Please watch this. I laughed so hard I was crying. We're going to her Christmas show.

for the midwives, mothers and babes everywhere

My dears,

Back from the beauty of Vancouver Island, way up there in Canada. Country that has a leaf on their national flag. A red leaf. A country that goes crazy for ice hockey. And stop lights on their interstate highways.

I drove the Malahat highway, their version of Highway 1 in California. Cars parked for the salmon run. Deep mountains and massive lakes. Gold and burgundy leaves.

Oh, and kilometers instead of miles. And the Queen on their money.

I snuck off on Friday between the week and the weekend to go swimming in their new aquatic center.

I wasn't prepared for the splendor. No, really. They had a SWIM SHOP where you could buy a new suit and some earplugs if you needed. A massive locker room, no cement floors for them.

And then there was the pool 'area'. Where should I begin? The kiddy area was sculpted with life-sized dolphins and sea lions spouting water. There was a 'wave' that turned on every half hour and carried the swimmers around on a watery track. The adult pool was olympic-sized with huge lanes, mostly empty.

Um, then we come to the after-swim leisure area replete with sauna, steam AND hot tub. Sheesh. Truth to tell, that part of the building was overrun with men of the guy persuasion, guffawing and eyeing the lassies. They didn't spend half a minute with me because I'm way past the bikini stage. Way.

But, holy fuck. Seattle pools have a pool and a bare-bones locker room. And we're grateful. I just wasn't expecting a Disneyland pool experience in Naniamo, no less.

http://www.nanaimo.ca/UploadedFilesPath/VirtualTours/NAC_2009/VT_NAC_04_2009.html
 (in case you wanna see what knocked my socks off)

Politics and the hurricane, o lordy.

Please vote. Please.

On Saturday, I leave for a week. I'm going to Nanaimo land of the Bethlehem Retreat Centre where I'll be with my teachers and the wee lake and the forest. We'll get up early and be fed delicious food and we'll be in silence and we'll go to bed early. No talking, no eye contact. For eight days. No email. No internet.

Watching Uncle Vanya on 42nd Street, directed by Louis Malle. People talking in a room. Much suffering. All the men in the play in love with Julianne Moore (why?)

The dog is chewing on a dried bull penis. It is his favorite thing in the world. Besides swimming and running and barking and eating and messing around with other dogs.

It's getting cold. We've hardly had enough rain. Many fall hikes to contemplate. Today Mt Rainier shone like a heavenly snow country, a place where the devas live.

Autumn beauty today, clear and warm and brilliant leaves. Felix thinks life is great, especially when there are two squirrels, chasing one another. One of these days, my arm will be yanked clean out with a lease on the end.

Jim the handyman came over today and we discussed the issue of the back door. It scrapes against the floor which is now deeply scratched and the whole back door area needs to be weather proofed, or whatever you call it. The weatherstripping is gone and the sill is flaking and peeling. It is the door we use the most so it gets beat up.

it's always something. I used to think I could fix anything but that is, ah, not true. When I accidentally pulled the tub out of the floor, there was no way I could fix that. Besides the tub weighs about 4,800 pounds. SO.

Jim the handyman is a wonderful thing.

I read recently an account of a vagina. The author called it her 'lady garden'.  From now on, that's what I'm calling it.

It's  RAINING, o joy o rapture. The dog and I got soaked. He's an interesting shade of beige.

Today at the Good Will I saw a car with a 'My Son is a Marine' bumper sticker and a HUGE handwritten sign in the back window supporting Referendum 74, the gay marriage bill.

I was flabbergasted.

Maybe his/her Marine son is gay.

And there you are. Just had to share.

I'm unashamedly watching Downton Abbey. I LOVE the Brits. They are so ridiculous. And they are my people. Heaven help us. Upper class twits in the 20's with all the intrigue below stairs. And this season, o my lord, Shirley McLaine is the American grandma. And she looks, well, whoa.

"There's something Johnny Foreigner about the Catholics".

I plan to drink brandy from a crystal decanter. And I do need a new footman. Oh, and I'd like to be called my lady from now on.

Ooooh, I think the new footman is gay. He's certainly got a lovely six pack. "He looks like a footman in a musical review." Indeed.

I'm the one in the hat and white suit.

Yesterday, while down in Pioneer Square to see my therapist, I got out a few bills for TJ, the homeless man who sits under the wrought iron and glass awning. Yesterday there were two happy birthday balloons and a big pink opened cake box with a message on top--Happy Birthday to Tj and Ben. Ben, a non-homeless man was standing beside TJ and handing out pieces of cake on paper plates. At eight in the morning.

I promptly dropped my piece of cake on my therapist's carpet but that's another story.

I cleaned out my studio today. It took me three hours. I always think I'll throw out a bunch of stuff but I end up on the floor going through old photos and notes and cards from my kids. Stacks of old photos. People who are now dead. A whole box of James' writings and his photos. Old lovers. I managed to wrassel a box of stuff for Good Will. And I felt virtuous besides. I moved art supplies around and dusted. I threw open the windows too. I didn't start a painting. That's tomorrow.

Tis the season

He's not like other guys, thats for sure.

Ye dog and I amidst the falling leaves

Always wanted to use the word 'amidst'.

My head feels like it has been underwater for a few weeks with seaweed hanging out my ears and a buzzing of the air world around me.

