An escalator ride, a few more direction-asking-moments and we finally (miraculously) stood in the Arrival Lobby to wait for the moment when Amanda would be reunited with her best friend from China. Since leaving the expat life in China, the girls have gotten together numerous times in various states—Michigan, Texas, South Carolina and now Georgia. Their bond is one I know will never be broken, as they share many memories from all over the map. Amanda was so excited that I could not persuade her to go for a bathroom detour, and her eyes remained fixed on the hallway the new arrivals were streaming through. Knowing the first thing she would notice was Madi’s naturally platinum hair, she relentlessly searched the crowds for each blonde and scrutinized her face before moving on to the next stranger.

As we waited and I tried to ignore the traffic-induced back spasms, I struck up a conversation with the tattooed man beside me. I saw him give directions to a lost passenger and he was obviously very familiar with the airport layout so I asked if he could direct me to where to pick up Delta luggage. I knew that as soon as the girls were together, they wouldn’t be much help and I wanted to get a head start on getting the heck out of there. We began a conversation and he told me he was picking up two young men who had been exchange students at his home a few years back. Both boys were from Austria but he really tweaked my interest when he told me that his latest student was a girl from China. He said, “Jessica came over and was very quiet and timid but when she left she was a riot—I ruined her.” At this confession, he let out a boisterous laugh and I could tell he was a fun person who genuinely cared about each student. When the two boys saw him, they both high-fived him and the joy on their faces was proof that the affection was reciprocated. I realized as they walked away that I still need to work on my judging-a-book-by-the-cover-skills because this man at first was not someone I would usually approach because of his tattoos and overall appearance, but just a few minutes with him and I would bet that he is an amazing person with a collection of interesting tales that I would be honored to hear him spin.

Behind me, I suddenly heard a “Wo yao….blah blah blah” and turned to find a group of Chinese businessmen. Watching them rock back and forth on their heels, I was suddenly taken back to memories of China and the many airport trips we survived as we scuttled to and fro on home visits and rest trips to various places. Being in the midst of all the chaos of travelers, luggage and reunions, I desperately missed my expat life and the feeling of ‘doing something different’ it constantly brought us. Now back home in the states, I’ll admit that American life feels boring and monotonous, at least compared to the five years we spent overseas. While we were told that repatriation was very difficult, no one explained that years after returning home, these feelings would remain. The only light at the end of the tunnel is that once our Amanda is out of school, we are sure we will once again become travelers and I will be able to do more to feed my passion of working with underprivileged children.

The next person to catch my eye was a fascinating woman who was slowly weaving her way to the front of the waiting crowd to compete for the best look-out spot. She appeared to be approximately mid-forties and had ash-colored dreadlocks bundled with a hair tie and falling down her back. Uncaring about the out-dated clothes she wore, she was perfectly at ease in her Jesus sandals and long shorts, covered by a scalloped-collared simple sleeve-less shirt. She wore no jewelry or make-up, but her face was so interesting that that she didn’t need it. For a fleeting moment, I wished that I could borrow her confidence and walk about without make-up and leave behind all the effort it takes to do my hair and choose my clothes each day—but at this age, I know that gift will never come. If anything, I’ll try to do more to disguise the effects of age on my quickly fading youth, as that is just who I am.

Judging by the concentrated expression that Gypsy Woman wore, and the intent way she was searching for a familiar face to come through, I expected to soon see her throw herself into the arms of her lover—and I was curious to see what sort of man he would be. Would he have dreadlocks and be wearing sandals and a shirt with a big marijuana leaf over the chest? Perhaps carrying a tattered army duffel bag that contained all of his worldly possessions? Or would he be a shined-up businessman, stopping in to see his mistress who represents the opposite of all that he is and has in his other life? As we watched for our Madi, I also kept one eye on Gypsy Woman so that I wouldn’t miss the passionate reunion.

Before long we witnessed a soldier coming through. The USO representative greeted the young man with an arm around his shoulders and a comforting word as he guided him to some unknown area. At first I searched the crowd for the man’s family but soon realized he was probably on a service-related mission and was not flying in to his home. On his face I only saw loneliness and fatigue—and I said a quick silent prayer for our troops who are facing experiences that we can only imagine.

