It is January. It is past the middle of January. Everything is cold in Michigan. There are a few inches of snow covering the grass, gravel, and all things that grow and then sleep.
We have a 47 day old child living in our 107 (nearly 108) year old house with us. She is mighty and beautiful.
She is sitting with her mama in her mama's mama's rocker nursing. The rocker is resting in the same place where her mama's mama's mama died one and a half years ago.
Did I mention it is cold outside and that I have been reading Aldo Leopold (every winter I read A Sand County Almanac)? It is especially wonderful to start at the beginning of the book when it is still January. I reread January Thaw the other day with deep reverence for the cycles Leopold writes about--the cycles of seasons and living charging in dynamic force all around us all of the time. I marveled, again, at his subtle glorification of simplicity and the sacred readings he captured in the quick, quiet, momentary voyage of a skunk still heady from hibernation.
I suggest giving him a read if you never have and a reread if you have and liked it.
His call to observe our moments alive with the rest of our community (the land community/animal,animal community/animal, human community) is a a good one.
This winter many of my days have bled into streams of light upon my nights and my nights have rode dark waves on my mornings and afternoons. Time is strange in the world of baby human. But still there is the difference in temperature of a day versus a night--the chicken's water demonstrates the patterns of change in concrete (or icy) ways.
Even though we have been mesmerized by sleep deprivation and sleeping differently all together, I think my senses have been heightened to the subtle shifts of temperature throughout a January day, evening, and night. The cold of a crisp 11:00pm as I feed and water the chickens (yet again) before bed pierces a different, more alive, kind of frigid over my cheeks than the wetter cold of morning.
And my senses pay attention to all around me as I walk or ride in a more expansive way than I have felt before. This little animal being that has filled our house with her cries, poop, urine, and vomit, and soft face and hands and thighs--she has added another layer of sensitivity to my existing need to observe and witness and then act.
Leopold articulates:
"The months of the year, from January up to June, are a geometric progression in the abundance of distractions. In January one may follow a skunk track, or search for bands on the chickadees, or see what young pines the deer have browsed, or what muskrat houses the mink have dug, with only an occasional and mild digression into other doings. January observation can be almost as simple and peaceful as snow, and almost continuous as cold. There is time not only to see who has done what, but to speculate why."
She has added one more stripe of peace to my observations. She makes me speculate more than ever. She makes me pay more attention to the cycles of living, surviving, and dying, and re-birthing all around us. And, then she makes me want to work harder to make sure that we build a stronger land ethic in our community. She drives me out to the cold January mornings and nights and causes me to savor the expanse of sky peeking out to us from behind the light pollution in the darkness. She makes me glad to know the seasons, to witness them, to have them etched into my skin. (seriously, riding and footing it regularly in 15-25 degree weather--colder with windchill--is doing some mighty fine skin "damage" characterizing to my face). Of course, I cared about all of this before her, but there are no words to describe the deeper animal she has brought out in me. I like the cold (and yearn for the spring) even more than I did before.
Showing posts with label waiting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label waiting. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Thursday, November 18, 2010
8000 miles into the many folds of my imagination
I made this deal with myself that our baby could get born once I hit 8,000 miles on my bicycle. Well yesterday that happened, so k's vaginal gate is now allowed to loosen up and let it fly.
In all actuality, we have no idea when this will happen, but the aforementioned deal with myself is an example indicative of my strange thinking habits. I tend to have a grandiose imagination and the absurd ability to develop worst case scenarios in my mind.
For instance, part of our conversation with our midwife on Wednesday morning, Me: "So...S what is your back up plan in case you are experiencing violent vomiting and diarrhea when k hits active/active labor?"
Of course she has a solid back up plan so I have no worries, but I will envision all the crazy ass things that could go wrong (or right) about 1000 times before our bundle of joy comes rolling out of kk's nether region. It is just how I am.
some new age folks might think that this is negative thinking that will impact the way things turn out for us, and I sometimes end up thinking that the negative thinking will indeed make things roll out negatively, but then I think that that is simply part of my neurotic imaginative tendencies, and I get over myself and the self-implied power present in all of the power of thinking BS that circulates the new age airwaves like an overactive muscle spasm.
This is not to say that I think that what we think does not impact our overall demeanor and state of comfort or lack there of. I know how to work myself up over the things I imagine in my head and then I know how to talk myself out of the panic i drive myself to.
But I do not believe that if I imagine horrific things (which I do all of the time) then I will bring those things upon myself or my loved ones. If I did believe all that super-human nonsense, then I would have to be placed in a very cushy room to stop the tragedies that cross my mind from befalling the universe. I am not a supernatural superhero or antihero; I am simply a getting closer to middle age over-imaginator.
And please understand that the shit that flutters through my mind is not all death and destruction or vile images of fluids exploding out of both human ends; I also think lovely thoughts. There are even times when I think nothing at all and simply ride in a state of marvel through the changing colors with a dark liquid snake of a river rushing next to me. While eight species of birds dart and swoop and flutter all around the fecund, layered decay beneath sumac and dried mullein and evening primrose and touch-me-not that has fallen to brown remnants for winter. And I laugh at the lone blue jay standing amidst the Canada geese calling out screeches of derision to the ever-growing colder autumn morning and my mind settles softly to the place where there is no thing but the calls of earth catching me breathless in anticipation for the most amazing coming experience of our lives...
In all actuality, we have no idea when this will happen, but the aforementioned deal with myself is an example indicative of my strange thinking habits. I tend to have a grandiose imagination and the absurd ability to develop worst case scenarios in my mind.
For instance, part of our conversation with our midwife on Wednesday morning, Me: "So...S what is your back up plan in case you are experiencing violent vomiting and diarrhea when k hits active/active labor?"
Of course she has a solid back up plan so I have no worries, but I will envision all the crazy ass things that could go wrong (or right) about 1000 times before our bundle of joy comes rolling out of kk's nether region. It is just how I am.
some new age folks might think that this is negative thinking that will impact the way things turn out for us, and I sometimes end up thinking that the negative thinking will indeed make things roll out negatively, but then I think that that is simply part of my neurotic imaginative tendencies, and I get over myself and the self-implied power present in all of the power of thinking BS that circulates the new age airwaves like an overactive muscle spasm.
This is not to say that I think that what we think does not impact our overall demeanor and state of comfort or lack there of. I know how to work myself up over the things I imagine in my head and then I know how to talk myself out of the panic i drive myself to.
But I do not believe that if I imagine horrific things (which I do all of the time) then I will bring those things upon myself or my loved ones. If I did believe all that super-human nonsense, then I would have to be placed in a very cushy room to stop the tragedies that cross my mind from befalling the universe. I am not a supernatural superhero or antihero; I am simply a getting closer to middle age over-imaginator.
And please understand that the shit that flutters through my mind is not all death and destruction or vile images of fluids exploding out of both human ends; I also think lovely thoughts. There are even times when I think nothing at all and simply ride in a state of marvel through the changing colors with a dark liquid snake of a river rushing next to me. While eight species of birds dart and swoop and flutter all around the fecund, layered decay beneath sumac and dried mullein and evening primrose and touch-me-not that has fallen to brown remnants for winter. And I laugh at the lone blue jay standing amidst the Canada geese calling out screeches of derision to the ever-growing colder autumn morning and my mind settles softly to the place where there is no thing but the calls of earth catching me breathless in anticipation for the most amazing coming experience of our lives...
Monday, November 1, 2010
a bath and her lovely belly with a bounty that is beyond, beyond
Trying times are met with brilliant moments.
We have been through death and sorrow (my gram went on, my too young uncle, also) in the last month. Work is full and good. Preparation for our dear one is in full swing as K is 35 weeks into this mystery. We are gathering supplies, writing down notes for our desires, and moving toward giving birth at home.
These walls have held the years of others' living like dark stories caught in sunlight. These walls are thick with horse hair plaster and layers of paint and old wall paper glue. These walls are witness to the stretched vocal chord sound of song, fury, love, heartache, winter frost, summer dew, the scent of sex, the idleness of waiting, the quiet of stillness, the hectic murmur of insomnia, the bewildered moments before knowing, the aches, the pitter patter of small animals and children (animals too), the last breaths of loved ones. So much has happened in these rooms in the last 107 years; so much we do not know; so much we do know.
And soon we will be adding to the memories of these walls and the ceilings and the floors. Soon, K will be wailing the cries of child birth; notes that have long vowels and crazy consonants carrying out the ends of her mouth. Soon, she will walk over worn wood in rhythms we are yet to understand. Soon, this thing we know so little about and have tried to learn too much about, will devour us with its mystery and we will make invisible etchings of experience all around us.
On Saturday, we took ourselves out for a fancy date (the last one till our world is turned upside down by the introduction of this new being into our lives). Beforehand, K bathed in our old, deep clawfoot tub. Dusk was on the fringe; gray cascaded through the windows in autumn clad slices, and I took pictures of this graceful beauty unfolding within and throughout this woman i love with every ounce of all of me. Below are a few:
belly ball in bath
angel
amazing
shimmer in the tub
gorgeous beyond, beyond
We have been through death and sorrow (my gram went on, my too young uncle, also) in the last month. Work is full and good. Preparation for our dear one is in full swing as K is 35 weeks into this mystery. We are gathering supplies, writing down notes for our desires, and moving toward giving birth at home.
These walls have held the years of others' living like dark stories caught in sunlight. These walls are thick with horse hair plaster and layers of paint and old wall paper glue. These walls are witness to the stretched vocal chord sound of song, fury, love, heartache, winter frost, summer dew, the scent of sex, the idleness of waiting, the quiet of stillness, the hectic murmur of insomnia, the bewildered moments before knowing, the aches, the pitter patter of small animals and children (animals too), the last breaths of loved ones. So much has happened in these rooms in the last 107 years; so much we do not know; so much we do know.
