My new life

Wake up at dark-thirty because the dog has to pee/poop.

Go down to the dog park and throw the ball 47 thousand times. Watch the white dog turn, uh, grimy and muddy and brown. Watch the white dog hump other dogs and run after random balls and run in the pack that circles the park.

Listen to the white dog bark with a ball in his mouth.

Coem back up the hill with stairs included. Carry the filthy dog across the kitchen floor and put him right in the tub. Wash off his legs, feet, belly, tail, etc.

Dry him with the endless supply of ratty towels you've had in the basement for just this purpose.

Yell at him when you find him on the couch!!!!!! Bad dog!!!!!

Think about your former life when you could sleep in and there weren't footprints all over the house.

Then dance in your living room with the cats looking on.

All in all, a good day. A trip to the emission station with my trusty Blueberry. Passed. Am I glad I don't have that job. And perhaps there are decent benefits and a union to join. And there is the snazzy uniform.

My therapist is on the fourth floor of the Smith building, a landmark building in Pioneer Square. I make myself climb the stairs, all 543 of them. I'm winded when I arrive at her door. I hope she never moves up another floor. I'll need the servants to carry me up there. It takes me 10 minutes to get my breath before I can talk.

Then to the dog park, in the rain. Muddy dog to dump into the tub as soon as we got home. He's very fond of humping other dogs Great. Dog behavior.

On call. Waiting for the ladies to go into labor.

Because Rebecca just talked about cherry pie on her blog, I'm gonna go take a bath.

Pie is heaven on earth. Like baths.

Then I'll feel less deprived. Of pie.

Pina Bausch

We saw 'Pina" today, in 3D. The dancers moved in DIRT, spread across the stage. It was sweat, beautiful muscles sweating, dirty faces and a woman in a red dress. Go see it. On the big screen. Please.

Life with a Puppy

!. Forget sleeping in. Puppies need to pee/poop at 6AM. Or earlier. And you have to run to the door. Otherwise the poop may end up on the rug in front of the door.

2. Puppies have more energy than a room full of two year olds. Puppies jump three or four feet into the air. Straight up.

3. Puppies think that cats can be convinced to play with them. Even if they're hissing and growling.

4. Puppies run around like goofballs. One guy today called my puppy a 'knucklehead". He was right.

5. Puppies will eat anything. I mean anything. You spend a certain amount of time digging bits of detritus out of their mouth.

6. Puppies bark at cars, people, dust, shadows and absolutely nothing.

7. Puppies can make you laugh until you're weeping. In the back yard. In your pajamas. In the rain.

I'm sorry to have forgotten to post this but today is my fucking birthday. And if I transpose the numbers, I'm 26. And I look every inch of 26, let me tell ya.

We went to Whidbey Island where there is a magic dog beach (where we met a puppy almost the same age as Felix) and we threw the ball about a million times and Felix fell around and lept into the air and generally made a fool of himself. Puppies are effing funny. They're us when we DIDN'T CARE that we were goofballs with dirt and sand on our faces when we fell backwards onto the beach. The sun was shining, it was freezing and there was a bit of snow. The nice people with Oscar (the odd couple) told us to go to Gordon's on Blueberry Hill for dinner so we did and it was a beautiful sunset over a wee Puget Sound bay with wine and salad and chocolate decadence with a candle in it.

Perfect.

It was a perfect day and I'm grateful for my children and Milo and my whole family and my honey and everyone else who loves me. I had two glasses of wine and I can't feel my toes and I don't care.

Kiss kiss.

Felix Matisse

O dear what a week it has been. We lept into puppy parenting as soon as we returned from Kauai.

So.

We drove up to Canada to pick up the pup and I forgot my passport. So Deb continued on over the border while I cooled my heels in Blaine in a motel. For two hours. Then I was asked to leave ( I guess my time turning tricks was over). They let me sit in the lobby until Deb returned with the pup, who had thrown up in his crate. It was a pleasant drive home, with the smell of puppy barf wafting through the car.

Do you know that puppies are BABIES? They cry. They pee on themselves. They poop on the rug.

They're hilarious. Felix has been trying in vain to befriend the katz. Hugo is permanently insulted that we brought a 'thing' into the house. And we are feeding Felix and fussing over him too. Hugo is the house king, not some dumb baby dog. Felix doesn't care that he looks a fool when he hops across the lawn. He and Hugo will never be friends. Never.

Meanwhile, we've had another baby wave, three in the last 24 hours.

Even on vacation, I delivered babies in my dreams.

Um, this is where we were. And this is the beach where I SWAM WITH A TURTLE. Actually, I swam into her. It's possible. She was just there and I backed up but not before smacking her (gently) with my hand and saying (whoa) into my mask. Then I swam around and above her while she ignored me so she could snack on green stuff that grows on coral. O and there were fishes, all colors and an eel and more fishes and monstrous waves and really bad hair from salt water (who cares) and now I'm back with the katz and tomorow we pick up the puppy and the house will be in an uproar.

Three births in 48 hours, off to Atlanta at 3:30 in the AM. Sheesh. Way too tired. I threw a bunch of underwear in the duffle, my computer, ipod, headphones and an apple. Gawd. O, and two pairs of boots. Gotta have boots, don't I?

Where is my retirement? Where are my servants? I need a cool cloth on my head, a cuppa and a lie down.

Diet

I tell you
I wanted a cookie
one with butter and sugar
a special crackled surface
with bits of submarine and cheddar
not too tasty!

You brought me a burst appendix
radishes with the red rubbed off
a broken minesweeper you said was an heirloom
after they washed off the graffiti
you moved into the solarium

where you ravished the wild hyssop
bottled virulent sunsets in vinegar
brokered manufactured beeches
fletched mice and their harvest mouselings
sunk in the mire

I asked for honey
you proffered lapwings
I craved blunt icing
you fled backhand the arboreal spread
we played hide the sickle

the grass bled green
toads winked in your slippers
I limped back to the big house
with a pan of glisten
welts on my thumbs
and an appetite for rancor

We drove to Langley, BC in a downpour. We visited the lady who has our doggie. He's still a baby so we're gonna bring him home after Hawaii. He's cream colored and fluffy. He bounces, like Tigger. When we came back in the door tonight, the katz looked at us with distain because we smelled like DOG. In truth, we'd had a litter and their parents all over us for about three hours. So. Well. Yes. We smelled like dogs. The nice lady gave us a dog toy the katz can sniff. They were (properly) insulted.

Then we fed them and they were mollified, at least for now. They don't understand what is about to happen to their pampered world. The'll have to get along.

Now I'll have a boy I can go on walks with, o joy o rapture.

We're getting a dog. And no, we won't make him wear his hair in bows or put Halloween costumes on him. I promise. We're getting a dog because we're nuts. And I miss Yogi.

And we're nuts.

No good reason for this photo

I know y'all were wanting a 'special' toaster.

The check engine light is on on my dash. I hope it's because the gas cap wasn't screwed on tightly. Please o please let that be the answer.

I have been remiss. I know. What with digging out and burning toast and the like. Tonight I go dancing again with my dance people. We take off our shoes and we let the music enter and we move around the room. I close my eyes a lot and go into an alternate reality. Like an acid trip in the Deep South without the sliver fish and Spanish moss. Humid, sensual, a bit slithery.

Holly and I went to Tiger Mountain and found this. All along 'our' trail, the Lingering Trail. At least 20 downed trees. We weren't hiking, we were on an obstacle course. Eventually Holly said the trees were 'spiraling' in the wind and we'd be clobbered for sure so we came back out.

My new life: hiking and dancing and swimming.

Amen.

