Friday, February 15, 2019

For Ali's baby boy

May you be safe and protected from all harm and danger.
May you be happy, just as you are.
May you be healthy. May your body and your mind be well.
May you live with ease and comfort. May you be surrounded by love and compassion.
May you be free from your suffering.

Love always,


Wednesday, February 13, 2019

I drove (!) to my friend's house today to drop off the baby quilt. She didn't want to see me, too many feelings on the eve of meeting her son on Friday after losing her daughter in 2017. Oh, my heart aches.

On Friday I'll light candles and send wishes for safe passage to her and her babe. And her husband.

Tonight I'm attending a writer's gathering at the library sponsored by Hugo House (named after Richard Hugo, a local poet).

I've written here before about this loss. The mother's grief, the father's grief is incomprehensible. What to do with our grief, those of us who cared for them, the midwives and doctors and nurses? I have come to that terrible shore on my knees, willing the pain to pass through. It will never go away. It gets easier to hold it and care for it.

The thousands of stitches and hours I spent on the quilt was a way through. I once read about a pioneer woman who said that her hopes and pain were all stitched into a quilt. As she said "what that quilt knows about me..." And women back then made quilts from clothing of the dead. Lordy. A way to put grief to use.

The snow is melting, revealing broken plants and ruts in the earth.

Healing and broken, all of us. Healing and broken.

Monday, February 11, 2019

She's waiting for me in the morning to put the feeder out. I bring it in after dark so it doesn't freeze. We must have 18-20 inches out there.

I walked with some neighbors, helped folks out of snowbanks, righted garbage cans and threw snowballs for Felix.

Every driver (WTF) was a guy, fishtailing up and down the hills. What's so important you gotta  drive your Hyundai without snow tires AND STOP at the stop sign? People who grew up in snow don't drive in this sh*t. The only woman we saw was the mail carrier and she had chains. Duh!

I feel like I've been in the house for eleventy thousand hours. And I didn't even watch the Grammys. Sheesh.

I'm reading and writing instead. Reading Tommy Orange's book, There, There. It's so good. And listening to Mozart.

Ask Me

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I've done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden: and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.

                                                     -William Stafford

Saturday, February 09, 2019

Dears, It's deeper and deeper. And quiet. No traffic. No planes.

Felix ran after snow balls yesterday. He would bark, leap in the air and then wonder what happened to his ball when it hit the ground. Silly dog.

The humming birds are ok, I think. I bring in their feeder at night so it won't freeze and hang it out again in the morning.

It is still snowing.

Between being sick and the weather, I will complete a quilt I've been working on for my friend who lost her baby in 2017. She's due in a week or so. Hand stitching is what I do. It's a meditation.

Thursday, February 07, 2019

We're supposed to get another foot of snow so we better get dog/cat food and people food for the duration. And freezing weather. The poor hummingbirds. Their feeder keeps freezing.

A kindly neighbor left me some instant hand warmers on my windshield.

Speaking of windshield, there was ice on the INSIDE of the window after I got all the ice off the outside of the car.


At least I'm at work. The topic here is the situation of someone who goes into labor during the, uh, armageddon storm. I have chains but scary hills to traverse and a wee light car. As someone who grew up in deep upstate New York winters, I have a healthy respect for bad weather, which most of my fellow citizens don't understand. It's nothing to fuck with.

I've spun on ice, I've been overturned on highways and I've front ended trees. Ice is not even for walking really. And I'm a good careful driver. Folks around here don't get the hills, the cold and what their cars are able to do realistically.

Therefore, we are praying to the birth goddess that she don't stir any pots until we're out of the weather, literally. Otherwise, we're sending ladies to the hospital in an ambulance (at least they have chains).

And it will give me another week to cough in the privacy of my living room and establish that I have exhausted all Netflix and Amazon Prime that was even slightly decent and I'm down to watching questionable series or listening to Dharma talks I've already heard.

Oh, and the cat pooped in the shower. I have been so neglectful in my illness.

This is how it begins. Lordy.

Tuesday, February 05, 2019

Saturday, February 02, 2019

You know you're really sick when:

You can't tell if it's 7 in the morning or 7 at night.
Food is tasteless, no matter how much you usually enjoy it.
You call the naturopath in your office and ask her to check on you periodically to be sure you haven't died.
You wish you had died.
You think you might still.
You step on a pile of dog shit in your bare feet while coming into the kitchen. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't been let out due to the aforementioned time confusion.
Um, and that was COLD dog shit.
You toss kleenex on the floor and by morning, there is quite a pile.
Your counters are clogged with Vitamin C, lemon juice, Nyquil, immune tincture, etc etc.
Your optimism has disappeared that 'this time' you weren't going to get really sick and it would just blow over after a few days. HA!
Your intercostals ache from coughing.
You get in the hot tub DURING THE DAY and who the hell cares who sees you.
You are streaming all the Harry Potter movies, and that's about 19 hours, folks.

I will probably live this time. I tell you, it was touch and go last night. You know, that dark night of the soul when you wake up to heave yourself out of bed to pee and cough and you think that one of these times, you'll just give it up. Let Jayzus take me in his everlovin' arms. I'm still here and on to the 4th installment of HP.

I'm sure this has nothing to do with visiting my lawyer to get my will and advanced directives re-written. Nothing at all.