Pablo Fanques' Fair

I didn't hit the ground running on New Year's. My readers and followers know I like a lot of song lyrics, and "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite" plays (virtually) in my ears right now. No, I did not jump into 2010 " . . . over men and horses, hoops and garters, and lastly through a hogshead of real fire." Unlike" Mr. K(ite)", I entered the new decade presenting the world with no challenge whatsoever.

Unlike "Messrs. K and H", my production was not second to none. Instead I went quiet on New Year's Eve. Not using words. I'd already written my post. Then I stopped talking, mostly. It was noticed. "What's going on, Les? You're nearly silent." "Nothing, homes. Year ending. Year beginning." There's also the fact that my life broke into its two separate pieces (so far) at the holidays. It does still color things, somewhat.


I become contemplative at year's end. What good things have happened? What happened that I'd never want to repeat? What can I do (what's within my own power) to draw nearer where I want to be? What can I do to make someone else's burden lighter? What can I do to make the time I was privileged to spend here meaningful? Although I shut my mouth and listen to the voices inside my head during this one hallowed season, I don't always land on definitive answers to all the questions. I try.

Oh, and have I mentioned that immediately upon the close of the holidays comes the first week in January when both my mother and my daughter have birthdays? The rest of the year is a skate in the park, dear reader, after getting through its beginning.

Twenty years ago at this moment, I was very pregnant. This pregnancy had astounded a large number of people, as we'd hoped to have a child for nearly 20 years. All the fertility treatments failed us and we'd moved on to other fixations. When I became ill at pretty close to 40 years of age, we were concerned because it simply wouldn't go away. My family doctor finally threw his hands in the air and said, "Pleeez, I'll run the $2 pregnancy test . . . , " and it came back very positive. At 6:18 p.m., in La Mesa, CA, on this date, my daughter was born. Giving birth to a human being is undoubtedly the most profound thing I've ever done. And I got the best one because I waited the longest. I've been asked why I don't rave about her excessively (there's that word again) on my blog. Easy answer. She doesn't want me to, despite being very rave-worthy. If she wants to be presented in a blog, I imagine she'll start her own, as she is a fine writer and artist.

So, "20 years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play" and 20 years ago today, I had a child who isn't a child any more. I've spent some time both up and down as I've contemplated this number of years and what has become of us all. I admit it to the reader, I spent a day or two with my chin dragging on the concrete. This happens to me sometimes during these weeks. They burden me more than I can express.

And then, Mother Badger sent an e-mail so much like a blog post, I'm going to start applying pressure to her to publish. Like this little rock is going be able to move that hard place, but I shall be heard. And then I had a moment of lightning bright clarity: if I asked someone with whom I share a problem (it's not just my problem) to help me find the way, I'd be carrying less on my narrow shoulders. He came up with something brilliant! The wheels were put into motion today. If I carefully explain how much a camping date circled on the calendar means to me, one is established! I don't care how far ahead it is ~ it's there to be seen. "Going camping again, Les?" "I am, homes!" Las Vegas has become startlingly mild while much of the rest of the country suffers in cold. I don't wish anyone else ill. I just enjoy the warm sunshine. I'm humbly reminded that one doesn't have to go it alone. It's OK to say, "I need help. I don't know everything. I can't do everything alone." And then the clouds part.

In my ears right now: I already told you at the start of this, "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite." I believe I'll post it on my sidebar.

Something that charmed me: I returned to work and the phones are jangling non-stop. I'm no longer used to it. My arms windmill as I take the information and book the jobs we need so desperately. What? They were all waiting for after the holidays? It's not like we're having a fire sale! I'll take them anyway I can get them, and I've been damned flirtatious!

Angst Rippling Away

Photo credit:
J. D. Morehouse

Barnes & Noble was a bust last night. The one square foot of shelf space dedicated to fitness and exercise was occupied by books on only Pilates, Yoga, and losing one's "mummy tummy" after childbirth. I went home and ordered my marathon walker's bible online, paid extra for quick shipping and expect it soon.

When insomnia visits, I've learned to go to peaceful or pastel places in my head. When I try to resolve world hunger or global warming or peace in the Middle East, I ensure that I'll never drift off. I never get those things resolved, either.

So last night, sleepless, I tried to think whether I'd ever taken anything on like this walk. And I have! And I was good at it. I exceeded the expectations I had of myself and that anyone else had of me.

I have a memory like an elephant and I'm sentimental. I can give you the dates that most important life events occurred. I have a friend who celebrates April 8, 1968 with me because that's the day we met in person for the first time. People wonder why my cool big belt buckle sports "1968". Because it was a momentous year for me.

Twenty years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play and I learned that I was pregnant for the first time in my life. This was startling news to me as we had tried to make that happen for more than 18 years, it didn't happen, Blue Cross and we threw an awful lot of money at fertility treatments that had no effect, we gave up hoping with much regret and moved on, accepting we'd have no child. I now had a career that ate up to 20 hours of my day 6 days a week and my huband had the same career with the same hours, except he worked throughout the entire state of California. We weren't home much! For me, the age of 40 was not too far distant.

This pregnancy was harrowing. I was pretty sick pretty much of the time for nearly 10 months. Lots of time in the emergency room. I was scared of every part of it. Scared I'd lose Amber and never have another chance. But mostly, I was scared of childbirth. I'd grown up hearing the horror stories and the glory stories from all the women relatives and friends. I knew that 100,000 women could tell me how it was for them, but not how it was going to be for me. The thought of being an old first time mother lying screaming (read this "looking foolish, not admirable") made me cringe. So what did I do?

I got myself educated. Lamaze classes, every book in the world, a TLC network series. I told my husband and my girlfriend who would join us at the birthing center what I wanted and needed from them. [Note to self today: educate yourself so you'll enter the endeavor from a standpoint of knowledge, if not experience!]

One of the best things I've ever done in a long life occurred during the 36 hours of labor we shared, Amber and me. I used what I had learned and it was effective for me. I only failed to breathe through two contractions, saying, "I can't. I'm too tired." Each of those was so bad, I quickly huffed through the next and all of the rest of the contractions. In a highly dramatic finish, Amber's heart became distressed after 35+ hours and she was delivered some 18 minutes after Dr. Zucconi said, "We're going to the OR, stat." I talked to everyone in the OR throughout that C-section. I'd been logical throughout. I didn't forget how to use the tools, tips and tricks I'd learned. I gave birth to a human being who was nearly as large as I was at the time.

And that puts a little 26.2 mile walk into perspective. Learning to do new things well is a thread in my tapestry.

In my ears right now: Benson Bird tearing the holy Ned out of the cage fixtures. My voice hollering, "Little dude, stop it. Do not tear up the parakeet palace."

Something that charmed me today: Thinking about Dr. Zucconi coming into the exam room to say, "You're pregnant. I have never said this with such surprise to any patient." The ex-husband letting out a war whoop of pure joy. Me sitting stunned and wondering what just hit me.