Saturday, July 21, 2007
FLOODThere was a flood yesterday in Chiswick where I live. Granted, it only lasted about 45 minutes. But it was exciting nonethess. Streets became impassable, cars got mired in teeming gullies, and I had to take off my shoes, roll up my pants and wade through knee-high water in order to get to my friend M's house where my son was. It was our own little taste of the global warming terroirs that are unleasing themselves all over the planet.
When I arrived at my friend's house, there was a full court press in action. Her basement was flooding - fast. And there were no fewer than 9 adults bailing furiously with buckets, trashbins, and pots - her husband, two friends who had come for lunch, the housecleaner, and four moving men who were supposed to be carting my friends' worldly possessions (many now soaking wet) to storage in anticipation of their big move to America. I headed upstairs and took over minding a pack of 6 children of various ages who were running wild in the newly vacated 3rd floor. I settled them all in front of a video in the last remaining furnished bedroom, made popcorn, cut up cheese and apples, and poured copious glasses of juice. Later, when the rain stopped and the tide seemed to have abated, I took my friend's daughter back to my house so that she could finish cleaning up the mess without worrying about her 4-year old prying open a can of paint-thinner or getting into any of the other compromising items that had been dragged up from the sodden basement.
Taking care of two over-tired and over-excited preschoolers all afternoon and evening was no picnic. They literally ransacked my house. We had a parade. We did puzzles. We painted. We made English muffins pizzas. We had a bath. We watched a lot of television. And through all of this, I was bone-tired, as I have been all week. Turns out the fish in my belly is a bit needier than Gabriel was at this stage of pregnancy - I'm still nauseous daily around 6pm (when I'm trying to cook dinner), still having headaches, still desperate to nap everyday. But even though I didn't have the luxury of rest yesterday, I didn't mind. Because I could viscerally imagine how grateful my friend was to have her daughter out of her hair while knowing that she was safe and well-cared for. I had friends who did this for me when I was moving. My friends A & A generously took my son into their home for about 72 hours straight so Lord Limescale and I could deal with distributing our mountain of belongings variously to storage, post-office and dump. There is NO WAY we would have been able to make the move or meet our ridiculous time-table (we were still frantically packing our stuff 4 hours before our plane left for England) if it hadn't been for our friends' help.
And reflecting on this simple dynamic of give and take, of help needed and help offered, made me think about the natural disasters, that are becoming so much more common in our lives, in a new way. Many people talk about how global warming is the earth's way of sending a message to humans that our relationship is out of whack. Some people would say that the earth is trying to break up with us, or worse, rub us out. Others say she is making a repeated distress call, a "pay more attention" SOS that is becoming progressively more dramatic, since we seem to have the television turned up too loud to notice. But I wonder if rather than scolding or harming us, the earth and the universe she is cradled in might instead be offering us some valuable opportunities for reconnecting to our essential humanness. In the blaze of coming together to transform wet into dry, and care for children whose names you do not know but who nonetheless recognize the mama-light in your eyes and crawl into your laps for comfort, in the heat of a present moment where the only thing to do is to be present to the moment, to step up and use your strength and intelligence and energy and intuition to help others, in the center of that fire - all that is unecessary, distracting, disorienting and isolating about our lives and our culture falls away. And we are left standing side by side with each other, as we are - emotionally naked, muddied, a little sweaty and sticky, with aching muscles - but wide-eyed, breathing together, and fully awake. In other words, fully alive.
Be well.
When I arrived at my friend's house, there was a full court press in action. Her basement was flooding - fast. And there were no fewer than 9 adults bailing furiously with buckets, trashbins, and pots - her husband, two friends who had come for lunch, the housecleaner, and four moving men who were supposed to be carting my friends' worldly possessions (many now soaking wet) to storage in anticipation of their big move to America. I headed upstairs and took over minding a pack of 6 children of various ages who were running wild in the newly vacated 3rd floor. I settled them all in front of a video in the last remaining furnished bedroom, made popcorn, cut up cheese and apples, and poured copious glasses of juice. Later, when the rain stopped and the tide seemed to have abated, I took my friend's daughter back to my house so that she could finish cleaning up the mess without worrying about her 4-year old prying open a can of paint-thinner or getting into any of the other compromising items that had been dragged up from the sodden basement.
Taking care of two over-tired and over-excited preschoolers all afternoon and evening was no picnic. They literally ransacked my house. We had a parade. We did puzzles. We painted. We made English muffins pizzas. We had a bath. We watched a lot of television. And through all of this, I was bone-tired, as I have been all week. Turns out the fish in my belly is a bit needier than Gabriel was at this stage of pregnancy - I'm still nauseous daily around 6pm (when I'm trying to cook dinner), still having headaches, still desperate to nap everyday. But even though I didn't have the luxury of rest yesterday, I didn't mind. Because I could viscerally imagine how grateful my friend was to have her daughter out of her hair while knowing that she was safe and well-cared for. I had friends who did this for me when I was moving. My friends A & A generously took my son into their home for about 72 hours straight so Lord Limescale and I could deal with distributing our mountain of belongings variously to storage, post-office and dump. There is NO WAY we would have been able to make the move or meet our ridiculous time-table (we were still frantically packing our stuff 4 hours before our plane left for England) if it hadn't been for our friends' help.