And soon we will be adding to the memories of these walls and the ceilings and the floors. Soon, K will be wailing the cries of child birth; notes that have long vowels and crazy consonants carrying out the ends of her mouth. Soon, she will walk over worn wood in rhythms we are yet to understand. Soon, this thing we know so little about and have tried to learn too much about, will devour us with its mystery and we will make invisible etchings of experience all around us.
On Saturday, we took ourselves out for a fancy date (the last one till our world is turned upside down by the introduction of this new being into our lives). Beforehand, K bathed in our old, deep clawfoot tub. Dusk was on the fringe; gray cascaded through the windows in autumn clad slices, and I took pictures of this graceful beauty unfolding within and throughout this woman i love with every ounce of all of me. Below are a few:
belly ball in bath
angel 
amazing
shimmer in the tub
gorgeous beyond, beyond
Thursday, July 1, 2010
displaced, but ok
my darling is 5 months and 1 day pregnant today. and, lately, i've been submerged in the in between space of that which is to come. of course, i am thrilled beyond measure about the insanely huge change that is looming like an enormous convergence of clouds on the heavy set fields of some horizon, but I am also feeling a little displaced.
everything as we know it is going to change.
all of you out there with kids know this and tell this to us and we shake our heads and say, "we know, we know."
But really, I do not know shit.
K and I have been together nearly eleven years. We have forged through the good times and hard times like two pieces of granite or two stalks of corn. We love our time together: alone and with others. But we are so use to being alone, just the two of us.
And so this is where displacement starts to come in. Soon and very soon, we will never (or rarely) be alone.
And the other piece of the displacement is connected to the idea of what each of us will be like as a parent. This is all new territory. We are talking about it and soon will be writing down our ideas about how to parent together with our very different backgrounds when it comes to involvement with infants, kids, and teens.
I desire to fall even more deeply in love with k as we both take on this new cloak of parenting.
I grew up heavily involved in church life--in the evangelic.al pres..byterian church to be exact. two of the best things about this otherwise mostly repressive church was the community of caring people and the responsibility for child care that was taught to young folks growing up in the church.
As a preteen and teen, I worked in the nursery with infants, the toddler room with little ones, and the preschoolers. I know how to change diapers very well and keep rambunctious wee ones occupied. As a young adult (age 19- to almost 21), I worked with junior high girls at a sister church in detroit and then with the high schoolers and also with the kindergarten kids. Quite a few of the kids i worked with in detroit had not had much parenting at all and some of them had witnessed atrocious stuff. A 10 year old named S had seen her mama shot in the head when she was five, ya, she was a handful with a good heart buried beneath her steely, complicated exterior.
But, I learned how important boundary setting was for these kids and I learned a bit how to set those boundaries and how to enforce the boundaries in gentleness. Example: 5 year old throwing fit, striking other kids, lashing out swearing; me holding kid as he thrashes about until finally he calms down and then is just held in my arms--quieted, calmed and well-loved.
K on the other hand has very little experience with kids and babies. I think her most involved interactions with kids have been with my sister's three children over the last ten years. and she has enjoyed it.
Here i am an anarchist politically and at heart, but who on a whole believes in the legitimacy of boundaries for children, teens, and adults, alike. KK is much more laid back than me about all kinds of things. I do not intend to be a fascist parent. I do intend to develop rules (not necessarily etched in stone or chalk or anything else) and parameters together for all of us to follow.
K is so calm and stable and i cannot wait to see this all unfold in our endeavor together as parents, but damn am I nervous.
Sometimes, I find myself standing in random places and a song or a slice of life around me will startle me to stillness and my throat will seize up with a tightness and my eyes well up with tears and all I can think about is the cataclysmic event hanging on the precipice of december. I am willing it to be wonderful but every now and again the wonderful also has a hint of doom shadowing the W and L of the word.
I guess this is where big change often leaves me, scurrying about wanting answers and plans when that is not the way of life and i know it. Sometimes i wish i could gut the calvinism (the theology of predeterminism) that is imprinted on the lining of my veins, even though i have rejected every bit of the theology of my youth in my mind, from under my skin.
in the meantime k and i will keep on loving as fiercely as we can and plan where plans need made and dream in the in-between places.
everything as we know it is going to change.
all of you out there with kids know this and tell this to us and we shake our heads and say, "we know, we know."
But really, I do not know shit.
K and I have been together nearly eleven years. We have forged through the good times and hard times like two pieces of granite or two stalks of corn. We love our time together: alone and with others. But we are so use to being alone, just the two of us.
And so this is where displacement starts to come in. Soon and very soon, we will never (or rarely) be alone.
And the other piece of the displacement is connected to the idea of what each of us will be like as a parent. This is all new territory. We are talking about it and soon will be writing down our ideas about how to parent together with our very different backgrounds when it comes to involvement with infants, kids, and teens.
I desire to fall even more deeply in love with k as we both take on this new cloak of parenting.
I grew up heavily involved in church life--in the evangelic.al pres..byterian church to be exact. two of the best things about this otherwise mostly repressive church was the community of caring people and the responsibility for child care that was taught to young folks growing up in the church.
As a preteen and teen, I worked in the nursery with infants, the toddler room with little ones, and the preschoolers. I know how to change diapers very well and keep rambunctious wee ones occupied. As a young adult (age 19- to almost 21), I worked with junior high girls at a sister church in detroit and then with the high schoolers and also with the kindergarten kids. Quite a few of the kids i worked with in detroit had not had much parenting at all and some of them had witnessed atrocious stuff. A 10 year old named S had seen her mama shot in the head when she was five, ya, she was a handful with a good heart buried beneath her steely, complicated exterior.
But, I learned how important boundary setting was for these kids and I learned a bit how to set those boundaries and how to enforce the boundaries in gentleness. Example: 5 year old throwing fit, striking other kids, lashing out swearing; me holding kid as he thrashes about until finally he calms down and then is just held in my arms--quieted, calmed and well-loved.
K on the other hand has very little experience with kids and babies. I think her most involved interactions with kids have been with my sister's three children over the last ten years. and she has enjoyed it.
Here i am an anarchist politically and at heart, but who on a whole believes in the legitimacy of boundaries for children, teens, and adults, alike. KK is much more laid back than me about all kinds of things. I do not intend to be a fascist parent. I do intend to develop rules (not necessarily etched in stone or chalk or anything else) and parameters together for all of us to follow.
K is so calm and stable and i cannot wait to see this all unfold in our endeavor together as parents, but damn am I nervous.
Sometimes, I find myself standing in random places and a song or a slice of life around me will startle me to stillness and my throat will seize up with a tightness and my eyes well up with tears and all I can think about is the cataclysmic event hanging on the precipice of december. I am willing it to be wonderful but every now and again the wonderful also has a hint of doom shadowing the W and L of the word.
I guess this is where big change often leaves me, scurrying about wanting answers and plans when that is not the way of life and i know it. Sometimes i wish i could gut the calvinism (the theology of predeterminism) that is imprinted on the lining of my veins, even though i have rejected every bit of the theology of my youth in my mind, from under my skin.
in the meantime k and i will keep on loving as fiercely as we can and plan where plans need made and dream in the in-between places.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
swollen
Well, I guess I've been served up a super fancy dose of sitting time. I had planned to work in the gardens all weekend, but yesterday's work will have to suffice. For the first time in 1.7 years, my knee has ballooned up into its swollen irritated self.
Instead of garden work, I will consume copious amounts of ibuprofen and heat, ice, heat, ice, heat, ice. It seems like my knee always has a beef with me after a strenuous work event.
I guess my body responds in ways that I listen. It is saying sit the fuck down. And now, I am forced to.
It gives me time to think and write and perhaps read things I feel like catching up on.
Now, on to nursing my gelatinous appendage.
Instead of garden work, I will consume copious amounts of ibuprofen and heat, ice, heat, ice, heat, ice. It seems like my knee always has a beef with me after a strenuous work event.
I guess my body responds in ways that I listen. It is saying sit the fuck down. And now, I am forced to.
It gives me time to think and write and perhaps read things I feel like catching up on.
Now, on to nursing my gelatinous appendage.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
nothing left to say
since saturday, my dear k has been consistently bleeding.
it blows.
how many times have i said it here on this blog? those words, that is? or something like them? it blows. it sucks. fuck it. damn. hard times. suck. etc. etc. etc.
i am trying to be all in the present about it and all that lovely bullshit, but guess what, at this point in time, i'm over it. plain and simple over scavenging for remnants of dreams that are yet to manifest into concrete flesh and blood before my eyes. the day when i feel the little being's scrawny paws upon the tender, yet sharp, curve of my collar bone--when the soft little animal unfolds in ringlets of new skin before me--until then, i will curse the wind and the rain and yell out profanities to the stars and then reel myself back into the present, this moment and take it for what it is.
and what it is is this:
people, we are so fragile and fleeting. at anytime it all could stop for you. at anytime we could be the 25 year old pga pro golf player found dead in her home on a sunday. or we could be the one to be sideswiped by an 83 year old woman who should have had her license taken away 8 years back. (and hell no I am not an ageist; i am a fucking realist).
often, i want to really be okay with all of this passing on that happens before our eyes. i want to know that we leave some kind of imprint--for good; for bad; for always. we do, and still, we do not. we are flashing. we are leaves. we are strong and green and flapping in the strongest of winds and then we fall heavily to the ground and dry up and break down into something else. hopefully, always something life-giving.
but, how do i capture that moment of waiting to know if what is (or was living inside of kk) is still alive? how can patience fortify itself in a heart that desires more than anything to know. to know what is real. to know what is next, and still to understand that we can never know what is next.
