childhood cancer

There was fear, when they told her it was cancer. But also a young boldness that everything would be ok.

Lee and her two sisters sat still on the couch, sandwiched between their parents, not knowing what to say or how to react.

Then May started crying.

Mom got up to comfort May, to tell her that it was good that they caught it early, and the doctors were already working on what to do. Mom and Dad were getting second opinions, things might be OK.

Horizontal black bangs, and a shrimpy size of the second shortest in the class, the things Lee cared about when she was ten were simple. It was September, and she had just begun fifth grade. She loved playing with her dog, play dates with friends, and drawing with chalk on the front driveway.

She had an easy, sheltered life.

So when the bombshell of cancer invaded her small world, she didn’t know how to take it.

She felt like she should be more sad. Why didn’t she cry when she heard the news like May?

This was DAD after all. Mom said he was too young to have cancer. Lee didn’t really understand what that meant. She didn’t really understand cancer. No one was telling her how to feel, or what to do about it.

It seemed like Dad was becoming a superhero. He took time off of work and picked Lee and her sisters up from school more often now. He worked on things around the house on the weekends and went running in the mornings and biking in the afternoon. During the day, he didn’t stop moving. He built a new vegetable box for Grandma in the backyard and had Lee and May carry bags of dirt in with him to dump.

He didn’t seem scared.

In class one day, a girl said a joke.

What did one unemployed cancer say to the other?
…Let’s get Jobs!

Lee didn’t get it.

My dad has cancer!

She said to everyone.

The teacher pulled her aside.

Prostate cancer.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t something that Lee or her sisters had to worry about getting, according to Mom.

Dad and I were the youngest couple at the support group yesterday

Mom said over cereal the next morning.

She said it with a laugh, as if she was retelling the plot of Modern Family last night.

It was odd to hear Mom laugh about Dad’s cancer. But slightly comforting too, to see that it didn’t just have to be a sad thing.

 

The day Dad had his operation, Lee and her sisters got to stay home from school. His surgery was early in the morning, and the girls all got up with sleepy eyes and slippered toes to hug him and wish him luck. He’d be done by noon.

Dad came home and went straight to bed, drugged and drowsy. He was home and he was OK.

A little while later, Dad got the results of his tumor. The doctors supposedly got all the cancer out, and he wouldn’t have to do chemo. He would,

…Keep whatever little hair he has left!

Mom joked.

 

That was good news.

 

 

x

LAUP stories_004 | inside the house of a stranger i know

this summer, i participated in a six-week mission trip called the los angeles urban project, or LAUP.

LAUP is partnered with intervarsity christian fellowship, and sends college students and recent grads all around los angeles to live with and work with the urban poor.

my team was placed in west long beach.

we worked with fountain of life covenant church’s family center, tutoring k-12 kids.

this is the story of them.

monday, 31 july 2017

after four weeks of tutoring, playing and growing friendships with our kiddos, it was time to say goodbye.

today was our last day on site. we were to clean the family center, and make house visits to our students and drop off photos from our vbs week.

for most of the house visits, we went in groups of three or more; always traveling with our director, who could translate and converse choppy spanish with our non-english speaking families.

i thought i would spend most of my day cleaning. but i ended up going to every house, and visiting some 10 families.

each household gave us water or snack and sat down to talk, even if there was a language barrier.

the intimacy of entering into someone’s house for the first time was huge, and it was too big for me to fully appreciate what was going on in the moment.

most of the time, i let the people around me talk. i kind of just sat and nodded, smiled and laughed, fit into the group that i was with.

there was something about filling in gaps of the stories of the kids i had just barely gotten to know over the four weeks that caught me off guard.

it wasn’t quite gratitude, gratefulness, appreciation…

it was judgement.

i found that i was judging most of the houses and the families inside.

i know it’s not fair, but i did it anyways, instinctually.
my mind crept there, almost naturally,
my heart hard to receive the things these people were letting me into.

the first house we entered was quite a scene. it belonged to a little boy i had been working with all summer, david.

on a small patchy front lawn sat a shopping cart and a stroller, both filled with stuff. inside, the musky living room was taken over by a baby in a crib, napping while spongebob played on the tv above him. the shelves were crammed with toys and random junky trinkets. david invited us in with hugs, and then reclined on the couch to stare at videos on a tablet. his little sister sprawled on the ground, playing with tiny toys and scribbling into a cartoon coloring book.

