut sauce, over rice. It was excellent. I often burn the bottom of rice, but today the rice cooked perfectly, with the delicious grains nicely separated, not smooshed together.

So I am in a happy place. I found several sets of Star Wars Legos for the boys, and they put them together. I once gave Phil a star destroyer, and that set, fully built, is about as long as Joe. It’s huge! The boys are under strict instructions that, when they are finished enjoying them, the sets must be separated again and stored properly. If multiple sets happen to break into pieces and mix (as has happened to all new sets for the last four years), someone will have to rebuild and then store.

They heard that. And they had a great time, for hours, moving the minifigures around.

So I sing in the kitchen, the boys laugh in the bedroom, and Phil, in pain, sits in silence in the recliner, unable to do what he wants to do.