I'm going on retreat on Friday. It's a thing I do at this time of year. Six days of silence in the woods with the deer and vegetarian food and a wee room to sleep in. Blessed silence. Only the far off train whistle and the birds.

And no responsibilities. No phone. No questions from anyone. A chance to unhook including the internet, no WIFI. Lovely.

When I return, we ready ourselves for our last Teen Feed of the year. On Halloween. In cat ears. Or a witch's hat. Or whiskers. As long as we don't drag anything into the food.

There are the bones of two rooms in the back of my house. The tarp roof makes a frightful noise when the wind blows but hey, I have actual stairs to the basement. Poured cement. I told Jim I was leaving for 6 days and when I returned my house would be done. He chuckled, sardonically. I can be such a silly person.

A roof and closed-in walls would be excellent before it gets cold. But my expectations are low, very low.

On Sunday, I was in the bookstore sitting by the bathroom, where there was a bit of a line. Apparently a few book store employees came to extract a homeless man who was trying to use the loo. He started yelling that no one cared about him, he was just a person, why was he being treated this way. It was awful. By the time I got up to intervene, he was gone.

I mean, can't he use the bathroom? What harm is there?

Today on Broadway, in a busy neighborhood, I watched from my car as a homeless man rinsed out/washed a pain of pants in the drinking fountain.

This world breaks me every day. And I must not turn away. We all have the opportunity to witness and hold the humanity of our brothers and sisters in their distress, even when we can't change their circumstances. And we can love them.

You may look this whole world over and never find anyone more deserving of love than yourself.-

                       The Buddha

You know, I always wondered about Joan Armatrading, O glorious Joan whose albums were with me as a budding young lesbo. And I saw her a few times in concert. I mostly swooned but I remember dancing to her music in the living room of an old girlfriend's house and feeling such joy, in her music, in my new found liberation, in life. Joan Armatrading=rebirth.

So I took another run at old Joanie, and guess what? Uh huh, she's GAY as in QUEER etc. She married her g'friend a few years ago. All the while maintaining that her music was most important, not her sexual orientation. Well, I know that but sheesh.

I mean, really. And Annie Leibowitz spent four days with her, to get the right photo. Yeah, well, of course. I'd spend four days with her too. At least.

Sometimes we just know things about people. Our people. 

My house is at a standstill. The BGBGs show up and ponder and mess around a bit and then leave. The concrete guys have not been back. I'd love to have some stairs to the basement. It would be so cool to do laundry without having to climb up and down a ladder.

Rob said lately that he really thinks we should just 'gut' the kitchen because the wiring is so screwy and the plumbing is, well, you get the picture....sob..... Ok, and what will that cost? I'm hoping I can get all this done without a) dying first b) going into massive debt or c) suffering some as yet undisclosed ailment which will render me unfit for my chosen occupation and I then fall into penury and end up in debtor's prison or in a box under the viaduct. ( I always wanted to use the word penury)

The rain is raining all around. The tarp roof mostly keeps the house dry. The flapping in the wind excites the dog who lets me know by barking. And barking. 

Felix jumps on people. So annoying. I MUST break him of the habit. I'm getting close to a dog trainer situation.  He ignores me. He's mostly a good dog except for that. Kind of like a 2 year old who says 'no' a lot. At other times, when no one is around, he's funny and endearing so you figure you'll hang onto him a few more days. 

O Joan, I would have so dated you. Guess after 40 years, it's too late. Sigh. 

What I did Sunday:

And yesterday:

Little boys. Fat little boys. And beautiful families. 

The chimney guy is here and the BGBGs, complete with compressor and banging. Time to leave the house.

Technically, this is not possible

Did you know that you can Google castles for sale?

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/property/luxuryhomes/10377761/The-worlds-best-castles-for-sale.html

And one guy, the inventor of Oracle, owns 97% of Kauai. Did you know that? Some people have WAY too much money.

Where was I. Oh yeah. These are for you, Betsy dear and RK. An art installation in my hood. Couldn't find the poem though. Probably walked away because it was being neglected.

Speaking of bees, my inestimable midwifery partner Lynn had bee sting therapy yesterday for her achey knees. I don't think I'm signing up for this. Nope. Bees stung her knees. On purpose. 

It rained, O praise the weather gods on high and low. However, the tarp tied to my rafters flapped and whipped fearfully all night. Of course, the dawd had to let me know about the noise by barking frequently. I think he wants to kill me. All will be silent and then he'll bark FOR NO EARTHLY REASON, scaring the crap out of me and giving me heart attach symptoms. So I yell at him which makes him think I'M barking too. You see the dilemma? Thought so. 