we all took a seat on the couch as abuela entered the room. she stood in the doorway and began to apologize to us in broken english.

she was sorry that david didn’t come to tutoring more often, that he skipped the last day, that she had too much on her plate to always remember him.

outwardly, i accepted her apologies.

inwardly, i started blaming.

this is why he wasn’t learning… he watches tv all day, he stares at a screen, his family can’t read to him, they don’t care about tutoring.

this summer with david was not easy. he had been held back in first grade twice already, mainly due to his difficulties with reading.

my posture changes slightly as abuela shares about her life.

it’s not easy.

she takes care of up to 10 grandkids at a time, in her tiny house, which, if i’ve learned anything from managing just 7 third graders, is not easy.

she does this all on her own, and works, too; a caretaker for the elderly, which, is not easy.

my thoughts are put on pause, judgements halted.

my head understands how difficult her life is, but it doesn’t know how to sympathize.

i know that i am wrong in my judgements.
of course i am.

but it took a while for it to really sink in.

for me to find exactly what judgements i was placing where.

i float through the rest of the day listening to these stories, never really adjusting or feeling comfortable in anyone’s house.

the next day i told all this to kim.

on a walk along the dry reservoir bed of the la river bike path, i told her about how i felt entering into these houses and stepping deeper into the lives of abuela, our students, and people i had barely interacted with over the weeks.

and it was rather revealing and freeing to voice those harbored thoughts.

my heart was hard to receive, but after releasing my thoughts, a little bit of the stone covering chipped away.

i needed to voice everything, my preconceived notions on immigrants, on uneducated kids and people, on what a house should look like, on kids whose parents are not present. my judgements on the things i do not see, because that is how i begin to break apathy.

.

.

.

this is the fourth piece in a series of LAUP stories. click here to find more.

x

LAUP stories_002 | wor_ship

this summer, i participated in a six-week mission trip called the los angeles urban project, or LAUP.

LAUP is partnered with intervarsity christian fellowship, and sends college students and recent grads all around los angeles to live with and work with the urban poor.

my team was placed in west long beach.

we worked with fountain of life covenant church’s family center, tutoring k-12 kids.

this is the story of when i led worship on a container ship.

before we begin, dear reader, i’m afraid you may feel like you’ve skipped a chapter in a book, and some things may miss your darling brain. so, this bitty intro here provides some context to keep you informed. if you think you know enough, then by all means, skip this chapter and read ahead. but, for everyone else, please stay and read.

my team this summer consisted of five lovely souls beside my own: jeff, emaly, michael, and kim, our ASC, or team leader. we stayed at the house of a biracial white/indian couple, who we called mama fay and papa chim. papa chim is a retired chaplain at the port of long beach, and had been serving for over twenty years, building relationships with captains and seamen, even occasionally housing a few.

papa chim invited us to go to the ports with him to sing worship songs to the crew before they set off to japan. we had to get cleared by the ports a few days in advance, and had to leave the family center early that day.

well then. now that you are filled in, reader, so begins the story of my favorite day of LAUP.

tuesday, 18 july 2017
PORT OF LONG BEACH – 6PM

it takes 10 days to get from long beach to japan, by ship.

24 hours to unload,

then 10 more days to get back.

21 days of work

and 4 days off.

they choose to spend one of days those with us.

it felt like we got out of school early. we cut tutoring short so we could get to the ports by 6pm.

we were laughing and bouncing and yelling in the car, just a bunch of kids on their way to a shipyard after school.

we meet up with papa chim and sam, his chaplain friend, at the port of long beach. they came with a stack of pizzas, we came with a guitar and djembe, ready to worship.

we were taken to the captain’s quarters, towards the top of the ship. ported, it looked down on the shipping yard, as giant cranes lifted crates from floor to ship.
we climb all over the couches, children in dad’s office, gaping at the giant claw-machines grabbing for prizes.

we fight for window space,

my turn!

i shove emaly out of the way. with my face pressed into the thick bolted glass window, i can kind of make out the neighborhood of my beachside apartment.
i look down at the faded blue and red crates, stacked like a building.
this is something i didn’t think i would see when i signed up to tutor third graders for a summer.

the captain takes us to the bridge, the main steering room.