And reflecting on this simple dynamic of give and take, of help needed and help offered, made me think about the natural disasters, that are becoming so much more common in our lives, in a new way. Many people talk about how global warming is the earth's way of sending a message to humans that our relationship is out of whack. Some people would say that the earth is trying to break up with us, or worse, rub us out. Others say she is making a repeated distress call, a "pay more attention" SOS that is becoming progressively more dramatic, since we seem to have the television turned up too loud to notice. But I wonder if rather than scolding or harming us, the earth and the universe she is cradled in might instead be offering us some valuable opportunities for reconnecting to our essential humanness. In the blaze of coming together to transform wet into dry, and care for children whose names you do not know but who nonetheless recognize the mama-light in your eyes and crawl into your laps for comfort, in the heat of a present moment where the only thing to do is to be present to the moment, to step up and use your strength and intelligence and energy and intuition to help others, in the center of that fire - all that is unecessary, distracting, disorienting and isolating about our lives and our culture falls away. And we are left standing side by side with each other, as we are - emotionally naked, muddied, a little sweaty and sticky, with aching muscles - but wide-eyed, breathing together, and fully awake. In other words, fully alive.
Be well.
Labels: Community Muses, Family Life
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
HERD
I had a meeting yesterday with a real live British playwright. I was pretty excited to meet an English artist in the flesh - he's my first. Furthermore, he was taking time out from writing a new play to have coffee with me in the lobby of the ultra-inspiring National Theatre. And while we were ostensibly meeting to talk about academia (he teaches for a well-respected university), of course I was secretly hoping that he would fall in love with me and, upon discovering that I am a dramaturg, insist that I must collaborate with him on his new play.
That didn't happen. What did happen is that we spent a very pleasant 2 hours together chatting about ideas and culture and what kind of theatre we each like to make and see. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I've had since I've been in London, and he was by far the friendliest British person I've met. At the end of 2 hours, I noticed he was starting to sneak peaks at his watch, and so I gracefully released him - I'm sure he was eager to return to his writing - and while I think he enjoyed our talk as much as I did, we made no plans for a second date. If this was San Francisco, I would have said something like "Hey, I really enjoyed talking with you. Let's get together and do it again sometime." But here, I am stopped in my tracks by the classic British reserve. Fundamentally, I think all Brits are introverts. While they are very willing to help you and share information with you, they really seem to balk at getting intimate with people they don't know really well. I can't imagine Brits ever have one night stands. And I can't imagine that I'm going to exit this foreign sojourn with any real British friends. I've made an American friend, a Dutch friend and two French friends, but the Brits remain illusive prey.
So while the talk itself was both illuminating and satisfying, I left the meeting with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Where are my people? It's a lament I've been uttering since grammar school. Where are the people who are like me? Where are the people who like me? Where are the people I can see eye to eye with, stand toe to toe with, go the distance for, and break bread with? This being in a new country feels a bit like being back in middle school - I am constantly looking for where I fit, which group I can belong to. The tribal impulse is so strong in us humans - we crave the safety and security of the herd, even as we long to ride solo into the sunset.
So what do I do now? I think it's time to get out the cow bells, climb to the top of the nearest hill, ring like crazy, and wait. Maybe there's a crowd right around the bend moving in my direction. Maybe there's a lone cow out there who's looking for a herd too. Maybe an eagle will land on my shoulder and we'll begin an interspecial dialogue. So I'll wait, for a warm flank to lean into, a head to nod in unison with, a call that I can answer.
Be well.
That didn't happen. What did happen is that we spent a very pleasant 2 hours together chatting about ideas and culture and what kind of theatre we each like to make and see. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I've had since I've been in London, and he was by far the friendliest British person I've met. At the end of 2 hours, I noticed he was starting to sneak peaks at his watch, and so I gracefully released him - I'm sure he was eager to return to his writing - and while I think he enjoyed our talk as much as I did, we made no plans for a second date. If this was San Francisco, I would have said something like "Hey, I really enjoyed talking with you. Let's get together and do it again sometime." But here, I am stopped in my tracks by the classic British reserve. Fundamentally, I think all Brits are introverts. While they are very willing to help you and share information with you, they really seem to balk at getting intimate with people they don't know really well. I can't imagine Brits ever have one night stands. And I can't imagine that I'm going to exit this foreign sojourn with any real British friends. I've made an American friend, a Dutch friend and two French friends, but the Brits remain illusive prey.
So while the talk itself was both illuminating and satisfying, I left the meeting with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Where are my people? It's a lament I've been uttering since grammar school. Where are the people who are like me? Where are the people who like me? Where are the people I can see eye to eye with, stand toe to toe with, go the distance for, and break bread with? This being in a new country feels a bit like being back in middle school - I am constantly looking for where I fit, which group I can belong to. The tribal impulse is so strong in us humans - we crave the safety and security of the herd, even as we long to ride solo into the sunset.
