Lovely day

So the last day of 2008 has been a very social one. Angie came by for a visit, bringing gluten-free treats from the New Cascadia bakery (what a sweetie - you're the best!). We chatted about life, especially Costa Rica, a country dear to our hearts, and then sat down for some wonderful caldo de pollo made by Federico.

Later on he and I tucked into the most wonderful cupcake she brought.... yum.

Debbie stopped by to catch up and bring over some homemade tamales (thank you!).

Nanci and Yves are coming over to ring in the New Year in a bit. We are going to watch some funny DVDs, eat, drink sparkling cider and welcome 2009.

So I haven't brought myself to do my ROM today (yet). Intellectually I understand its importance, but the idea of yanking that sore swollen healing toe as hard as I can bear...ick. I just have to keep thinking of that sadist (opps, my surgeon) who will be yanking away on Monday.

What I'm listening to

I'm listening to a remarkable book right now. A memoir of a woman who lost her stillborn baby and then got pregnant and had another child. She's reading her memoir on the audiobook, and I feel like she's my sister in loss. I'm sorry I can't think of a less corny expression....A sisterhood of women who lose their babies before they are born. That she is a librarian who loved Paris...well, there is one more bond we share. A sisterhood of Francophile librarians who lose their babies before birth?

There are parts that have me crying, and others laughing....because she's got a fine sense of humor that shines through the grief.

I was reading an interview with the author where she talks about how a song brings to mind her baby. So I'm not the only mother who has a song for the "lost kid."

But the song that really meant a lot to me, the summer after my first kid died, was “I Still Miss Someone” by Johnny Cash. Someone had sent Edward “Johnny Cash at San Quentin,” and I loaded it on my iPod. I never hit replay, but I was always happy to hear the song, and I always thought, This is about me, and I was always grateful for the slightly inappropriate jauntiness with which Johnny Cash sang the song. A weird juxtaposition, in other words. I still love to hear that song, and it still reminds me of my first lost kid.

I do suspect that her writing down the whole experience was healing for her, not to mention a way to leave some lasting tribute to her lost kid and her loving husband. I certainly am finding it really healing to be able to blog about the ways in which I'm been dealing with my loss. Like a diary that others can dip into. I wonder if some of my dear readers might be sick of the frequent references to the baby and miscarriage, and so I get to say -- she wrote a whole book about her baby!

She reminds so eloquently is that the love we feel for our lost kids is good and right. Not morbid or weird or crazy. Normal to love a child, however small. Normal not to forget.

Seeds

The seeds I ordered arrived yesterday, and I poured over each packet lovingly, reading the planting directions. What a treat. A big tease in the depth of winter, but a treat nonetheless. The anticipation of spring. Beautiful things to come.

I've decided that gardening is one of the best passions I could have...it has been a metaphor for life in all its beauty and harshness (things die all the time, no matter how hard you try). That was one of my biggest surprises as a new gardener. The whole idea that not every seed or seedling would make it, that one actually thins out plants, i.e. offs some so that others can grow. There is a natural cycle that you need to respect and follow, or at least acknowledge. I am one of those gardeners that believes in trying to not pretent we live in a different zone than we are actually in. I don't provide a lot of extra water or overwinter anything, so any plant in my garden has to make it on its own terms, pretty much. Dahlia bulbs stay in the ground. Scented geraniums do too. I seem to have good luck, but who knows what the Blizzard of 2008 has done to those tubers.

Well, I am not heartless. I do water my veggies; I provide organic fertilizer, compost and mulch with that 2x a year. The plants that live in my garden (and the earthworms, bees, butterflies, and birds) are very happy. You can tell. The little yard hums with life of all kinds.

I think planting seeds is miraculous, and my first time doing it successfully engendered amazement at the power of nature to create some lovely flowering plant from some tiny speck of seed. This summer when I was recovering from the miscarriage spending time in the garden was my solace. Nuturing life in the face of loss brought me great comfort. My first day back in the garden (I went back as soon as I could physically) there was a dragonfly that hovered around me as I worked. The first time I ever saw one in our garden. It just hung out, unafraid of me, even though I was very close....I decided that it was the baby's spirit coming to visit or comfort me. To let me know that life goes on....For the Day of the Dead altar I found a small metalwork dragonfly to represent his/her spirit.

A packet of seeds represents lots of things - hope, faith, miracles, no guarantees....

A good metaphor for life.

Santa and the food offering

Oh, I forgot to share the details of the visit from Santa to our home!! So Gladys is very interested in hearing my personal experiences with Santa. Do I believe in him? Did I leave him cookies? Did he eat them? Etc. I have never lied so much to her in our lives. I do not like it very much.

So after "Santa" aka Federico got back from Fred Myers with the loot; she collapased asleep with cookie crumbs on her lips...and we needed to set up the scene of the crime. aka the Christmas tree and the loot. He went down to the garage to retreive the presents. I hobbled over to scribble "To Gladys from Santa" in some quivering Santa writing. He set up cookies (what she had left of them), a tamale (this is a MEXICAN household he is visiting, after all) and some Mexican hot chocolate. It was past midnight.

I stared at him and the array of food and told him - you need to eat that stuff.

Federico (who is Mexican and doesn't get the finer rules of Santa-culture) stared at me and said, "no you eat it." (in Spanish, ok)

I'm like...honey, it's super late, I'm not hungry and I can't eat all that sugar. You need to eat this or she's going to be on to us and the Big Lie that is Santa.

While my partner normally has an incredible appetite and needs no nudging to eat anything, he wasn't budging on this one. I think partly 'cas he didn't grow up with the Santa protocol thing.

