Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Monday, February 25, 2013

It's time for me to spruce up and head for clinic. Tomorrow is my birthday and I think I'll garden, take out the dead flowers and maybe plant a few new ones.

I'd like for a limo to come in the morning, drive me to a spa where I am scrubbed and moisturized and propped up on pillows, after which a few lovely mostly naked persons would bring me a bejeweled luncheon. I then would read all afternoon snacking on chocolate covered cranberries and sipping champagne.

The Oscars-piffle. Beasts of the Southern Wild was mentioned but not a prize? Amour was too foreign? Too much trouble to read subtitles?

I watched anyway. Charlize Theron and Halle Berry were effing gorgeous. I bet someone drives them to spas and cooks luncheons and doesn't allow them to eat chocolate covered cranberries. And they don't go to real work like most of us.  

Friday, February 22, 2013

The dog actually groaned because I'm sitting on the couch while the wind is trying to rip off the roof. He wants to go out and get muddy as hell and he doesn't care about wind and rain and cold.

Ok, off we go.

The tyranny of animals.

But as long as I get to come back and watch the last few remaining episodes of West Wing, which if you missed, is a damn fine series about politics.

It doesn't hurt that Jimmy Smit is running for president either. A latino president, yeah! I mean, why not?

I've been to two therapists this week and believe me, I'm all better now. Will I be in therapy forever? Can I stop at some point and be done, as good as it gets?

I plan to go dancing tonight, land of hippies and floaty dresses and music I didn't pick out. It's cheap entertainment and as long as I can stand up and wiggle my ass, I'm there. So join me, even if you're in your living room.

The dog is groaning again. I better go now.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

We have found a new receptionist, hooray hoorah. I can go back to being anxious about other things. It's refreshing to have something actual to worry about. So now it's back to global warming and the polar bears (sob!), homeless dogs, homeless one-legged men at the Safeway (where is he lately?) and the demise of vinyl records, in any kind of order.

I pulled the rest of the carrots and beets that wintered over. The carrots are so sweet, round around themselves as they are. I have brussel sprouts out there too and I'm loathe to pull them. I do love sprouts with olive oil, garlic and coarse salt.

The dirt is rich and loamy. Black. The beets are long and pointy, shaped like carrots.

The hens gave us two eggs. I wonder when they molt?

Dab and I are going to our girl restaurant tonight. Owned by two women, partners. And the cook finally quit her day job. I'm so pleased for her. It was worrisome to see her slaving away on 5 hours of sleep. I guess the restaurant is doing well enough. We've been there a few times and waited for a table.

I saw sprigs of leaves today on my walk. There are bushes in the woods, don't know what they are, but they get green sprigs and then I know we've made it through another winter. Tulips are greening up and the stupid grape hyacinths, they are faithful even when I pull them out every year.

Sun. We have some today.

While I walked, I wondered if a meteor would splash down in Lake Washington. See, anxiety arrives and makes these visions.

My office just let me know a mom is pregnant again. She's lost all her babies to the system. She's not fit even though she tries. We'll shepherd her through this pregnancy and the adoption agency person will come and take the baby. I wish we had a place where she could live and parent her child with supervision so she could stop having pregnancy after pregnancy. Midwives witness so much.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Tonight me and Holly are going to a local gay bar (read-for guys) where once a month they host a dance called Hot Flash for the older ladies. It's supposed to be for older ladies anyway but I sure see mostly young things. You can tell it's for older ladies because it's from 6-10 PM. Afterwards we collapse and are in bed by 10:30, if we last that long.

I dance by myself unless my honey shows up. I dance with Holly. The music last time was terrible, really terrible. I'm hoping for better music. Some old music like Michael Jackson and The Pointer Sisters and Tina Turner. How about the Stones? Who can go wrong with real singers, not the super electronicized bumble-mouthed people today? I can't even tell if they are singing. Producers do weird things to the voices so I guess if you have a hot body and you're pretty, you can be a star. Aretha had pipes. That woman could sing, o lawd she could. Who cared what she looked like.

And I must speak about the pole dancers who show up eventually. These are young ladies who aren't wearing much and they gyrate on raised platforms with their belly buttons showing. They have nice belly buttons and rounded asses. And they're 23 or something. I guess I'm not hip. But I'm way older than they are.