I tried to make asparagus soup like the kind I had last week. You roast the asparagus til it's crispy, then into the blender with (soy) milk, then a generous dollop of (fake) sour cream. It was so delicious, I swooned in the restaurant. The waitperson patiently explained how to make it. He must have forgotten some SECRET ingredient. My honey said she thought it was good but it wasn't the same.

Pretty however.

The sun came to visit today and shone on all and everyone. We came out en mass to walk around the park and shade our eyes and exclaim about the numerous madrona trees that fell with the wind and ice. They have the most beautiful bark, smooth and tawny. I stroke their bark. Dogs and children and couples. Sabbath observers with their many offspring. Walking into the brilliant windy sun and whitecaps.

The tiny fist of winter let go.

Today I slid down the hill to clinic in time to rush to the hospital because one of our mommas was having her babe too early and way too fast. Missed the birth but babe and mom are fine. The streets are giant puddles of slush and ice. Cars still can't make it up hills, even wee hills.

There is nothing for it. We're gonna watch Blade Runner:Director's Cut. A pure Ridley Scott beautiful nightmare. And drink hot chocolate.

Still in bed. Just called all our clients to tell them not to come to clinic. The windows are iced up. Rain fell all night, then froze. No traffic, no kids outside. Just the sound of rain on snow on the skylight.

Today I wish we had a fireplace. Grateful we have power and heat.

Worried about anyone sleeping outside now.

Ok, now there's snow in my hood so I went for a massive ski, down the hill around the lake, to Seward Park, all around and back up the hill (big, gnarly hill) to the house where I collapsed with hot chocolate. And a hot bath.

The geese in formation by the lake, no visibility and calling to each other. O, I love them, flying into the snow.

Here in South Seattle, there is no snow, nada.

I can get to a birth if we can meet at the birth center. I could walk. Might take a few hours. I could do it. Seattle weather forecasters are positively delighted, de-lighted. Woohoo, big news, snowflakes.

From this Northeaster, sheesh. Really???

Sunday mornings I go dancing for two hours, then a hot tub, then lunch. Today it was a blizzard for about an hour, no really! See?

But. The best part. As I walked along in the hood, I was grinning because everyone was outside, building snowmen and playing with their children and dogs. One man built a lying-down snowman who was tied by twine to little snowmen, Gulliver's Travels style.

But wait. The best part. A man walked ahead of me on Broadway in a full length fur coat and Russian style hat and black boots. I turned to look at him as I passed and he was pretty near NAKED underneath. His coat was open. He had a criss-cross leather strap on his chest and a leather, um, codpiece on his area and thats it. Two girls asked him if he was cold and he said nope cuz he had a hat on. Well, of course.

Anyway, I fell down only once. I walked for about 113 miles and came home with wet boots. I love snow. And naturally, there are three ladies in labor tonight. The babies think it's funny to wait until the weather is interesting (snow storm, hurricane, 60 mile an hour winds) to make their grand entrance. Silly babies!!!

Last night we went to see West Side Story. Live. On stage. In person. All singing and dancing. Some of the songs and dialog are now in Spanish, as it was originally written.

I swooned in my seat. Yes, I did. I wanted to savor it; I wanted to turn it over in my hands and study it, slowly. The two hours went by in a jiffy. Way too fast. Jerome Robbins. Stephen Sondheim, Leonard Bernstein.

Sigh.

Two Against One from Anthony Francisco Schepperd on Vimeo.

The katz are out of control. Deb came upstairs this morning before she went to work to show me the peanut butter cookies I had made the previous night. Someone had eaten a bite out of several cookies. BITES NOT MADE BY HUMANS. ((((cue Count Dracula music))))). Tonight when I came home, Hugo and Lolla set up a horrid yowl about how hungry they are and no one ever feeds them ever and they are starving etc. As I sat on the couch drinking tea and eating a cookie, they sat side by side at my feet and stared at me with their big round cat eyes. When I offered Hugo a bit, he ATE IT. He eats peanut butter cookies. Lola toys with her bit and leaves it on the floor.

Why do they do this? I have katz that beg. They beg at the dinner table. They carry on like they haven't eaten in weeks and weeks. Although nightly, they are fed expensive cat food.

But peanut butter cookies? Really?

When I was eighteen, my parents threw me out of the house because I was sexually active. It was 1968. I couch surfed with my boyfriend before we moved to Boston so I could go to art school. I didn't see or speak to my parents for a year and a half. I dropped out of school because I couldn't pay the tuition. Eventually I drove across country in a 'drive-away car' with my friends and a backpack. I landed in LA where I lived on the beach with other hippies. And that's just part of the story.

What I mean to say is that I will never understand how a parent could throw away a child. I know it happens all the time but as a mother, I don't get it. I was a naive eighteen year old with barely any skills. And I'll always be terrified that I won't have a place to live, no matter how hard I try to secure housing and enough money. I stole food. I lived hand-to-mouth on temp jobs and the kindness of strangers. I only got busted for hitchhiking once. I was lucky.

My children always have a home with me, as long as I live. I know that and so do they.

I never really feel safe.

By the way. Last night while attempting to remove the pit from my avocado, I inadvertently stabbed myself in the hand with a wee but so sharp knife. Blood everywhere. Dang, the hand can surely bleed, all over the sink. I called Patti who came right over cuz I was sure I needed stitches or a tetanus shot or something. By the time she arrived, the bleeding had stopped (hooray platelets and clotting factors!!) The nice nurse-who-answers-the-phone at my ER told me to wash it and come in if it started bleeding again, which it didn't.

In future, use a spoon to remove avocado pits, K?

Sheesh.

Inspired by Ms Moons' post, I'm gonna tell on my dad. RIP, poppa.

Way back when in the dark ages when I was young, the house my parents lived in had a broken spigot outside by the garage. So dear old dad decided to fix it one day. He turned off the water at the main which, I believe, was in the house. (By the way, my mother was gone to the store). He goes at the spigot with a soldering gun and, um, sets the shingles on fire. In his haste to turn the water back on, he ran up the front stairs and grasping the railing too firmly, broke it off. He turned the water back on and put out the fire.

Whereupon, my mother returned to find a) a broken porch railing b) scorched shingles on the house and c) a still busted spigot.

That's my father. He believed he could fix anything. And he tried. It just didn't always work out.

I bet an argument ensued.

I just bought a plane ticket to Kauai. Shite. It might rain the whole week. No matter. Whales come through in the winter, And the water is warm. I know right where my goggles and fins are. Besides. There's a swimming pool next to the house they rented.

Even so.

It feels so, It makes me feel scared because it's a lot of money and I ponder travel for a while before I do it. Travel. The plane. The terminal. The baggage that could get lost. The plane. The person next to me on the plane. It makes me anxious. Very anxious.

Besides.

The few days before, I'll be in Atlanta performing a wedding for two girls. I get back on the 12th. I leave again on the 13th.

{{{{{{{}}}}}}}

And that's all.

Dare I admit this? I went to the dance thang last night and danced for TWO HOURS to LOUD MUSIC and sweated and acted a perfect fool. It was fantastic. I'm going again on Sunday with friends who also want to sweat and run around in their bare feet in a dark room to the Pointer Sisters.

My brother called today and offered to put me up on Kauai in February for a week if I can get there ie: buy a plane ticket. Uh, don't know. I can't bring my honey cuz she doesn't have any vacation. So I'd be going by myself.

Can I be with my brother for a week? He has a nice wife. Can I justify going to Hawaii in February, the month of gloom? Can I afford it?

Stay tuned for these and other mysteries.

I'm watching about 57 Agatha Christie's Miss Marple. They're my people, the Brits. And manors surrounded by formal gardens. Riding to the hounds (blech). HIgh tea. Dressing for dinner. Twitchy upper lips. Massive dining room tables and servants bringing soup tureens. O, and Miss Marple is always stumbling into a murder. Amazing.