By the way. Women have different heart attach symptoms than men. Well duh. And guess which group has had the bulk of the research? Uh-huh. So ladies, be warned. Here are symptoms for us girls: 

1. Women are more likely than men to have heart attack symptoms unrelated to chest pain, such as:

   • Neck, jaw, shoulder, upper back or abdominal discomfort.
   • Shortness of breath.
   • Right arm pain.
   • Nausea or vomiting.
   • Sweating.
   • Lightheadedness or dizziness.
   • Unusual fatigue.

   
   

Love and kisses,

your friendly healthcare professional

I built my first fire in the fireplace last night. And today because I was needing to paint and I couldn't fricking find my art supplies in the mess that is the basement right now (besides climbing up and down the ladder to get to the basement), I went to the cheapy store and bought wee paints and gesso and brushes and a few pencils. And it's raining, what a delicious sound it is. 

1. 
   

In a few months my house will look like this

I went to my first group fitness class this morning. My new neighborhood had a community gym that is sensitive to the multi-ethnic folks who live in my 'hood. On the wall behind the counter is a sign that says they won't play music that is violent or insensitive to women(!) AND NO SWEARING. Now that's a hard one. When you're sure your trainer is trying to kill you by commanding you to do one more set of sit-ups, planks and free weights, swear words come naturally out your mouth.  Right? I have made it a long practice to swear when the occasion calls for it.

One of my swimmer pals suggested that I learn a foreign language and swear in that language. My luck someone from Laos or Nigeria would be in the gym and hear me.

Shite. Merde.

I just listened to Creme and the young Eric Clapton. Boy did that take me back to my misspent youth. A lot of drugs and sex were involved and the budding of my swearing practice.

For your viewing pleasure-look what has happened to my house in the last few days:

Hot damn. Hot darn just doesn't sound right.  Maybe I could swear like The Fantastic Mr Fox:

• 
  Badger:

  The cuss you are...

  Mr. Fox:

  The cuss am I? Are you cussing with me?!

  Badger:

  No, you cussing with ME?!

  Mr. Fox:

  Don't cussing point at me!

  Badger:

  You'll cuss someone but me!

  No, you're not gonna cuss with me, you little cuss!

Bodies

Before any more time elapses, I have two stories.

Part 1

On Sunday, I walked der dog to the lake and went to a new beach, closer to my house. Lovely sunny day, a few people on the grass, about 4 in the afternoon. Felix swam and ran and then I noticed a trail that went through the trees. I though, hell, it's a short trail and why not. So I leashed the animal and forged ahead---until I came upon a woman lying on her back on a bench with her, um, pants down and a guy at the business end, um, having, er, sex with her. At first I was confused. Why is the lady hanging off the bench? Why can I see her ass? Why is the man pulling up his pants. Oh, ah, well, ahem.

So I brilliantly said, "Seriously?????" And, "Take that inside". And I marched on to the end of the trail.  I have naked stories, I do. But this was the first time for a sex in the park in broad daylight story.

Part II

Last night I went to ecstatic dance. I know, they're kinda lame and I really love my 5 rhythms but I was itching to dance with wild abandon during the full moon. So I went. On the dance floor was a man with no arms, just hands at his shoulders. He danced with all the ladies and a few men.

We just wanna move our bodies, our imperfect bodies. It was a full moon. The music was loud and wonderful. We sweated and twirled and shouted with joy.

And some of us have sex in the park.

Ice caves. Really

Holly and I were early for our dinner-date night so we went to Value Village and bought Halloween garb. I got a hat

Holly found a wreath with Hello Kitty buttons on it. One of the clerks used it for a tutu but we thought it would be good for face framing and possibly the front door. 

We have to get dressed up for Halloween because it is our last Teen Feed for the year. 

The Playback improv was great. Very small audience but enthusiastic actors. I told my coming out story and they brought it back to me, complete with multicolored scarves and references to crock pots and tea. 

Next month is grief and loss. Gawd, Maybe I'll go anyway. Others better get up there and talk. 

Dance day today. I looked up my local gym and I'm gonna go join. Arg. My personal fitness program is not working so I better go get some help. Yes I'm very active for a person of my sort of age but I could be stronger. So.

The gym has trainers and group classes. The last time I had a trainer, I was training for a half-marathon and I shaved 5 minutes off my time. Pretty good. 

