birthday eve

I was doing some deep-cleaning and reorganization yesterday, and came across the album that my mother made to document my birth. As tomorrow is my 31st birthday, I thought I'd share her writing, and this photograph of her and my father sharing a quiet moment during the labor~

A note: I'm staying true to her account, so my name is Heather here. I was Heather at birth, and became Anna later on...

"We arrived at Ann's dome at about 8am after about three and a half hours of labor. She put on a pot of coffee for the five of us- I had a special tea instead- Squaw Vine tea- good for soothing labor. She and her family continued with their morning routine- undisturbed by my little "dance."

Giving birth is the hardest work we've ever done. It requires such close "inner listening." I can see now how it could be very painful if the parents are not well prepared to co-operate with nature by this close "listening."

Ann is a very gentle and poised midwife. We were lucky to find someone so fine.

We tried to provide a quiet and unhurried space for the new one to be brought into. Tho quiet and joy are usually not associated in our thinking- this is what we experienced that wonderful morning.

(This note accompanies the first pictures taken after I emerged.) Heather's first minutes with us. She was a little upset at first.

So that she would have something familiar after all the struggle of being born- we put her right back into body temperature water."

*There are beautiful black & white photos in the album, including a few from the first few months. It's a treasure. Somewhere, I have another album with the same photos, but with my father's writing and account. I can't find it... maybe next year I can share that one.

please continue to hold

I'm trying to pay my (late) health insurance bill by phone. I've been on hold for an hour and a half. Muzak, muzak, muzak, automated voice reminding me that all of their representatives are still (still!) assisting other callers and asking me to please continue (continue!) to hold, muzak, muzak, muzak...

Maybe I should have known better than to call on a Monday morning? Maybe. But here I sit, kink in my neck and left elbow. I even tried going to the bathroom, thinking that surely someone would be ready to assist me at that very moment. It usually works. Yesterday, I just knew that my sweetie would call if I got in the shower. I was right.

I need to leave for work...

I'm on hold in a lot of areas of my life right now. I wish I had more control over the world. Ha!

I really do have to leave for work. More to come...

remember september

I knew that September was coming. It always does, and I'm always glad- until this day actually arrives. September signals the end of summer, the none-too-soon blessing of cooler weather, the month of my favorite local festivals...

But this morning a friend called before I'd dragged myself out of bed, and when we said goodbye, I looked at the date as I closed my phone. "Oh. It's September." The tears came immediately, and I didn't even have the decency to be surprised at them.

Today I'll wander around the Fourth Street Festival. I adore this festival, everything about it. Everything but the fact that eight years ago, I was also enjoying Fourth Street, not knowing that my dear sweet friend had just killed himself in his father's winter studio in a Chicago suburb. Today is the anniversary of his death, and it's still harder than I want it to be.

September is an emotionally loaded month for me. Anniversaries of suicide and rape. Festivals. Birthdays. My 31st birthday is a week from tomorrow. My sister's birthday is three days later, and is also the anniversary of the rape. Thirteen years. September is a roller coaster. My brother's birthday. Several friends'. Lotus Festival. Highs and lows, in messy rows.

There's a sweet, sad song that my father taught my sister and me. Remember September, before she said goodbye~ she showed the youngest robins the way they ought to fly~ around the mountain's shoulders, she spread a gypsy shawl~ and sent a breeze among the trees to sing about the fall...