i can remember being in the 5th or 6th grade. my parents were gone out for the night and, of all things, I sat on the toilet and started to cry uncontrollably cause i realized my mama could die and not come home. i realized one day the person i cared about the most in the world could and would be gone. i cried and cried and my chest heaved with sadness.
today, that person has shifted to my kk. and now it has shifted to the two lives before my eyes. the life of my lover--the upper quadrant of my heart and this other life trying to forge a path to our world through her womb. and so when the blood is made visible and this threat of new death dangles on the edge of her being, i am paralyzed and devastated.
and now, i have nothing left to say...
it blows.
how many times have i said it here on this blog? those words, that is? or something like them? it blows. it sucks. fuck it. damn. hard times. suck. etc. etc. etc.
i am trying to be all in the present about it and all that lovely bullshit, but guess what, at this point in time, i'm over it. plain and simple over scavenging for remnants of dreams that are yet to manifest into concrete flesh and blood before my eyes. the day when i feel the little being's scrawny paws upon the tender, yet sharp, curve of my collar bone--when the soft little animal unfolds in ringlets of new skin before me--until then, i will curse the wind and the rain and yell out profanities to the stars and then reel myself back into the present, this moment and take it for what it is.
and what it is is this:
people, we are so fragile and fleeting. at anytime it all could stop for you. at anytime we could be the 25 year old pga pro golf player found dead in her home on a sunday. or we could be the one to be sideswiped by an 83 year old woman who should have had her license taken away 8 years back. (and hell no I am not an ageist; i am a fucking realist).
often, i want to really be okay with all of this passing on that happens before our eyes. i want to know that we leave some kind of imprint--for good; for bad; for always. we do, and still, we do not. we are flashing. we are leaves. we are strong and green and flapping in the strongest of winds and then we fall heavily to the ground and dry up and break down into something else. hopefully, always something life-giving.
but, how do i capture that moment of waiting to know if what is (or was living inside of kk) is still alive? how can patience fortify itself in a heart that desires more than anything to know. to know what is real. to know what is next, and still to understand that we can never know what is next.
i can remember being in the 5th or 6th grade. my parents were gone out for the night and, of all things, I sat on the toilet and started to cry uncontrollably cause i realized my mama could die and not come home. i realized one day the person i cared about the most in the world could and would be gone. i cried and cried and my chest heaved with sadness.
today, that person has shifted to my kk. and now it has shifted to the two lives before my eyes. the life of my lover--the upper quadrant of my heart and this other life trying to forge a path to our world through her womb. and so when the blood is made visible and this threat of new death dangles on the edge of her being, i am paralyzed and devastated.
and now, i have nothing left to say...
Saturday, May 1, 2010
compost and other updates on urban farm and kk
me and some of our compost (not all of the compost I've been shoveling is from our batch, but some of it is including this)
long week.
long, long week.
busy at work.
busy at home.
just so you all know, k has not bled for about 5 days. I hate to put it out there; it is like needing to knock on an all wooden ship from 1776, but here's to hoping the bright red liquid has eased off for good.
I took a half day thursday and a full day yesterday in order to get the garden beds a little more prepared. I rearranged my compost heap for maximum heat and space utilization. It was some back breaking work, but well worth it. I am attempting this eliot coleman, straw bale style compost. The back bin is for brown (on the left) and green (on the right) and the front right is my active pile. The front left is where I will layer the new pile. I am hoping the front right will be ready by July. It is tarped and I keep it nice and moist and turn it when I feel inclined. This pile contains a whole micro-world of goodness. I cannot express how much i love compost!
We adopted another chicken yesterday. Her name is Buffy (she is a Buff Orpington). Her sisters (10 of them) were all killed by a mink on the farm she lived at, so now she is trying to adapt to our flock of bitches. picture of buffy to come.
Yes, our chickens are mean little buggers. they have been pecking the hell out of buffy. Alas, yesterday night, we kept her separate in the mobile run i made last summer.
Hopefully, she will acclimate. She is beautiful and bigger than the bitches.
I dug up two new side beds where we took down three trees this spring in order for more sun to shine on our very shady space. I am loading them with compost.
Monday, April 26, 2010
34
i turned 34 this weekend.
i worked all day on saturday--the day of my birthday.
we went for beer at founders after working all day; it was yummy and we visited with good friends. we were in grand rapids.
k is still bleeding on and off. she is feeling sicker and sicker; i guess this is a good sign.
i have been reading like mad. i have been working so much that i turn off quickly when i come home by ducking my eyes and therefore my brain into a good book. I've read three kate delafield mysteries and one jane lawless mystery in the last week and a half and yesterday i read hood. yes, i am still on my "lesbian" fiction kick. I went through all the young adult lesbian novels at the whitaker branch library and now i have to get the other 4 i intend to read from the other branch. but in the meantime, i've been reading any other lesbianesque novel i can get my hands on. I go through these phases once in a while. these times when i cannot handle anymore straightness since it circulates around us like dandelions and grass and wind, essentially it is everywhere.
anyhow, it s just nice to read about two women finding peace and pleasure in one another. i like that. it helps take me away from the chaos of my working life and the stress of this living that is trying to happen in kk.
now, i am older--one year more notched out of the wooden trim lining the front door. now, i am hoping for longevity and limberness as this embryo unfolds into a child inside kk. i need strength. i need some bigger peace. i'll write about that more some other day.
i worked all day on saturday--the day of my birthday.
we went for beer at founders after working all day; it was yummy and we visited with good friends. we were in grand rapids.
k is still bleeding on and off. she is feeling sicker and sicker; i guess this is a good sign.
i have been reading like mad. i have been working so much that i turn off quickly when i come home by ducking my eyes and therefore my brain into a good book. I've read three kate delafield mysteries and one jane lawless mystery in the last week and a half and yesterday i read hood. yes, i am still on my "lesbian" fiction kick. I went through all the young adult lesbian novels at the whitaker branch library and now i have to get the other 4 i intend to read from the other branch. but in the meantime, i've been reading any other lesbianesque novel i can get my hands on. I go through these phases once in a while. these times when i cannot handle anymore straightness since it circulates around us like dandelions and grass and wind, essentially it is everywhere.
anyhow, it s just nice to read about two women finding peace and pleasure in one another. i like that. it helps take me away from the chaos of my working life and the stress of this living that is trying to happen in kk.
now, i am older--one year more notched out of the wooden trim lining the front door. now, i am hoping for longevity and limberness as this embryo unfolds into a child inside kk. i need strength. i need some bigger peace. i'll write about that more some other day.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
my bleeding lover
This morning kk had another ultra sound at the repro clinic. The wee little embryo is still alive.
The heart was thumping--strong.
The doctor was just fantastic and I wish she could be my regular obgyn. Anyhow, we saw what's been causing the bleeding; it's a Subchorionic Hemorrhage. The doc explained that the gestational sack is like a cancer and it is burrowing deep into the womb and it disrupted a vessel which then pulled up blood and came out kk's vagina.
So, now she may bleed a bit more here and there. It will take some time to heal. Anyhow, it is toward the front of the sack and not very much of it is touching the thick wall surrounding the embryo.
Hopefully, there will be no more disruption and the wee thing will keep growing and a healthy pregnancy will ensue.
It is still a waiting game. A worry game. As the doctor said today, when the baby gets born and is out of the womb it is still all about wearing your heart inside out.
Very right.
In the meantime, I am trying to relax in the middle of a whirlwind of emotion...
The heart was thumping--strong.
The doctor was just fantastic and I wish she could be my regular obgyn. Anyhow, we saw what's been causing the bleeding; it's a Subchorionic Hemorrhage. The doc explained that the gestational sack is like a cancer and it is burrowing deep into the womb and it disrupted a vessel which then pulled up blood and came out kk's vagina.
So, now she may bleed a bit more here and there. It will take some time to heal. Anyhow, it is toward the front of the sack and not very much of it is touching the thick wall surrounding the embryo.
Hopefully, there will be no more disruption and the wee thing will keep growing and a healthy pregnancy will ensue.
It is still a waiting game. A worry game. As the doctor said today, when the baby gets born and is out of the womb it is still all about wearing your heart inside out.
Very right.
In the meantime, I am trying to relax in the middle of a whirlwind of emotion...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
i lied and at least there were baby bees
k is bleeding now. now she is bleeding. it is bright red blood. it sucks. no cramping, but bleeding.
I am so fucking over all of this I can barely handle it.
What really sucks is today after work I had one of the most amazing experiences of my whole life, and k was there and she video taped it all and then we came home and had friends and neighbors on the porch and then k went to the bathroom and blood--bright red blood was all over the mini pad and a clot hung heavy on the top of the toilet water.
and i got mad and kind of turned my back.
and i am still mad.
but today, today after work we--that is my friends t and l plus me--we collected the most beautiful and enormous wild bee hive from an outbuilding one half block away from my house. It was such good work.
K taped us in action (hopefully, video cuts will one day be up on this blog).
The three of us worked so efficiently and well together. T cut the comb with wire from the eaves of the house one luscious piece at a time. L and I carried it to a tarp and cut the excess off into empty frames and then made sure the comb was held in place with rubber bands. The forefront of the wild hive was empty comb. The center of the hive was brood with edges of honey. Unfortunately we had to slice through larvae in order to cut the comb to frame size; it was a creamy white, pollen infested massacre.
But, but. oh my god, but...
We saw baby bees being born.
It was really the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed. The sweet wiggling heads of these finely formed insects busted with precision and grace out of their individual hexagonal larvae comb right before our eyes.
I witnessed three new lives surface from the mysterious depths of one of the most fascinating substances on earth--bee comb.
