Momentous!

Or at least that's sort of what this feels like it should be. Which is why I'm just cranking something out really quickly so I can move past it and finish the year with some stronger pieces.

Yes, this is blog #180 for the year. I reached my goal. Whew...

Now to be perfectly fair it was posting the old Practical Magic stuff that I had written already but never shared that helped push it over the edge. That and NaNo and the volumes of random fiction I wrote for that to keep me from going insane because I couldn't figure out how to end PM. But still, it was done and posted and read and totally counts.

And now I'm at 180 and everything else is gravy. Or frosting. Since it's the holiday season either one will work.

But once I hit 179 I thought I should write something super cool to mark 180 and reaching that goal. Then I thought it was early enough in the month that I could totally do 200 for the year if I got cranking. Which then made me start making excuses why I wouldn't be able to do that, which was ridiculous really, I mean I was pre-excusing not making a stretch goal that only I knew about! Crazy...

So my blog sat empty.

I also have been going back and forth on fiction and non-fiction. The world is in such a state right now. The ugliness that we are all witnessing day in and day out from people. Not just the terrorists. Not just the wack jobs. Not just the extremists. But the people we have known for years and had no idea were extremist wack jobs. It's a little disheartening. And I'm being torn on that front which will probably lend itself to a blog soon...

But did I really want a "woe is us" blog to be 180? Nah...

I have two different fiction pieces sort of forming up in my head right now. But they will be small trifles. So did I really want a trifle of a fiction piece to be 180? Nah...

Then I could have used it to wrap up goals for the year. I am one book away from my reading goal so I could have just waited another day or so to finish that and come in with my semi-triumphant year in review post! But did I want to wait another day or so to write? Nah...

So instead you get this.

A not really very important but it totally counts and gets us past the GOAL NUMBER blog, blog.

Sometimes that's all you can do. Just put your head down, muscle through, get past that barrier, move along.

And now we are there.

Whew...

Well aren't you pretty?

Have you seen it? The latest do this thing and tag someone post on Facebook?

It's that time once again!
Upload 5 photos of yourself that you feel pretty In! Then nominate 15 people to do the same! Build yourself up!!! Not down. * let's take it a step further and say why each photo makes you feel beautiful* Let's see all that beauty!

I saw it the first time a couple of days ago. Then again. And again. And then today I was tagged in one. So then I had to decide if I played along or not. Often I don't. Sometimes I do. Depends on my mood. And I always seem to change the "rules" to fit me a little better. Kind of my way in life.

So anyway...I decided to play along with this one. Ish. And part of the reason why was because one that I saw yesterday stuck with me. A friend was tagged as one of the 15, but her friend didn't just tag people, she posted why she tagged them. I thought that was pretty cool. So, sure, I will play along. But I'm totally going Frank Sinatra with it...

All right, picture #1. I think this is the first time I can remember actually feeling pretty. I loved this dress. I loved the fact that I had my hair done in a salon and sat under a dryer and everything. And I am looking at my sister on her wedding day hoping I would grow up to look like her. Because the blonde hair and green eyes would come eventually right?

Picture #2. My own wedding day. Hair done. Makeup done. A dress I loved. My grandmother's crystals. The skinniest I have ever been. Never mind that I was deathly ill and about to fall over...I felt pretty. I went back and forth between this shot of the day and one I post as a profile picture a lot where Brent and I are whispering to each other. I went with this one but it was a close call. I felt pretty all day that day. Except the vomiting parts...but even then I was a pretty puker. 

#3 I love this picture. I love the way the light caught the red in my hair and in C's. I love the cuddles. I think I look really serene and motherly in this one. But what I really love about it is that I was sitting there with C watching TV and Brent said, "Hold still" then he grabbed the camera and took a couple of pictures. (before the days of cell phone cameras, kids) and he said, "You just look so pretty I wanted a picture." I hadn't really felt pretty in a long time. Moms understand me. So it stuck with me. I'm still pretty.

#4 Odd right? But I do feel pretty in the picture. I took it for a POD shot. It was something I held that day. I held my tongue instead of getting shitty with someone. But I love the way this came out. It's dorky, it's goofy, it was a joke, it's me. It makes me feel pretty. I'm an odd duck, I know.

