How many faces do you see?
Thursday, 24 January 2013
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
The Great Canadian Novel
Credit: shutterstockI dream of illustrating an imaginative allegorical novel.
If you could choose to be a master (or mistress) of any skill in the world, which skill would you pick?
Obviously I would love to write like a pro, not simply short articles like I write now but thick volumes of books that would be called literature. Why? For the simple reason that I love reading allegories. I love loosing myself in an imaginative world created by authors like C.S. Lewis, J.R. R. Tolkien or Rowling. Coleridge called this magical reading experience "the suspension of disbelief".
I suppose I am not ready to write such a masterpiece but I have tasted what it is like to connect to the powerful creative force that flows through all of us. Creativity is addictive. Nothing surpasses the thrill of sitting in front of a blank page or screen with an equally blank mind only to have a small incident, phrase or prompt trigger an imaginative spark deep with me.
Daily prompts have pushed me to open deeper artistic doors. Intuition, creativity and the Spirit bring everything together and words pour out of my subconscious. I simply start writing naturally, almost without effort. The words flow as fast as I can type. I do not think; I just type. As Ray Bradbury says,
Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things."I do not plan my fiction any more than I normally plan woodland walks; I follow the path that seems most promising at any given point, not some itinerary decided before entry.”~John Fowles"Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning: I wanted to know what I was going to say. ~Sharon O’Brien”
At the moment when I look within to find The Great Canadian Novel, I look at a blank wall. Yet it was only 9-10 months ago that I was just as clueless when I sat down to write a short story or an article. Who knows what I will discover, which door will open. It is exciting.
Hey I will report back next year, same place, same day, on January 22, 2014 and I will keep tabs on you as well.
Monday, 21 January 2013
Coming Around Full Circle
When you were 16, what did you think your life would look like? Does it look like that? Is that a good thing?
Outwardly, my life is diametrically opposed to anything I could have imagined as a teenager. Yet this strange life I find myself living has brought me more fulfilment and joy than I ever could have imagined.
At sixteen, I was still an avid reader, who loved school. As expected, I completed an Honours Degree in English Literature. By 23, my life was still on track. I considered continuing my studies as a graduate student because I still loved everything about academia. The relaxed but challenging experience of reading Chaucer and Old English in the original vernacular with only one other student in a professor's office was invigorating. This teacher was delighted to find two students interested in his life's work
At sixteen, I was still an avid reader, who loved school. As expected, I completed an Honours Degree in English Literature. By 23, my life was still on track. I considered continuing my studies as a graduate student because I still loved everything about academia. The relaxed but challenging experience of reading Chaucer and Old English in the original vernacular with only one other student in a professor's office was invigorating. This teacher was delighted to find two students interested in his life's work
I loved my life and didn't for see any changes. I had grown up with one sister, ballet lessons and a library filled with great fiction. I enjoyed gardening, painting and drawing, eating a vegetarian diet, reading spiritual literature and growing in my faith ; I was content.
Suddenly, my life as I knew it, changed dramatically.
I met Michael, who was just passing through Regina, Saskatchewan from Ottawa, Ontario to Prince George, British Columbia and from that very first, it felt like the prairie wind had swooped down and scattered all my work and plans. Michael described our first meeting in much kinder terms; he saw fireworks when he first laid eyes on me.
I was not ready for this dramatic change in my life but it was clear to me that this was my call. So I baffled my fellow students, profs, advisors, friends and family by saying yes to the unexpected. I did not know anything about my newly chosen lifestyle or even where we would live. I did realize that I was completely ignorant and lacked even the most basic skills required to survive.
I became pregnant before our first wedding anniversary. Instantly, I began to panic because I knew, that once again, I was utterly unprepared. I had never even held a newborn! So I prepared in the only way I knew how and I read every book I could find on pregnancy, birth and baby care.
However all this studying did little to equip me to mother a fragile, completely dependent newborn. For example, as I held my baby in a small bathtub for his first bath, I was very nervous. Guess what? I had a book propped open with one elbow awkwardly holding it open to the right page, while my baby was in the baby bathtub on the table. The book was my security blanket. In fact reading at any odd moment I could grab a few seconds , strong cups of tea plus the mercy of God and a wicked sense of humour have been my strength.