Their small bodies were pale yellow. Their legs were weak and clumsy--like new born goats trying to find footing.
We placed brood comb into the frames and then brushed hundreds of bees off of piece after piece of the large, undulating comb into the hive we were creating for them in place of their wild hive. There are more pictures to come, but later.
Did you know that a wild hive looks a bit like human female genita.lia?
It is lush and sensual and so full of life.
After the whole collection process, we came home and some of us drank beer and pizza was eaten. Then we went back to the hive spot and saw that the ladies were festering over the place where their other home had been so (without our strange, white, alienesque bee suits) t held a bucket up and scooped the remainder and I pulled the top off the super and he dumped them in and I closed the lid. We did this twice. We think the queen is in the new hive.
There are so many bees and the colony is so strong that even if we crushed her or she did not make it in, they would feed and build another...
At least there are bees being born amidst the bloody mess of stuff that keeps coming out of kk into our toilet.
at least.
I am so fucking over all of this I can barely handle it.
What really sucks is today after work I had one of the most amazing experiences of my whole life, and k was there and she video taped it all and then we came home and had friends and neighbors on the porch and then k went to the bathroom and blood--bright red blood was all over the mini pad and a clot hung heavy on the top of the toilet water.
and i got mad and kind of turned my back.
and i am still mad.
but today, today after work we--that is my friends t and l plus me--we collected the most beautiful and enormous wild bee hive from an outbuilding one half block away from my house. It was such good work.
K taped us in action (hopefully, video cuts will one day be up on this blog).
The three of us worked so efficiently and well together. T cut the comb with wire from the eaves of the house one luscious piece at a time. L and I carried it to a tarp and cut the excess off into empty frames and then made sure the comb was held in place with rubber bands. The forefront of the wild hive was empty comb. The center of the hive was brood with edges of honey. Unfortunately we had to slice through larvae in order to cut the comb to frame size; it was a creamy white, pollen infested massacre.
But, but. oh my god, but...
We saw baby bees being born.
It was really the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed. The sweet wiggling heads of these finely formed insects busted with precision and grace out of their individual hexagonal larvae comb right before our eyes.
I witnessed three new lives surface from the mysterious depths of one of the most fascinating substances on earth--bee comb.
Their small bodies were pale yellow. Their legs were weak and clumsy--like new born goats trying to find footing.
We placed brood comb into the frames and then brushed hundreds of bees off of piece after piece of the large, undulating comb into the hive we were creating for them in place of their wild hive. There are more pictures to come, but later.
Did you know that a wild hive looks a bit like human female genita.lia?
It is lush and sensual and so full of life.
After the whole collection process, we came home and some of us drank beer and pizza was eaten. Then we went back to the hive spot and saw that the ladies were festering over the place where their other home had been so (without our strange, white, alienesque bee suits) t held a bucket up and scooped the remainder and I pulled the top off the super and he dumped them in and I closed the lid. We did this twice. We think the queen is in the new hive.
There are so many bees and the colony is so strong that even if we crushed her or she did not make it in, they would feed and build another...
At least there are bees being born amidst the bloody mess of stuff that keeps coming out of kk into our toilet.
at least.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
staying alive
K has not bled in two days. Before those two days, it was mostly just pinkish brown spots.
I have this thing called caution tied around my neck; it is like a steel weight--a jacob marley style chain necklace tearing at my muscles turning sinew to rock. I am cautiously happy.
I keep seeing that wee spot--the flickering heart, the thud, thud, thud. It is something we've wanted so bad, but the path to this place where we are now has been littered with obstacles and heartache and the unknowing. All in all, we've had too much room, due to circumstances beyond our control and so totally in our control, to think about every move we've made before we've made it. We've pondered the ways to try to make it happen until pondering pounced all the life out of our own life-making ways.
My thought life around pregnancy and potential parenting has been too thick, too full, too vivid, too real. And now we just have to ride this wave of doubt and unknowing for a little longer. Except in reality we will always never know anything for sure. Well, I guess we do know that one day it's all going to end for each of us. One day that small beating heart inside kk's abdomen will no longer pump. Just like one day the strong, able heart of kk will cease and mine and yours will stop. We really just don't know when. I am hoping that all of our hearts keep that lush constant rhythmic quality for years and years to come. This of course includes that lovely little thistle seed heart rushing in the watery world of my beloved's womb.
Caution keep me close, weight of worry stop strangling my esophagus, hearts of the beloved community keep thumping to the pulse of the planet, day keep dawning, night keep falling, kid keep growing...stay alive, stay alive, stay alive...
I have this thing called caution tied around my neck; it is like a steel weight--a jacob marley style chain necklace tearing at my muscles turning sinew to rock. I am cautiously happy.
I keep seeing that wee spot--the flickering heart, the thud, thud, thud. It is something we've wanted so bad, but the path to this place where we are now has been littered with obstacles and heartache and the unknowing. All in all, we've had too much room, due to circumstances beyond our control and so totally in our control, to think about every move we've made before we've made it. We've pondered the ways to try to make it happen until pondering pounced all the life out of our own life-making ways.
My thought life around pregnancy and potential parenting has been too thick, too full, too vivid, too real. And now we just have to ride this wave of doubt and unknowing for a little longer. Except in reality we will always never know anything for sure. Well, I guess we do know that one day it's all going to end for each of us. One day that small beating heart inside kk's abdomen will no longer pump. Just like one day the strong, able heart of kk will cease and mine and yours will stop. We really just don't know when. I am hoping that all of our hearts keep that lush constant rhythmic quality for years and years to come. This of course includes that lovely little thistle seed heart rushing in the watery world of my beloved's womb.
Caution keep me close, weight of worry stop strangling my esophagus, hearts of the beloved community keep thumping to the pulse of the planet, day keep dawning, night keep falling, kid keep growing...stay alive, stay alive, stay alive...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
the potential
Spring teaches us lessons. Lessons in watchfulness. Lessons in living now. Lessons in the fast fading of beautiful moments. Lessons in rebirth. Lessons in possibility. Lessons in the powerful potential for new life.
The potential.
It is hard for me to write about this. It is harder for me to think on it. I am trying to stay in the moment. I am striving for hope where I was not hopeful.
On Thursday, K felt a gush between her legs while she was at work. It was blood. It happened around 3:30.
I had been in Lansing all morning for a House hearing with AFSC's new staff (it was his very first day of work). The hearing had gone well. The day was hot, too hot for the season in Michigan. P, the new staff, and I drove back. I got home around 2:30ish. Grabbed food, grabbed my bicycle and put it on the car and drove down to the park and rode into work. I planned to park the car at the park so k and I could ride back to it around 9:00pm from a panel I was supposed to speak on in Ann Arbor.
I was sweaty when I got to work. Dripping cause it was 82 degrees on april 15 in Michigan. I planned to train P for about an hour and a half and then go to the event I was going to be speaking at when the phone rang and K said I'm having a miscarriage.
And then my heart sank. But it did not sink too much cause I had built foam and other soft substances around it. I know that a large percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage. I know that this struggle we have been going through is bigger than I am able to wrap my head around and I know it is a struggle. I do not take it as anything else.
Kk had called the repro clinic and they scheduled an ultra sound pronto for 9:00 am friday.
Back at my office where I had been standing dripping with sweat with a partially sinking heart, P instantly dropped everything and took me in his car over to K at her work. Where her boss and colleague had been there for her, supporting her, loving her amidst her tears.
We scooped K up and P took us to our car down in the park.
I drove quickly to the post office to purchase stamps I needed for work the next day, and then I took K home. Our dear friend R brought K a chocolate chip blizzard and some maxi pads. And then, our dear friend and no longer roommate but now neighbor, A, came to walk the pook with me. Later that night she also brought us yummy dahl for dinner.
We walked through an alley I had never discovered before in Ypsi. It is old and dirt and gravel and it feels right beneath human feet. It feels as though it has been tread on for 150 years. We stopped at P's to hand off the stamps I had purchased for the mailing that I would or would not be at work for the next day depending on what happened with K's ultra sound.
I stayed at P's place and A walked pook back home. I drank a cold beer with him in his new apartment, talked, and listened to dylan. He had moved in the day before. We found it together on Monday after a day of apartment hunting. It is a great pad. A good sized efficiency in a very old house with ultra high ceilings and access to two great porches.
It was calming to be sitting there and tuning out a little. But then I knew I had to get back to KK.
I walked home with a small buzz that comes from drinking a cold beer in hot weather as though it were a glass of water. I kicked dirt in the alley. I took in the magnificent green that beats through even the milkiest dusk. Because the green that accompanies the rousing of sleeping vegetation in spring, is different--more vivid, more elaborate than any other green. It glows with the pulse of life. it busts open with that which wants nothing more than to be alive.
When I got back to our house, our good friend G was there with K. She just happened to be in from florida to be with her ailing papa in windsor and was able to slip over the border to visit us and some other ypsi friends. It was perfect timing. Then our good friend N came over and we sat around catching up and three of us drank beers.
They left.
We went to bed.
In the morning, we drank coffee and drove on over to the repro clinic.
Some mother of some straight girl waiting in the waiting room gave us not too kind looks too many times as we sat there. So, I held K's hand tighter as we waited. I held her hand and rubbed her neck and displayed vigorous affection.
We waited and waited.
Then we were taken back to an exam room.
The boy doctor finally came in. Remember, my hope was not high. It was cushioned safely in the cottony confines of my chest.
He wanded K and then instantly said there it is with a strong beating heart. And, then my sweaty hand squeezed K's hand so tight and ghostly little fingers with a mind of their own seemed to rip out the foam and cotton and soft stuff that had been surrounding my own heart, and it became all bare and vulnerable and open.