#5 Most recent of the shots. I took this one the day before my birthday. Screwing around in the car before we took off to run errands. I was in a stretch where I didn't have my glasses and if I took pictures it was hit or miss if they came out. This one did. As the kids say today #nofilters This is just me, happy with life, looking forward to 47, screwing around with my camera. 

So then we come to the nominate 15 people for this as well. And what do I do? I have a lot of friends. How do you narrow it down to 15 to post shots? Do you pick the ones you think need it the most? The reminder? Do you pick the ones you think are most likely to play along? Do you pick the ones that you are curious which shots they will pick? Which ones make them feel the prettiest?

Because I have to tell you, I have a lot of really pretty friends. And in so many different ways. Blondes that make you crave honey when you see their shining locks. Brunettes with every shade of brown and gold woven in to their hair. Redheads from deep auburn to strawberry blonde. Curls, straight, twists, dreads. Short, long, and right now two who are bald. One by choice, one by necessity. And I have to say, they wear it well. 

Green eyed ladies of mystery. Blue eyes you could dive in to and never want to come up. Brown eyes that catch the light and go from chocolate to amber and back again. Oh my goodness...almond shaped, round as a doll, wide eyed, half closed with thought...oh those eyes!

Shades of skin. So pale you think they are made of porcelain. Rich dark ebony that makes you think of velvet. And every shade in between. White, brown, golden toned, olive skin, deepest black. Don't even get me started on the variety of freckles and how much I love freckles! And dimples! I have chins, cheeks, one cheek, and even double dimples!

And that's before the make up. I have friends who have mastered the art of the eyebrow. The bold red of a lip. The eye shadow or blush that takes them from beautiful to spectacular. And I have the friends who wouldn't know what to do with a pot of lip stain if you paid them. The natural beauty is their walk. And again, every thing in between. Burts Bees tinted balm all the way to the latest Dior lip look. They are all here. 

Body types? What do you want to see? Figures so lush you think bad thoughts just because they walk near you. Slender frames that move like willows in the wind? Curves? Muscles? Angles? Cheek bones for days? A booty that bangs? Pocket sized petites. Amazonian heights. I've got them all on my list. 

And then you have the intangibles. The things that make them beautiful instead of just pretty. The confidence that radiates. The timidness that attracts. Intelligence. Humor. Sheer unadulterated badassness. Quiet questing for answers. I have them all. All beautiful in their space. And I can see in pictures of them. The wistful portrait of a seeker. The full on stare of ruler. The women who are changing the world through their work, their religion, their children, their humor, their love, their presence. They are all here. Which do you want to see?

So when it came time to tag the 15 I was stuck. So I didn't. I did this instead. You are all beautiful. If you want to post your 5 pictures that you feel pretty in I will look at them. I will agree with you. I will love to hear why you feel pretty in them. But know this, I am in awe of you all the time. You are beautiful. 

And a bonus #6. Me, today, thinking about you. 

Three Days...

I went three days without thinking of you.

Three days.

The song came on the radio and I thought of you.

And I realized it had been three days.

It was the milk. Another quart of spoiled milk. Nobody is there to drink it anymore and yet somehow I keep buying it. I get home from the store and unload the groceries and there it is. Another quart of milk.

I remember the first time you found out I didn't have milk. "Everyone has milk!" I don't. I don't drink milk, I told you. Why would I have milk? "For cooking at least!" I don't cook. I showed you my fridge. Leftover take out. Cream for my coffee. A few beers. A few sodas. That was it. No milk.

But you changed that. You had to have milk. So when I bought my coffee, my cream, my beer and my soda I bought your milk. And somehow even though I don't need it, I keep buying it.

And then I throw it away when it goes bad.

Three days.

It seemed longer. When the song started. I thought it must have been longer.

But the milk. I remembered the milk.

Three days. Not too shabby though.

Soon I will probably make it a whole week.

Then I cried.

I had gone three days.

NaNo 2015....

All right, we are done again. Whew.

I sort of reached a conclusion to the story with Practical Magic. I say sort of because I'm not really happy with it. In fact I think it's mostly crap. But it's something and that will be good enough for now. I might just give you all a sort of Executive Summary or Book Report finish so you at least know what happened with everyone, but I don't know when or if I will ever actually finish the story itself. Maybe someday huge inspiration will hit me and I will know exactly the right way to finish their story. I just know for now this will do even if this isn't really it.

