Fall

I don’t know how it was I failed to celebrate, but in the big countdown to Zoe I missed passing the 100 day mark. Today is 98 days and counting… literally, days, hours, minutes… I’m so over this part.

Secret and I went for our last big hike on the mountain before Ms Thing’s arrival. Climbing the rise was excruciating (why did I think it would be a fun thing to do again?) I brought the camera in tow (because hiking up wasn’t enough, I needed to load down with extra baggage too) but despite stopping and looking with a watchful eye, I wasn’t moved to frame anything and shoot. It was beautiful and I did try to stop and take it in, knowing it’s the last time I’ll see it until sometime next year. It’s all golden and thirsty this time of year, and the trails are soft with crushed leaves in all different arrays of pastels and dusty. When we see it next it will be wet and green and misty.

The Madrone trees are in berry with the bark in full peel – ribbons of swirling red paper-thin curls of shedding Madrone skin adorn the trunks like they’re all gussied up for a cotillion. Just makes you want to dance with them. There’s one, my favorite, I pause at it and run my fingers along the cool smooth bark after clearing away a patch of ribbons and I wish it well and I ask for the tree to welcome Zoe. I can feel it saying hello. That will not be the last time the trees speak kindly to her.

I’ve just come in from a hot tepid tub and despite it only being 5:30 in the evening, I’m feeling full on lazy and sleepy – nothing that either a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce or the bundle of Asian Peers on the kitchen table seems to shake off (I’ve tried them both for good measure.) They say that the third trimester is marked by a return of the fatigue and bully if just the mere mention of it makes me want to nap.

We went to see The Kingdom last night. Note to self, you are no longer equipped for 7 pm showings. It was very predictable and the special effects were far less special than I’d hoped for – but there’s something about getting beat up from the inside out during an action thriller that makes the whole thing take on the tenor of one of those John Water’s 3D scratch and sniff movies. Watching the portrayal of the Saudi Muslim fundamentalists blowing up the all-American baseball game recalled that documentary Jesus Camp where the camp director touts, with no small amount of pride, that it’s high time the Christians started raising devout, brainwashed, terrorist children to strike back, just like them fundie Muslims. They really are all so indistinguishable. Isn’t it just so incredibly true that pride indeed does go before the fall? I mean, even when people don’t even realize how shameful they’ve become.

With October waking this morning, the season resolutely changed with a cool rain and overcast morning. When it cleared around mid-day and the sun bellowed across the sky, it was interrupted by high cottony clouds which just seemed to scream things like hot apple cider, butternut squash and pumpkin pie. It was warm, but it was certainly Fall.

There Would Have Been A Time For Such A Word

There are high puffy clouds in the sky – not terrifically unlike the cotton ball clouds you see strewn across a Midwestern sky. A gaggle of swallows flit through the front yard while the Crape Myrtle has begun its spectacular fall flowering. Secret Agent Dog sits stoically in front of the screen door – ever a watchful eye. What I like is that when I look out the living room windows, I see mostly plants, green and sky. The season has begun to change and while partly sunny it’s a mere 65 degrees at the late hour of 11 am. The plants seem happier for the shortening days and reprieve from the relentless onslaught of summer in the North Bay.

In sad news, Marge is gone. She was here day before last, but yesterday when I went to check on her in the morning in preparation for introductions to a visitor arriving later in the day, she was no where to be found. Even her spectacular web was gone – suggesting clearly something sinister had transpired. Feeling hopeful that perhaps it was just a mishap, like the run in with Ms Honey Bee described previously, I went to the agapanthus stalks this morning without satisfaction. When Ed arrived home last night I grilled him mercilessly… Is there something you need to tell me? Something that happened in the agapanthus that you’ve been keeping from me? After ruthless interrogation I suspect he mightn’t have been involved. In lament of Marge – she should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word… I suppose it is possible that she simply moved on.

It’s just a shy bit under four months until Zoe arrives – which seems all at once like forever-away and way-to-soon. I can hardly wait to show her the wildflowers in springtime. She’ll likely miss her first season of slink pods, but I imagine she’ll be quite alert when the later blooming wild irises start to parade. Despite the treachery of the trail, I’m determined to take her to the second waterfall at Elliot, to see the wild tiger lilies in full sail. I hope her little face doesn’t get scratched up while we rummage through the dwarf forest on the way. When the water stops flowing I’ll take her to the top of the falls where the little tree frogs live and the Canyon Larkspur bloom. While invariably she won’t have a perfect life, she’ll at least have no nature deficit disorder. We’ll plant flowers and harvest basil together and I’ll teach her how to bake bread and climb mountains. That is, of course, presuming I learn to bake bread in the next few months. All efforts continue to end in peril. Ever the Pollyanna – I’m certain I’ll succeed one day.