That is what hope is like. It leaves you open for let down and pure disappointment. So, the 6 week 4 day old fetus has a strong heart beat. We heard it. We saw it. It was alive. Yesterday, it was alive. The blood indicates a threatened miscarriage.
So, k's taking it easy. They tell us the blood could have been from anything. There is still some blood. We can do nothing but wait.
Now, I have this raw heart. This open heart. This heart that saw the beating heart of a little seed.
It is spring. There are many lessons in all the potential bounty. There are reminders of the cycles of life all around us. There are the trees coming back to life and the compost breaking down what once was alive into stuff that will be full of goodness and the potential for even more newness. There are two of us waiting intently for a heartbeat to stay strong. We are counting on spring.
I am learning about hope.
The potential.
It is hard for me to write about this. It is harder for me to think on it. I am trying to stay in the moment. I am striving for hope where I was not hopeful.
On Thursday, K felt a gush between her legs while she was at work. It was blood. It happened around 3:30.
I had been in Lansing all morning for a House hearing with AFSC's new staff (it was his very first day of work). The hearing had gone well. The day was hot, too hot for the season in Michigan. P, the new staff, and I drove back. I got home around 2:30ish. Grabbed food, grabbed my bicycle and put it on the car and drove down to the park and rode into work. I planned to park the car at the park so k and I could ride back to it around 9:00pm from a panel I was supposed to speak on in Ann Arbor.
I was sweaty when I got to work. Dripping cause it was 82 degrees on april 15 in Michigan. I planned to train P for about an hour and a half and then go to the event I was going to be speaking at when the phone rang and K said I'm having a miscarriage.
And then my heart sank. But it did not sink too much cause I had built foam and other soft substances around it. I know that a large percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage. I know that this struggle we have been going through is bigger than I am able to wrap my head around and I know it is a struggle. I do not take it as anything else.
Kk had called the repro clinic and they scheduled an ultra sound pronto for 9:00 am friday.
Back at my office where I had been standing dripping with sweat with a partially sinking heart, P instantly dropped everything and took me in his car over to K at her work. Where her boss and colleague had been there for her, supporting her, loving her amidst her tears.
We scooped K up and P took us to our car down in the park.
I drove quickly to the post office to purchase stamps I needed for work the next day, and then I took K home. Our dear friend R brought K a chocolate chip blizzard and some maxi pads. And then, our dear friend and no longer roommate but now neighbor, A, came to walk the pook with me. Later that night she also brought us yummy dahl for dinner.
We walked through an alley I had never discovered before in Ypsi. It is old and dirt and gravel and it feels right beneath human feet. It feels as though it has been tread on for 150 years. We stopped at P's to hand off the stamps I had purchased for the mailing that I would or would not be at work for the next day depending on what happened with K's ultra sound.
I stayed at P's place and A walked pook back home. I drank a cold beer with him in his new apartment, talked, and listened to dylan. He had moved in the day before. We found it together on Monday after a day of apartment hunting. It is a great pad. A good sized efficiency in a very old house with ultra high ceilings and access to two great porches.
It was calming to be sitting there and tuning out a little. But then I knew I had to get back to KK.
I walked home with a small buzz that comes from drinking a cold beer in hot weather as though it were a glass of water. I kicked dirt in the alley. I took in the magnificent green that beats through even the milkiest dusk. Because the green that accompanies the rousing of sleeping vegetation in spring, is different--more vivid, more elaborate than any other green. It glows with the pulse of life. it busts open with that which wants nothing more than to be alive.
When I got back to our house, our good friend G was there with K. She just happened to be in from florida to be with her ailing papa in windsor and was able to slip over the border to visit us and some other ypsi friends. It was perfect timing. Then our good friend N came over and we sat around catching up and three of us drank beers.
They left.
We went to bed.
In the morning, we drank coffee and drove on over to the repro clinic.
Some mother of some straight girl waiting in the waiting room gave us not too kind looks too many times as we sat there. So, I held K's hand tighter as we waited. I held her hand and rubbed her neck and displayed vigorous affection.
We waited and waited.
Then we were taken back to an exam room.
The boy doctor finally came in. Remember, my hope was not high. It was cushioned safely in the cottony confines of my chest.
He wanded K and then instantly said there it is with a strong beating heart. And, then my sweaty hand squeezed K's hand so tight and ghostly little fingers with a mind of their own seemed to rip out the foam and cotton and soft stuff that had been surrounding my own heart, and it became all bare and vulnerable and open.
That is what hope is like. It leaves you open for let down and pure disappointment. So, the 6 week 4 day old fetus has a strong heart beat. We heard it. We saw it. It was alive. Yesterday, it was alive. The blood indicates a threatened miscarriage.
So, k's taking it easy. They tell us the blood could have been from anything. There is still some blood. We can do nothing but wait.
Now, I have this raw heart. This open heart. This heart that saw the beating heart of a little seed.
It is spring. There are many lessons in all the potential bounty. There are reminders of the cycles of life all around us. There are the trees coming back to life and the compost breaking down what once was alive into stuff that will be full of goodness and the potential for even more newness. There are two of us waiting intently for a heartbeat to stay strong. We are counting on spring.
I am learning about hope.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
cold fingers; cold toes; cold ass
there is something to waking up to a cold house and then layering your clothes to get ready for a cold bicycle ride and then venturing out the door in the morning to a brisk wind and the chill that it brings and then being in that cold for a good 50 minutes.
a cup of tea, and then another and another and another and another--maybe ten in total throughout the day--once at work--helps to warm the ass and fingers and toes. Because those are the extremities that get cold. Your core, this is your chest and upper and lower abdomen stay hot and toasty and even sweaty while riding in the winter in michigan. This is, of course, dependent on proper layering. Which I am quite a pro at now.
Anyhow, our boiler busted last Friday. It up and quit on us; the old thing had no life left in it. It had rusted through so badly on the bottom grate that burn marks had started to develop up the sides of the metal box inside. All in all, it is a good thing it died, cause we didn't burn up in our ancient wooden house.
See one time this wrinkled, old man who drove a beat up mini van with George Bush Senior Stickers coating the rear of it--like 25 identical stickers--came to our house to give us some advice on how we might convert our coal burner (no longer functioning) to a wood stove and also how much it would cost to re-line the chimney. His estimate was way high--like $3,000, but he did offer us a warning. He said, "you girls should have safety ladders in the bedrooms upstairs cause if your house ever catches on fire you will not escape using the stairway. the flames will draw up the stairs and you will be trapped up there."
I stood wide jawed and thanked him for his advice. I already have a chain linked ladder in our bedroom, but damn that was some scary advice.
Thus far, we have avoided death by boiler fire and have frozen our fannies off for a total of 6 days. After forking over $3,850, we will soon have heat via a new boiler system. I can no longer type this post cause my fingers are too cold...
a cup of tea, and then another and another and another and another--maybe ten in total throughout the day--once at work--helps to warm the ass and fingers and toes. Because those are the extremities that get cold. Your core, this is your chest and upper and lower abdomen stay hot and toasty and even sweaty while riding in the winter in michigan. This is, of course, dependent on proper layering. Which I am quite a pro at now.
Anyhow, our boiler busted last Friday. It up and quit on us; the old thing had no life left in it. It had rusted through so badly on the bottom grate that burn marks had started to develop up the sides of the metal box inside. All in all, it is a good thing it died, cause we didn't burn up in our ancient wooden house.
See one time this wrinkled, old man who drove a beat up mini van with George Bush Senior Stickers coating the rear of it--like 25 identical stickers--came to our house to give us some advice on how we might convert our coal burner (no longer functioning) to a wood stove and also how much it would cost to re-line the chimney. His estimate was way high--like $3,000, but he did offer us a warning. He said, "you girls should have safety ladders in the bedrooms upstairs cause if your house ever catches on fire you will not escape using the stairway. the flames will draw up the stairs and you will be trapped up there."
I stood wide jawed and thanked him for his advice. I already have a chain linked ladder in our bedroom, but damn that was some scary advice.
Thus far, we have avoided death by boiler fire and have frozen our fannies off for a total of 6 days. After forking over $3,850, we will soon have heat via a new boiler system. I can no longer type this post cause my fingers are too cold...
Monday, December 21, 2009
to a longer day--to not knowing what tomorrow has in store
time ticks away. the days fall flat or robust or somewhere in between like a deflating sausage casing. night is long. and now it is getting brighter. or at least the seasons teach us and promise us that after today the days will get longer and light will be our helpmate, our sustenance, our teacher, our guide.
This time has been heavy for k and me. Always it is. Always the months of October, November, and December hold the traces of people who have passed on from us. k's mom was born in october she faded through november; she became vapor like in december; she vanished in January. all of this happened years ago, but still her fingerprints leave smudges over the lead glass windows of our house and the liquid surfaces of our eyeballs.
I could go on and on about the dead ones and the dead almost ones (like what happened last year at this time to my body and then came out all bloody and lifeless in the toilet) but i'll spare us all the memory traveling and reexamining of emotions and emptiness left on the concave ridge of kk's collarbone and i will tune in to where we are now.
we are waiting for the days to get longer. we are learning that chickens do not appreciate the wet piles of snow accumulating all over the yard. we are thankful to still have this deep love, like a tunnel to the other side of the world that seems to go on and on forever, between us. we are happy with one another's softness--the soft parts of our skins, the pillow world of cheek and the bone hard security of shoulder.
we spend time together as though time might soon slip away from us and fall out of line with the tale that seasons have told for so many winters and summers and springs and autumns. like it might just end, be gone, flit away in the particles of dust shining in the sun shards coming through the window of a dark, deep basement.
we wonder what it will be like to be old and childless. we wonder what it will be like to be old and parents. we wonder if we will even make it to old, or if cement or bumper or disease will have its way with us before the silver and white coat our skulls. we wonder a lot about the future and work. and we think about where we want to be in this world and how we want to be in it. we think too much.
on this solstice--this night that is long in the veil of dark, navy sky creased by the shy light of a sliver of moon--we tried again to make something of a life in kk. who knows what tomorrow holds, but for now we will cheer the promise of a longer day and taste the star shaped snowflakes of december on our tongues.