New year, new year. Spent the day in my pajamas, still with a dang cold. But, it's so warm and sunny, I must go for a walk along the lake and greet the pintails and coots and mallards and geese. Winter sun on the bare branches.

Last night's dream: with Raven, my friend from the res. We're at his house, miraculously polished up in a ragged neighborhood. Clean walls, new paint, a brand new dining room his mother doesn't want us to go into. Then bullets coming through the door, the walls. We're crawling on the floor to the basement where, lawd above, there is a tunnel under the yard that leads away from the fracas into the woods. We're saved and I'm feeling so grateful we weren't killed or injured. We're free. We're on the edge of the forest looking back at the house where a great garden is growing, very tall plants and abundance. No more gunfire.

Probably fireworks from downtown.

The first seed catalogue came yesterday. We crave the solar powered dryer and the dehydrator. And the pages of beets. Purple-red beauties. it's not time to start anything but I'm tempted.

Bless all in this new year, for health and family and love, right or wrong.

They're gone, my children and my grandson, back to California. I wander around finding shoes, boots, books left behind. And the kitchen floor is an amazement of sticky, twiggy, bits and pieces of meals and detritus from the yard. So. On my knees to the cleaning god with my rag of fury.

Maya and I went to uh, a dance thing called Ecstatic Dance, which happens, apparently, every week. People come together to dance for an hour and a half to world music, blues music, etc. And it is a community. She's been dancing in San Rafael so she found a group here and she convinced me to go.

I sat on the side as people trickled in. Low lights. A large shiny new dance floor. Women in floaty skirts. Men in loose pants. Stretching and chatting. Then the music started, slow at first. The old hippe in me compelled me to get up and start to sway. Midway through, the music was jumping and so was I, sweat splatting to the floor. Then the music slowed down again until we were finished. Maya hopped around, bobbing and jumping.

I have no idea what happened. I might go back. I love to dance and I never do anymore. Except in my living room.

Cleaning the house after the family leaves. And a solitary walk.

The kinder have all left to find snow for the children to play in. First, there is the question of snow, which we don't have much of this year. But enough. Then no one has any sleds. So. They rent them in the Mountains but they don't have reservations for today. That means a trip to Target on the way. And there is the small matter of permits for two cars, which we, thank the lawd, could down load via the magic of the internet. And Eden didn't have snow clothes, coming from LA, so I gave her mine. Mittens and earmuffs and scarves.

Then I decided I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay in my bathrobe and read the paper from yesterday instead of breaking my leg in a sledding accident (or standing around in the cold watching others hurtling along and banging into each other).

Eden gave us the most beautiful photo of swimmers, wavery and blue and ghostly shapes. Dreamers in the water.

Last night was grand. Eden trashed the kitchen with her wild cooking. Nothing was safe, not even the ceiling. I was the dishwasher/counter clearer. Somehow, this morning the kitchen looks normal.

They'll come home later and eat leftovers. I think I'll make them a giant stew for dinner. Or my special lasagna. Or perhaps I'll do nothing at all today.

Right now, it's the katz and me. And the New York Times.

When we had our theft in October...and my laptop walked away, I didn't see anything else missing. This morning, while making a bed for Milo, my grandson, I looked for the handmade quilt, just his size. I can't find it anywhere. I looked in all the usual places, then unusual places. It's gone, like my laptop. Now I'm imagining the thief wrapping my laptop with o so many hours of hard poetry work with the only quilt I've made for myself, hours of hand stitching all walking away from the house to become...a dog bed, a gift for a girlfriend, a disguise on the street...

The pattern is called 'birds in flight'. Fitting, don't you think?

I topstitch my quilts by hand. I know, I know, all those fancy sewing machines can stitch on quilts now. I see them all the time. They're cheating. The pleasure of quilting is quilting, holding the quilt on your lap and making each stitch by hand, thimble on your middle finger to push through the layers and pricking your fingers under the quilt to know you're all the way through. I've ended up with scarred fingers on my left hand after a long quilt making.

All my children have quilts I've made. I wanted one for myself. It's so many hours...

I have a partially made quilt waiting for me. Guess I'll get it out and begin again.

Sometime, visit a quilt show with quilts from long ago. Marvel at the hours and miles of thread. In the day, women quilted 12 stitches-10 stitches to the inch. A lot of stitches. And many spools of thread. Quilts were made at 'bees'. Quilts were made alone. Women would make a quilt with clothes from someone who died. To mourn. To remember.

This is what I love. Della is at least an hour old. We're doing her newborn exam.

Tomorrow the younger child arrives, trailing clouds of glory. I'm in awe of my children. They are beautiful and talented and so much more hip than I'll ever be. Ever.

Tonight the final two episodes of Dexter with my neighbors. We shriek and groan and hide our eyes. Naughty fun. A serial killer with a tender side. Just in time for xmas!

Why, when you have two scratching posts in the living room, do the katz insist on sharpening their claws on the rug (or the furniture). Why? I threw a pen at Hugo this morning. He looked at me like I was insane.

They were set here on this earth to DRIVE US CRAZY. It's working.

A tiny rant. I only subscribe to one magazine, The Sun. It's gloomy, the writing is often brilliant, there aren't any ads and the editor also publishes black and white photos. I've submitted poetry and a short story three times, to no avail.

But.

This am while lounging in bed, I read Sy's notebook (the ed.) and he mentioned that he uses viagra, or the generic brand. Eesh. I don't care about this. Save it for some other publication, mister. I know he can write (and publish) whatever the hell he wants but jeez. he often talks about making love to his wife. That part is ok. It's the mention of drugs to 'enhance' that bothers me to beat the band (as my mother would say). Perhaps I'm channeling my mother this morning. In her world, such things were impolite. In poor taste.

Gawd. Maybe I'm turning into my mother.

The sun is out again so I'm going for a walk in the cold. We have sun this winter, very odd. Tomorrow, Holly and I will once again go hiking on Tiger Mountain. We found a trail called the Meandering Trail. We're gonna find out if it goes to the top. Or not. we're not goal oriented. We talk along the way about Buddhism and her ex girlfriend. At some point we decide to turn around. And hikers are usually a democratic bunch. No pushing and shoving. Unlike swimmers. Male swimmers. They have something to prove. They splash and knock you on the head as they pass. Because. They have to get to---the other side of the pool?? Whoa, as Keanu Reeves has so famously said in The Matrix.

Whoa.

I cleaned like a mad woman yesterday because Deb went back to work and I HAD THE HOUSE TO MYSELF. That's right. And I stayed in my jammies until 4 PM. Plus I wrassled the tree into the living room so now it smells piney and holiday-ish in here. No ornaments or lights, just a tree by the couch.

Every year (almost) I sing in the sing-along Messiah at the Unitarian church where they pray to the Unit. They are nice people, social justice and all, really very nice people. But kinda boring. I tried to go there for a while. They had great music and (snore) sermons and a whole lot of nice people. But. My darkness was too dark. Buddhism is dark and difficult, much better for me. Those retreats I go on...they're not like a sunny picnic day. You sit in a room with other silent people. For 45 minutes. Then the bell rings.
Then you walk outside for a while. Then you come back in and sit down for another 45 minutes. Repeat until mealtime or bedtime. The demons come, yes they do.

So the Unitarians weren't MY people, you know? However, they bake roomfulls of cookies and they make hot cider for all the singers who show up. We sing all the parts and there is an orchestra too with little kids on violin and a kazoo player and a trumpeter who mangles 'The Trumpet Shall Sound.' And there's a raffle and door prizes and it lifts my heart, it does, to fill up a room with glad shouting. I don't even mind that I'm among strangers. And I lose my place. And I can't sing very well. It's democratic. Just join in.

Oh, and the director is hot. That certainly helps.

Happy birthday, Keith darling!!!