In the ensuing years, 18 spent pregnant and/or nursing babies, I discovered fulfilment. My call, vocation and witness became the joy of mothering children. Perhaps I could have started writing seven years ago when everyone was in school full-time but realistically there was simply too much physical work involved in running a household for eleven people and helping with the farm animals and our large vegetable garden.
Now I have come around full circle because I have started writing again. Just as I imagined at 16. It just took 40 years of living a strange life before this avid reader and crazy oral story-teller was ready to start writing.
Suddenly, my life as I knew it, changed dramatically.
I met Michael, who was just passing through Regina, Saskatchewan from Ottawa, Ontario to Prince George, British Columbia and from that very first, it felt like the prairie wind had swooped down and scattered all my work and plans. Michael described our first meeting in much kinder terms; he saw fireworks when he first laid eyes on me.
I was not ready for this dramatic change in my life but it was clear to me that this was my call. So I baffled my fellow students, profs, advisors, friends and family by saying yes to the unexpected. I did not know anything about my newly chosen lifestyle or even where we would live. I did realize that I was completely ignorant and lacked even the most basic skills required to survive.
I became pregnant before our first wedding anniversary. Instantly, I began to panic because I knew, that once again, I was utterly unprepared. I had never even held a newborn! So I prepared in the only way I knew how and I read every book I could find on pregnancy, birth and baby care.
However all this studying did little to equip me to mother a fragile, completely dependent newborn. For example, as I held my baby in a small bathtub for his first bath, I was very nervous. Guess what? I had a book propped open with one elbow awkwardly holding it open to the right page, while my baby was in the baby bathtub on the table. The book was my security blanket. In fact reading at any odd moment I could grab a few seconds , strong cups of tea plus the mercy of God and a wicked sense of humour have been my strength.
In the ensuing years, 18 spent pregnant and/or nursing babies, I discovered fulfilment. My call, vocation and witness became the joy of mothering children. Perhaps I could have started writing seven years ago when everyone was in school full-time but realistically there was simply too much physical work involved in running a household for eleven people and helping with the farm animals and our large vegetable garden.
Now I have come around full circle because I have started writing again. Just as I imagined at 16. It just took 40 years of living a strange life before this avid reader and crazy oral story-teller was ready to start writing.
I had to smile through the whole thing, Melanie. I believe that God had plans for you from even before you met the love of your life. Your story, how you became a wife and then a mother, is so beautiful. I don't think I could tire reading it. :)
Thursday, 17 January 2013
The Happy Conundrum
Credit: pixiedusthealing.blogspot.com
A quirky house, an odd decorating theme and lots of little people all add up to a hilarious lifestyle.
It is a conundrum that few can figure out. People look at my smiling face , their eyebrows shoot up, their mouths drop open and they sputter,
Your happy but you have 9 kids !!
There are all sorts of components to my life, my soul and joyful spirit but one aspect to my happiness is one that most people have never considered. Large families are hilarious. and their homes even more so.
First picture a large, 1886, quaint house with all sorts of quirks. A window became a doorway to a hundred year old addition. It must have been some one with an odd sense of humour who cut a 4 ft 10 inch doorway to the baby room into the low wall with a slanting roof. (In the pitch dark, I banged my forehead against that door frame every night for the first month when I walked into the baby's room at 2:00 am.) Three sets of steps converge on the upstairs landing.
The bathroom, added in 1949 when a local farmer installed electricity, is so tiny that the tub is not even 4 ft. long. The shallow well dries up all the time and we must order a load of water. The toilet water pump is in the barn, surrounded by hay bales but still manages to freeze in the winter. We employ ingenious methods to thaw the pump.
The list goes on but it all adds up either to frustration or comedy and the kids and I choose comic relief.
Oh I forgot. If you plug two appliances in at the same time in the kitchen the power shuts off and I resort to sending a kid running to the cellar (and yes I do mean a cellar with huge oak beams and 2 ft, thick stone walls). There are three freezers stocked with our home raised meat and vegetables are in the cold storage. The kitchen pantry is halfway under the stairs and is a frightening place to wander into.