This time has been heavy for k and me. Always it is. Always the months of October, November, and December hold the traces of people who have passed on from us. k's mom was born in october she faded through november; she became vapor like in december; she vanished in January. all of this happened years ago, but still her fingerprints leave smudges over the lead glass windows of our house and the liquid surfaces of our eyeballs.
I could go on and on about the dead ones and the dead almost ones (like what happened last year at this time to my body and then came out all bloody and lifeless in the toilet) but i'll spare us all the memory traveling and reexamining of emotions and emptiness left on the concave ridge of kk's collarbone and i will tune in to where we are now.
we are waiting for the days to get longer. we are learning that chickens do not appreciate the wet piles of snow accumulating all over the yard. we are thankful to still have this deep love, like a tunnel to the other side of the world that seems to go on and on forever, between us. we are happy with one another's softness--the soft parts of our skins, the pillow world of cheek and the bone hard security of shoulder.
we spend time together as though time might soon slip away from us and fall out of line with the tale that seasons have told for so many winters and summers and springs and autumns. like it might just end, be gone, flit away in the particles of dust shining in the sun shards coming through the window of a dark, deep basement.
we wonder what it will be like to be old and childless. we wonder what it will be like to be old and parents. we wonder if we will even make it to old, or if cement or bumper or disease will have its way with us before the silver and white coat our skulls. we wonder a lot about the future and work. and we think about where we want to be in this world and how we want to be in it. we think too much.
on this solstice--this night that is long in the veil of dark, navy sky creased by the shy light of a sliver of moon--we tried again to make something of a life in kk. who knows what tomorrow holds, but for now we will cheer the promise of a longer day and taste the star shaped snowflakes of december on our tongues.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
yearning without devotion
lately, ambivalence has struck a chord in the sinewy parts of my muscles. it is that in between place--the not too deep in the dark but not quite above water place.
michigan winter always casts a fervent deep blue over my days. sometimes the blue appears gray and other times it is trying for azure and little specks of sunlight on the horizon shift over the silhouettes of barren trees and dried stalks of sunflowers.
i'm not apathetic. i'm just yearning without devotion. without devotion to act on the yearning that has singled itself out on the deep red threads of my heart. and i do act in small ways, but i do not jump into my dreams with fierce confidence.
when it comes to that which i am not ambivalent about, i become animated with delight and willing to sweat and sweat and work and work on the little projects around my small homestead. cause it is the keeping of bees and the raising and tending to of chickens and the planting of trees and the preservation of food and the cooking of things we have grown or that have been grown close to where we make our home, these things make my throat tense up with a tightness close to joy.
i do not necessarily think it is bad or wrong to not act right away on making the big changes in my life--the changes that would lead to eradicating the ambivalence.
the small steps i have taken lately to move closer to working with the land and the creatures who live around my family are outlined below in some pictures with words. also, i will be attending the young farmer's conference this week in new york and i am not ambivalent about that at all. i am super happy about it.
did i tell you that i am in love with honeybees. they are miraculous and beautiful beings that rush forth sweetness from their bodies and create such useful and intricate comb.
the above picture is me going into the hive for a late fall harvest. i did it on my own and things went very well. the girls are so mild and mostly just not interested in humans unless of course i stay in their space a little too long.
more bees
comb and honey in a bucket. i cut the comb into the bucket and used a paint scraper knife on the end of a long pole and crushed and crushed the comb and honey. i crushed it till it was a liquid mess that i could drag the knife through more easily. then i strained it through painters' sieve cloth and let the weight of it press out the liquid honey in two batches for 24 hours each.
then i jarred it.
and i also made labels. someday, i'll show them to you.
And, I love my chickens very much. They are so funny. Kk says she cannot help but smile when she watches them run around the yard and i agree. They are like our little, Pomeranian dog friend, Lilo, she always makes me smile and so do my chickens. Except the chickens' tongues have never entered my ear with wet, slobbery, stanky kisses and they never will.
and someday sooner than later i want to get some goats. The picture above is me milking a goat at the ann arbor reskilling festival. i would probably get Nigerian Dwarf goats (not pictured above--Nubian above). But k says no for now.
oh, and I also like to cook stew over fire.
and walk through the old cemetery in this town i love...
i'm not ambivalent about those things.
michigan winter always casts a fervent deep blue over my days. sometimes the blue appears gray and other times it is trying for azure and little specks of sunlight on the horizon shift over the silhouettes of barren trees and dried stalks of sunflowers.
i'm not apathetic. i'm just yearning without devotion. without devotion to act on the yearning that has singled itself out on the deep red threads of my heart. and i do act in small ways, but i do not jump into my dreams with fierce confidence.
when it comes to that which i am not ambivalent about, i become animated with delight and willing to sweat and sweat and work and work on the little projects around my small homestead. cause it is the keeping of bees and the raising and tending to of chickens and the planting of trees and the preservation of food and the cooking of things we have grown or that have been grown close to where we make our home, these things make my throat tense up with a tightness close to joy.
i do not necessarily think it is bad or wrong to not act right away on making the big changes in my life--the changes that would lead to eradicating the ambivalence.
the small steps i have taken lately to move closer to working with the land and the creatures who live around my family are outlined below in some pictures with words. also, i will be attending the young farmer's conference this week in new york and i am not ambivalent about that at all. i am super happy about it.
did i tell you that i am in love with honeybees. they are miraculous and beautiful beings that rush forth sweetness from their bodies and create such useful and intricate comb.
the above picture is me going into the hive for a late fall harvest. i did it on my own and things went very well. the girls are so mild and mostly just not interested in humans unless of course i stay in their space a little too long.
more bees
comb and honey in a bucket. i cut the comb into the bucket and used a paint scraper knife on the end of a long pole and crushed and crushed the comb and honey. i crushed it till it was a liquid mess that i could drag the knife through more easily. then i strained it through painters' sieve cloth and let the weight of it press out the liquid honey in two batches for 24 hours each.
then i jarred it.
and i also made labels. someday, i'll show them to you.
And, I love my chickens very much. They are so funny. Kk says she cannot help but smile when she watches them run around the yard and i agree. They are like our little, Pomeranian dog friend, Lilo, she always makes me smile and so do my chickens. Except the chickens' tongues have never entered my ear with wet, slobbery, stanky kisses and they never will.
and someday sooner than later i want to get some goats. The picture above is me milking a goat at the ann arbor reskilling festival. i would probably get Nigerian Dwarf goats (not pictured above--Nubian above). But k says no for now.
oh, and I also like to cook stew over fire.
and walk through the old cemetery in this town i love...
i'm not ambivalent about those things.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
disrespect
I think the zoloft is wearing off. Or maybe it is just that autumn has arrived (sort of it is still high 70s and humid, but) and my general winter malaise is setting in. Or maybe it is that I get really pissed about the asshole strangers that roam the streets of ypsi and create havoc through thieving, exploiting, pimping, shooting and threatening.
I'm having trouble mustering up my usual compassion for the human race. Actually, I am pretty much over most people. My therapist says it is normal to feel uneasy during these trying times that the world is facing, but I think I am more than uneasy. I am downright hostile. People make me furious. I give the most evil looks to drivers who pass me and then turn right in front of me and cut me off. If my eye sockets had the capability to shoot out metal, bullets would probably go flying during these rage times.
The other evening we came home to a really nasty note left on our car that was parked in front of our house. It said, "Nice job parking u stupid motherfucker next time it won't be just a note."
K and I both felt threatened by the nastiness and incredibly ill at ease. Right then, I envisioned harming the person who left the note--this is not like me--I am usually a peace loving person, but I am tired of animosity and violence and I am not quite sure that sitting back and doing nothing or even calling out the nastiness for what it is or offering up kindness in place of the nastiness is going to make one bit of difference.
Then today I was at a place when a wallet theft was discovered. I won't draw attention to the place where it happened, but just because a door in an office building is left unlocked for a couple of hours does not mean it is okay for some asshole to come in off the street and rip off someone's wallet and then start spending on the person's credit cards. The office was left open by accident... and just for a bit. So, I suspect that aforementioned asshole or multiple assholes consistently scope out the offices in this place and take willy nilly whatever he/she/they want to.
Also, in the last three weeks, I have heard gunshots at night in my neighborhood multiple times.
I'm constantly cautious in my own house and yard. Most of the time, I lock my bike to itself when I am running in the house for something; I lock my front door whenever I am in the backyard or basement; I keep our bicycles inside our house not in our garage cause my neighbors have had their garages broken into multiple times. I clean up streams of wrappers and liquor bottles--swiss rolls, slim jims, mini vodkas, cheese curls, condoms--from my front yard frequently.
This might seem like petty shit going on in my neighborhood and town, but really it is completely indicative of this larger culture of people just straight up disrespecting one another. Frankly, I do not think there is a cure for disrespect. Can we teach respect? maybe not. Can we model respect in our interactions with one another?? maybe; maybe not. What I do know is that if we cannot create respect between people and respect for this planet then nothing is ever going to change for the better.
Here I sit a prisoner rights activist; a prison abolition dreamer, and I feel so cynical that I can no longer come up with creative ideas for how we might create "safer" communities. You can only give so much...