They have a 'silver sneakers' class. I refuse to be THAT person. Even though I'm almost old enough for Medicare. My neighbor just turned 55. The first thing He told me about himself is that he has AIDS. He looks healthy and fit, thanks to science. But his health is always precarious. And precious. So. I'll go lift weights and sweat and complain so I can continue to climb mountains with Holly. Who is not my girlfriend, BTW. She's too young and it would ruin our relationship. 

Slept fitfully. Most have known Lynn was running between two births while I slept. She almost called me but didn't at the end. We have a baby in the hospital, happens sometimes. He's ok, just needs a bit of monitoring.

Tonight I'm having dinner with friends. After, we're going to an improv theatre group that listens to audience stories and then acts them out. The topic-'Coming out'.

We've all got a story or two there. After watching all five seasons of 'Queer as Folk', I might actually be a gay man. I'm not sure.

I came out so long ago. Seems like a dream. Terrifying liberation. And no, dear therapist, it didn't last for six weeks. It's been forty-six years.

Is that right? Gawd. I must be OLD.

Post coming out artist I was in love with. Still am.



I left the front door wide open all night. I did.

Came home this morning after an all-nighter birth. Every scary thing happened at the birth but everyone is fine. I noticed that my hands were shaking afterwards. I stared at them and they stopped. I mean really. Sometimes all hell breaks loose at births and we just wade in. We deal with it. Sara, my new midwife hire was there and she was everywhere at once.

I actually had blood on my butt that soaked through my scrubs to my underwear. I must have sat in a puddle. Sheesh. My student kindly pointed out the er, butt mess. As I was taking my team to breakfast, I took off my underwear,  put my scrubs back on with a long shirt to cover the gore, and ta-da! No one was the wiser. Really need to bring clean clothes to births.

I slept through the guys banging and hauling outside. We had a meeting about the progress. I like them. They come, hammer, drill, saw and haul to the dump. Then there are plastic tarps flapping in the wind hanging from the roof line.

My health insurance is going up again. Gawd it's a fortune. When can I get Medicaid? Can I get Medicaid? This is the plight of many many people here in this ole USA.

Just keep working, that's what I get to do. And I'm lucky. I'm healthy. I have a job I love. And I'm the boss.

Off to bed again. Looks like someone else is in labor.

This is what it looks like:

And tomorrow they are taking off the roof. 

Um.

And I'm giving them another $15000. Fortunately I meet with the nice bank people tomorrow to shake hands and sign papers lending me $$ so I pay off the mortgage AND acquire a bigger loan. See how that works? Thought so. 

My house is making me sneeze. Couldn't be the random dust from concrete and wood and ceiling tiles, right? Naw. 

Rebecca this one's for you-Discovery Park today

On the interminable plane ride to Europe, the free station in the back of my seat had this artist.


I've been playing her obsessively. And pretending I speak French, comme sa?

It rained. All night. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

I had peanut butter for dinner. On a spoon. Then some edemame. My mother, rest her soul, would not approve. I am thinking about forgiveness. Forgiving my enemies. A Dorothy Day article in the Sun has inspired me. It's a short list.

My mother is on the list.

My contractor insists on talking about the basement and wanting to put in a kitchen down there and sprucing it up for a tenant.

I don't have the $$ for this. I just want some rooms upstairs and a functional kitchen. Not fancy, functional. The basement is where the ghosts live and I don't think they care about a remodel. In fact, it might rile them all up.

What I did yesterday:

This couple were so in love during the labor, I felt embarrassed to witness. He kissed and nibbled her neck, she gazed into his eyes and smiled after contractions.  It was beautiful. This wee babe was born into that. Sometimes I can't believe what I do; the crazy hours, the complicated situations, the random stress and fear. And then there are people like this. My heart breaks with their love for each other and for their babe.

And today I did this:

The view from the top of Mount Washington. And I died, or could have. Blistered feet, wobbly legs and weariness, profound weariness. It was hot, the elevation gain was significant and the trail full of rocks. We had climbed this mountain before but decided to do it again for the view. WTF. I'm totally whipped. Holly was unfazed and Felix was bouncy as usual. I whined for the last mile, really whined. Even though hiking is VOLUNTARY, people. I would have given anything for an airlift back to the parking lot. 