As the soldier and the story line I had begun to weave in my head disappeared, my attention was captured by a woman dragging along her little boy. She was obviously exhausted, but so was he and I thought she could have had a little more patience with the small chap. She tugged him along behind her with one hand while dragging their luggage with the other. In the hand that was not grasped tightly by his mother, the boy dangled a ragged teddy bear. When the mother looked down and sharply said, “Hurry up!” the boy looked up at her and softly said, “I love you, Mommy.” I could tell he was trying to break through and soften her up and my heart ached for him. I thought he must have been about four years old and that prompted a sudden memory of a little girl who was only four when I met her—and the way she looked at me as if she wanted my love but was not going to lose any pride trying to get it. She was the opposite of this boy, to his innocence and naivety she was strong and had battled tragedy, molding her into a tiny warrior with battle scars evident all over her body. Yes, I was thinking of Xiao Gou and before I knew it, I was trying to swallow past the lump in my throat and blink away the unexpected tears. I had a flashback of the times I would get Xiao Gou out of the bath and put her little rosebud pajamas on her. I would pull the shirt down and she always wanted her pants pulled high over the shirt—Chinese style that looked ridiculous to me but soon became part of a night-time ritual. Then she would get 30 more minutes of playtime with her box of blocks before we’d trudge up the stairs with her on my hip and make our way to the guest room for bedtime. My little Asian angel wasn’t interested in teddy bears to bring her comfort; instead she would go to sleep wrapping the threads from the blanket around her tiny fingers. I would lie beside her until she finally closed her eyes and I would wonder what sort of nightmares she faced in the orphanage during those long nights in the cold rooms.

Lately I have been trying to guard my heart against thoughts of Xiao Gou, because it hurts so much—much more than anyone could ever understand—but with the upturned face of a little boy trying to be affectionate to his mommy, something triggered those memories to come flooding back and I took a moment to put aside the guilt of leaving her, the fear of her current circumstances, and remember the times she filled our house with the spunk of her personality.

Finally just when I thought Amanda couldn’t take the suspense of waiting any longer, a familiar petite figure broke through the crowd and Amanda was like a wound-up jumping bean beside me. “There she is! There she is!” The girls hugged each other tightly while doing a combination of a laugh/scream that represented the joy of their friendship. My mother’s heart was soaring at the happiness my daughter was feeling to see her forever best friend and I readied myself for five days of chatting, shopping, midnight laughter and all those things that make best friends click.

I can’t end this chronicle without giving you the conclusion of Gypsy Woman and her mystery man, now can I? Right before we walked away, I looked over to see the exact moment that she found her loved one in the crowd. The happiness that spread across her face made me instantly scan the crowd to see who she was zoned in on. Surprisingly and much to my romantic side’s disappointment, it was not her prince after all—but instead a woman who could have been her sister, or maybe a friend. What did peak my curiosity was the fact that as Gypsy Woman rushed around the roped area, the emotion on the other woman’s face was not the same as on Gypsy Woman’s face. There wasn’t much excitement or joy—only a look of irritation and a fumble to half-heartedly return the embrace that was heaped upon her. I felt a surge of pity for Gypsy Woman that her friend was not as excited to see her as she might have expected and I looked away from the public rejection of affection.

As we hurried along, a light bulb moment hit and my fairy tale continued as I realized that it may have been her lover after all—coming in person to break up the long distance relationship they had shared for years. With this new twist in the story, my imagination revved back up again and we headed out the door into the heavy Georgia heat and a two-hour return trip home with two happy fifteen-year-olds chatting behind me as I day-dreamed of another life on another continent with a different culture to appease my constant purpose-seeking spirit.—Kay Bratt

Xiao Gou

Kay Bratt and Jamie Mason chat about China, abandonment and the children of Silent Tears.

Listen here at PsychJourney.com.

If you take the time to listen, please leave me a comment here and tell me what you think!

Thank you for your support– Kay

The intense tingling and slight burning on my skin I had been feeling all day was getting stronger. The unnatural feeling that the blood in my legs was slowly hardening to the consistency of concrete became hard to ignore. As I continued to finish the task of cooking steaks on the grill, and cutting up vegetables for a salad, I contemplated the sleepless night that was sure to come sneaking in like a silent thief. Stress is the biggest trigger for my condition and managing my pain [without medication as I am determined to do] depends on being able to manage the stress in my life, I know that from years of experience but sometimes life circumstances cannot be managed.