In the Iceman Cometh, by Eugene O'Neill, Larry Slade states in response to why he has left the anarchist movement, "You ask me why I quit the movement I had a lot of good reasons. One was myself, and another was my comrades, and the last was the breed of swine called man in general."
I think I'll explore his 3 reasons in more detail over the next few days here on this blog. Why, because at least I can write about the ferocity of the lack of respect hovering around me and the rage that is boiling up under my skin and turning to cynicism instead of action.
I'm having trouble mustering up my usual compassion for the human race. Actually, I am pretty much over most people. My therapist says it is normal to feel uneasy during these trying times that the world is facing, but I think I am more than uneasy. I am downright hostile. People make me furious. I give the most evil looks to drivers who pass me and then turn right in front of me and cut me off. If my eye sockets had the capability to shoot out metal, bullets would probably go flying during these rage times.
The other evening we came home to a really nasty note left on our car that was parked in front of our house. It said, "Nice job parking u stupid motherfucker next time it won't be just a note."
K and I both felt threatened by the nastiness and incredibly ill at ease. Right then, I envisioned harming the person who left the note--this is not like me--I am usually a peace loving person, but I am tired of animosity and violence and I am not quite sure that sitting back and doing nothing or even calling out the nastiness for what it is or offering up kindness in place of the nastiness is going to make one bit of difference.
Then today I was at a place when a wallet theft was discovered. I won't draw attention to the place where it happened, but just because a door in an office building is left unlocked for a couple of hours does not mean it is okay for some asshole to come in off the street and rip off someone's wallet and then start spending on the person's credit cards. The office was left open by accident... and just for a bit. So, I suspect that aforementioned asshole or multiple assholes consistently scope out the offices in this place and take willy nilly whatever he/she/they want to.
Also, in the last three weeks, I have heard gunshots at night in my neighborhood multiple times.
I'm constantly cautious in my own house and yard. Most of the time, I lock my bike to itself when I am running in the house for something; I lock my front door whenever I am in the backyard or basement; I keep our bicycles inside our house not in our garage cause my neighbors have had their garages broken into multiple times. I clean up streams of wrappers and liquor bottles--swiss rolls, slim jims, mini vodkas, cheese curls, condoms--from my front yard frequently.
This might seem like petty shit going on in my neighborhood and town, but really it is completely indicative of this larger culture of people just straight up disrespecting one another. Frankly, I do not think there is a cure for disrespect. Can we teach respect? maybe not. Can we model respect in our interactions with one another?? maybe; maybe not. What I do know is that if we cannot create respect between people and respect for this planet then nothing is ever going to change for the better.
Here I sit a prisoner rights activist; a prison abolition dreamer, and I feel so cynical that I can no longer come up with creative ideas for how we might create "safer" communities. You can only give so much...
In the Iceman Cometh, by Eugene O'Neill, Larry Slade states in response to why he has left the anarchist movement, "You ask me why I quit the movement I had a lot of good reasons. One was myself, and another was my comrades, and the last was the breed of swine called man in general."
I think I'll explore his 3 reasons in more detail over the next few days here on this blog. Why, because at least I can write about the ferocity of the lack of respect hovering around me and the rage that is boiling up under my skin and turning to cynicism instead of action.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
lethargy amidst the crap--and how i cannot get the keeper up inside me
Right around now I would have been 8 months pregnant. When I think about it, I freak out a little bit. Mostly, the idea of me being pregnant or visibly pregnant--all plump with a busting bigger than a bowling ball protrusion extending from my abdomen--makes me cringe and cry.
Actually, i have not mustered up any tears for that which is not: not being pregnant;not having kids; not really wanting kids anymore, but I have thought a lot about it all lately.
I've thought about where we've been--me and my k and where we are going. I've thought about how maybe the miscarriage was really my fortune. Because this morning I was trying to use the keeper (I'm really striving to transition to no waste during my period; k's been using her cup for years, but when I've tried before well) and I kept fiddling around down in the wetness and coming up empty handed with blood all on my fingers and in my nails. I squeezed the damn thing and pushed, but I am tight. My hole is all bound up with muscle and years of being a mostly non-entrance top.
And I thought to myself, as I pushed and shoved and couldn't get it in, how in the hell would an infant human ever come out of this hole? How would I have been able to give birth when I cannot even get a silicone, smooshy, bendable, small cup up inside me?
And then I started thinking about how it would have been 8 months and then I got not sad but lethargic about it all.
Now as k's grandma s is fading from this earth minute by minute and I think about family and growing old and reproduction and hetero-normative bullshit and us(me and my k and our love and tenacity in the face of adversity after adversity), I really feel kind of numb. Like how can I think about this all anymore. How can I make decisions or even desire anything much more than what is just now here before me.
Without sounding all Buddhist, cause I am so far from being a Buddhist, I can only take the minutes as they unfold before me right now. Not that life will always be like this, sometimes anticipation is my greatest friend, and dreaming is my lifeblood, but lately just being able to make it through the day and take whatever news about all of the shit with work, or the march toward death unfolding before us, or the family conflict that comes with that march, or the conversation about children and the future, or the fact that I am taking a drug that makes me shit my brains out on a mostly daily basis,or the fact that k's dad wants some ill-equipped people to care for her other grandmother (the one not quite dying at least not yet, but almost died last year). I'm trying with all of my might to steady myself for the three months I have have off from work (this starts after 5:00 on Friday) and just let the shit roll and me slide side car through it all--with a grin on my face when capable of it.
Actually, i have not mustered up any tears for that which is not: not being pregnant;not having kids; not really wanting kids anymore, but I have thought a lot about it all lately.
I've thought about where we've been--me and my k and where we are going. I've thought about how maybe the miscarriage was really my fortune. Because this morning I was trying to use the keeper (I'm really striving to transition to no waste during my period; k's been using her cup for years, but when I've tried before well) and I kept fiddling around down in the wetness and coming up empty handed with blood all on my fingers and in my nails. I squeezed the damn thing and pushed, but I am tight. My hole is all bound up with muscle and years of being a mostly non-entrance top.
And I thought to myself, as I pushed and shoved and couldn't get it in, how in the hell would an infant human ever come out of this hole? How would I have been able to give birth when I cannot even get a silicone, smooshy, bendable, small cup up inside me?
And then I started thinking about how it would have been 8 months and then I got not sad but lethargic about it all.
Now as k's grandma s is fading from this earth minute by minute and I think about family and growing old and reproduction and hetero-normative bullshit and us(me and my k and our love and tenacity in the face of adversity after adversity), I really feel kind of numb. Like how can I think about this all anymore. How can I make decisions or even desire anything much more than what is just now here before me.
Without sounding all Buddhist, cause I am so far from being a Buddhist, I can only take the minutes as they unfold before me right now. Not that life will always be like this, sometimes anticipation is my greatest friend, and dreaming is my lifeblood, but lately just being able to make it through the day and take whatever news about all of the shit with work, or the march toward death unfolding before us, or the family conflict that comes with that march, or the conversation about children and the future, or the fact that I am taking a drug that makes me shit my brains out on a mostly daily basis,or the fact that k's dad wants some ill-equipped people to care for her other grandmother (the one not quite dying at least not yet, but almost died last year). I'm trying with all of my might to steady myself for the three months I have have off from work (this starts after 5:00 on Friday) and just let the shit roll and me slide side car through it all--with a grin on my face when capable of it.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
skeletal days
The last many days have been sort of numb for me. Sadness and sickness have visited our house. K has a head cold and my immune system is fighting it off with all of its might, but I still have a sticky pressure building in my face and it makes me tired and crotchety.
I think I’ve finally entered the non-hormonal phase of grieving this pregnancy loss. On Saturday, I cried as I drove to a meeting in Lansing. Yesterday, I cried, again, as I drove to another meeting in Lansing. My tears were wet and slippery and just kept sliding from the corners of my eyes. There was not much thought behind the tears, just sadness and a sense of loss.
After I returned home from Lansing yesterday, I went to the metro park for a bicycle ride. I rode fast and hard and tried to empty my mind of everything. I tried to focus on the pumping of my heart and the strength of my leg muscles pulling and pushing the pedals and the sweat seeping from my ever-turning-more-gray head.
And now, I’ll go on with this seemingly skeletal day. My bones feel evermore exposed and while I find promise in the birds’ songs and the green things ever so slightly surfacing from beneath the cold, brown dirt, I am simply tired.
I do not want to weigh the future or its possibilities or lack of possibilities in my head anymore. I do not want to dream about tomorrow or a better day. I do not want to think about much of anything or do anything much but use my body to get places where I have to be and then just be there.
And at the same time, I want more than anything to just not give a fuck. To be care free and hopeful. To smile with ferocity and laugh with sincerity. To fill up these empty parts and be a greater force of love in this frustrating time. To create my own, new skin again and again and lose it with dignity again and again and regrow it stronger and thicker again and again on these hard bones of mine.
I think I’ve finally entered the non-hormonal phase of grieving this pregnancy loss. On Saturday, I cried as I drove to a meeting in Lansing. Yesterday, I cried, again, as I drove to another meeting in Lansing. My tears were wet and slippery and just kept sliding from the corners of my eyes. There was not much thought behind the tears, just sadness and a sense of loss.
After I returned home from Lansing yesterday, I went to the metro park for a bicycle ride. I rode fast and hard and tried to empty my mind of everything. I tried to focus on the pumping of my heart and the strength of my leg muscles pulling and pushing the pedals and the sweat seeping from my ever-turning-more-gray head.
And now, I’ll go on with this seemingly skeletal day. My bones feel evermore exposed and while I find promise in the birds’ songs and the green things ever so slightly surfacing from beneath the cold, brown dirt, I am simply tired.