We had four, count 'em, four births in 24 hours. Sheesh. And my midwife partner is at the birth center with yet another momma in labor and another momma waiting in the wings....

They all wanted an instant peer group.

Today we put up a tree in the house, the first time I've had a tree in ages. It's such a mess of needles but the guy at the tree place managed to put the tree in the back of my wee car so I didn't have to worry about it falling off the hood and causing a collision and ruining someone's Saturday with dented cars and the police and the like.

I bought Deb's 23 yo son a flying helicopter that runs on batteries. The boy toy department is so weird with transformers (?) and all manner of guns and space aliens.

I went to the yarn store yesterday and next door was a gamer place and there was a huddle of young people in black commiserating about some dark game. The girl among them was wearing six inch high boots and a a purple dress and a pointy-hemmed black coat. The boys just looked like geeks. But online they are flying wizards with impressive magic swords and mythical beasts who zap the giant sand spiders and segmented fanged worms. I had The Jungle Book and Little Women as a kid. However, my parents bought several books of Greek and Roman mythology which I read, because I read everything in the house. Medusa was a pretty mean gal, what with turning folks into stone and even in death, growing cacti in the desert from blood dripping from her neck.

I still wish I could fly.

The whole family arrives on the 25th. Then the house will be stuffed full of people and noise and food. We'll eat together and play Apples to Apples and visit the house around the corner with the zillion lights running on a generator and go to the mountains so we can play in the snow. Maya will cut my hair. I'll get to hug and kiss my dear ones with missing them mixed in because we don't see each other enough, ever.

Push the sadness down into a corner, at least for a while.

I am waiting for my student to arrive so we can go to a birth at dark-thirty. I've been trying to avoid this situation for 2 days but we're having a baby pile-up and I can't duck any more. So armed with cough drops and wearing my sweats ( don't effing care that I look a mess), we'll wade in and grab that wee critter.

It's beautiful fog and dim lights now.

We'll never get a tree for the house at this rate. I'm planning to spend more time in bed. It is SO inconvenient to be sick

Came back from retreat and promptly got sick. Croaking and coughing. The retreat center was in Silver Falls, Oregon, very beautiful and cold. My cabin was either the frozen North or 80 degrees. But there were many hikes in lovely old growth and icy trails. A bear sighting in October so I didn't take the long way around. Imagined a bear huffing up behind me and chewing off my head. The largest animal I saw (heard) were raccoons growling. In the blackest black night. Whoa, black night.

the fam comes next week. My younger has informed me she'd like a slouchy knitted hat, just finished the socks/hand warmers for the older child. Sigh. So I'll go get some wool and whip up a hat...no problem.

However, there are two women in labor today and I might have to prop myself up and go to a birth, snuffling and cough-y and all. Cough drops. A face mask. Inspires confidence for sure.

It's midday but I'm gonna sleep in case I'm called away. In my clothes.

I've been too busy at work so all I can do is come home and lie on the couch. But yesterday we put up lights and they look purty.

If the cat barfs up all her dinner, does she get to have another dinner? I remember nursing a child or other and she'd barf up her whole meal. Then she'd want more. Fortunately, I always had more but I'd think, lordy, what a waste that last half hour was.

In other news. I go on retreat tomorrow for 4 days. And we're riding the train, oh joy oh rapture. The train is the best form of travel ever invented. I'll be watching for cormorants and hawks. They like the train track pathways. And there are the poor little houses along the track. And the people who live in them. Their lives and stories and red shoes.

A fat girl born this morning. Surrounded by both grandmas, friends and the poppa. Mom was kneeling on her bedroom floor and I gotta tell you. My knees aren't what they used to be. I think someone should make me a leetle stool I can sit on in front of/behind the momma so I'm not squishing my knees and hobbling around after.

Abby was still practicing at 68. I wonder if she sat on a stool or wore knee pads like carpet installers. Of maybe she made women get on the bed so she wasn't crouched down on the floor somewhere. This is why we have body workers and hot tubs. And ibuprofen. And young students.

I had my young student do a bit of exam this morning. So she could feel the baby coming down with pushing. She was excited to feel this. I love this part of teaching; watching students do something thrilling for the first time.

The baby came out with her hand by her head, like she was waving at us. Beside her fat cheeks. Beautiful and pink. Women are stronger than they know.

Today is brilliant sun. My dearheart is in pain from surgery and headed for a nap. Or a lie down on the couch. I've dressed warm for a bike ride on the Interurban trail, a long, straight bike trail next to the train tracks. I have a handful of almonds for a snack.

Today I'm gonna dedicate my ride to Abby and Geoffrey while my heart pumps and my legs push the pedals. Our brief life. How did we spend it?

Then Deb and I will put up xmas lights and cheesy plastic candy canes. I've always refused to glitter up the house but this year, what the hell.

However, I can't compete with my neighbors who run a generator for their light extravaganza deluxe cheese fest. (see above)

For right now, I'm gonna go for a walk along the lake and look for unusual birds like muskovey ducks and golden pheasants. I'll pretend I live on an estate where we collect exotic animals and we have an arboretum full of orchids. We have tea at 4 and dinner at 8 where we dress in tuxedos and evening gowns. There are butlers and servants. I have a dresser who helps with all the hooks and eyes. And I wear my hair in a big floaty pouf with real diamonds on long pins.

You never know if you'll see someone you love again.

Why is it when someone dies, people say that person is with Jesus or is in heaven or both? I don't find that comforting but I guess some people do. Please don't say that about me when I die, okay? Or if you do, be ironic.

Jesus was a guy and heaven is the botanical garden on Oahu near the North Shore. I swam under the waterfall there. They have Buick sized philodendron growing up trees. And tropical plants from SE Asia. Dream flowers. Plants with arms and hands. No cherubs. Not one.

I feel so sad I could eat paper. Instead I ate two brownies then I felt sick. There is no cure for this sad, this desolate, this loneliness. Abby was my family, the one who didn't throw me out. She kept me and cared for me and told me I was ok the way I was. After all this time, I'm trying to believe it. All the meditation and incantation and poetry can't take away the shock the cold the ghosts who haunt and point and turn away.

Abby, dear woman.

I will never disown a child of mine. Never. What kind of mother does that? How hard must her heart be?

Fuck November. Just when I thought November had worked her worst anniversary because my brother died, for fuck's sake, on November 26th, I learned via the magic of the internet, that Abby, one of my oldest friends died today. November 30th. I went for a long walk in my hood, stopping to sob under trees and by fences and near barking dogs. If someone walked toward me, I crossed the street. I had a wad of wet toilet paper for a companion. Abby was a midwife like me and I've known her since I was 18, a fucking long time ago. And she was twisted. And the stories live in us and now I can't retell them with her.

She was supposed to tell me before she died that she was fixing to die. I wasn't supposed to hear about it on the internet.

Fuck November. Next year, I not doing November. It's cancelled.

Last night, Deb, Dexter's sister said, "stay tuned for another episode of what the fuck." I love her character. She swears more than any woman on the silver screen. And I love the F word. So does she.

Yesterday, Dr Teeth called to let us know the cancer was contained, no positive nodes. This is the best ever news.

Today I actually brought my laptop to the dining room table because I'm serious about working. I have a towering pile of poetry to re-insert into my new computer. Never ever forget to back up your work.

From here almost all the leaves are on the ground.

Relentless, the great cycle.

Today a baby girl, bigger than we expected. The mom had to push real hard to get that puppy out. But she did it.

Rant below (you don't have to read if you don't want).

This mom chose to birth in the hospital, for reasonable reasons. I could hardly stand myself, wanting to MAKE EVERYONE BACK OFF and let her be. Sheesh. The docs are residents and have to get their hands on/in/whatever. Just let her be and watch what unfolds. Listen to her cues, not the effing monitor. Women in labor have a language, a dance. Honor them and learn it, for Pete's sake.