When I did NaNo in 2013 it was expressly to see if I could write that much in a month and to try to get Practical Magic out as a novel. It was a grand plan and I did it. But then this time after I finished NaNo 2015 I wondered what the hell was wrong with me, why was it so much like a forced march this time? It couldn't have been like that in 2013 right? So I went back and read the handful of blogs I did around NaNo in 2013 and I reached all of these wonderful conclusions about my writing that I promptly forgot for 2015. And it was a forced march then as well, I just blocked that part out.

First off, I don't like writing long form stories. A novella is maybe the furthest I am willing to go and even that might be stretching it. Writing stops being fun for me much past a short story and as I only write because it's fun it seems pretty dumb to fight that.

Second, I am a pantser. I will always be a pantser. I am pretty sure that being a pantser is the biggest reason why I prefer short stories. I don't want to think about where a story is going to go. Where it needs to end up. Whose lives need tidied up. I want to be as surprised as you all are by what comes out of my head. Sure, sometimes that does mean that I have an ending in place that I am writing to (yesterday's short story, for instance, started with the image of her wrapping up the gift and I had to figure out how she got there) or a line of dialog that I want to work a story around. But it doesn't mean that I have a beginning, a middle and an end all lined up with characters and situations blocked out. Trust me, I've tried that, but the voices in my head are an unruly bunch and will pout if I try to tell them what to say.

Third I write fast and I write sloppy. I might change the sloppy part in 2016. I'm thinking about a new sort of challenge and it will require a little more tidying up. But I write and I post here and I get feedback or I don't and I move on. Sometimes so quickly that when I re-read a post from a few years ago I've forgotten I wrote the story. Hell, there was one that someone told me they really liked from last month and I couldn't remember it. LAST MONTH. As in a few weeks ago! I write fast. Sometimes less than an hour per story. And yes, I know, that doesn't make them polished or perfect or even grammatically sound half the time, but it's still fun for me.

And that is the biggest lesson I need to hold. I am in a remarkable position in life where I don't have to write to make a living. I don't have to do copy-writing. I don't have to do Executive Summaries. I don't have to craft marketing messages. I don't have to make money from the words. I can just do it because it's fun. And I hate losing the fun things in life. Which happens more often than you realize. When you start "shoulding" and "coulding" instead of "getting to" and "wanting to" the things that used to bring you joy fade away to gray.

So I proved to myself that I can do it. Twice. The first time all focused on one story. The second time finding a finish for that one and allowing myself small fiction treats. I also discovered the second time around that I can force myself to write when I am in a lousy space creatively. Which might help my lazy writer tendencies. But it might not. Because just because I know I can do it, doesn't mean I have to do it.

Writing is fun for me.

I hope reading what I write is fun for you.

I am going to protect that a little more and keep it that way.

Gift with Purchase...

She was wrapping his last present. Just a small box so it wouldn't take long. She loved the ribbons and the bows the best and was already thinking about which to use on this one. Probably the silver ribbon and a gold bow.

Gifts were always tricky with couples. Making it a surprise was hard. You spent so much time together that trying to sneak off to find time to shop was always a challenge. She usually did it on her lunch hours at work. Started early, like October or November to make sure she had plenty of time. She liked picking out just the right thing. Or at least trying to.

He was good at gifts. Not good at sizes. But good at gifts. The difference in sizing between Misses and Junior and Women had always been too much for him to grasp so he had just bought things he liked and given them to her. She would then go back to the store and exchange them for the right size without ever saying a word. Her mother had once told her that if she never corrected him about it he would never learn. She said it was the thought that counted and he put thought in to picking out pretty things. He just didn't grasp the sizing issues.

Sometimes she would find a receipt ahead of the holiday and go in right then and buy the right size. Knowing that she could just return the wrong one after the Christmas rush. She had a little envelope she kept all the receipts in. It was a good system. Especially if it was something fancy for New Year's Eve. That way she had the right dress or shoes waiting in hiding to be brought out and worn right away and the wrong size version could just wait to be snuck out to the returns. It didn't bother her not to be surprised on Christmas morning. It was nicer to have the right size waiting than to be surprised.