So I, in a great and selfless act of love for Gladys, take the mug of chocolate and drink half of it down. Then we got to bed.

In the morning she is up around 6 a.m. and scouting out the loot. Satisfied that Santa did indeed visit, because he FINALLY left her gifts not bought by the clueless parental units. Then she looks at the untouched platter of food (I'm still amazed that Federico passed up the tamale) and said -- he didn't eat his food?! in a tone of disappointment and questioning.

Then I raise myself up from the bed and say...but look at the mug. She did and gasped - he drank the cocoa!

I told her that Santa was probably stuffed full of food from traveling 2 days around the globe and couldn't manage another bite. We saw him on the NORAD site and kept hearing about how kids were leaving him treats, so my lie nicely blended with the NORAD lie. Isn't nifty how this global conspiracy kinda gels?

I laid back down smiling and relieved.

The things we do for love.

Doctor visit

So today was my weekly doctor's visit. It is my most social outing of the entire week.

It is my chance to hobble around in public, thereby feeling (publicly) quite disabled. I remember thinking the idea of tooling around in a wheelchair (which some able-bodied people do) to experience the world from the perspective of a disabled person was a good idea. Creepy but useful. Like that person who went around in black-face so they could experience racism. I definitely think it should be required for everyone (not the blackface). Using a walker or wheelchair gives you insight into the seemingly little things (like a curb) that can stop a person from entering a building or moving around in the world. I have a newfound love of ramps now, and curbs/steps are my enemy. Since disability (temp or permanent) can come to anyone, and certainly is likely for many old people -- it worth getting a taste. Develop some empathy. Scare you silly. Whatever.

My slowness and awkwardness in moving around able-bodied people is frustrating, and I feel like I engender a mixture of sympathy and some distance (like give her some room....), and I'm sure pity too. When I came out of the doctor's office, his waiting room was full of post-operative patients in surgical boots, and I felt like saying -- "my tribe." We all have this common bond, albeit temporary. They understand the challenges of moving around, taking a shower, the pain...When I see people jogging it makes me so jealous. I think, that was my tribe. I miss that one. That will be my tribe again.

So besides all the feelings that come up, I got my stitches out (that hurt) and am starting to do range of motion (ROM from here on out) exercises, i.e. I get to move my foot some. Right now it itches like crazy and kinda hurts, which I chalk up to all the activity of my day. I have proudly been 3 weeks w/o any pain meds of any kind.

The doctor is happy with my healing. Bones are growing. I just need to do my ROM everyday. My doctor will put me through those ROM paces each Monday, and he knows if you are naughty or nice by how much ROM movement one has or doesn't. The assistant advised to take a few advil before each visit. He's that kinda guy. Fun.

I guess I could take a photo or video of my foot with the lovely scar and upload it to my blog. It seems people share EVERYTHING nowadays. But I won't. It is gross, and I don't see the need to share that with the whole frigging planet.

Prisoners in our midst

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/27/us/27detain.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Highly recommend this NYT article and video which explores the dark underbelly of US immigration policy - the criminalization of immigrants and the fact that that some are making lots of money off imprisioning undocumented people, roughly 500,000 last year alone. These people lack the basic rights that criminal suspects have (like making a single phone call or representation by an attorney), and some have even died in custody due to untreated medical conditions.

The journalist titles this an “immigrant gold rush” that turned the private prison industry from bust to boom. Across the country, starting in Texas in the 1980s, prison companies built jail cells on speculation as they rushed to cash in on the war on drugs. They overbuilt; abuse scandals and escapes soured many states on private prisons, and by the late 1990s, as competition for inmates increased, the companies’ stock was suffering.

Then 9/11 and the criminalization of undocumented people happended, which now helps fill those prison beds. In fact our country leads the world in terms of the number of residents we lock up. We have 2.3 million people behind bars. China (with a population 4x ours) only has 1.6 million people incarcerated. This International Herald article provides a good overview:

http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/04/23/america/23prison.php

Ultimately our punitive treatment of immigrants and others means that we are pouring resources into building prisons and jailing people, rather than looking to the root issues that cause people to immigrate or commit crime. As a country, I think we need to have a real conversation about how we spend our resources.

What does it mean when a nation locks up so many of its people?

What I'm reading today

One of the biggest highlights of this extended recuperation has been the time to read. I'm been going through a pile of books, which you can see in my "LibraryThing" feature to the right.

Right now I'm reading something a book that weaves together a number of topics that are fascinating to me - baths, water, spiritualilty, herbalism, and traditional medicine. The book is titled:
Spiritual Bathing: Healing traditions and rituals from around the world. It is a beautiful coffee-table book (only in paperback) full of lucious photos of pools, water, flowers and people..It is fascinating to see how different religious traditions (whether monotheistic or not) all incorporate the concept of the sacred water and cleansing. Rosita Arvigo, one of the authors and an herbalist) provides "recipes" for bathing rituals that reflect everything from the Jewish mikvah to Mayan baths.

Right now I can't take a proper bath, but take a shower in a chair with my foot propped out of the tub. I have a new appreciation for being able to submerge your whole body in water...whether in a bathtub, sea, or jacuzzi. Submerging my body in water happens to be one of my favorite things in the world. Hot springs, ocean, public pools - I love water.

This book is giving me lots of ideas for future baths that incorporate healing, and spirituality....using flowers and herbs from the garden come spring and summer (some from those seeds I just ordered!). After a long winter and a healing foot, these baths will be just what I need....