After dinner I accompanied Amanda to take little Jake for a potty and exercise break. Trying to wear out the tiny pup, we trekked up the steep hill behind our house as he hopped over the high grass and tried to keep up. His adorable puppy antics were a welcome respite to the impossibly frustrating day I had just endured and I gave thanks for my very normal and warm home life that I was able to return to.

Though she is only 15, the realization that my daughter has become my sounding board and confidante hit me hard as I tried to convey to her the frustration of the day’s events, and the conditions I witnessed as I interviewed the family members of my latest CASA case. She laughed as I told her about getting lost in the maze of hallways in the county jail; she knows that I am directionally handicapped. Going in unaccompanied or escorted surprised me and also caused me to forget the complicated instructions to find block B2 to where Convict Daddy would be waiting for me. After a small argument about my approval to visit, causing me to pull out my court order to gain entry, she instructed me to get in the elevator, go up to the 4th floor, go down a long hallway, take a left, get on another elevator, go down to the 2nd floor, down another long hallway and take a right. Find the magic set of double doors with a speaker and press the button to ask Oz for permission to enter. —or something like that.

Walking the long hallways with nothing but black camera domes in sight was eerie and I was easily unsettled. A few times I whipped around to see who was quickly coming up behind me, only to realize it was my own footsteps and the clicking of my heels echoing around me. The stress I was feeling caused my back to tighten painfully and all I could think was, “What the heck am I doing here? This is too scary for a small town girl like me.” I am sure the way I was lost and obviously intimidated by my surroundings was entertainment for the bored employees manning the camera panels and I struggled [and failed] to maintain a professional, confident expression on my face.

As I trudged along uncertainly, I was writing a breaking news headliner in my head and it went something like this, “CASA volunteer held hostage at county jail where riot has just begun—husband called in to plead with prisoners for her release. Kay Bratt is the author of Silent Tears and ironically there will probably be many tears shed for her today…” [I had already decided Kate Hudson would play my part and Richard Gere would be my devoted husband]

I finally found where I was supposed to be and only waited for a minute or two before Convict Daddy came walking up with his stylish orange jumpsuit and sat before me. I was expecting a terrifying lump of a man to come swaggering in but what I got was the complete opposite. Surprisingly, he appeared very neat and clean, with blond hair combed over to the side in a style that reminded me of Opie Taylor. But unlike our beloved Opie, Convict Daddy had many tattoos branding his arms—but I wasn’t afraid, especially knowing there was a wall of windows between us in case I said something he wouldn’t like.

He looked at me curiously and with even a small trace of fear in his eyes. So as I’ve seen the many dramatic prison wife actresses do in the movies, I pointed to the phone on the wall. He picked up his, and wishing I had some hand sanitizer and a paper towel with me, I reluctantly picked up mine and we began the interview that would end in one of us shedding tears.

Part Two

After struggling through the county jail maze of hallways and moving beyond my initial foreboding of interviewing a man in jail whose child was my latest CASA case, I got down to business. I explained who I was and reassured him that I did not work for the department of children’s services. It took some time for him to process but he finally understood that I was a volunteer appointed to advocate for the best interest of his child. I asked him when his release date was and what his thoughts were on where his daughter had been placed as well as future custody of her. I recorded all of his answers in my handy-dandy (Target) notebook and then he said, “Can I ask you a question?” Of course he could, but I might not be able to answer it but in this case I was easily able to produce a strong response.

“When I get out, how can I get my daughter back?”

My response, “That isn’t for me to say but I can tell you that the wishes of the court is for every child to be reunited with their parents, if possible.” I explained to him about the issues of having a safe home, steady income, clean drug tests, counseling, etc. We talked about possible outcomes to the case, which depended on details I was not privy to and decisions I would not be making, as I am only a CASA. I scolded him about domestic violence in front of his children and told him, “You have a choice—you can either choose to straighten up and be a part of your children’s lives, or you can continue down the road you are on and that makes the statement that you don’t care about them.”