When she found the receipt from Victoria's Secret this year she almost blushed. Okay, she had blushed once she went in to the store and found the bra and panty set in her size, it was pretty racy. But the 36 DD and medium panty was no where near her 34B and size small. She just had to laugh imagining him pointing to the mannequin and saying, I think she's around that size. The set was more decorative than functional but she had to admit it was awfully pretty and it would be perfect for New Year's Eve. The straps to the bra were woven with a glittery thread and there was a heart shaped crystal between the barely there cups. She even decided to treat herself to a new dress that would work with the outfit. He wouldn't be able to keep his hand off of her.

While she was shopping she decided that it would be fun to book a hotel room for the night. Why not right? They could have a late dinner and go dancing and then just stay downtown after the ball drop. It would be romantic. She would wrap up a picture of the hotel and a decorative key and that would be the last of his Christmas presents to open. Something to look forward to that week. Anticipation made things so much better. Hotter.

And it had worked for her as well. Keeping her sexy secret to herself all month had made her feel dangerous and wanton. She liked that word. Wanton. It was perfect for how she felt. It even had made the seemingly endless parade of work related parties not so terrible. Get dressed up, but not too dressed up, have a drink, but not too many drinks, relax, but don't get too relaxed. And they had to do it not just for their own jobs but for each others. And clients parties. Merry Christmas...

Last night's had been the last round of them. They had been double booked. His office party lined up with a client dinner she had. So they were on their own. Which was worse. At least if they had each other to whisper to over their drinks to they could find a little rest from the relentless cheer of everyone else. Which is why she had been pleased when her client actually begged off early. He had an early flight in the morning and if she didn't mind could they just grab a drink instead of dinner. She absolutely didn't mind.

She debated for just a minute going home instead of joining him at his function. He wasn't expecting her, after all so if she didn't mention that she had actually been free he would never know. But it was only for a minute. She knew he would never leave her to twist at a party if he was free so she wouldn't do it to him either.

She stopped in to use the restroom on her way up to their office space. Washing her hands she noticed a woman a few sinks down adjusting the strap of her bra. A strap that was woven with a glitter thread. She smiled at her, "I know this is weird, but I used to work in a lingerie department and I would pride myself in being able to guess sizes before measuring. Are you around a 36DD?"


She fluffed the ribbon and bow on the carefully wrapped package and left it on the counter. The note inside was attached to a store receipt, "No returns. No exchanges. At least you know exactly how much this cost you."

Summer breeze...

It started as a cool breeze.

Comforting.

Soothing when the heat was too much.

Eyes closed, face to the sun, cool breeze against her skin.

Bliss.

She didn’t notice when the breeze got stronger.

Not at first.

The shiver when the cool breeze started to become a cold wind.

Not at first.

Or maybe she did.

And just didn’t want it to be true.

It was a cool breeze. It was her cool breeze.

And then the gusts came again.

The sun on her face. The warmth on her skin. She felt it. She willed it to be.

But the sun was behind the clouds now.

There was no warmth.

There was a storm.

She ignored it.

Standing in the hurricane telling herself it was a light spring rain.

Holding on with both hands so she wouldn’t blow away.

It was nothing she couldn’t face. It was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Seeking shelter she knew she had failed somehow.

She was soaked to the bone.

She was battered from the wind.

She was cold.

She was beaten.

Then the sun came out again.

She did not go outside.

She would not suffer again.

It wouldn’t last.

She would not be fooled again.

But the sun stayed out.

She warmed up.

She dried off.

The sunshine beckoned her.

She opened the door.

She walked out and put her face toward the sky.

The sun warmed her skin and she wished for a cool breeze…

Friends...

She didn’t remember the first time she met Death. She was too young. Just a baby. But he remembered. He was much older at the time.

The first time he saw her he was standing at her crib side; it was her time. Look, it wasn’t his fault that her time had been so short, it was just his job. He didn’t decide the time lines. That came from above his pay grade. He just got the list and took care of things. She was the last person he was to visit that day. And it just didn’t go as planned. He’d never had a problem before, and hadn’t since. Though he really felt that the visits with her now helped with that. Just having someone to talk to helped, you know? Anyway…