It’s nice to wander a bit into the future to a time when perhaps my belly isn’t stretched so taught, I can touch my feet and there’s not a creature inside kicking my internal organs for amusement.

Back In The Saddle

As to the issue of Marge the spider who lives in the agapanthus, Secret Agent Dog took a leap through the agapanthus on Thursday last and lept right through the two stalks that held Marge and her web. There was Marge, big as a small farm animal, plastered, along with her web, in the center of Secret’s chest. I was mortified and screamed – which seemed to make Secret quite happy and excited, which seemed to cause Marge to scurry down her leg. For several hours Marge sat still as a stone in the drive, not six inches from the agapanthus. I debated for some time whether or not I should help her back – but decided to let her fend for herself – she’d suffered enough indignities for the day. Every few hours I’d go to check on her, by the early evening she was nowhere to be seen but by daybreak she’d rebuilt her web and was once again poised between the two remaining (albeit brown and dwindling) flower stalks. She’s back in the saddle.

The Itchy Butt

The heat wave continues unabated. Ed worked from home to avoid the pre-Labor Day traffic (which is supposed to be thrice as bad as ever due to an impending Bay Bridge closure – for the entire weekend. The prediction is that Highway 101 through Marin will be a parking lot for three days.) as did LB. At mid-day LB joined me at the pool, she reading and doing the respite thing in the sun and shade, dabbling her toes in the water from time to time for a cool off while I swam a mile. (Yes, a stellar, fabulous, exhausting mile!) I’m going to have to start putting on sun screen because the freckles on my face are darkening and it reminds me of when I was an awkward kid.

Coming home I made Ed fetch me ice cream while I reposed in the back cottage in the cool breeze of the air conditioner and surfed the internet for nothing whatsoever. And then I went and picked up some leave-in hair conditioner to hopefully combat the effects of chlorine and since I was out, you know, a slice of pizza – which just made me hungry for the left over chicken enchilada in the fridge so of course I popped that in the microwave. Which all was chaser to the ice cream sandwich which started it all off before leaving the pool. And I act all mystified and bewildered when I get heartburn. Ha! (Yeah, hmmm… wherever is all this weight coming from, eh?)

LB’s coming over shortly, we’re taking our evening hike a little later in the evening in hopes of escaping the heat. Ms Honey Bee didn’t get a walk at all yesterday (way too hot) and today we’re leaving far later than normal… she likely presumes I’ve abandoned her needs as she’s looking rather despondent and forgotten at my feet. And little does she know she’s getting a bath when we return this evening… she’s got what we call “the itchy butt.”

I’m quite happy to report that I actually had a fairly decent night’s sleep last night. All is good is Zuzuland.

Barely Legal

The most assiduous task of parenting is to divine the difference between boundaries and bondage. - Barbara Kingsolver

We’ve begun keeping a list of every time Zoe kicks me and we’re going to ground her for it later. I think we’re getting a good handle on bondage – we’ll have to work on boundaries no doubt.

We’re in week 21 now and although I promised some reflection on The Good Terrorist…. Well… there you have it – I’m not inspired.

It’s hot today, in the 90’s. I spent the morning doing chores before the heat of the day made it all feel too oppressive and then made the unfortunate decision to take the Honey Bee for a mid-day sojourn to the lake. Even though we relegated our activities to the shady side of the lake, it was still miserably and relentlessly hot. Only one room has a window air conditioning unit, so I lifted my skirt and let the cold air pour over my big sweaty belly before readying my things for a trip to the pool.

Getting to the pool later than I have to date gave me a taste of the family aspect of the club. Early in the day it’s open to adults only and not until afternoon does it open up to family swim activities. There were gazillions of kids and babies and moms – not so many dads. But even with the influx of young’ns most of the lanes were reserved for lap swim and people seemed to respect the lap swimmers.

I’ve been working up slowly (it’s only my 4th day in the pool) and currently I’m swimming 1100 yards – which is about 2/3 of a mile. I haven’t been in the water since the summer of ’01 and I’m way out of shape, but the water is so familiar and comforting to me – it’s like coming home. My body is so different and unfamiliar it’s an interesting contrast – feeling so invited and good in the environment and yet feeling so distant and uncomfortable in my body. The movements in the water are reflexive, however. I know how it’s supposed to feel to swim. I make little adjustments and compensate for my changing body shape, my more buoyant belly, my heavier hips and I try to get that feel. On some level, at least for a few weeks, I know that no matter what I do I’ll feel like I’m dragging my body through the water as I build up the right muscles and endurance to swim on top of (rather than under/in) the water. That’s just the normal road to getting there – nothing I can do about that except swim every day, push myself a little harder and have patience. I do wonder, however, as I’m dragging this bowling ball called Zoe with me, if I’m going to feel like I can swim on top of the water as long as she’s in tow.