we take the elevator up, which made me nervous only because mama fay told us a story about a little boy who died in a ship’s elevator once;
his body got caught between the inner and outer door, and when it shut, the elevator pulled down half of him with it.

we pile in.

it feels like a coffin.

i am matchboxed in between six other bodies.

this casket of an elevator makes my back cold and wet with confinement sweat.

the elevator stops and i get out last, making sure to jump out with both feet so i don’t get caught in between anything.

on deck, we touch and take pictures of just about everything. the bridge is panoramic. it overlooks the entire port and everything going on below.

we make our way into a small common room.

sam and papa chim introduce us as missionaries. and before we start singing, sam says a few words

when they were our children, they were bad.
but when they become God’s children, they become better, and good.

worship was great.
i’ve never lead worship before.

i made mistakes, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was fun, and a privilege to lead worship on a ship, for a group of men about to go out on a 10 day journey.

our presence to these seamen was very important, as papa chim explained a few nights earlier.
they go out to sea and have a grueling schedule, one that allows for very little downtime. they often leave behind family for months at a time and completely change crews after a full shipment.

it’s a lonely job, especially for the captain, his authority ostracizing him from his crew most of the time.

the thing with LAUP is that we are put into an environment we’re not all entirely used to; one that is meant to show us what underprivelage looks like,
living in lower class neighborhoods, living on a stipend of $175 a week, living in the confines of a 1 mile radius from our site.

and it’s not to be a tourist at a zoo; we are there to integrate with, build relationships with, and sympathize with the people of our community; being a christian is all about community living, and you can only do that if you live in community with all of God’s people, from all parts of privilege.

so when we got this special treatment, it was displacing, uncomfortable,

and made slightly more uncomfortable when i learned that the pizzas papa chim and sam brought had disappeared along with a majority of the crew, and we were set to eat a dinner with the captain only. it was prepared by and served by ansari, a crew member who stayed extra long and took extra pictures with us after worship.

after dinner, the captain takes us to explore the engine. we each get a pair of earplugs because it’s so loud.

and for the rest of the time we were on the ship, i let myself just be there, and stay innocent to what i know is a very hard life.

we reach the very bottom and take the elevator up; too many stairs to climb.

i came back outside with the same amount of privilege i came in with.
stipend living does not take away our college educations, our living in a first world country, our ability to give up six weeks of our summers, to not have a job
and to live with the people that must.

the only difference is that now, i know what it looks like. and as simple as it is, that’s all i needed.

.

.

.

this is the second piece in a series of LAUP stories. click here to find more.

x

LAUP stories_001 | LAUP_date

The following two excerpts are email updates I sent out to a small group of people when I was at LAUP, or, the Los Angeles Urban Project. 

This summer, I participated in a six-week mission trip called the Los Angeles Urban Project, or LAUP.

LAUP is partnered with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, and sends college students and recent grads all around los angeles to live with and work with the urban poor.

My team was placed in West Long Beach.

We worked with Fountain of Life Covenant Church’s family center, tutoring k-12 kids.

14 July 2017 – three week mark –

Contrary to my own belief, these first three weeks were actually super difficult. I was pretty homesick and overwhelmed the first week, pretty tired and overwhelmed the second week, and pretty challenged and overwhelmed the third week.

I came in with a posture I often have with new challenges, thinking,

It’s easy, I got this!

But was immediately bucked from my high horse to the welcoming and humble, humble ground.

Orientation week kicked me in the butt. Four days full of talks, and discussions, and bible studies, and social justice, and money, and living incarnationally and convictions, convictions, CONVICTIONS out the wazooooOOOooo!

Plus, commuting up from West Long Beach to Lincoln Heights for the week, and eating mainly pasta and rice gives you the farts, the fats, and the carbo-loaded energy to run around,
not sit in an old, unpadded chair inside a hot, windowless, sanctuary for eight hours…
#imnotbitter #oweek

Week two was our first week on site, and getting used to working full days from 9 – 6, creating full curriculums and filling the day for these kiddos nearly pushed me into burnout.

Reflection was needed. And reflection was had.
And the hard things started coming up.

I think I realized that I initially signed up for LAUP for reasons besides what the program actually is all about.

LAUP is about community living, community involvement, and living a life as selfless as Jesus.

And I signed up because I thought it would be fun.