He had come from a big accident on the freeway. It had been a mess. Trying to sort out who was on the list from who wasn’t in the middle of all of that chaos? Really stressful. He almost marked someone who wasn’t on the list. He was reaching out for one of the men involved in the crash and his son dashed right in front of him. He almost grabbed him instead. The son whose time wasn’t up for another 50 years and had a future that was going to impact hundreds of thousands. That’s how close he got to grabbing him. Close enough that the systems to automatically back up his life story kicked in. The proximity alarm rang. He almost took someone too soon. That’s probably what shook him. To come close to a mistake like that? Well that would have been a big mess. Although it turned out that he made his own big mess anyway. But at the time he didn’t realize it. And honestly, was it really all that big of mess? It seems like it worked out for the best. He’d even made a suggestion that the higher ups take a look at his situation and maybe expand on the program. The official word back was “don’t push it” but he’d heard through some unofficial channels they were looking in to it. The problem is that nobody really understood how it happened. Or why. Or why it worked out the way it did.

Okay, back to the first time he saw her. He was standing next to her crib. He was still a little off his game but she was the last bit of work on his list for the day. And really the little ones easy. Yes, he knew that made him sound like a bastard, but again, it was his job. The little ones weren’t afraid. They went with him without a fight. Honestly it was a little grating to have people always talk about how scary Death was. He wasn’t scary. He was inevitable, sure, but not scary. Sickness, disease, pain, those were scary but Death? He liked to think of himself as a relief. As a soothing balm. Like a dark comforting blanket. So anyway…he was reaching out to her when she let out one of those little sighs. You know the ones that only babies make? That kind of cooing rush of air? You know what that is the sound of? Pure innocence. And he’d had a really busy and rough day. The car accident had just been the end of it. There had been a flu epidemic at the nursing home, an outbreak of E-Coli at a fast food restaurant, and just the normal daily list of times. He was flat out exhausted. Dead tired.

Don’t groan! That’s was a good one.

So the sigh. And before he really understood what he was doing he was in the rocking chair by her crib holding her in his arms. Rocking. Smelling that top of the head baby smell and well…he cried. Just a little. But he did it. One big fat tear formed and fell. Splash. Right on her little noggin. BOOM! Everything changed. He could see it. Like literally see it. Where the tear had touched her she now had a spot shaped like a sickle. He pulled himself together, put her back in her crib and left. He was going to have to file a report. Man he hated filing reports.

So the first time she met Death she didn’t remember him. And she wasn’t sure when the next time was. Or the next. What she did know is that she had always known Death. One of her earliest memories of him was a tea party. She must have been around 3 or 4 by that time. She had set up the table and put her stuffed animals in a circle and left a space open for him. Then she waited. He didn’t disappoint. When he sat down at the party she poured him a cup of tea (water from the bathroom sink) and served him the finest tea sandwiches that could be found (some graham crackers she had saved from snack time) and they talked about the latest goings on with her stuffed animal crew. Then when tea time was over he picked her up, sat in the rocking chair, and told her a story of his own. As she was drifting off to sleep she looked up in to his dark black eyes and tried to count the stars. She made it to 5 before nap time took over. Some of her best naps started sitting in the lap of Death counting the stars in his eyes. So no, she had never feared Death.

She went through a short Goth phase in High School. She wasn’t sure if it had to do with her friendship with Death or if she just liked the clothes. But she got instant coolness cred when she shaved the sides of head and revealed her unique birthmark. She would sometimes darken it if she was going to a party or a concert. But mostly she left it alone. So people could see it was natural. She had a sickle on the side of her head. She was that cool. If only her friends knew. Though her experiences trying to tell her parents about her friend when she was very little taught her to just keep some things to herself. Besides as much as her friends liked to talk about Death, they really didn’t understand him at all. In fact Death found her new friends to be misguided and lacking in fashion sense.

Eventually she grew her hair back out and started wearing colors again. She and Death were still fast friends. Though now she shared the stories of her school friends instead of her stuffed animals. And when he told her the stories of the world she wasn’t in the rocking chair but usually camped out on the floor. Then there was the one time when she caught mono and couldn’t even make it out of bed to eat without having to take a nap he sat at the foot of her bed and told her stories about ancient Egypt when he was worshiped as a god. She thought it sounded cool. He said it was a lot of pressure and he actually preferred taking things a little more low key. She learned a lot from Death. And he learned a lot from her.