Nothing worse than the docs fussing around the baby across the room while the mother asks over and over, "please give me my baby..." I wanted to punch things.

Came home and slept. Deb downloaded all the Harry Potter movies, all eight. I'm hopelessly in love with Harry Potter. I want to watch them all, one after the other. I really wish I had a wand. And a cloak of invisibility. Yeah. And some spells. I might blow up some shit. And disappear...

This is where Holly and I hiked today. Deb stayed home with the cats. Holly and I found a little tree decorated with Christmas ornaments. We had the wobbly legs on the way back. Sometimes we want to hike for hours but we're too weak. I'm just grateful I can still be outside crossing streams and standing among the trees.

Geoffrey, today was for you. 11/26/2007

Deb's gone for a lie-down so I'm gonna sneak out and walk in the blustery rainy wet. I'll go down and say hi to the ducks. And the geese, tossing around in the lake.

Odd to be idle, not making food for my friends. they're making food for US. I think that's the way the circle works.

Be still my heart. Deb's home and in the downstairs bedroom. This is what she does. She staggers out to the bathroom. She sits on the couch for five minutes and eats a bit of rice pudding with a wee bit of tea and some probiotics and arnica. Then she staggers back to bed for another four hours of sleep.

Tomorrow we're getting two Thanksgiving dinners. Yeah! Love my friends.

The new gutter has stopped leaking. I don't believe the evil gutter company came back and fixed it. ( I threatened to report them to the Better Business Bureau) but it is just sitting there, not leaking and it's been raining buckets. I think fairies fixed it. Because I lost my debit card yesterday and left the car window down last night (what? you think I was a tad distracted?) Now the car keeps locking the doors and the windows won't roll down. Maybe if it all dries, it will be ok? O, and the seat was soggy. Um, well, Deb is sleeping now and she's gonna be ok so who cares that the car keeps hiccuping and locking the doors, over and over.

May everyone everywhere have enough to eat tomorrow. May all have a warm place to sleep and be safe.

Deb's ok and the surgery went well. She's got oxygen prongs in her nose but so beautiful. Dr Teeth was chipper and toothy. He's delighted with her and himself after five surgeries today. I bring her home tomorrow and I'll tuck her in with comforters and the cats and some soup and all the people who love her.

To Bev and Patti; thanks for the support and the hundred and four hours at the hospital. Bev and I went to St James cathedral and sat before the lady holding the baby Jesus with the huge ceiling overhead. We lit candles. I didn't do the holy water thing although I've always wanted to. Hell, I'd go to confession if Deb could heal faster. I have a lot of sins so I'd keep the priest pretty busy. I'm not sure which sins are the worst. There's parking tickets and premarital sex and lying. It's so hard to sort them out.

Deb is sleeping the good drugged sleep and tomorrow she can come home. Where I can watch over her and keep her safe. Sleep well, my darling girl.

And my partners are taking care of the ladies and the babies, bless them.

Today is surgery day. Armed with ipod, living will, durable power of attorney, slippers and the NYT book review, we head off to the hospital. O, and a list of phone numbers for me to call after the Dr walks down the hall toward me removing his paper hat. He'll be wearing A) a smile B) a grim expression C)a noncommittal straight mouth. That's why Bev will be with me so we can hold hands. Like in the movies.

Except that this is actually happening.

The day is wavery and cold. Fallen leaves. Empty soccer fields. Pearl gray sky. Seattle at her most atmospheric.

May all beings be held with love today.

A new Marcel the Shell!!!!!

So this is where we were today. We went to the pass but, silly us, there was snow. Duh. No driving in snow. No snowshoes. Not enough warm clothes. We came back down the pass and found a secret trail we named after ourselves. We allowed other hikers to use it because we're like that. Magnanimous. We don't allow poaching, however.

Holly and I are going hiking today so pray for us that we don't end up in a ditch cuz of the ice and our fingers don't freeze off. It's too beautiful a day to stay inside. I know Radish is checking on fish so we're gonna see about the mountains and the leaves at the top of a trail. Pictures to follow. That is, if I don't fall in a ditch or end up transfixed by the brilliant.

Milo turned 9 this very day.

His mother gave birth to him 9 years ago this very day. He had two parties today. I gave him a Swiss army knife. He's a boy with a knife. For whittling. Everyone needs a good knife.

Happy birthday, Milo.

Love, Nana

It is most cold out and there is a cat yowling out there. It makes me crazy. I call and call. It might be a tuxedo I've been seeing around the hood. The pound says they have no room because of a 'hoarding' situation, someone with 47 cats, now all at the pound. Cats need a warm couch and regular meals and some humans to pet them and tolerate their shenanegans.

Surgery on Tuesday. Then we find out if it's better or worse.

I went swimming today. If you cry into your goggles, the seal breaks and you get chlorine in your eyes. Just an FYI.

I'm not crying mostly. Because I need to be strong and shit. And anyway, we'll know more on Tuesday. After Tuesday.

Tonight we went to the movies and ran into the oncologist with his kid. Weird. He has very white teeth and a big smiley smile. See you Tuesday, Mr Teeth.

We went to the one year anniversary of our local veggie restaurant tonight where there was bubbly and chocolate for all. And we're looking at surgery for my honey, got the biopsy results today. Fie. On. It. All.

So I had two glasses of wine and a bunch of chocolate vegan cheesecake and I didn't take my phone with me. I left it at home. I just hope the babies don't want to come tonight. I'm needed here, under a fuzzy blanket, watching the Borgia series.

They were truly the first crime family; poison, garrottes, sharp pointy knives, the works. And the Borgia pope had a bunch of kids and concubines. Wow.

It's raining and blowy with a hidden moon. May all beings have whatever they need to be safe and protected and warm.

The NYT came today, faithfully on my porch. I snuggled in and came upon several pages of the Penn State scandal. Gawd in heaven, of whom I do not believe. The closed ranks of men in power make me sick. Ill. The game must go on? Really? We'll just wear a blue ribbon to remember the victims?

Don't get me started on the Catholic church. Don't.

Two true things

Number one.

I went swimming in a purple suit that was so sad and stretched out and chlorinated that it hung off my ass so bad and as soon as I got into the locker room, I removed it and threw it away. A lady in the shower room applauded. Really.

Number two.

I am a wedding officiant and today I married a couple who wanted their wedding day to be 11-11-11. Their kids came. I delivered their kids. The mom told me she'd have another one but she probably shouldn't because of her complications with the last one. I, uh, couldn't remember any. She said I saved her. I did? Wish I could remember that! Maybe her perception is a tad different from mine. I bet that's it. I'm just an ordinary person, if midwives are ordinary, that's me. And not perfect. Not even close.

Amen

So now we wait for the test results which, they tell us, will take an effing WEEK. I know that pathology can look at something right away. I worked for Fred Hutch, I'd hang around in the path lab waiting for specimens. They look at stuff while the patient is lying on the table.

BTW, path labs are in the underground part of hospitals. They are creepy; no windows, no art but some photo books with extremely icky photos of 'conditions'. And the lab rats sit in front of microscopes looking at specimens in thin slices and they diagnose infections, benign tumors and the big C, which we're all afraid of. And pathologists are, um, a unique breed.

A most brilliant fall day full of sun and gorgeous leaves. Reminded me of the East Coast falls. Long ago and far away.

Just because

When it 's cold and nasty outside, I go to the pool to swim and sit in the sauna. Today, the sauna was full of the old ladies who are in the aerobics class. They were all talking at once and enjoying the heat, heating up enough to sweat to face the cold rain. My goggles kept leaking so it must be time to buy another pair. And my swimsuit is hopeless, so I better get another one of those too. I order suits on-line from the discount swim store. Women's suits are awful expensive and they last for three months until they fade and bag and rip their seams. Men can just swim in their leetle butt suits but we have to cover up. Not fair.