The decorating theme is early childhood art and it is everywhere. Too many plants add to the sense of colour and an eclectic combination of furniture is very comfortable. Generations of former owner, who were all full-time farmers, believed in 4 inch spikes for building barns as well as hanging pictures.
Into this absurd house, picture 11 people living in 5 bedrooms with bunk beds, 13 dressers and huge trunks because half the bedrooms have old-fashioned hooks on the wall but no closets. I should not have to explain further except to remark that I once lost a grade 1 reading book for 3 months in a trunk with dress-up clothes!! That is all I will say. You can surely picture the chaos as I madly fling socks about in a 3 ft high wicker basket full of unpaired socks, trying to find a pair or two before school.
This is the background to all sorts of mix-ups, and mayhem. I reacted the only way possible.. I laughed. By laughing, that house became a very, very fine house with two cats in the most comfortable chair, a dog that tripped visitors by the door, goldfish on the counter and a guinea gig squeaking for food every time the fridge opened.
Welcome to our house. We love kids, animals and plants. We will even love you but watch out, do not trip over the dog and please, edge around that blanket fort. It took an hour to make yesterday!
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
Polite Company : Balderdash!
Credit: drunkgoodideasoberbadidea.wordpress.com
“It’s never a good idea to discuss religion or politics with people you don’t really know.” Agree or disagree?
As a child and young adult, my parents taught me that polite people avoid all discussions that involve politics or religion. Most people are passionate about both subjects and discussions often become heated. A well brought up person avoids any topic that is not nice. Only an ill-mannered dolt raises the ire of his friends, relatives and acquaintances by discussing religion or politics with conviction.
Balderdash!
I refuse to play games and hid behind a polite mask. If a discussion becomes passionate with someone I barely know, all the better. At least we are real. At least we care enough to prove our point! Many well-known writers have eloquently expressed this very sentiment:
“Preserve me from such cordiality! It is like handling briar-roses and may-blossoms - bright enough to the eye, and outwardly soft to the touch, but you know there are thorns beneath,
Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
“Be not intimidated...nor suffer yourselves to be wheedled out of your liberties by any pretence of politeness, delicacy, or decency. These, as they are often used, are but three different names for hypocrisy, chicanery and cowardice.”
John Adam
Oh Lord, save us from nice, polite friends and please don't let me settle for being nice. It is so bland, without passion or even kindness. People crave connections, real heart to heart interactions no matter how well they know each other. A warm encounter can affect a stranger, perhaps even change the course of his life.
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Monday, 14 January 2013
A Cautionary Tale For All Animal Lovers, Pushovers and Softies
Are you are an animal lover like me, especially when it comes to strays?
I know that in my case, just one piteous glance sends me scurrying for food, water and a comfy blanket, even if that stray is a mangy, flea-bitten, runny eyed, wild, tom cat. Well I think that after yesterday, I have become a bit more leery of scheming strays.
This summer, my heart went out to a neglected wild cat who hung around our acreage. At first I left out bowls of food and water for him that were away from the doorways. Slowly I moved the dishes closer. At first he was skittish but after a month he would at least come in and hide under the kitchen table. After two months he did not run away when I came close. Soon, he was on my lap purring and scrambling for more and more petting. He was starved for affection.
However, when the snow fell, Sam refused to go outside or use the kitty litter. I literally had to chase or sneak up on the mangy beast, to throw him outside to do his business. No, he preferred the earthen floor in our cold storage. And it stank. Our huge home reeked on all three levels.
After I managed to sniff out all this cat's indoor toilets, my husband decided that it was time to throw Sam back outside. Michael reasoned that Sam would eventually head over to our neighbours warm cattle barn and hunt all the mice he could eat.
A few nights later, when it was bitterly cold, I heard Sam scratching piteously at the door to the summer kitchen. I simply could not leave him out in -28 C weather. However, when we woke up, the stench in the house made our eyes water. I finally tracked down a rocking chair with a throw, a bed and a chair in the library that Sam had sprayed and urinated on! He had never sprayed before in the house, urinated yes but never sprayed. I washed blankets, a duffett, cushions and pillows in soap and vinegar and still had to throw out a chair and mattress!
