Autumn

There was a time when I led a long-distance relationship with my now-husband. Back then, he would take a seven-hour train ride from Vienna to Frankfurt to visit me, and as we ran to each other at the train station, showering each other with kisses, I was at once happy and terribly sad, because I knew we would be back at the train station in a few days, saying goodbye. 

In autumn, I am revisited by that very same feeling. I can never simply enjoy the glowing hillsides...the way the sky fills with papery leaves when there is a gust of wind...the purples and crimsons and bright yellows...or the fallen leaves outlined with delicate frost. Because, while I am gulping in all of the breathtaking beauty, I am also aching, knowing this will all be gone so soon. 

Today I thought: I can't keep you, autumn...but I can hold you in my heart. And I picked the prettiest red and yellow leaves to press between book pages. A small way of preserving my most favorite season.

xoxo

Books and Berries

 

Sometimes I think of nice things I would like to do with Rafael, and then, while we are in the middle of it, I realize that it is a reenactment of a pleasant childhood memory of my own. Picking blackberries for pie and going to the library are recent examples.

I am sitting in our deep white couch now, with shins and forearms stinging from blackberry brambles. But it's a familiar feeling associated with something happy. We rode our bikes down a sunny dirt path this morning and picked blackberries under the hot August sun. Rafael doesn't know what pie is yet, but he will soon. I remember the huge messes of brambles that flanked the dusty dirt roads in my home town. Back then, as now, I would pick berries while thinking about eating the pies they would be put into. Washed in a colander, tossed with sugar and flour, poured into a yellow hollow of dough, topped with latticed strips, and then baked until the purple-red juice bubbled over. The impatient hours spent waiting for the baked pie to set, resisting the urge to slice it open...cutting the pie while it was hot and runny would ruin it. And then finally, you eat your first bite, and it is deliciously tangy, sweet, and buttery, all at once. 

Every step belongs to the ritual; the foraging, the thorn scrapes, the assembling, the baking, the waiting, the eating. Rafael is learning about it this summer.

Last week I dressed Raffi in a button-down shirt, slacks, and leather shoes. I told him about the library while we walked hand-in-hand on the sidewalk; that it's a place where you can borrow books. He was very interested in the idea, and kept repeating the concept back to me on our way: "Library...you can borrow books there. Library...you can borrow books there, right, Mommy?" "Yes, we borrow books at the library."

When we arrived, I told the two elderly librarians that this was my son's first trip to the library. I expected them to acknowledge that this was a special occasion, and to introduce him to the children's section. I was in fact very excited about this first trip to the library; I had fantasies about bonding with Rafael over piles of books, and about handing him his very first library card. In reality, the first thing he did was pull some books off of the shelf, and one librarian said, "Young man, would it be possible for you to not take books off of the shelves?" Rafael was already on his way to the next aisle, where he found children's dvds. My romantic notions were bursting. "Let's get this one, Bob the Builder, Mama! This one, yes? We can borrow it Mama!" "Yes, we'll borrow it, but look over here, look at these books Raffi, look how wonderful."

There were whole crates filled with children's books, many of them quite old, with lovely illustrations. After some coaxing, I did get Rafael to leave the dvd section and join me in looking at books. We picked out four, and then I saw it: The Lupine Lady, one of my favorite books from childhood. And suddenly I was transported back to the library of my childhood, cool and quiet, with the sweet, musty, lovely smell of books. The large windows looking out onto the street; the tiny table with the tiny computer sitting on it; Anne of Green Gables, The Babysitters Club, The Hounds of the Morrigan. I remembered venturing into the adult's section and finding an enormous hardcover book with paintings from Van Gogh, and looking at those sunflowers for a long, long time. 

It became so clear to me why taking Rafael to the library was important to me: this was something I had enjoyed as a child, and I wanted to make sure he enjoyed it, too.