I do not want to weigh the future or its possibilities or lack of possibilities in my head anymore. I do not want to dream about tomorrow or a better day. I do not want to think about much of anything or do anything much but use my body to get places where I have to be and then just be there.
And at the same time, I want more than anything to just not give a fuck. To be care free and hopeful. To smile with ferocity and laugh with sincerity. To fill up these empty parts and be a greater force of love in this frustrating time. To create my own, new skin again and again and lose it with dignity again and again and regrow it stronger and thicker again and again on these hard bones of mine.
Monday, February 16, 2009
waiting on spring...
I cannot even begin to express my recent tendency to cry.
Tears well up on the rims of my eyeballs without warning, without explanation, without an apparent reason. Except, I know there is a reason. Bigger than me and vast like the sky above my favorite lakes--a reason.
Yesterday, in the shower at the gym, I had a wee anxiety attack. My breathing became shallow and the coldness that dashes dark and bright across my belly, when confronted with thoughts of loss of control and mortality, coated my skin even though my body was hot through and through from time in the steam room. I counted to myself 1,2,3,4,5, breath, 6,7,8,9,10, breath, etc. And breathed deeply and caught air and was thankful for my lungs and my ability to still breath. I think the anxiety attack was prompted by the fact that I started a rather light period yesterday, and the sight of blood in my underwear brought I kind of terror into my space.
I've been trying hard to process all of what has happened to me and k in the last many months and still i have no solid answers. I am learning that answers are not necessarily what I need; what I do need is spring and the thawed soil beneath my hands and the sun on my back and face and the warmer rains that make green things grow.
I am also learning that while miscarriage is not very well formally documented/written about, what is out there is out there for heterosexual women. Damn, there is almost nil on the queer experience of miscarriage. I guess we, who have been through it, are creating it informally through the blog world. And it is not to say that I cannot relate to some of what is out there in terms of straight folks' experiences, but the things that are coming up for me are markedly different from what I have read. However, I have had beautiful conversations and connections with straight friends who have been through the painful process of miscarriage, so I am very lucky to be supported in real time.
In thinking about spring and my need for her to come to me quickly, I ordered a great amount and variety of herbs last week. I went for both trays of plugs and seeds and then some rarer, ready to plant in the ground plants.
I really want to grow a lot of chamomile and coriander this year. I use them both frequently and chamomile essential oil is really pricey. While a may not brew it into essential oil quite yet, I will make infusions of it and the stuff is great for joints (I swear by it).
Anyhow thinking about growing things is what gets me through the days--well that and riding my bike and holding my kk.
My kk, she is so kind to me and so silly and so beautiful. She makes me laugh even when I do not want to laugh. She compels me, in loving kindness, to do things when I would rather stay home and do nothing. For instance, on saturday she prodded me gently to got sit at a bar and drink a beer with her. The beer tasted good, but her company was better and I made a time-line of the miscarriage on a napkin and we talked about life and love and then she prodded me gently to go to a party that I did not want to go to, but I went and I got to sit in front of a warm fire in a Laze-E-boy and talk and it was nice.
I am blessed beyond reason to have her as my love.
Tears well up on the rims of my eyeballs without warning, without explanation, without an apparent reason. Except, I know there is a reason. Bigger than me and vast like the sky above my favorite lakes--a reason.
Yesterday, in the shower at the gym, I had a wee anxiety attack. My breathing became shallow and the coldness that dashes dark and bright across my belly, when confronted with thoughts of loss of control and mortality, coated my skin even though my body was hot through and through from time in the steam room. I counted to myself 1,2,3,4,5, breath, 6,7,8,9,10, breath, etc. And breathed deeply and caught air and was thankful for my lungs and my ability to still breath. I think the anxiety attack was prompted by the fact that I started a rather light period yesterday, and the sight of blood in my underwear brought I kind of terror into my space.
I've been trying hard to process all of what has happened to me and k in the last many months and still i have no solid answers. I am learning that answers are not necessarily what I need; what I do need is spring and the thawed soil beneath my hands and the sun on my back and face and the warmer rains that make green things grow.
I am also learning that while miscarriage is not very well formally documented/written about, what is out there is out there for heterosexual women. Damn, there is almost nil on the queer experience of miscarriage. I guess we, who have been through it, are creating it informally through the blog world. And it is not to say that I cannot relate to some of what is out there in terms of straight folks' experiences, but the things that are coming up for me are markedly different from what I have read. However, I have had beautiful conversations and connections with straight friends who have been through the painful process of miscarriage, so I am very lucky to be supported in real time.
In thinking about spring and my need for her to come to me quickly, I ordered a great amount and variety of herbs last week. I went for both trays of plugs and seeds and then some rarer, ready to plant in the ground plants.
I really want to grow a lot of chamomile and coriander this year. I use them both frequently and chamomile essential oil is really pricey. While a may not brew it into essential oil quite yet, I will make infusions of it and the stuff is great for joints (I swear by it).
Anyhow thinking about growing things is what gets me through the days--well that and riding my bike and holding my kk.
My kk, she is so kind to me and so silly and so beautiful. She makes me laugh even when I do not want to laugh. She compels me, in loving kindness, to do things when I would rather stay home and do nothing. For instance, on saturday she prodded me gently to got sit at a bar and drink a beer with her. The beer tasted good, but her company was better and I made a time-line of the miscarriage on a napkin and we talked about life and love and then she prodded me gently to go to a party that I did not want to go to, but I went and I got to sit in front of a warm fire in a Laze-E-boy and talk and it was nice.
I am blessed beyond reason to have her as my love.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Eating gas station trail mix and swallowing my own tears to wash down the salty dryness.
Last night I went to bed with tears falling down my face and this morning I woke up with tears falling down my face. When I try to tap the underlying feeling behind the tears, I cannot quite find it. And I know I do not have to find it, but still I want to make them stop. Or at least subside here and there so I do not feel like my heart has been painted gray and is floundering for footing that never seems to come.
This has all been harder than I though it might be. Being physically diminished and emotionally wounded is like being trapped in some kind of cavern. I can feel the rocks wet and hard and thick around me, but there is no light. I think bats are overhead and pools of water below me, and maybe I want to be swiped by the bats and fall back into the water and sink for a while and then come back up and see some kind of glow over the cave that is holding me captive and have the jagged edges become defined with reason and guidance for what is next.
I keep wondering if I need to make sense out of any of this or come to any kind of conclusive state of mind. For now, I am trying to just be in this unusual, unfamiliar state of mind and heart. I am trying to be okay with being depressed and full of anxiety and grief.
I keep contemplating how there are two wombs involved here. I mean how lucky am I that the first time some sliders of life were sent up my vagina they clicked with my egg and I found myself pregnant? But, please remember that we have been trying with kk for almost two years. And we have been let down over and over and over again. And for just once we had a respite from the negative test.
Oh, and then shock hung over my chest like a murky ocean wave. And I felt sick and hijacked for weeks. And then I started to feel better and then what had been living inside of me was dead. And then its deadness came dropping out of me and sent my hormones raging yet again to a place where I have no control. Or as I have been discovering I’ve been in a place where I let my fear have all the control. And, every time I go pee there is still the reminder of the life that was once in me on the surface of the plush pads that I have been wearing for nearly two weeks.
And while I still am asking the question if sense does need to be made…I have to think that maybe this hard road does have some meaning—meaning with conclusions attached. Like maybe we are not meant to be parents. Maybe we are meant to love one another fiercely and love our community with pure attentiveness and work for justice with all of our might, time, and energy. And maybe I am not really cut out to carry a child in my womb—maybe my strengths rest in other arenas of creating life and giving back to this larger than me life force.
Well, I am still sitting here with the bag of trail mix next to me; the tears tucked up in my eye rims for now; the snow falling more; the day gray and cold; the cave still dark; the glow maybe waiting beneath it all.
This has all been harder than I though it might be. Being physically diminished and emotionally wounded is like being trapped in some kind of cavern. I can feel the rocks wet and hard and thick around me, but there is no light. I think bats are overhead and pools of water below me, and maybe I want to be swiped by the bats and fall back into the water and sink for a while and then come back up and see some kind of glow over the cave that is holding me captive and have the jagged edges become defined with reason and guidance for what is next.
I keep wondering if I need to make sense out of any of this or come to any kind of conclusive state of mind. For now, I am trying to just be in this unusual, unfamiliar state of mind and heart. I am trying to be okay with being depressed and full of anxiety and grief.
I keep contemplating how there are two wombs involved here. I mean how lucky am I that the first time some sliders of life were sent up my vagina they clicked with my egg and I found myself pregnant? But, please remember that we have been trying with kk for almost two years. And we have been let down over and over and over again. And for just once we had a respite from the negative test.
Oh, and then shock hung over my chest like a murky ocean wave. And I felt sick and hijacked for weeks. And then I started to feel better and then what had been living inside of me was dead. And then its deadness came dropping out of me and sent my hormones raging yet again to a place where I have no control. Or as I have been discovering I’ve been in a place where I let my fear have all the control. And, every time I go pee there is still the reminder of the life that was once in me on the surface of the plush pads that I have been wearing for nearly two weeks.
And while I still am asking the question if sense does need to be made…I have to think that maybe this hard road does have some meaning—meaning with conclusions attached. Like maybe we are not meant to be parents. Maybe we are meant to love one another fiercely and love our community with pure attentiveness and work for justice with all of our might, time, and energy. And maybe I am not really cut out to carry a child in my womb—maybe my strengths rest in other arenas of creating life and giving back to this larger than me life force.
Well, I am still sitting here with the bag of trail mix next to me; the tears tucked up in my eye rims for now; the snow falling more; the day gray and cold; the cave still dark; the glow maybe waiting beneath it all.
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