He began to tell me about all of the antics his wife was up to—but I stopped him and told him that I didn’t need to hear it because it was all in the court documents. He agreed that the system had fairly taken his child because of their combined inappropriate behavior but he wanted me to know that his daughter had never been deprived. I corrected him with the statement of, “Yes, she has been deprived—of the right to a safe and healthy home and parents who strive to put her well being above their own selfish needs.” I was expecting him to get angry, slam the phone down and stalk away, but to my surprise he began to sniffle and then wipe tears from his face with his clenched fists, and I told him if he didn’t have any more questions I needed to go.

Then the big, bad prisoner said he had one more question and with a shaky, whimpering voice asked, “I am only allowed one visit a week. Since you came am I still gonna get to see my Mama on Sunday?” I tried to feel sorry for him but unfortunately felt nothing but disappointment that a set of parents has been blessed with a beautiful child and they don’t even realize the gift bestowed upon them.

I left there and headed for my next destination—the home where Convict Daddy’s baby girl was temporarily living.

Stay Tuned for Part Three to be posted later.

Lexi was supposed to be Amanda’s dog and to an extent she was—but she and I also bonded very close. When we decided to go to the local animal shelter, we were looking for a small dog to bring into our family. As we walked down the rows of cages housing those who had been abandoned, abused or neglected, my heart broke for all the pups and old-timers whining for attention. We asked to spent contact time with one dog but once we had her outside, we didn’t really feel a connection.

The shelter volunteer had led us by a glass window that looked into a small room with a couch in it. In front of that couch was a beautiful yellow lab, with deep brown eyes that were a window to the hurt she had been through. We asked about her and were told that ‘you don’t want her, she has a lot of problems’. The volunteer told us that she had been abused. That did it for us and we adamantly asked to see her. We were led into the room and upon seeing us, the dog peed a huge puddle in the floor and shaking from snout to tail, she leapt up on the couch and buried her head in the corner. It reminded me of those games we play with our babies where they believe if they can’t see us–we can’t see them.

The dog was terrified but we were determined to see how she would react outside of the building. We asked for contact time and as the volunteer led her down past all the barking and howling dogs, she did the ‘army crawl’ as close to the floor as she could with her tail between her legs.

To make a long story short, we took Lexi home that day. It took us weeks to get her to accept a leash (we think she had been beaten with one because producing it prompted terror-stricken antics). Our first 20 or so times walking around the neighborhood was a challenge in patience, as Lexi would not lift her head or eyes and walked hunched over with her tail between her legs. But we didn’t give up trying to boost her confidence and trust.

After we smothered her with love for a few months, Lexi became the best dog I have ever known. She did not bark, chew on anything that wasn’t hers, climb on the furniture or have bathroom issues—she was the most loving creature I had ever met. She would come over to me and lay her snout on my leg and just look up at me like I was the most wonderful person on earth. (which believe me, I am a long way from..)

For two years I obsessed about Lexi and how much ‘outside’ time she was getting as well as personal family time. I and the rest of the family were gone 12 hours a day, but I spent many, many lunch hours driving down the interstate at breakneck speeds to just walk her for 10 minutes and rush back to work. On days I couldn’t get away, I’d call a neighbor and knowing it was a huge imposition, would ask her to let Lexi out. (however, it was tricky for her because Lexi would only go out if she ‘knew’ for sure she could immediately come back in and we had to use pychology on her) Though her care while we were away was a challenge, my concern was for her. She didn’t like to be left outside, was afraid of storms and was just happier in the house but definitely needed a bathroom break at least once during the work day.

Just before we moved to Georgia, we decided that we were doing an injustice by not allowing Lexi to be with a family who were home more and were also able to give her the exercise a labrador needs. So we began a search. We were put in contact with a few people, who I declined, but finally were connected with a man who had been searching for a lab to replace one he had loved years before and lost. We asked him to come meet Lexi and us. It was a good connection and we decided to let her go for a visit. One of the perks for her was the mom of the house was home earlier than I was each day, and it was a 2-child household meaning playtime for Lexi, AND….the dad wanted a dog he could take when he went exploring, hunting, fishing, etc. It sounded like a dream for Lexi.

She went for that visit and he called to ask if they could just keep her, that she was the perfect dog I had described. After hard discussions, we agreed. However, that night both my daughter and I were completely inconsolable. We cried. And cried. And cried some more.

But we did it for her. To give her a life where she wasn’t sitting in a big, empty house everyday waiting on her family to come home.