We got our family library card, and checked out five books, including The Lupine Lady, and yes, a Bob the Builder dvd. Rafael watched while the librarian pounded the stamp onto the slips inside, and then we tucked the books into his little felt bag and left. It wasn't as romantic as I had imagined; but it was real, and special, and we'll go back many times, I think. I hope Rafael will make some good memories there.

xoxo

Between The Rain

After an incredibly long, cold winter, we are now having a long, cold, rainy spring. Everyone complains about the weather. In truth, though, the only thing you can do is rush outside the moment the rain stops, bundled up in your autumn attire, and enjoy every bit of sunshine and fresh air you can get. Rafael digs in the dirt, sifts through stones, blows bubbles, and kicks his soccor ball around the wet lawn until his sneakers are soaked through. I bring him hot chocolate and sip mugs of tea while he watches the children scurry and shout in the playground beside our yard. It's actually his favorite thing to do at the moment: watch other children play. It keeps him occupied for long stretches of time. 

My life, friends....is full of good fortune, but also, lately, hardship. Maybe that's why I don't write here often. It's a strange tightrope bloggers walk. Sharing of themselves, but not too much. Keeping some intimate things private. At least, that's how I feel about it. 

In some way, I wish I could write about it all, because writing has always helped me clarify my own thoughts and feelings. Also because I know that many of you would be able to relate, and then we might feel a little less alone in our struggles. We could hold hands and exchange words of comfort and support.

But, everything published here is so permanent. I remember going through a storage box and finding my journals from highschool, and rolling my eyes while reading them, thinking what a silly girl I was back then. I wouldn't want my highschool journals published, and I don't think I want the gritty details of my life now published here, either.

I can however tell you that, through a series of recent events, I have realized I am a person filled with fear of so many, many things. Fear of making irreparable mistakes. Fear of small spaces. Fear of ending up a struggling single mother. Fear of driving. Fear of making a fool of myself. Fear of betrayal. Fear of failing to be the mother my son needs and deserves. Fear of finding out that everything I believe is a lie. Fear of not living up to my potential. Of spending my old age filled with regret.

All of these fears are deeply-rooted and most of the time they dwell unseen in the dark, and manifest themselves in bouts of defensiveness and nervousness. These fears effect my daily life, and my relationships. 

It's easy to make big statements and promises to yourself about not letting fear rule your life. But a lot of the time, you only realize you were acting out of fear after the situation has passed. 

Something else I want to tell you is that, taking yourself (and what you know about yourself) seriously is important. Recently someone laughed off my in-flight panic attack, and it made me think quite a while about how different we all are, with our strengths and weaknesses...with our baggage. Yes, there are other people who can do many things without an ounce of fear that would have me paralyzed with fear. Some things which feel impossible to me come easily to others. I have a unique history, the story of my life with all of it's pain and beauty is embedded within, and it has formed who I am today. I can accept some things, want to change others, and discover even more about myself along the way. But what I know I will do from now on is honor who I am, including all of my faults and weaknesses, and try not to compare myself to others. 

xoxoxo

chicken soup and childhood memories

Rafael and I were packed and ready to fly to Germany to visit family. On the morning of our flight, Rafael had a fever, and my throat was killing me. I ended up having to cancel the trip, and since then, we've been sick at home. 

I made myself a pot of chicken noodle soup, trying to recreate a childhood memory of mine. My friend's mother Lucie would make chicken soup on cold foggy days, and she always had large pieces of carrot in it. She left the inch-long carrot pieces unpeeled, and they were always candy-sweet in the salty, warm broth. I still remember so many things about that house, and about her....she had a huge hedge of camelias that I thought of as 'fake roses' beside the walk way leading up to the house, and had gladiolas of all different colors growing in her small garden. She mopped the wooden floor every day, and loved watching Soul Train. Her son held Monopoly marathons with his friends that would sometimes last days, and her daughter and I played with My Little Ponies and Barbies and ate fruit snacks shaped like sharks out of little plastic packets. She shopped at Costco and had enormous boxes of Raisin Bran in the cupboard. If we were going to watch a movie she pulled out the popcorn machine; it had a little compartment for melting butter on top while the kernels popped below. She would spend a long time putting her daughter's curly hair into braids, using sweet-smelling products, and it made me wish I was black too, so someone would spend all that time on my hair. Once, after I begged a lot, she also put my hair into braids, and of course it looked really silly. 