Of course I wanted to grow closer to God, I wanted to learn about His heart for the poor, the marginalized,
but I really just wanted to do it for me, more than anything. Because my friends and mentors said it would be a great thing to do, because I was a little aimless about what I wanted to do after college, because I wanted God to put something on my heart.

Now, those don’t seem like terribly sinful reasons, but I realized that I never prayed about it, or asked God if this was where he wanted me to be for the summer, and that disappointed me.

That said, week three has brought a bit of redemption for this realization!
As I have gotten to know these kids, my heart has begun to hurt for them, and I can feel God begin to show me where He’d like me to go.

Some of you may know that starting a charter school (in the way distant future) has been something that me and some friends have been toying with this last year or so. At the very least, school reform is something on my mind
I think that while working with the Family Center, my mind has begun to picture that future more and more.

The kids are here for a reason. They were left behind, they fell through the cracks,
they became marginalized.

I’m working with kids who are in the first grade for the third time because they can’t read, kids who look like they’re about to cry when I bring out division, kids who were just left behind because they learn differently.

And that is breaking my heart.

It’s only been three weeks,
and ideas have not been fully processed,
but these things that God is bringing up, as difficult as some of them are to [deal with],
have been very cool to deal with.

…………………..

6 August, 2017 – Post LAUP – 

So… LAUP ended.

And now, I’ve got some plans.

If you’ll remember, when I last wrote, I was barely realizing my understanding of where God might like to send me post-grad and post-laup.

What seems to have transpired from my six weeks is a desire to work with marginalized kids.

I’m going to take the CBEST (California teacher test), and apply to be a substitute teacher (you only need a BA to do it!) to see if a classroom environment is the one for me. That said, as of right now I am still exploring different avenues of how I can best use my skills of media and film and storytelling to cater to underprivileged youth in and around Long Beach and LA, because teaching isn’t necessarily the only path.

I’m really excited to see where this takes me, and super grateful that I have found something that both breaks my heart and fills me with joy, allowing me to instill some sort of change in the community I am in.

LAUP was transformative in so many ways, and I am so happy it was my first post-grad adventure. It is going to change the way I enter the working world, and how I try to impact it.

x

thoughts from inside the mosh | april 24, a chance the rapper concert

yeah i’ve been to a few concerts. i’ve seen maroon 5 twice, but our seats were way in the back…

mosh pit? no, i’ve never been in the mosh pit before.

why?

small girls with big phones.
big dudes with small phones.

people furiously text friends blurry pictures of the stage.
snapchat, facebook, instagram messaging every single person
they know
to show off that the are standing and sweating in a forest of people
they don’t know.

peer pressure to smoke the blunt, it passes around me and my small squad.

the hesitant girl who took a drag immediately looks concerned.
what has she just done???
she brings her hands up to her throat.
it hurt and she feels bad now.

it moves further on,
and the air fills with ever expanding clouds of smoke
giving us our very own second-hand high.

during the openers it gets super aggressive.
people are trying to get up to the front by way of jumping.

‘we gotta wait for the mosh then we gotta push thru!’ 
-some guy behind me
 
locked knees, i’m not at ease.
the jumping subsides as the spaces are filled
and the crowd backs up, realizing that they are smashing feet
and getting feet smashed.

the openers finish
random popular music plays on an empty stage
and my discomfort at standing among hundreds of sweaty, overalled, twenty-somethings steadily rises.

i am increasingly more aware of my body
and what it’s touching.

behind me, the in’s and out’s of a guy breathing rocks me like a boat, only i don’t get seasick, just claustrophobic.

i don’t know what to do with my hands.
down,
and i end up touching people’s butts
up,
and i end up hitting people in the head,
because my arms are weak and can’t stay up without support for that long.

i am small

this mosh pit thing is not for me
and just when i think i will reach my breaking point,
an hour with my closest companions,

chance graces the stage.

oooOOOOOoooorrRROOOOOOooooOOoo!

his voice rings, playing with us as he hides in the dark of the stage.

i jump,
i knock into people,
i yell in their ears,
and hit them in the head with my weak arms.

i enjoyed the hell out of that concert.