Sam was furious at us and in righteous indignation he had punished us. Cats really do reign like mini lords, treating humans like their footman, lackey's and indentured servants.
"Vengeance Is Mine", Says The Lord...And The Cat.
This summer, my heart went out to a neglected wild cat who hung around our acreage. At first I left out bowls of food and water for him that were away from the doorways. Slowly I moved the dishes closer. At first he was skittish but after a month he would at least come in and hide under the kitchen table. After two months he did not run away when I came close. Soon, he was on my lap purring and scrambling for more and more petting. He was starved for affection.
However, when the snow fell, Sam refused to go outside or use the kitty litter. I literally had to chase or sneak up on the mangy beast, to throw him outside to do his business. No, he preferred the earthen floor in our cold storage. And it stank. Our huge home reeked on all three levels.
After I managed to sniff out all this cat's indoor toilets, my husband decided that it was time to throw Sam back outside. Michael reasoned that Sam would eventually head over to our neighbours warm cattle barn and hunt all the mice he could eat.
A few nights later, when it was bitterly cold, I heard Sam scratching piteously at the door to the summer kitchen. I simply could not leave him out in -28 C weather. However, when we woke up, the stench in the house made our eyes water. I finally tracked down a rocking chair with a throw, a bed and a chair in the library that Sam had sprayed and urinated on! He had never sprayed before in the house, urinated yes but never sprayed. I washed blankets, a duffett, cushions and pillows in soap and vinegar and still had to throw out a chair and mattress!
Sam was furious at us and in righteous indignation he had punished us. Cats really do reign like mini lords, treating humans like their footman, lackey's and indentured servants.
"Vengeance Is Mine", Says The Lord...And The Cat.
Saturday, 12 January 2013
Revised: Words of Wisdom
My youngest daughter coined this phrase and kept a W.O.W. journal for a few months. A friend joined her as they listened for words and phrases that snagged their attention. Well I have a bunch too. Some phrases are funny, others wise and some could just change your life.
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. " proust
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. " proust
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Who Needs a Teddy Bear When You've Got a Teddy Baby?
- Credit: babybygender.com
There is something about a baby's open, trusting gaze that literally draws love from us.
A newborn can see clearly to about 8", just far enough to focus intently on his mother's face. It is almost as if the initiative to bond comes from the baby first, especially when I consider the fierce hand grip that they are born with. To ensure that an infant is fed, he is born with the rooting reflex. These traits help to draw out strong protective love from both parents. For me it was almost a magical transformation from an exhausted woman in labour to a glowing mother adoring her newborn.
When the kids were little, I literally had to watch the clock to make sure everyone would get a chance to hold their new sibling . I think the children bonded to each other because even a toddler was given the privilege of holding the baby. With excitement twinkling in their eyes, barely containing their joy long enough to sit still while I propped up one of their little arms with a pillow, they looked extremely proud and pleased as they too held the baby.
Bedtime became something to look forward to for about three months after the birth of our newest addition. I would wrap the newborn tightly in a warm blanket and let each child cuddle up to a living and breathing teddy baby. This quiet time, to be alone with their sibling allowed warm, nurturing, love to flow between both children and it eliminated jealousy The focus was no longer just on the baby but attention focused on an older child and the baby.
As I nursed, it was easy to give the older children my mental and emotional attention by listening, talking, reading books to them, helping with homework and even playing with play dough with one hand. I can honestly say that no one resented all the time each newborn demanded because we were all part of caring for the baby. Little ones were proud to run for diapers, clothes or blankets and older kids would choose rocking or pushing a colicky baby in the buggy over washing dishes any day.
One of our family jokes concerns the day I managed to relate to five people at once! I was laying down on our bed, back to back with my husband as he read and I nursed a newborn. A toddler lay curled around my head, playing with my hair, I was fixing a knitting mistake for a seven-year old and talking to a ten year-old. I am pretty proud of that statistic.
When the kids were little, I literally had to watch the clock to make sure everyone would get a chance to hold their new sibling . I think the children bonded to each other because even a toddler was given the privilege of holding the baby. With excitement twinkling in their eyes, barely containing their joy long enough to sit still while I propped up one of their little arms with a pillow, they looked extremely proud and pleased as they too held the baby.