When I remember all these things, it makes me wonder what Raffi's friends will remember about his mom later in life. 

Just some thoughts and memories on a cold, autumn night.

Can you believe it's October tomorrow?

xoxoxo

September Days

"The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze."
- John Updike, September

We've been enjoying these first September days. The air is a bit cooler, and there are a few yellow leaves here and there. I've tossed out the withering tomato vines and replaced them with chrysanthemum, white cyclamen, and silver ragwort. In the woods, nature has it's own flowers of the season on display, like the wild heather pictured above, feathery and delicately purple on the mossy hillsides. 

Mornings stay dark noticeably longer now, and it makes me remember last winter, when Rafael was so small, and we would wake up together when it was still dark. We would tiptoe into his room, warm and smelling of the heaters, and play quietly, as the room slowly grew lighter and lighter, and the sky behind naked trees outside turned from black to grey to white. Those were such precious hours. Even as a tired mommy, I knew to cherish them. It felt like we were the only people awake in the world, in our dimly lit, cozy den. 

I look forward to winter mornings like that again.

But first....glorious autumn. 

xoxoxo

Dear Kary

Dear Kary,

I miss you. I miss your emails in my inbox, telling me about your sweet peas, and Teddy, and how the pumpkin patch is going to open soon. I miss your comments on my blog about New England, and road trips, and fall, and cooking. All the things that connected you and I. 

You were such a comfort to me after our loss. You always had kind words, thoughtful words. You always made me feel that, even though we lived so far apart, and had never met in person, that our hearts were mingled.

"Wish you were here for the party..i told sharon that dawn and i think someday we will meet..she said..oh, yeah..you will...i thought that was cute..
And I love the idea of us all like tiny little Christmas lights glowing around the world. That's perfect....  maybe someday we all...Sharon, Susie you and me could have a weekend at Waterfall House..... you never know....."

How I wish that all had come true, Kary. How I wish we could have driven up the road to the apple orchard, or visited your favorite bakery. Or stayed in Big Sur, or explored Maine in the fall.

When Buddy passed away, you wrote to me:
'I love the saying "don't cry because he died, smile because he lived."'

I am trying to smile.

Once, you sent me this heart that you had hand-stitched, with the word 'Friend.' And a tiny forget-me-not, barely visible, but so meaningful. Especially now. Because I won't ever forget you!

My kindred spirit...kindred to so many who loved and adored you...I am picturing you now, in your own personal Heaven, walking through eternal autumn pumpkin fields with Buddy by your side. 

Love, Dawn

Five Dirty Secrets About Me

1. I buy and read In Touch.

I know, it's terrible. I always think, "Next week I'll be a better person and won't buy this ridiculous magazine." Then Thursday rolls around and I see those stars and those headlines and I can't resist. I can't really explain why. But it feels like a mini vacation for my brain.

2. I like horror movies.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been fascinated by horror movies. My best friend and I would secretly rent scary movies that scared the bejeesus out of us to the point where we couldn't sleep and were plagued with nightmares. Many years later I fell in love with and married a man who likes watching scary movies just like me. I love heartwarming films like Cranford, The Notebook, and The Fox And The Girl, but I also love nail-biting, shiver-inducing flicks like The Ring, Insidious, and What Lies Beneath. 

3. I spend too much time on the internet.

When Rafael goes to sleep at 7, and Ramon and I have eaten dinner, one of the first things I do is go online. I visit other people's blogs, search for great things on Etsy, and, mostly, get lost in the addictive, fantastic world of Pinterest. I know I could be using that time to get crafty and artistic, read a meaningful book, or even meditate. But at the end of the day, all I want to do is relax and escape, and the internet is such a perfect place to do that.

4. I use my fingers to add.

I've always been horrible at math. To this day, I still have to use my fingers to add. And even then, I don't always get the right equation. Embarrassing but true. 

5. I have a cleaning lady. 

She comes every Friday for two hours and makes me so, so, so happy.