I miss her. I have (a million times) even considered calling her new family and begging, pleading, bribing for them to give her back. But I cannot bring myself to do that to Lexi. I am still living a frantic-paced life with not a lot of time left over. I am not home many hours each day. How would I feel taking her from a life of constant family interaction to a life of only-sometimes-when-we-can-fit-it-in interaction?

I was at a festival last weekend and an animal shelter had a booth open taking donations. They had with them a gorgeous brown-eyed dog named Bruce. He was standing there patiently while a stranger’s 2-year-old hugged him, pulled his ears and slobbered all over him. I was mesmerized. I wanted to bring him home—but I knew better and hoped a much better equipped family would come along. Unfortunately, the volunteer said that Bruce had been in their shelter for almost 5 years! I couldn’t imagine why, he seemed so docile and sweet.

So anyway, there really is no point to this post other than to share a tiny piece of my life with you and to tell you that sometimes we do things that break our hearts–for the love of another.

PS. If you are a family who have the time and space available to take on an animal, please consider a shelter dog. I promise you, I have had many dogs in my life but never one like Lexi, who may have not been adopted if we had not come along.

My daughter, Amanda, returned from her Spring Break trip on Tuesday. While I was buried under a mound of work I couldn’t get away from, she enjoyed several days on Bald Head Island with my twin sister. Ben made the trip to SC to pick Amanda up and when she came through that door, I was so happy to have her safely in my sights again. At almost 15, she is quite the beauty and I am always fearful of her safety in this now upside-down world.

The next morning I left her snuggled in her bed, with Gypsy huddled against her still in a happy haze that her girl had returned. (you should have heard her purring when Amanda picked her up after her seemingly never-ending absence!) However, a few hours later I received a call from my baby girl and despite the frustration in her voice, her words had me laughing out of my seat. It seems the story she heard from her dad about the gigantic fish he caught while she was gone somehow boosted her out of dream world and down to the dock to see for herself if there really is big fish in our little pond. Of course, before venturing out to the secluded pond in our yard, she first had to get herself ready and don her new skirt that I paid too much money for— and she was supposed to pay back out of her allowance but didn’t. (we all know how that goes..)

I’m sure feeling like a true fisherman after her recent daddy/daughter lessons, Amanda grabbed the pole and threw it back in order to give it a good toss to the pond. But as she attempted to throw it forward, it was stuck. She pulled harder and immediately felt a draft swirl up around her knees and a sharp pinch to her cute little butt. Whoops, she caught the hook on her own backside! Infuriated, she set the pole down and attempted to dislodge the sharp hook, but it was not to be so easy. She was finally able to remove it from her skin but it was stubbornly stuck in the delicate material of her new skirt.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful wiggling, she contemplated just taking her skirt off to get a better grip on the hook versus the material. Living out in the country like we do, I probably would have had that thought, too, but just as the idea ran through her mind it quickly ran back out again when she looked up to see what appeared to be a parade of senior citizens driving tractors down our country road. [Why is there a parade of tractors coming down our road? I have no idea but I hope it has nothing to do with spreading more chicken poop—I’ve had about as much of that stench as I can stand!]

Admitting defeat, she then juggled the fishing pole with one hand and the hook in her skirt with the other, and being the graceful gazelle she is, *smile* she made her way up the steep hill to our house, tripping all the way over the extra fishing line dangling around her feet. Right outside the door, she dropped her skirt to puddle around her feet, laid the fishing pole next to it and gave up her pursuit of The Big One.

So Amanda obviously can’t yet tell a story of the One That Got Away but she can sure tell about The One That Didn’t Get Away—herself.

She caught a big one, alright!

Disclaimer: No fish were actually hurt during the production of this drama, only one flimsy tortured skirt and a previously lucky shiny metal hook that had to be cut away from said material, and the shattered pride of one indignant kid.

Only 16 more days until the launch of Silent Tears, Encore edition! Pre-order yours now at Amazon!

SCROLL TO BOTTOM TO SEE WINNERS OF THE GIVEAWAY!

Do you know what’s interesting? The success of my story and the change in my life still has not hit me.
Yes, the first edition has sold thousands. [Which was thousands more than the maybe 5 books I thought would be bought] Yes, I have spoken at churches, book clubs and other events and been told how moving my story is. Yes, my new ‘team’ has booked me for radio interviews and even one upcoming television spot. Yes, googling my name will bring up tons of hits where people are talking about the book. When will I feel that I’ve been a success? Ever?