Bedtime became something to look forward to for about three months after the birth of our newest addition. I would wrap the newborn tightly in a warm blanket and let each child cuddle up to a living and breathing teddy baby. This quiet time, to be alone with their sibling allowed warm, nurturing, love to flow between both children and it eliminated jealousy The focus was no longer just on the baby but attention focused on an older child and the baby.
As I nursed, it was easy to give the older children my mental and emotional attention by listening, talking, reading books to them, helping with homework and even playing with play dough with one hand. I can honestly say that no one resented all the time each newborn demanded because we were all part of caring for the baby. Little ones were proud to run for diapers, clothes or blankets and older kids would choose rocking or pushing a colicky baby in the buggy over washing dishes any day.
One of our family jokes concerns the day I managed to relate to five people at once! I was laying down on our bed, back to back with my husband as he read and I nursed a newborn. A toddler lay curled around my head, playing with my hair, I was fixing a knitting mistake for a seven-year old and talking to a ten year-old. I am pretty proud of that statistic.
Monday, 7 January 2013
A WOMAN’S ALMANAC
On Monday’s we have a link up party, Catholic Woman’s Almanac or {CWA} for short. This is day book or an online journal blog post…Catholic Woman Style.
::Moments of Gratitude: God is so patient, constant and true that the thought brings tears to my eyes.
::Pondering: My youngest turns 18 today, an adult! Well actually people do not get their adult brain till they are 25. The last section of the brain to develop is the frontal lobe, the part of the brain that makes rational, sound judgments.. scary isn't? Oh well, I still have 4 who are 25 and under. We have a special birthday party for the kids when they turn 25, partly in jest, partly serious.
::Pondering: My youngest turns 18 today, an adult! Well actually people do not get their adult brain till they are 25. The last section of the brain to develop is the frontal lobe, the part of the brain that makes rational, sound judgments.. scary isn't? Oh well, I still have 4 who are 25 and under. We have a special birthday party for the kids when they turn 25, partly in jest, partly serious.
::Creating : I have started to gather and sort some of my 140 posts to begin the rough format of a book. I am doing this slowly so it is exactly what the Lord wants. I need to write connections and further articles to explain and flesh out my mandate. It’s fun. My mandate from God has been :
- THE JOY OF MOTHERING NINE CHILDREN
- This is Your Call
- This is your vocation
- This is your Witness to the World
It is a message that confounds the world because they cannot fathom how a mother of nine can be happy.
::Listening to: The voice of God within.
Not a lot of words.
We grin at each other.
::Wandering Around the Web: Foundation Life has published five poems and six articles. It is gratifying to connect with the editor because I was worried that my articles and stories might not be orthodox enough. Even though I fully embrace the Magisterium of the Catholic Church, my experiences are not run of the mill. For one thing, I am a convert who can relate to a Protestant mind. Sometimes I write a Catholic truth in language A protestant will not react negatively to.
::Looking Ahead: I am crocheting wedding shawls for a niece’s wedding in two weeks. I need grace to finish on time.
::Captured: It is really winter here. Beautiful but cold. Perfect for staying inside by the wood stove and writing.
::Captured: It is really winter here. Beautiful but cold. Perfect for staying inside by the wood stove and writing.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
When Marriage Feels Like a Meatgrinder
Why is there conflict with our partner? Coming out of the closet.
The funny thing is, it is only when you face a crisis in your marriage and seek counselling, that anyone mentions all marriages go through the meat grinder stage.
In fact marriage is the perfect set-up for conflict. Put two flawed people together from opposite traditions, backgrounds and expectations who love each other and watch them" let their hair down". Both feel secure. They trust the other and so they relax their polite facades. Soon their wounds begin to surface. Usually they only react and blow up with each other. They push each other's buttons. Then the natural thought is,
"I've made a terrible mistake. I need a divorce."
Wrong, in most case.
Conflict is the sign that you have made the perfect choice because people only show their dark side to the one whom they love and who loves them. Crazy? Nope, not when you understand the process. What nobody tells us when we get married is that we draw out the negative from our partner. Marriage is a threshing floor, wine-press and meat grinder all rolled up into one.