P.S. I shared these dirty secrets purely for the sake of hearing that I'm not alone in these things!


xoxo

When Will It Feel Like Christmas?

Not a single snow flake so far. Not one.

Ramon complained the other day: "It doesn't feel like Christmas at all." So I took out a little box of decorations and had Frank Sinatra croon Christmas tunes while I lit candles. Still, it's been awkwardly warm (not really warm but warm for December) and we're all starting to wonder: When will it start to feel like Christmas?

The advent wreath I made a few weeks back was shedding needles and looking quite sad. I finally decided to take it apart and transform it into an advent bowl. It looks very pretty and made me think of my mom, who always knew how to make something out of nothing. Once we lived in one room together. We ate meals sitting on pillows on the floor, cooked on a hot plate, and slept in one bed. But it was clean, and warm, and cozy. I guess I learned how to think creatively from her.

So mom, this impromptu advent bowl is dedicated to you.

It does make it feel a little more like Christmas.

xoxoxo

Remembering Rafael's All Natural Labor and Birth

I'm sorry for having been so absent; unfortunately it was for health reasons. I was doing so horribly (fever, sweating, aching limbs, and waves of pain in my lower abdomen) that I went to the hospital, where they diagnosed me with Endometritis, an inflammation of the uterus which can occur after a long labor and must be taken very seriously. If left untreated, it can lead to blood poisoning and infertility. I've been given antibiotics and am resting as much as possible; not easy with a hungry newborn! So it's been a difficult start, but Ramon is such a helpful, loving father and husband, and I'm already feeling much better.

I've written this in the spare moments I've had throughout these past few days. I want to not only share my experience of a natural birth with all who are interested, but record my memory of this extraordinary part of my life so I never forget it.

It was Wednesday morning, September 14th, at 10 o'clock, and the weather had changed from sunny and hot to overcast and cold. I had asked the midwife recently if it was true that a lot of babies were born on full moon, and she had that, in her experience, it was more likely for babies to come on days when there was a drastic change in the weather. But I wasn't thinking about that. Ramon had left for a business meeting in Vienna and I was in the kitchen, opening a little present of baby clothing from my mother-in-law. Suddenly there was a small gush of fluid between my legs. I remember pausing, confused, and then exclaiming "Oh!" The dogs looked at me. I stood there, frozen for a moment, taking in the realization that my water had broke. I was going to have my baby!

After cleaning up and putting on a pad (water was still running out once in a while) I called my midwife. She told me that it could still take a while for contractions to start, but that she was sending her colleague to check on me. I then called Ramon, who was riding the subway, and told him the news. I said he should go ahead with his meeting, there was still plenty of time (when the men at the meeting heard that my water had broke, they quickly sent him on his way home!).  I called my mother-in-law and asked her to walk the dogs for me.

The midwife came and had a look at me. "You're only open to a 2. Eat something with a lot of cinnamon and cloves to get the contractions started. Rest and gather strength. It's going to be a long day and night."

When my mother-in-law returned, we stood in the kitchen, peeling and cutting apples for a compote. It was surreal, standing there, talking, cooking, when in the back of my mind I knew that these were the final hours before meeting my son. I ate a big serving of heavily spiced compote and my contractions began shortly afterwards, though mild at first; they felt like period cramps.

Ramon got home just as my contractions started getting stronger. My mother-in-law left us and we spent a couple of hours wandering around the apartment and the terrace, or resting in bed, timing my contractions and talking. I took a warm bath. When my contractions were 10 minutes apart, Ramon called our midwife. I was excited, thinking that we were getting close, and that we could head to the birth center soon. But Monika, our midwife, who came to check up on me, said that we should be patient. I was only between 3 and 4 centimeters open now, and we should call her again when my contractions were 2 minutes apart for 1 hour. It was discouraging, but what could I do? Monika left and we were on our own again.

The day progressed into night, and finally my contractions got stronger. Ramon ran a second bath for me. By now the contractions were very intense, and coming every two minutes. Ramon and I had been in labor alone together for about 9 hours now. My contractions suddenly got extremely intense while I was in the bath, coming over me seemingly constantly. I began panicking. I told Ramon to call the ambulance, we had to get to the birth center right away. I was sure the baby was close to coming, and was scared of having him at home.