The first time she ran in to him at work had been a shock to both of them. He was waiting in the corner of a darkened room. His next name was here but it wasn’t quite time yet. He didn’t have anyone else between now and his time though so he was just waiting. Death was very good at waiting. Nobody was ever as patient as Death. There was a knock at the bedroom door and in she walked. He watched her go to the side of the bed and take the hand of the boy laying there. “I got your text. You’re worrying me. What is wrong?” And as the boy talked to her Death felt the pull to be in this room fading. He mentally checked his list and saw the name had disappeared. Hunh. Just then she looked toward him. Noticing him sitting still and calm in the corner. He held up a finger to his lips, “Shhh…” and he left.

The spoke later in her bedroom. She asked why he was there; why he had been sitting in her friend’s room. He told her it was his job. She started to cry thinking that she hadn’t made a bit of difference after all. He soothed her. Holding her in his arms and rocking her slowly while he smoothed her hair. No she had. Her friend’s name was no longer on his list for today. She had changed his time line. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. To change someone’s time line. But she had done it. She asked if he knew when her friend would die now. If she should keep worrying. He said he didn’t know. And if he did he could not tell her. That would be against the rules. And since he was already on probation for his last little incident, he tapped the side of her head where her hair now covered her unique “birthmark”, he would not be breaking any more rules. She understood. Or she thought.

When she went away to college she learned that being friends with Death wasn’t always easy. She had that strong unshakable sense of right and wrong that can only belong to mad men and college students. Walking back to her dorm one night she saw her friend Death walking ahead of her. She thought he must be on his way to visit her and thought it would be fun to sneak up on him. Who else ever got the chance to sneak up on Death? You know, it was usually the other way around right? She tried to stifle the giggle that was bubbling up as she thought about it. She might also have been slightly tipsy. When Death walked past her dorm and kept going she decided to follow him and see where he went. Maybe he knew she wasn’t back yet and was wasting time while he waited. He wasn’t. He walked toward two people sitting on a bench in the quad. Then he stopped and waited. For a second she thought he was making sure he wouldn’t be seen. But then she realized why he was waiting. One of the figures on the bench reached toward the other and before she could even scream for them to stop it was done. One had killed the other. Death was there so quickly she hadn’t even seen him move. His hands lifting the second person, oh no, she recognized her… it was a girl from her Psychology class, Death grabbed her and then she was gone. The body was there, but the person? Gone. The boy she had been sitting next to got up and slowly moved away. He was going to get away and Death had just stood there letting him get away with it, he had HELPED. She started to scream then.

He didn’t get away. Her screaming caught the attention of some people walking by. They caught him. He was arrested. She had to testify to what she had seen. Or at least part of what she had seen.

When Death came to visit she didn’t speak to him.

She didn’t speak to him the second time either.

The third time she yelled at him. Death had just stood there and let that man kill her classmate. Then he let him get away. If she hadn’t been there he would have. Why didn’t he kill him instead? Or at least try too? She didn’t want to hear about the rules. Or about whose time it was to go. Or the higher powers. She was mad. He should do something. He explained again and again that he did. That he did his job. She didn’t want to hear about it. She was too mad. She told him to leave. That she didn’t want to see him again. Ever.

The next week her mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was late. Too late. Too fast. Too widespread. Too soon.

She went home from school.

She spent the next few months taking care of her. Listening to her stories. Cooking her meals. Cleaning the house. Visiting with her mother’s friends who came in droves when they heard the news.

Toward the end her mother told her, “I’m not afraid of Death, you shouldn’t be either. I am ready.”

And then she understood again. It was his job. If he didn’t do it her mother would suffer endlessly. People would age and never move on. Bodies would grow frail and weak and they would never find relief. Some lines ended too soon. But that wasn’t his fault. He was there to help. In his own way.

When she went to bed that night he was waiting. She fell in to his arms and sobbed. She fell asleep counting the stars in his eyes.

The next day he came again. She sat on the edge of her mother’s bed holding her hand. Telling her it would all be okay soon. Her mother looked in to her daughter’s eyes and swore she saw all of the stars in the galaxy reflecting back. Death took her other hand and she was relieved.

They reached an understanding that day. She would not judge his work anymore. They were friends and she understood him better than anyone had before.

When she went back to school she changed her major. She became a nurse.

She found work in a hospice center. She helped those that were facing their time. She held their hands and told them stories about the world. And when her friend came for them she sat with them in the calm spaces and helped them count the stars as they fell asleep.