We stopped at the Issaquah PCCon the way home, which, if you are familiar, is a ginormous natural food store in a fancy neighborhood off I-90. I looked a right mess, with my braid falling out, a bandana on my head for the sweat, clothes that were soaked and sweat-stained and I was seriously limping. A few times I moaned a little bit. Everyone else was polished with clean clothes and the glow of money about them. I was the person who crawled out from under the bypass to buy a lemonade. 

I am currently sitting down. I love sitting down. It's divine.

I have a practice where I have some dollars in a cubby in my car and whenever I'm at a corner with a homeless person, I give that person a dollar or two. And then we chat, if there's time. Yesterday I gave a guy a dollar by the on-ramp to I-5. There is often a woman there who has a large selection of signs with sayings like 'Don't worry, be happy!!!' and 'God loves you!'. She's blonde with a thick braid. She looks like an archetypal farmer's wife. But she's sleeping under a blue tarp by the freeway.

Anyway.

The man yesterday reassured me. 'I'm ok, just a minor setback. Don't worry about me. I'm fine!' And as I drove away, I broke down. I've looked in the eyes of so many homeless humans and he got in there. I wept all the way home.

I asked about homelessness in Italy. The economy is pretty bad. The cab driver I asked said that because Italians have such extensive social support, the families are so big, someone down on his/her luck will be taken in. The only people I saw who were street people were Gypsies and they were regularly harassed by the police. In India, begging is a profession and part of the caste system. And the beggars are aggressive and pushy. It was an interesting practice to walk through the streets knowing you'd be assaulted by children and adults who had clearly identified you as a privileged foreigner. Besides, you were paler and taller (and probably healthier with full vaccinations and a full belly).

The children are sleeping again under the overpass on my way to work. They are there in their sleeping bags on the pavement, sharing cigarettes and herb. Our last Teen Feed is next month on Halloween.

This morning the men are grinding and sawing and hammering out back. I don't know where Hugo was but evidence of him through the house is characterized by dirty footprints and fine grit and various plant burrs.

Vacuuming is futile.

The person I'm not dating leaves for the Sudan on Saturday. I bought her a wee external hard drive and loaded it with movies and series so she can watch Sherlock on her computer. I'm worried about her. Nine months is a long time. Especially in a place where there is civil war. I treated her to dinner downtown. Coconut cream pie for dessert. Least I could do.

All my staff is at a birth and I am doing clinic by myself. It's ok, not too busy.

Florence. The Duomo was astonishing. It looks fake, too big and green and white marble, acres of it. Look at the size of the people. Without power tools too.

Italian women reminded me of Manhattan women, all gorgeous and floating on air in their high couture and heels. No gorgeous Italian men. I looked. And no pregnant women. One woman nursing a baby in a pew. And this lady.

I long for Italy. Languorous meals that lasted for four hours. The best tiramisu I have ever eaten. Beautiful small farms of olive trees and grapes. The slower pace. I feel homesick. 

The person I'm not dating is leaving for the Sudan this week. We had dinner together last night, a farewell dinner. She's been fixing up the houseboat she lives on. We might try to see each other one more time before she goes. For nine months. I feel vaguely worried about her. 

I climbed down the ladder today into the basement to get my laundry. In my pajamas. My neighbors don't care and they can't see me anyway. 

And I stepped on the scale this morning. Um, pasta and I are in love but I'm afraid I have to break up with her. Anyway, there ain't no Italian pasta around so I'm probably safe. 

My house is a disaster. The back is gone (hurrah) and there is cement dust everywhere and giant piles of wood and bits of wood and old siding and what all. Wires hanging down. This is all good. My dance retreat starts today and goes all weekend. The katz have fleas and I must get some flea stuff for them. A house guest is arriving and I have to vacuum the couch so she'll have a place to sleep (and hopefully she won't get covered with flea bites).

The foundation guys are outside as we speak, talking in loud male voices about concrete things. I will soon have a new set of stairs to the basement, the cavern they dug will be filled in and they will be gone. Jim and Rob, the two bearded grey haired, balding men with glasses (BGBG) will arrive to continue pondering and ripping off siding and hammering wood and uncovering 'irregularities' in the old house (hahahahahahahahaha). Apparently, I need a tiny 'ramp' into the addition because there is a 2 inch discrepancy between the floors, compliments of the do-it-yourselfers who proceeded me.

The dog has a baleful look on his face because he needs/wants/must have a walk and I'm still in my pajamas.

Ah, Italy:

Art and food

I'm back

Sleeping now. I'll tell all when I've awakened.

Italy is better than they say.

Bon voyage