I couldn't get out of the bath or get dressed on my own. I was  shivering uncontrollably and began sobbing. Ramon called the ambulance and helped me out of the tub. He dressed me and got our birth bag and car seat ready. I was a total wreck, shaking and crying, when the paramedics came. They strapped me onto the gurney and wheeled me out to the ambulance. Ramon sat next to me in the back. The ride was the bumpiest I've ever taken, and the young paramedic kept asking Ramon if I was alright, and if he was sure we didn't want to go to the hospital. I was screaming and sobbing with each contraction, and each bump in the road was horrific. We finally arrived at the birth center, and when they wheeled me into the birthing room, the warmth and scent of aromatherapy oils was a bit of a comfort. My eyes had been closed this entire time, and I only opened them when Ramon had undressed me and Monika suggested I get into the birthing tub.

After some contractions in the tub, she asked me to lay down on the bed so she could check my dilation. She waited for the next contraction and probed with her fingers, which was really painful, but I was sure she would have good news. "You're at five centimeters, half way there."

I thought the world was going to end. "Half way there?!" I screamed. "I can't do this! I can't anymore!"

What followed were what felt like endless hours of pain, interspersed with me trying my hardest to just 'survive' the contractions, going into different positions, walking when I could, drinking water, having oils rubbed on my stomach, squatting, screaming, crying, getting into the tub again, leaning on Ramon in a sitting or standing position, sobbing that I couldn't do it anymore, and saying lots of "Please God! Please God! Help me!" One time Monika placed some homeopathic suppositories inside of me to help soften the cervix, and two other times she placed homeopathic globulis under my tongue for strength. I couldn't help wishing for real drugs, something I never thought I would hope for or consider.

At that point I was completely delirious with pain and exhaustion. Ramon, the midwife, and her assistant came and went, but I hardly noticed who was in the room or wasn't. I felt so alone in my pain. I was thinking, "This is torture. It won't stop. How will I ever do this? When will it ever end?" I really felt like my life was coming to an end. I know that sounds dramatic, but I truly felt at the very limit of my strength and life force.

I began feeling the urge to press when I had a contraction. I knew that sometimes the body told you to press before it was actually ready, but I didn't care. When I felt the urge, I pressed a little. Still, even with this sign of progression, I was so discouraged by how long this was all taking that I didn't really believe I could be nearing the end.

Monika invited me to sit on the birthing stool, which is shaped like a half donut. Ramon sat behind me on the foot of the bed, supporting my back and arms with his chest and legs. Monika and her assistant sat in front of me. The contractions came in constant waves, and with each one, I got about three presses in. The pressing was incredibly tiring, but I was determined, even though, again, I truly didn't believe there was an end in sight. I think I had even sort of forgotten that there was a baby on the way...it just felt like I was in pain for no good reason.

Pearls of sweat were pouring out of me all over as I pushed and pushed, feeling like my life depended on it. I dug my hands into Ramon's legs and pressed my feet into the ground. Now, with each press, there was a burning and stretching sensation, but I didn't 'feel' a head or object, so I didn't know how far along I was. At some point Monika said, "Each time you push, I can see a little bit of his head." This made me both angry (because I wanted her to say the head was already out) and determined ("A head! I'm having a baby! I forgot! That's why I'm doing this!").

I pushed a few more times, the stretching and burning getting more extreme, and then, suddenly, there was a slippery sensation, and Monika was holding up a little body to me! Rafael had been born, at 3:05 AM on September 15th, after 16 hours of labor. He was clean and rosy, with lots of black hair slicked onto his dome-shaped head. I took him in my arms, in total shock and awe. I'm not sure exactly, but I think my first words were, "My baby! My little boy!"

Monika invited us to get into bed. I stood up, holding Rafael, and I could feel the umbilical cord between my legs. We were still connected. Ramon got into bed with us, and we lay there for a few moments, just looking at this tiny red wriggling little being. When the cord stopped pulsating, Monika clamped it in two places and Ramon cut it.