 

######physicaltouchisnotmyfirstlovelanguage

underneath the colosseum pier | the living water

8 april 2017
jesus, i hope i can play with you tomorrow

9 april 2017
easy acoustic guitar, soft singsongy voices, and citrus lime cake.

we sit quietly in the car afterwards, speechless really. golden hour approaches, the 6pm sun is setting. we are headed to the beach.
when we park the car, the street is sunday busy, so not really busy at all.

we are barefoot before we hit the sand, flip flops in hand.
stephen starts us off as we run to the water, sand slowing our speed, but not our energy.

we jump and splash and kick in the puddles. it’s cold but it feels good

activating

a spring of life, the first taste of summer.

it wakes up the children in us.

we run to the pier,
against the wind, our jackets and towels picking up air like kites and capes.

underneath the pier, it feels endless.
as big as a colosseum, with the sun slowly lowering over white foamy waves, falling over, folding over, each column they run into.
standing ankle deep in clear water, feet playing with the loose sand, and little sand crabs, and tiny baby sand clams,
gently brushing our soles.

we stand there for a while, watching the liquid land in front of us wave in and out
the unblocked sun steadily burning our skin, eyes, the tips of our noses – unable to look away – thinking about how we got to this day.

we walk back, the edges of our shorts soggy from the last wave
smiling, overwhelmed at what we were doing.

stephen picks a washed up stick and runs in a spiral
circling it along the sand as justin, jordan and i chase him
completely careless and stupid happy
children playing tag before supper
this is a life that’s full of color

the wind picks up as we take our time back to the car
the sand behind us, a thin grey haze itching our ankles.

justin grabs a handful and lets the breeze push it from his hand
it follows the wind

we are kid_s
this is wonder_ful

x

the blue and the pink haired fairies | storytime

hello again. happy monday!

step i: bleach

there were these two friends who thought they knew everything there was to know about hair.

it’ll be easy

the one with dark-hair said.

now, these friends were pretty different, but pretty similar, too. one had dark brown hair and the other had this thick mix of browns, and what she liked to think of as gold, but was really just light brown.

one day, they decided they were tired of their old hair colors. and they did something about it.

they got the supplies they thought they needed, and quickly found out that they were wrong.
they needed so much more.

fat bottles of powders and thick creams, and small bottles of nose-hair-singeing liquids, and mixing sticks and bowls, to mix with the mixing sticks the powders and creams and nose-hair-singeing liquids, to slap and spread out onto their unsuspecting heads.

what was so unsuspecting was how cold it would be.
and how itchy it would get.
and the burning. oh, the burning.
but the worst of all was how long it all took.
transforming hair from one color to another takes a very long time, and so patience was something these two friends learnt.

it took a week to get their brown heads blond.

cycles of bleach, day after day, the substances slowly sucking the natural oils from their scalps in between deep conditions, or feeble attempts at keeping the hair on their heads from drying out.

but they got it done, step one, and then got to move on to the next.

step ii: color

tiring of the process and lack of results, it seemed like nothing could excite them for what they set out for.

but then, the day finally came when they could add color.

pink… i want pink… one tube should be enough, right?

skeptical, but certain she could make it work, the previously dark-haired friend agreed.

when they got back home, they worked in the dark, empty kitchen all night, the previously dark-haired friend painting each strand of hair on the previously gold-haired friend’s head as best she could with the very little dye she had, as the previously gold-haired friend sat, watching movie after movie, and turning her head when necessary.

it seemed an eternity later, but at long last the previously dark-haired friend finished. the tube was squeezed dry, and every bit of coloring smattered onto the previously gold-haired friend’s small head.

then they left it in for thirty minutes, balled up in a hair bag, and let the hot pink to settle deeply into each piece of bleached out hair.

then

head in the sink
faucet pouring water from forehead to the tip of the hair
towel dried, then combed.
the previously-gold haired friend was now
pink!

it worked!

the pink-haired friend exclaimed. it was so exciting they whooped and whooped at the fact that they didn’t do it all for nothing.

do you like it?

the previously dark-haired friend asked.

i do! i feel… different somehow, too…

different? why, just because your hair is a different color?

no! i feel different… maybe it is just because my hair is pink… but maybe not… anyways… it’s your turn now!

the previously dark-haired friend pulled out a box with an obviously photoshopped model on the front.

well i want silver… and the picture on the box looks silver… but it’s called ‘smokey blue.’ should we do it?

looks good to me. let’s do it!