I doubt it.

On the outside I come across as a professional, put-together woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. But on the inside I am still that same middle-class American mom carrying around all the insecurities I’ve collected through my challenging childhood and traumatizing young adulthood. Let me tell you something–just because through hard work and perseverance (and faith) you have clawed your way up to a better place, that does not take away all of the battle scars you have gathered through the years and continue to gather as you make your way through this drama/comedy/tragedy they call life. I am always afraid that people will see through the confident, joking woman standing in front of them and spot the shaking, insecure girl I once was. I wish that girl would disappear forever and just let me be the new me!

Do you know that despite the urgings of my husband, Ben, I have yet to celebrate any of the milestones I have met with my China journey and subsequent book? Not the operations we were able to fund, not the adoptions we witnessed, not the award from the Chinese city, not the release of the first edition of my book, not the surprising sales and not the contract I signed with my new publisher. Why? I am not sure but I have some ideas.

-The realities of the children I wrote about are really not something to celebrate. (Though many of them have now gone on to live much happier lives, which you’ll get to see updates in the Encore edition)

-My history of always striving to overcome life’s many hurdles have jaded me to be suspicious of anything great in my life, for fear of it being taken away.

-I never want anyone to think that I am cashing in on my experiences, or taking advantage of the children by using their names to further myself.

-I don’t feel like God is done with me yet, that would be like celebrating an A on my math quiz a week before the final term test!

So what do I really hope to accomplish with this book?

-First and foremost it was to fulfill a promise to be the voice of those who cannot speak for themselves. To tell their stories. Because for me, to keep it silent would be to contribute to the neglect and/or abuse I witnessed.

-to raise awareness of the travesties of children in institutional care

-to encourage readers to do something to make a difference. Support an organization, adopt, or sponsor an orphan for foster care.

To be honest, I really don’t feel like my time in China or my book has been enough. Every day and plaguing my dreams I wonder what else I can do, what is next on my horizon. I am continually driven to do more (while juggling life) and when I reach that place of ‘enough’….then–and only then, will I celebrate.

*Winners of the Friday, March 19 Giveaway—please contact me using the ‘Contact’ tab at the top to give me your mailing address. I will send your Advanced Readers Copy of the Encore edition of Silent Tears! Congrats!

Some of you did not link to a blog, etc..and no last name so I used info from your comment:

Winner #1 is Lisa Stott
Winner #2 is Melanie Feick
Winner #3 is Christie from Cherry Blossom Life
Winner #4 is Joan, who volunteered in China

For those of you who have a Kindle, just a reminder that you can preorder Silent Tears right now. Just click here!

….have I mentioned that I LOVE my Amazon Kindle? I’m not trying to be a commercial or anything, I just really like it, and I’m surprised about that because I am such a ‘real book’ lover. But there are times that I’d rather pick up my Kindle.

Here are a few reasons I LOVE my Kindle:

1. There are lots of FREE books on Kindle. Just about every week I download a free book or maybe one that cost 1 cent. Shh…don’t tell Amazon but most of my Kindle books are free ones..(Okay…now we ALL know I am a cheapskate)

2. Having the leather-bound Kindle in my purse is so convenient when I am sitting somewhere waiting; school pick-up line, doctor’s office, lunch break…(it also makes me look very smart because most people have no idea what sort of high tech gadget I am perusing, and they really respect the looks of it! And anything I can do to help squash the ‘blonde’ stereotype, I am all for..)

2. You can buy a book with one click. You can actually order it from your Kindle or do I like do and go to Amazon and search Kindle best sellers. One click and then turn the wireless switch on your Kindle and there it comes, instantly! When I was on vacation last year, it was so convenient to sit on the porch of the beach house and buy two new books without ever leaving the porch. (Seriously..last year in one week, I read about 6 books on my Kindle, from the front porch of a tiny house on the SC coast. It was awesome.)

3. You can access newspapers, magazines and blogs from your Kindle! Whoa..you can follow my blog on Kindle! Cool..

4. I have some issues with muscles, etc..and sometimes it’s nice to only have to lay my Kindle against a pillow and turn pages with one flick of a finger. So…yes…that means I’m lazy.

So–okay…my commercial is over but I really, really like my Kindle. A Lot.