Then the midwife told me I would have to push again to get the placenta out. "Are you kidding me?" I said. I had forgotten all about pain and pushing, and now I would have to get back into it. Ramon took Rafael onto his bare chest so I could concentrate. I pushed and pushed, but nothing happened. "Your bladder is too full, we'll have to empty it with a catheter." I said "No way! I'll try to empty it myself. I don't want a catheter put it!" So I pushed, but nothing was coming out. Monika pressed on my bladder and sort of forced it all out, which was a very strange sensation. Eventually, with one strong push from me, a passed what felt like a big wet pillow, and my placenta was out.

I had torn one centimeter, but refused to be sewn. I was sure it would heal on its own and didn't want anymore pain.

We lay with Rafael between us, admiring him, while Monika filled out papers. Eventually we dressed Raffi, got dressed ourselves, and called a taxi. We thanked our midwife and hopped into the cab, leaving the birth house about an hour after giving birth.

What a journey!

And it's just beginning...

When You're Happy

yellow leaves are scattered on the wooded path

who did this feather belong to?

these wild berries are a mystery to me; i hope to find out what they are, and revisit them in winter.

"People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy." -Anton Chekhov

My two dogs are the best companions for nature walks. So enthusiastic, so curious, and bursting with seemingly endless energy. I am so grateful that they are here to get me outdoors and moving every day!

I know I'm the odd man out in this matter, but summer has to be my least favorite season. If I didn't have dogs, I would probably just hide in the shade all day. I can't seem to make friends with heat. Today in the woods, the plants on the forest floor and even the leaves on the trees seemed weary in the heat. Autumn will be a great relief for man, beast, plant, and pregnant women.

I take after my father. When I was little we lived on the coast of northern California, and I remember my dad saying once that he didn't like the beach. I asked him why and he replied, "Too much sand." As funny as it sounds, I could relate. I also preferred wandering the tide pools when the ocean had sunk back into the distance at low tide, and walking along the shore collecting shells and sand dollars, to lying under the hot sun with my feet in the sand.

Ironically I married a man who absolutely worships the sun, and turns nearly black in summer. I turn what we jokingly call "dark white."

Late July

Fresh organic watermelon juice, ice, and wild mint in a mason jar. The first hay fields cut under a big hazy sky. Tattered little vintage books. Roses wrapped in brown paper. That's late July.

The sun is shining today and dragonflies are everywhere, drying their wings I guess. Swallows are flying high again...they swoop down low when it's going to rain, and soar high up in the great wide blue when the weather is fare. Old fashioned weather forecasters. On grey days they fly so low that their wing tips skim the wheat fields.

My belly has hard spots all over. A knee? An arm? A foot? I rub, press, and guess. I've been pregnant so long now that I think this boy will never come, and will just stay in there, making me wonder which little body part he is pressing up against my hand. He likes it when I take bubble baths, which I do almost daily now to relieve my back and feet. He rolls and squirms when I squeeze the loofa over my belly. I think he likes the sound of the water.

I stumbled upon photos of Boston's first day with us today, taken about a year ago, and marveled at how brave little puppies are, leaving their familiar surroundings, their siblings, and their mother...taking the long journey to a new home, with unfamiliar smells and strangers.

I looked at the expression on his face and thought of how is little body trembled in my lap during the car ride home, and my heart broke all over again for him, knowing it must have been so scary. I glanced over at him, all confident and grown up now, sleeping soundly on a blanket with Kiki stretched out next to him, and was glad that he was with us...people (and a dog) who love him. A new family.

Now there is another new member of the family on the way. Helpless, dependent, putting all his trust into us to take care of him and hold him when he is afraid of how big this world is. He is counting on us to be his family, to be there for him, to not hold it against him that he is so fragile and needy, and to not be frustrated with him when he needs our help all hours of the day. To not be impatient with him while he learns the ways of this world, and gets to know the difference between day and night. To smile at him, kiss him, bath him, feed him, and comfort him.

Such an amazing journey ahead of us all....