We are truly our worst with someone we trust . When I have felt stabbed in the heart, figuratively speaking, by my husband's treatment, I looked for the name on the handle of the knife that pierced me. I fully expected to see my husband's name on the handle of the knife. I was shocked to see my name, in black and white letters... MELANIE.
Why?
Because I needed to blame him and act like the suffering victim, scapegoat and martyr. When I rejected this victim complex, drained my pain and let go of tough walls of recrimination, then the natural process had chance to heal both of us. The truth still is that both of us were and still are wrong and need to mature and grow in love.
In fact marriage is the perfect set-up for conflict. Put two flawed people together from opposite traditions, backgrounds and expectations who love each other and watch them" let their hair down". Both feel secure. They trust the other and so they relax their polite facades. Soon their wounds begin to surface. Usually they only react and blow up with each other. They push each other's buttons. Then the natural thought is,
"I've made a terrible mistake. I need a divorce."
Wrong, in most case.
Conflict is the sign that you have made the perfect choice because people only show their dark side to the one whom they love and who loves them. Crazy? Nope, not when you understand the process. What nobody tells us when we get married is that we draw out the negative from our partner. Marriage is a threshing floor, wine-press and meat grinder all rolled up into one.
We are truly our worst with someone we trust . When I have felt stabbed in the heart, figuratively speaking, by my husband's treatment, I looked for the name on the handle of the knife that pierced me. I fully expected to see my husband's name on the handle of the knife. I was shocked to see my name, in black and white letters... MELANIE.
Why?
Because I needed to blame him and act like the suffering victim, scapegoat and martyr. When I rejected this victim complex, drained my pain and let go of tough walls of recrimination, then the natural process had chance to heal both of us. The truth still is that both of us were and still are wrong and need to mature and grow in love.
p.s. I good friend, a fellow writer who calls himself Nothingprofound at http://mydailyaphorism.blogspot.ca/offers this great insight on conflicts in marriage.
nothingprofound: When people make huge demands on you, like solving their problems in life, you know deep inside you can't do it, and that makes you feel uncomfortable and inadequate. So it's natural to want to escape from that situation. Some people try to fulfil that role, to become the saviour but just wind up becoming miserable martyrs and feeling victimized. The most loving nature doesn't respond well to unreasonable demands; all it feels is its own limitations, its own impotence.
nothingprofound: When people make huge demands on you, like solving their problems in life, you know deep inside you can't do it, and that makes you feel uncomfortable and inadequate. So it's natural to want to escape from that situation. Some people try to fulfil that role, to become the saviour but just wind up becoming miserable martyrs and feeling victimized. The most loving nature doesn't respond well to unreasonable demands; all it feels is its own limitations, its own impotence.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
Moments of Solitude by the Wood-stove
Credit: treehugger.comour wood stove warms the study
Yep, even though it is bitterly cold outside, my heart is burning with fervor and my thoughts are leaping for joy.
At 57, I am in the springtime of a new life. It doesn't matter that it is freezing outside because inside I am coming back to life.For the first time in 33 years I am alone, today.
My body has not quite caught up to this new reality because as the mother of nine, I was always on call. My ears are trained, listening for the sounds of my children playing, working and sleeping , always ready to soothe or help.
The result is that I am still tense, rushing to squeeze in some time to write when in fact, God has graciously handed me hours of the day where I am free. I am free to write, pray, even relax and enjoy the acres of land the surround our old house.
The result is that I am still tense, rushing to squeeze in some time to write when in fact, God has graciously handed me hours of the day where I am free. I am free to write, pray, even relax and enjoy the acres of land the surround our old house.
My body has not yet adjusted because the body remembers trauma for years. Muscles are tense, storing fear in every cell. The subconscious too needs time to unwind long after the conscious mind has grappled with the past, let go of memories and forgiven. Then there are the pre-verbal, non-verbal parts of my soul that cannot be cajoled into coming out of their cave. Any sign of control or manipulation sends them scurrying back into hiding; they take the longest to warm up in the light and warmth of the truth.
Although I have not yet adjusted to solitude and free time, I thank the Lord for this new freedom to start to write again. The walls of ice which imprisoned my writing skills are thawing out. It might be 28 C outside with almost 50 cm of snow but in the study, the wood-stove is burning.