thick rip of cardboard.
wrinkle spread of the instructions on the table.
poke puncture of the shiny tube of coloring.
crap squirts of the gel into the mixing bottle.

shake shake
squeeze squeeze
spread spread
onto the one with the previously dark-haired head

this one took only twenty minutes to put in. another thirty-five to leave the dye on the hair for the color to attach to the hair, until it’s washed off.

a spot rinse, then full on shower.

when she got out, the mirror was too foggy for her to see what she actually looked like.
so she opened the door to air out the bathroom, and get dressed. when she went back in, an involuntary scream of shock .

it’s blue!

the dark-haired friend, who now had blue-hair, stared at it in the condensated mirror, water dripping slowly down the reflective surface.

she ran back into the kitchen, to show her pink-haired friend.

IT’S BLUE!

yeah it is!

and i feel different too… somehow… is it just because it’s a different color?

i don’t know… it didn’t feel different after bleaching.

hmm. that’s right.. well i’m sure we’ll find out in the morning. but it’s late. let’s go to sleep.

yes. sleep. yes.

the blue-haired friend and the pink-haired friend and their slightly damp heads laid on pillows and cozied up under many warm covers and slept a deep dreamless sleep.

step iii: magic powers

the pink-haired friend woke up first, in a bundle of blankets that took her a long time to free herself from.

but once she got free, she was astounded.

the pink-haired friend looked down from the top of a mountain of blankets. she did a quick spin, and looked up at her room… everything was huge.
the bed was the size of a building.
the blankets were spread across the floor the span of a football field.
and her blue-haired friend was just as small among it all.

the pink-haired friend ran down the blanket mountain – or thought she did. as she descended, it felt like she was floating. she looked down and saw that in fact she was! her feet did not even touch the soft ground.

oh my!

she exclaimed, and sped down to her friend, still asleep in the comfy mass.

she shook the blue-haired friend awake.
no budge.
she shook her again.
no budge.

so she summoned up all the energy inside her, and in one quick swoop jumped up thirty tiny fairy-feet in the air, and came back down, hand out and ready to slap her sleepy friend on the face.

but as her hand swiped across the blue-haired friend’s face, it went right through – like a ghost.

the blue haired friend woke up.

what are you doing.

i’m trying to wake you up! look! we’re small!

the blue-haired friend looked around, quite in shock.

how did this happen?

i don’t know.

she stood up, and touched her face.

did you just slap me?

no. well, yes. i mean, i tried to. my hand went right through you face. look.

the pink haired friend went to poke the blue-haired friend again, and as she did, her finger quite unmistakably met cheek.

hey!

what? that didn’t happen before!

and before the blue-haired friend knew it, the pink-haired friend was winding up to slap her across the face again, and as she did, her hand went right through the blue-haired friend’s face.

they were too in shock to scream.

are we fairies?

the pink-haired friend asked.

i think we are.

the blue-haired friend replied.

and so, the two of them walked and floated down blanket mountain, the start of a new life as small fairies.

step iv: montage of powers

the friends used their powers for fun. the pink-haired friend floating around, and the blue-haired friend walking through walls and things.

it was pretty cool.

and they went on many adventures that day.

the pink-haired friend flew up to the counter to retrieve a giant cookie, and the two of them devoured it, stuffing their tummies full of the sweet treat.

the blue-haired friend passed through walls and found interesting things within them. pennies, buttons, small crumbs and dried up flowers.

it was all very magical.

as the sun began to set, and the friends began to tire, they decided to do one last thing before falling asleep on blanket mountain.

let’s fill up the sink and go swimming! 

the pink-haired friend said.

yes yes yes! 

the blue-haired friend agreed.

so they stopped up the sink and filled it with water, making sure to add a bit of hot water so the temperature would be just perfect.

as the sink finished filling up, they jumped in, and quite suddenly, things got crowded.

the two friends began to grow at an unsafe pace.

not unlike a ‘grow your own dinosaur’ the friends got big, and ended up on the bathroom floor, very much normal sized.

they looked at each other.

your hair’s not pink anymore!

your hair’s not blue anymore!

they looked at each other again.

upset that the color did not stay for very long, but grateful for the adventures they had that day as fairies.

maybe they would do it again sometime.

but for now, their hair needed to rest.

they went to sleep in the bundle of blankets, and dreamt many dreams about magical things

 

the end.

 

x