So I'll wear a loose shirt and some shoes that will let me slide around on the floor. Before it gets crowded, I'll be able to do my best interpretive dances to hopefully decent music. My 5 Rhythms practice has spoiled me. As Clark calls it, hippie dance church.

Worship of youth. Phooey. As long as I can stand up and wiggle my butt, I plan to dance. Among the young who are filled with longing and dissatisfaction. There will be a few other gray heads out there.

This is where Felix and I were yesterday.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Happy Valentine's all my dears.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Saturday, February 09, 2013

I used to live in the Northeast, where the blizzard is, with sub zero degree temps and let me tell you, a bit o' rain out here in Seattle is bearable. Bearable.

The roses are blooming in my yard, the yellow ones.

Felix is a mess but we're gonna fix that on Monday. He'll come back all shiny and white from the groomers and look great for about 24  hours. Then he'll be back to his dirty curly self. Such is the way with poodles. The ones you see with their poufy hair, they don't get out much. They don't play with Miles the labradoodle all day doing their bitey-bitey game and wrassling around so when Felix gets home he falls asleep sitting up.

Blizzards are good for a few things. Building fires in the living room. Hot chocolate. Skiing in the streets. Baking. Making snow tunnels. Reminding us that we're not in charge. Of much of anything.  Getting to births back there is a challenge. I once went to a birth and afterwards the snow was up to my car windows. I skied home. I once did a birth in Seattle and it snowed during the delivery. The parents nick-named their baby girl 'Snowy'. She had a proper Vietnamese name too. They also told me the midwife was responsible for the baby's personality. Dang, I sure hope that's not true.

Taking Felix to the dog park where he can swim. Ad add another layer of grime to himself.

As for me, I got a haircut and I currently look like Penelope Cruz. With glasses.

Friday, February 08, 2013

Another fine boy in the world, this one with black hair like his papa. First-time momma who had a lickety-split labor and a relatively quick pushing phase. Fine, fine, you say. Great except for the big swooping heart rate decelerations while she was pushing. Just on the edge of calling for an ambulance about a half dozen times. When I'd had enough, the heart rate would go into the normal range. I finally asked my assistant to go get a midwife in the clinic (we were in the birth center) and blessedly, one of them was free. She came down, sat on the bed with the heart rate monitor and listened while the momma pushed. With another few pushes, the babe was born. Screaming. With a big ole loop of cord by his head, which was probably causing all the excitement. What a relief to have a sister midwife by my side. Gawd.

Running all that adrenaline sure kicked my butt. I staggered home, went for a walk in my birth clothes and ate a bowl of yogurt. After I closed the chickens in for the night, I took a heavenly bath and went to bed. Now I'm awake at midnight, hungry and tired but awake. Clinic all day tomorrow.

I taped an interview I did with a friend who is a midwife about an hour south of here. I began transcribing it (we talked forever) and such a rush of love for her as I listened to her voice. Surely the work we do is somehow angelic. We agreed that every baby whose birth we have attended is a special baby to us but especially the ones we've resuscitated. There is a strong cord running between us when a baby has had to be encouraged to take a breath, when there's been some drama. As Audrey said, 'years later, listening to them playing the violin!'

Fragile and tough. I'll tell you. A 6 pound babe yelling his head off while held in his mother's arms is the sweetest thing in the world. I'll never tire of it. What a privilege. What a responsibility. Joy.

Monday, February 04, 2013

We put out the word that we are looking for a new receptionist and lo! a deluge of emails, resumes and cover letters. Men! Software engineers! Grandmothers! Uh, we're looking for a friendly, competent gal who likes to hold babies and is a wizard of organization.

Saturday, February 02, 2013

When you stay up all night at a birth and then sleep fitfully on the couch for a few hours, you enter a weird dream state where the people are all real, even the ones that can fly. A confectionery house with glittering pink trim, like the witch house in Hansel and Gretel. Lots of people who all feel familiar, milling around, some with wings. Vague sense of menace.

I woke up confused and thought I was there not here. When I realized I was still wearing my birth clothes and that I had to go back to the clinic in an hour, the candy house faded. I could no longer fly (too bad!)

The women are all fine and so are the babies.

And I can stay in bed all day if I want.