Yep, my heart is burning with fervor and my thoughts are leaping for joy.
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
MY Mischievous Kid is Now a Dad
After the birth of my our first grandchild, my son turned to his dad and smiled proudly, "Dad, I think that this is the best thing that I have ever done."
I am a grandparent.
My son, whom I nursed and rocked to sleep
Now is soothing his tiny daughter
Whispering softly
Gently rocking her.
Is this the same kid who defied us
Railing and ranting against everything
We stood for?
Now the epitome of responsibility, love and commitment?
How did this happen?
It is a mystery and a miracle
That I simply enjoy
As I observe
My granddaughter's whole face lighting up
As she catches a glimpse of my son
Coming home from work.
He throws her up in the air
She squeals with delight,
Trusting that her daddy
Will always keep her safe.
I am proud of my son and my daughter-in-law.
My heart swells with love as our family grows even larger
Blessings that come after the years
Of struggle
I rejoice in
Nine kids
Five kids-in-law
First grandchild
One on the way
And .. I admit it.
I am even thankful for my three grandbeasties
Er ...dogs.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Protecting a Life in a Neonatal unit
Imagine that there is a gun pressed to your temple.
Pregnant with my seventh child, I was bedridden in the high-risk, neonatal wing of the maternity ward for a week while waiting for a housekeeper to come to run my home and help tend my six children. I faced 6 months of bed rest but that one week gave me perspective and kept me from sinking into self-pity. The other two women in my room were desperate to keep their babies in uteri and finally become mothers. One of the two had suffered five miscarriages. She was stuck in a ward room for months, only going home after the birth of her baby.
Secretly we all feared that we would lose our babies. Suddenly our fears materialized as a high-risk woman's baby died in her womb. That poor woman had to endure an induction and labour for hours, only to push out a dead baby. The pain in that wing of the hospital was tangible. Tears ran down women's' faces as they grieved with their neighbour. It did not matter none of us had even glimpsed her face. Nurses as well as patients mourned for a sister who was loosing her newborn. I became so nauseated with the awful vibes that pressed in on me that I ended up retching over the side of my bed with ice packs on my head to relieve a migraine. Thank God, after the delivery, they moved her to the maternity wing where she was given a free, private room. We all sighed with relief when the nurses told us that the hospital understood the need to shelter grieving mothers from others who cuddled and nursed their babies.
My generosity petered out after a few weeks at home. My only outing was to a high-risk appointment every week. Church was even out of the question, so Michael brought home communion and the readings each Sunday. I remained in prone position, eating while propped up on one elbow with my food cut into small pieces. The high-risk doctors let me use a regular toilet and have a quick shower every morning. In those days, we had one large, heavy T.V. in the living room, a black dial-up phone on the hall wall, no stereo system, no computer and the bedroom window was cloudy, so I could not look outside. In frustration I phoned my doctor one morning after my shower,
"But I don't feel sick. I feel fine and my kids need me!", I wailed.
My usually laid back, jovial doctor explained my situation in graphic detail,
" You have a huge clot, 4 cm thick, 6 cm, wide from the top of your womb where the placenta tore down your entire right side. The last time this happened at the Civic was two years ago to a woman who had four kids at home. They both almost died . We had to call the archbishop in to explain to her that it was more of a sin to her remaining children if she foolishly died along with her unborn child."
Listen to me. Keep this image in your mind. Imagine that here is a gun pressed to your temple, cocked waiting only for the slightest movement to set it off. Lay in bed and do not move!"
Well that got my attention.
The hardest aspect to my forced "vacation" was letting go of control of how strange women cleaned my home, washed laundry and made meals. I endured terrible cooks and inept, lazy house cleaners but at least my kids could still lay down beside me as I read to them and helped with homework. It almost seemed orchestrated because God seemed to delight in my inactivity; He had ample time to teach me to let go, trust and to allow others to serve me.
The end result of my confinement was a beautiful baby girl with huge black eyes and black hair that stood straight up. She is now a gentle artist/ philosopher whose dark eyes sparkle with life and joy.
Saturday, 29 December 2012
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