And yet, the sky is pewter grey with light behind it. It's making the leaves shimmer with gold.

When can I run away from my life? I think a sandy beach would be grand about now. My sister's birthday is soon or now. Happy birthday to you, Annie dearest, in your northern clime. Where the weather is truly big and pushy and tests your mettle. I hardly remember what it's like to drive in snow and ice.

This weather calls forth baking, an apple crisp I think. I bought two kinds of apples yesterday; ambrosias and sweet Louises. The sweet Louises were crunchy and thrilling, blushy and fine. As an apple named sweet Louise should be. Apples are the queens of fruit.

I'm back from a wee retreat in Oregon, the house is effing freezing and my honey is sick. Suffice it to say that she probably needs an operation and we're worried. But brave in that effed up TV way, hearty and suave.

Actually, we're just scared so we hold hands on the couch and watch Nurse Jackie.

I can't really say more. It's too close to G-day and it's seriously freezing in the house. The cats are trying to sit on my head.

I'm going for a long walk with all my clothes on, even my pajamas.

BTW

I saw this at Seward Park today. The only WEb site I could find was from Scotland. It's a Blue Pheasant.

Really.

I saw it. And no, I wasn't on any substances.

Honest.

Today was a most beautiful day. I walked and walked along the lake in the clear air and sun and leaves all colors I felt like walking far away to Tacoma or Oregon or Marin County to see my daughter or farther to LA to see my other daughter. I could walk forever. Until my feet fell off. Or the blisters came. And the streets would be lined with people cheering me on and feeding me cheesecake and root beer. Like Peace Pilgrim or the guy who runs all night with a cell phone and money. He calls ahead and orders pizza and eats it while he's running. When the sun comes up, he calls his wife to come get him (wherever he is). He runs a hundred miles.

Then I made brussel sprouts with garlic, coarse salt and olive oil. I fed them to my honey who hates brussel sprouts except for mine. Mine she'll eat. Leetle mouthfuls of health. Wee cabbages.

I swam yesterday. I swim a lot. I know this because after a while, my bathing suits fade and stretch and bag down my ass. Then I get new ones from the cheap on-line swim store. The suit I have now has a tiny problem. My breasts aren't exactly contained. They sneak out the sides while I swim and I think the vision is that they float alongside me as I freestyle along. Anyway, I have to haul them back into my suit when I climb up the ladder and the suit is mysteriously shrunken. Maybe my breasts absorb water while I swim and they expand. That could be it.

A woman comes to the pool with her disabled son. They get into the deep end and she pushes him to do laps. He does an interesting version of the breast stroke, bobbing up and down. And he says, 'uh-oh' about every 2 minutes, non-stop. He sounds like a bird call. And then his father gets into the water too. His father is a handsome East Indian man with muscles and a grey beard and a long grey braid. He stands in the shallow end and watches. The mother smiles and kisses her son. And he sings, 'uh-oh, uh-oh' over and over.

Another swimmer wheels over to the lift in his wheelchair. The lift lowers him into the water where he puts on flippers. He stays by the wall and unbends his body. He wears a careful expression and stays in the water for a long time. He's always in the water after I get out.

The baby I'm waiting for is sure taking his time. Much to the dismay of his parents. It's something that can't be helped.

It's a day a melancholy day with silky warm air leaves and rot and pumpkins already falling in on themselves the wild buzzing always in my head it's tinnitus it's ghosts it's Thanksgiving when my brother couldn't wouldn't survive another year day minute breathing so he. stopped. breathing. all by himself I'm in the shed under the beeches in Pennsylvania their luminous bark not enough light for him to stay awhile longer I'm sitting with him the rakes and empty paint cans his witness to the rope that finally didn't let him down let him down too late every year he takes a place at the table where the empty plate sits he's the end of each sentence he's the spaces between the words he's the music we no longer can hear.

Holly and I went into the grocery store dressed as jellyfish and no one looked at us. Why? What's the matter with people? They looked away politely, like we had scales or burns or three arms.

Come on, it's just taffeta and shiny tentacles.

O.

Maybe it's the tentacles. They are the non-stinging kind even if they got caught in the car door. We jumped around for the floaty jelly-like effect. We thought we were hilarious. We were.

So all you grumpy people at Puget Consumer Coop, get a kick out of two women dressed as jelly fish, sheesh. How often will you see such a sight? Maybe never again. Too bad for you.

If I sweep all the leaves off the porch, does that count as raking?

Sometimes being a midwife is difficult. You have to give people bad news. And they don't want to hear it. And they want to shoot the messenger. Or you didn't say what you needed to say in a skillful way. Sigh. it's not part of the job I like. I wish I didn't have to do it. Sometimes I just want to take a bath all day and get water all over the book I'm reading.

And drink tea.

And have the servants take care of the laundry and the cats.

Tonight I'm going to a party with my friends. I'm going as a jellyfish, blue or pink, I can't decide.

Patti will have eyeballs in the soup and spiders in the pie. I know her. She's like that. There'll probably be brain sauce and skeletal biscuits. With fingernails.

James said he's not coming as a grumpy old man.

Down the street there is a local gym owned by local people. The owner guy has muscles as big as Buicks and I'm not even kidding. There are trophies and statues of big Buick-muscle guys in the window. Where, you ask, is this heading? Just because I'm (ahem) of a certain age with gray hair and collegen-less thighs, or was that cholesterol-less thighs, anyway, I know how to lift weights so back off, mister. Plagued by injuries, our plucky heroine hauled herself up out of the ditch and continued the race, running sideways on her broken ankle.... But wait, I did have a sprained ankle last year and a torn hamstring.

Therefore.

I ventured into the gym with a free ticket for a workout. I even sweated. And I didn't hurt myself on the treadmill like that time (April, you know). It's a very funny story about, um, programming the treadmill incorrectly and flying off the back and landing on my ass ripping a big hole in my shorts AND getting back up on that horse and finishing the workout, goddammit. At a college gym. With college students ignoring me. Mortified, not me. Except when I saw the large hole in my shorts back in the locker room.

So, now I 'go to the gym', as in, "gotta run, I need a workout before I go home." Fortunately, most of the people who go there are normal looking. And it's not all guys. Not that I have anything against guys. They can tend to sometimes take up a lot of room with their bench pressing 5000 pounds and groaning and popping out in rivers of sweat.

I don't care that I'm only lifting 20 pounds. My muscles are puny. But, I tell yah, if a 10# baby is stuck, you should see how strong I can be. Adrenaline is my friend.

And we made 75 jars of grape jelly and it is so purty on the counter. If you lived near me, you'd get some for Christmas. And it's effing good.

I had today off and tomorrow too. I can hardly believe my luck.

Geoffrey is haunting me this year. Don't know why. I can't avenge you, baby brother. It just never goes away, the sadness.

My dear friends:

We had six babies last week. They all arrived safely. We went home and slept for a hundred and fourteen hours. Yesterday, my honey and I made grape jelly again and the kitchen is a huge mess of spilled jelly, sugar and mysterious splotches on the stove. And some of it didn't jell, whhhhaaaaa. Which means, decanting, recooking, more pectin and sugar and boiling hot jars and lids and burns on hands and fingers.

However.

I washed the last batch of clothes with a leetle bottle of peppermint oil so now my clothes smell of peppermint. Very strong peppermint. When you have a honey who NEVER empties her pockets, you wash all sorts of things. She now has a very clean wallet too.

Fall in the Northwest is my favorite. Sock-making season. Jelly making season. Lying around an reading the paper til 3 PM. All the cats on the bed at night.