I've been sick with a cold and my 'gut ache' which has been a problem since I was about 15. It's been diagnosed variously as an ulcer, gall bladder 'problems' and sludgey gall bladder. I've been on an ulcer diet (which did absolutely nothing), I've visited the ER a few times when the pain was too severe- for demerol shots (heaven-addict tendencies) and fasts for two or three days with a chiropractic adjustment thrown in. Now I have a stash of vicodin from 2011 which I dole out to myself so I can sleep. Sleep, that precious thing. I wake at night with a knife in my belly. If I sit up and move around, it gets a little better. I try sleeping sitting up. Sometimes that works. For the last few nights, I've succumbed to drugs.

What causes it? Well, I wish I knew. Sometimes, I haven't eaten and food on an empty stomach will trigger it. Sometimes fatty foods. Stress, o that is a pretty good trigger. But who doesn't have stress?

I might try a cleanse. Sounds awful. Although I don't know what that entails. Probably vile herbs and green blendered drinks that taste like pond scum. And look like pond scum.

And then I 'll be healed. For good.

Happy birthday, dear heart

More jelly is made, I have a wee cold and it is another damn sunny day in the NW, land that the weather forgot to drop gallons of water on.

Waiting for a baby and sucking down elderberry syrup. I hear it's good for you.

The poodle sleeps on the stairs.

The guys next door have fired up the power tools. The neighbors are building a new kitchen. FOR FOUR MONTHS. Gawd. No one is more sorrowful about this than my tenant, who can hear everything. At least they aren't there on the weekends. The chickens don't mind. In fact, as long as they get to eat mealy bugs, they are pretty tip-top most of the time. I'm not sure what mealy bugs are and frankly, I don't care to know.

I'm gonna try for a nap. I might be up all night so I better get it now.

First, I'll finish the NYT. As long as I read the Book Review, I can pretend I've read 15 books, all at once.

I picked more grapes because I'm a fool. So tomorrow, the jelly making machine rolls out again.

But.

I climbed to the top of the arbor with a ladder and let me tell you, the grapes there were purple and delicious. No wonder the raccoons and the rats (ew) go up there.

I've seen so many squashed raccoons this year and I'm afraid to say this but, good. I hate them, they're fuckers. They kill chickens and they attack katz and they creep me out. Ok, the babies are cute but they grow up to be adults.

I'm eating an entire bunch of kale that I've toasted in the oven--kale chips. And I'm gonna sprinkle 'em with brewer' yeast and salt.

I'm so healthy, I disgust even myself.

La-de-da.

Yesterday and today, I saw a hummingbird in the back yard, at the "lipstick" plant. I saved a hummingbird a few weeks ago, after wrassling it from Lola's mouth. I'd like to think my hummingbird today was the same one.

Maybe it was. It could be. It could.

Can I speak about pilling katz. Lola needed a vet visit because she was licking and scratching obsessively, even with flea treatment. And she seemed skinny.

So the vet said she thought Lola was allergic to fleas, or rather allergic to flea spit. Really, flea spit? So she gave me fish oil to squirt on Lola's food. Ok, that's easy. And then there was a big pill for just once. And little yellow pills for twice a day, yeah right.

Giving a cat a pill  is like putting your hand into a garbage disposal when it's on. Or putting your hand under the house where you last saw the badger.

I got the big pill into Lola while she chomped down so hard on my right index finger (a very important finger as a midwife), that I shrieked and yelped and proceeded to bleed profusely all over the floor. For a while. Finally, I got the bleeding to stop with a giant bandaid. Then I went to work. Drawing blood with a giant bandaid, very reassuring to my clients, I can tell you.

So what about the little yellow pills? We exchanged them for liquid and so we're supposed to squirt a ml into the side of her mouth.

You wrap the cat in a towel so she/he can't claw your face off. Then you somehow get the medicine beyond her teeth. When we did this to Lola, she foamed at the mouth. GAWD. I thought I killed her. And the look she gave me. I'm sure she'll never forgive me.

I think the vet should give her the little yellow pills. I'm not kidding.

I raced home last night to watch the debate. I wanted to see them together in a room (gawd, Jim Lehrer is getting old) performing.

I was reminded of Reagan, pink-cheeked and wrong-headed in the most confident way. Although I think Romney knows he's lying and I was never sure about the Gipper. Romney doesn't care about me or my Somali neighbors with all the hungry kids or the guy across the street in the wheelchair in Section 8 housing. Romney's world and heart is so far removed from real people's lives that he doesn't understand us at all. All his children have healthcare. And orthodontia. And all the best schools. And nice vacations. The wealthy look better because they have less stress and they can get exfoliated for $200 a pop. And they can buy expensive vitamins and massages and organic food. And they can care or not care. Some wealthy people care about their fellows. But the tendency for greed is, well, vast. The wealthy are wealthy because they hang on tight. Their 'charities' are tax shelters. Very cynical.

And they carry on in plain sight. Well, I think the truly wealthy we never see. They live on exclusive islands and behind locked gates on enormous tracts of land. The only ones who see them are the servants.

Then there's our guy, the skinny black guy who's gotten quite gray over the last four years. His job is stressful. Living under the burden of so much hatred from the Right (sic) hasn't been good for his health. He's done the best he could under the circumstances. Last night he looked fragile compared to the bluff heartiness of Mitt.

I dimly followed what they said and I'll wait for the NYT to break it down for me. I can tell you one thing. Barack would blend in just fine on my street in Columbia City, the most diverse neighborhood in the country. Mitt wouldn't come here, except gladhand for votes. He wouldn't be comfortable here. We're too poor, too many and too foreign.

And I don't want him in the oval office. And I sure as hell hope there are enough of us who feel the same way and fucking vote.

Now back to your regular programming.

Gawd, I hope everyone is watching 'Half the Sky' on PBS. It's effing amazing. I am not kidding. And it's on tomorrow too.