After I’d finished my first 600 yards I paused and a man approached my lane and touched my shoulder. He asked if I was a competitive swimmer. Not for many, many, many years, I assured him. He said that he’d been coming to the pool for years and he’s seen no one swim as beautifully as me – how it looked so strong and effortless and like it was supposed to look. It felt nice to hear it, even knowing how weak and formless my stroke is given lack of practice. With each stroke in the water I’m correcting, coaching, reminding, adjusting – and yet to someone it looks beautiful and effortless. “No one else here swims like that,” he tells me.

When I was a little girl I remember watching Mark Spitz in the 1972 Olympics on television. The colors of the pool and the grace with which he moved through the water entranced me. I wanted to do that. Even as a young girl, I was never dissuaded by my lack of abilities or natural talent.. heh. I like it that I’ve never been afraid to square off with failure and keep trying to understand, persevere, anyways. I hope I can give that to Zoe – the willingness to ignore failure, one’s own incompetence and insecurities and do it all anyways in the face of it because what really is there to lose at the end of the day?

Pregnant Pause

The human race has had long experience and a fine tradition in surviving adversity. But we now face a task for which we have little experience: the task of surviving prosperity. - Alan Gregg

I’m so out of the practice of posting I don’t even know how to begin or what to say. Greetings. This is my first “new” post on blogspot, all the others have merely been transplanted from Diaryland – a quaint little spot – let it never be forgotten, it had its moment. It was.

Week 20, the half way mark, of this pregnancy, has commenced. It’s rather daunting. The miracle of life and all that rot. The first three months were miserable and now I just feel big and uncomfortable. What do I have to look forward to? Feeling bigger and even more uncomfortable and then being in a lot, lot, lot, lot of pain and then terrified for the next eighteen years. And this was a choice… a planned and deliberate choice. What were we thinking!?!

Despite my whining, Saturday was an awesome day. I pruned my agapanthus in the morning, with the exception of two aging flowers acting as pillar to the web of my Marge Simpson spider (which resembles this, but I’d say mine is bigger.) I conferred with Ed on how to handle Marge and his advice was to just leave her be. So there she perches, though much more exposed than when nestled among the other towering scepters of purple flower.

Ed edged the lawn around the garden, which looks amazing after an eight hour stint last week where I weeded, pruned, raked and primped. Zoe’s dresser arrived a few days back and Ed hauled it in pieces, to be assembles, which now lay strewn across the newcomer’s floor.

I’ve been kavetching about wanting to find and pool and swim for years – since we moved up here – and we visited a swim and tennis club which looks like it fits the bill perfectly. It’s an outdoor pool, heated to 82 degrees F, and open year round. If you’re a Native Son of the Golden West they offer steep discounts. They don’t kick in until one has been a member for a few years but it’s even reasonable until then. We got to try it out for free for the day and it was the first time I lay face down, stretched out, for months! It felt so great – like something really precious and valuable. I was beaming happy well into the evening.

After our afternoon at the swim and tennis club we took the bikes out for a spin, while the Honey Bee ran along side, up to the park for a frollicky game of fetch. After a nice work out I retired to the hot tepid tub for some respite. It was a great day.

Despite the pleasures of the day, however, I had a restless and uncomfortable night. If I wasn’t waking to go to pee (an every few hour occurrence… thank you miracle of frill’n life) I was waking up just plane uncomfortable. Around 4 am Secret decided she wanted up on the bed, to be with the pack, and until she departed around 7 I don’t remember sleeping well – despite cozily rubbing noses with the Monster Grrrl, I felt cramped and uncomfortable and sore. So today really sucked by comparison – I did a modicum of gardening but other than that I’ve been prone on the sofa or lazing on the bed and I feel like a big lump.

And if you can’t tell by this post, I’ve officially become one of those pregnant ladies who seem to have no life or mind or thoughts beyond the simple fact that she’s pregnant. For those of you who have never been pregnant, it’s rather all consuming. For those who have, my sympathies go out to you.

I’ll try to bring up some non-pregnant topics next time… like the Doris Lessing book I’m reading (The Good Terrorist.)

I Will Not Miss This

Yesterday was an interesting day, full of retrieval. I’ve sifted through old emails and electronic files, forwarding them on to final resting places. I rediscovered (and revisited) hundreds and hundreds of hours of wasted work I’ve done. There are full length discussion papers in mid-edit, lost in the machinery, and manuscripts for journal articles, fully edited and ready for publication, which have never seen the light of day. There are notes from meetings with lists of action items that never came to action. Proposals for strategic planning and expansion opportunities, replete with letters from collaborators and lists of funding opportunities, never followed up on by the greater machinery. It was heart breaking and painful to revisit the wonderful ideas that died on the vine. I spent the better part of the day stewing in revelation over all the thwarted work product. I will not miss this. I will not miss. I will not miss this.