I don't have anything interesting to say. And I don't even care.

I'm off call, trala, trala.

Grape jelly making in my future. And artist behavior. I have a giantfuckingnormous canvas in my bedroom with no paint on it. What was I thinking? The garage is big enough to work in there but it'll be cold. No matter. I've never made such a big painting. It's worrisome.

This is where Holly and I hiked yesterday, Tiger Mountain in the clouds.

Dear babies,

I attended a birth on Thursday, Friday and today. Thank you all for being healthy and beautiful. Now I'd like a bit of a rest, k?

Love, Beth the midwife

The third miracle

Get the monster out of your body

---Patti Hansen

something's not right
sky hidden behind an ominous slick
my face has slid onto the dash
the cats float
their shiny pads illuminate the night
a poisoned retinue
chafes

remind me how we arrived on this island
did we fly or swim
my body transparent
are we orphans now
who will take in the mail

thickets perfume the verge
drift toward a lighted caravan
in silk slippers and a course necktie
watch slap slip behind a painted curtain
it's not how I was conceived

management has closed the museum
wings untether from the lacquered passenger pigeons
see
they are flying toward the speckled windows
we fall back into their angelic arms
rise into the dusty light

A baby girl this morning. Up all night. I slept on the couch in my bathrobe this afternoon. I don't know what it is. If I sleep on the couch, I'm not really sleeping, just resting. WTF. If I get into bed, that must mean I'm really tired and it must be night and I should brush my teeth and get into my jammies. Even if it's bright day with the sun in the window.

I put in a movie and all I remember are the credits. Clean, Shaven, a truly creepy and beautifully shot film about mental illness. I'm gonna try it again after I've 'rested'.

I now have two poems in my new computer. Two. And they are saved in Google docs. Dreary and boring to admit this but I back up, like seeing a tsunami, you gotta back up, way up. To the top of something really tall, like a mountain.

I'm too tired to continue here. Off to beddy. It's dark so I can legitimately lie down. In my bed. My sweet soft delicious bed.

National coming out day? Where have I been? EVERYONE should come out. Mass confusion ensues.

What, another chance to sell greeting cards and roses???

Forgive me for my well-deserved sarcasm. Blame it on the land of my birth, the dreaded East Coast.

Today I'll write a new poem on my new computer. Then I'll effing BACK IT UP. I surveyed the perimeter of my house looking for other ways for thieves to enter. All windows locked, doors double locked. Some day I'm living in the country and I'll never lock my doors or my car. And I'll never mow the lawn neither. A tree will grow in the living room and vines will hang in the kitchen. We'll eat lunch with the raccoons and the deer will lend us a hand in the garden.

That's it for now.

it's all impermanence-or whatever

Dear Readers-I've returned from my California adventures. My LA daughter lives in a hobbit house behind a real house. I will need pictures of the passionflowers that drip down over her doorway when I figure out my new computer. She has a garden and a leetle building where her bathroom and washer/dryer are. And she has plants and cacti and a fire pit and a clothes line. I loved being there. And she'a a lover of fine food so we ate all kinds of different food, Persian and Korean and Central American. She's becoming a chef, food inventor with her lust for new and interesting and delicious.

Then to the Bay area with daughter the other and we saw the Picasso exhibit at the new DeYoung, truly a gorgeous museum. We also walked around Haight street and tried on boots. Lovely buttery boots that made us feel sexy and invincible.

The retreat was again in the glorious Spirit Rock with heated floors and California groovy food and wild turkeys and deer and frogs and turkey vultures. Silence.

In the airport, we found out that while we were gone, our house had been broken into. And my laptop was stolen. Crap. When they tell you to back up your work, they mean, back up your work, dummy.

So I' ve been in serious grief since Sunday. I don't even know what was lost yet. I guess the only fortunate thing is that I've downloaded most all of my poetry. But. Crap.

Javier Sicilia, a Mexican poet, has been traveling Mexico with the Caravan for Peace With Justice and Dignity after his son was killed by a drug cartel. He stopped writing poetry in protest. And he's moving people all over the country. Bless him.

I'll survive the loss of my computer. What I was most concerned about when I heard something had happened at home was that a kat had been injured... And my computer was seven years old. Maybe some child is using it for school and it's not in a pawn shop somewhere.

By the way, while on retreat, I saw a stag there for the first time. I always see the does and fawns, by now they are yearlings. But I saw a buck, twice. The first time he was coming out of the mist-like a magic dreamy deer. The second time, he was standing on the hillside right beside the door of the zendo. I've decided to grow a pair of antlers and get sticks and twigs in my fur. And be wild.

Tomorrow I leave for the wilds of California, first to visit my LA daughter (who said the all her friends 'adore' me-really?) and then to the Bay area to see daughter the older with Milo, the golden grandson and Shaun, the son-in-law, also golden. Finally to meet up with my sweetie at Spirit Rock for a six day silent retreat. O you who read my blog know that I am a regular retreat-goer. It resets my mental/emotional/spiritual muscles to be in silence, the longer the better. I was gone for most of July on retreat this year. Already thinking about 2012, travel and retreat adventures that I can a) afford b) be gone from my midwifery practice for a while without total collapse of my fellow midwives.

Speaking of which, Anne, the new midwife from Florida is HERE, hooray, hoorah! She's taking the licensing exam as we speak. As soon as we get our ducks? babies? jelly beans? in a row, she'll be able to see clients and go to births. Thank gawd and all the leetle birdies in the sky.

We met yesterday for several hours. I fed her homemade apple sauce and we talked about the state of the world. I think it's gonna work out fine. And my sister's name in Anne AND her sister's name is Beth {{{shiver}}}

Anyway, she sold everything and moved across the country. Whew! I hope she continues to like our climate...otherwise, we'll have to send her off to Mexico regularly for some heat. Or East of the mountains, a truly beautiful and terrible place, home of the mighty Columbia.

All I did this summer is look at Mt Rainier. Sigh. I didn't hike there even once. For shame. I did, however, swim in Lake Washington over the weekend.

It's raining, the most beautiful sound. I planted bulbs and many plants over the weekend. They are enjoying this weather. I love rain and gloom and sweaters and rainboots. And then it becomes TOO MUCH and we get loony.

We had our monthly dinner-East Indian this time and we made a complete mess in the kitchen, every pot dirty. But. The food was wonderful. Vindaloo, spinach paneer, dal with chutney, banana raita, homemade chai. Cardamon seeds, cumin, ginger, garlic, hot peppers, lime juice, o yum.

The mailman said he'd be back for dinner, our house smelled so good.

And we ate outside. After dark, we lit candles. We told stories. There was much laughter. I loved everyone at the table. Lovely. And I read my terrible babies poem. Under duress. I'm not one of those people who drag out my latest poem and make everyone listen until their eyes glaze over. Honest.

Next week I leave for LA to see one kid, then to the Bay area to see the other kid. Then a six day retreat. Among the deer, vultures and dumb turkeys. Love the turkeys. And to think they were almost our national bird.

So I'm polishing up my baby poem and I'm having the darnest time with a title. Sometimes titles come first, sometimes way later.

I kayaked on the lake today for 2 hours. My honey helped me load and unload. It was so gorgeous and empty. There was nary a boat. One water plane took off in the distance. I paddled and drifted and looked at the bottom rocks and weeds and followed a few swimmers, one in a wet suit. The water felt warm enough to swim in, sans wet suit but maybe he was swimming from Mercer Island...

We took a kat to the vet today. The other kat who was supposed to go made himself scarce. Nowhere. When we got home, he was spread out on the bed with that look on his face. What? Did you need me for something. I love the way they make themselves as big as Great Danes so you can't get them into the cat carrier. I've learned a trick, however. Upend the carried and lower them down in. Ha! Then the pitiful mewing all the way to the office. I hate pap smears. They hate anything to do with shots and teeth cleaning and flea inspection. Fie on the vet, they say, fie.

Was just reading poetry and found one I was SURE I hadn't written because it was pointy and ugly and wonderful and surprising so I called my friend poet and asked her if she'd written it. Really. I did. She told me no, she hadn't written it but wished she had. And why would it be in my poetry folder anyway. I think I wrote the first line and then fell into a trance and wrote the rest. Then the more I read it, I decided I HAD written it if for no other reason because there are babies in the poem. Not-nice-babies.

Sometimes I impress myself with my own writing. Even if my sentences aren't grammatical.

Some things are just not that important.

We had a party in the park with cake and marimbas and balloons. It was a potluck too so people brought beautiful vegetarian food. It was our midwife party, an annual thing. No one went into labor. The very pregnant ones came and looked wistfully at the babies in front packs and back packs and strollers. And the air was so clean from the RAIN we had last night. Clean shiny beautiful rain. Everything was sparkly and gleam-y. Once a year we have a party and invite our clients. I love to see them, see how they've grown and see how their parents are faring. Parenting is effing hard. We always make jokes about baby spew and sleepless nights but deep in the night when your kid won't give you a break, you will reconsider your commitment-no hitting, no shaking, no leaving in a basket at the nearest church.

Then one day, they're grown up and doing things like buying cars and having their own children and having lives, all without you.

Good night all you babies. Tonight, be kind to your parents and sleep soundly. For hours.

O heaven, the radio playing a Haydn cello piece. O heaven, o joy.

I gave the one legged guy by the Safeway three dollars. I wish I could have given him one hundred. I know where he sleeps, beside his fake leg.

It's fall. I bought bulbs! all colors including black and purple parrot ones, only a few because they were expensive. It's a gift to the neighborhood, for all to enjoy.

The katz are looking at me expectantly. Sleek critters that they are. But they've left the hummingbird alone, she who comes every day to the lipstick plant, still in flower.

My heart leaps up, every time I see her, with her chipping sound and her magic wings. I've gotta figure out a way to feed her this winter. Away from the predators I live with. Maybe we can fix a second story feeder out the office window.

May all hummingbirds find enough food this winter. May all beings have enough to eat every day.

A dear man is dead. My heart is broken.

May you join your sparkle brothers, sweetheart.

Love, Beth

This here photo is for you, dear Radish. She's workin' on an airplane!

I only have one existential question for today.

Why do cats throw up on the rug (or bed/chair/couch) when a bare floor is inches away and so much easier to clean up?

For some reason I'm thinking about Steve Buscemi an actor I've loved ever since I saw a movie called Parting Glances about the AIDS epidemic before AZT and having HIV was pretty much a death sentence and my friends were dying and we were helping them to die taking them to the doctors and the hospital and standing by the bed when they turned off the machines and watching the heart monitor go dark and flat and Steve played the part of an HIV positive gay man and he was so manic and clever and ghostly and funny videoing himself for his family while hitting himself on the head with a big dildo I have watched that movie about one hundred twelve times I don't know why I'm thinking about that movie tonight but I am.

Good night forever, my darling dears. James and Jim and Tommy and Alison and Richard. I love you always.

I've been in a daze. After I asked the SBJ (sweet baby Jesus) to hold off on the babies, another momma called in labor so off I went into the night. It was a lovely birth and the grandma made us a Columbian breakfast. She spoke no English but o man, there were these corn pancake things filled with cheese and mango and hot chocolate...I broke my vegan vows, hell yes.

Plus, their dog Melo, sang to a few songs they were playing. He'd cock his head and howl. They were playing a bunch of Brazilian beats, very dance-y and drummy. The baby cried for a good long time after the birth. As soon as they put on the play list from the labor, she stopped crying. Really. She heard those Latin beats and stopped wailing to listen.

Since then, I figured I'd missed about a thousand twenty hours of sleep so I've been sleeping at night and napping during the day. And my partner midwife came back from Jamaica all tan and relaxed and she went on call. Thank gawd.

I have the best most kick-ass awful job. Bliss and wrung out at the same time.

Please sweet baby Jesus, don't let anyone else have a baby til tomorrow when I'm off call. I'm way too tired from all the baby festivities and I fell down coming home from the dentist and I'm covered with bandaids. This is a sad fact of extreme fatigue and aging while in flip-flops. I skinned my hands, my knees, my wrist and my (?) thumb.

Sheesh.

We went crazy yesterday and pulled up massive plants that were taking over the yard. There are many bags/boxes/crates of yard waste on the parking strip now and denuded flower beds waiting for bulbs and leetle trees and other lovely plants like hebes. I love hebes. They are polite and flowery and they don't feel the need to effing dominate like some plants that believe they have to take over the world.

Don't get me started on bindweed. Back East where I'm from, we call bindweed morning glories and they make the most beautiful blue/purple flowers and we are kind to them (and I tried to ingest the seeds once because I thought they'd make me high-don't try this at home, please) so obnoxious bindweed with their boring white flowers and their ability to cover everything is not my friend, not now, not ever. Unless they have psychedelic properties, which they don't.

Every day a brilliant green humming bird visits my yard. Then it sits at the top of the lilac and makes it's chipping sound. Their beaks are as slender as needles. Humming birds only live for 2 years because their metabolisms are so fast and they die of heart attacks because they run so much energy. I think they are actually devas of the bird world and without them we cannot dream properly. Or at all.

Sometimes, the only thing for it is to go on a bike ride forever and get all sweaty and grimy with only a banana and water for sustenance. Then when you finally decide to turn around to come home, you realize the wind was at your back which is why you thought you were such a damn jock, riding so fast and so far. So you struggle home in a pathetic gear, whining and whimpering all the way because the wind is pushing you backwards. However, you can have a reward like a whole bar of chocolate.

I, uh, washed my glasses in the washing machine and they did not do well with this treatment. They are mighty scratched and one of the side pieces snapped off. So I'm getting some new spiffy ones that will make me look like Penelope Cruz. Even her bust line. Which reminds me.

I took a test online to determine my bra size. Please understand. I was a flat chested teen and a flat chested adult until, o, about 45 when menopause began to wreak havoc. And I got breasts. I wanted breasts when I was 15, not at 45 when I could give a shit. But no, breasts I got and breasts that needed support. So I tried many things: underwires (yech), sports bras (uni-breast look), and flimsy cotton-y 'bras' that couldn't hold up cotton balls, let alone my substantial girls. So I guess I'm a 36 C, good gawd. And I haven't yet found a satisfactory bra. Bras suck, actually.

On my way back from my glorious bike ride, a young man crossed against the light in front of me in my hood. His pants were completely underneath his ass (with underwear on) and his shirt was half on and half off his upper body, sorta like he leapt up because there was a fire and ran out of the house while dressing and hadn't had time to adjust his clothes. (??????) I know I'm and old square, but WTF? Anyone?

First, I'm gonna complain a wee bit. I got a TICKET for running a red light, nabbed by a CAMERA on Broadway. WTF. $124 smackers too. And I was doing the Lawd's work, well on the way to a baby. Not fair.

And besides, I went to birth this early AM, birds cheeping and the fog rising and a glorious view of Queen Anne and the Space Needle---then an all day clinic. My student and I were so punchy we were laughing at poop jokes and swearing out loud in visits. Our clients, bless them all, didn't mind. They think we're heros or crazy or both.

I mean, would you want this woman at your birth? Extreme fatigue + poop jokes + swearing (and silent farting) + slurring some basic words like cervix and uterus. Gawd.

Cassandra, you are a birth goddess and Megan too. I thank all the birthing goddesses everywhere that you are young and resilient and your adrenals are intact.

Love, your old, used up teacher.