So what do I do now? I think it's time to get out the cow bells, climb to the top of the nearest hill, ring like crazy, and wait. Maybe there's a crowd right around the bend moving in my direction. Maybe there's a lone cow out there who's looking for a herd too. Maybe an eagle will land on my shoulder and we'll begin an interspecial dialogue. So I'll wait, for a warm flank to lean into, a head to nod in unison with, a call that I can answer.
Be well.
Labels: Career Anxiety, Creative Process
Saturday, July 07, 2007
OH BABY
Time to let the cat out of the bag. Well, okay, I'm actually hoping to keep the cat...er...baby in the bag awhile yet. But I've had visual confirmation via a scan that this baby exists and at 15 weeks I'm out of the danger zone, so I finally feel free to write about the experience of double-dipping into the Mamahood jar.
First of all, let me just say - those condoms really do work. I know this because apparently I got pregnant about 12 seconds after we decided to stop using condoms even though we weren't quite ready to conceive yet ('cause hey, it took 8 months the first time, so we figured we had a little leeway.) But being pregnant seems to be like riding a bicycle - once your body has done it, there is no prep time required to do it again.
Like much else in life, the second time around isn't quite the thrill ride that the first was. It's also not as scary. While I did still entertain a persistent first trimester dread that the zygote wouldn't stick around to develop into a charmingly little long-tailed lizard, in most other regards it was fine and totally manageable. Sure, I was exhausted and a little queasy and emotionally volatile and exceptionally stupid for about 3 months, but other than that the first phase was no big deal. Also, since I am now living in the land of socialized medicine, I didn't even see a doctor for the first time until last week - so in a sense my pregnancy has been off the radar up until now.
But now I am on the radar, and now begins the struggle and scrape to choose when and how I will perform the big push. I've been fairly interested in having a homebirth, given that a) I had a great birth the first time around and b) I've heard lots of unpleasant stories from local mums about their experiences in NHS hospitals. But apparently if I go this route, the state has no obligation to provide me with a midwife to assist me. They might send somebody if they feel like it on the big day, but then again they might be too busy. This apparent indifference to my birthing preference appears to be largely economically motivated. In the hospital, one midwife can attend up to 5 women at a given time. At home, two midwives are required to be present and they must stay with the woman for the entire duration of her labor. So, obviously, you can pump out a lot more bambinos a lot quicker in a hospital setting. Which is my big problem with hospitals in the first place - the time pressure. Clock watching tends to lead to icky interventions like forcepts and vacuum extraction and caesareans. Apparently 100 years ago, 90% of women gave birth at home in this country. Now it is less than 2%. Amazing how times change. If I was poor, teenaged, or crazy, I would have a better shot at being assigned a homebirth midwife team. But since I am healthy and middle-class, my desires about how my health is managed are of little interest to NHS. I could hire an independent midwife to assist me with the birthing process - apparently they are terrific and even better trained than the NHS midwives - but it would cost us about $6,000 out of pocket. This option is a) financially impossible for us and b) kind of absurd in a country where allegedly the healthcare is free.
So, I'm trying to be patient - a good practice given that I am still less than halfway through my pregnancy. Being pregnant provides the ultimate opportunity to get comfortable with waiting - which is I think one of the secrets to being a happy and fulfilled person. We are so used to being in control, to exerting our agency and influence - it is quite a shock to discover that in some circumstances the best and only thing that can be done is to wait. And I still remember a key lesson I learned in my first pregnancy - the reason it takes 10 months to grow a baby is that it takes the baby's parents that long to really believe in the baby - as a fully fleshed individual entity, not just an idea or a lifestyle prop. It is starting to dawn on me in small ways that another human being is coming to live in our house and that everything we have chosen or planned for our lives is about to change. We don't know if this person will be male or female. We don't know if s/he will be mellow or intense. We don't know if s/he will be sick or healthy. And all those unknowns stir up flocks of other unknowns - where will we be living in 6 months (our lease is technically up December 6th), when will I work again, what will life be like in 5 years (with a 4 year old and a 7 year old), in 10 years (with a 9 year old and a 12 year old), in 20?
Accepting the impermanence of life - that is one of the central goals of Buddhism. Well, I think having babies is one of the most tangible expressions of Buddhism there is - it's all about the unknown and lifes' cycle of constant change. It's all about giving up your ego and acknowledging that you have no control over anything. It's all about the present moment - which today - at this moment - is very good: the sun is shining (after 14 straight days of rain), I went for a power-walk this morning (I finally feel well enough to exercise), and I've had enough time alone to both read and write this blog. I hope the moment is good for you too.
Be well.
Time to let the cat out of the bag. Well, okay, I'm actually hoping to keep the cat...er...baby in the bag awhile yet. But I've had visual confirmation via a scan that this baby exists and at 15 weeks I'm out of the danger zone, so I finally feel free to write about the experience of double-dipping into the Mamahood jar.
First of all, let me just say - those condoms really do work. I know this because apparently I got pregnant about 12 seconds after we decided to stop using condoms even though we weren't quite ready to conceive yet ('cause hey, it took 8 months the first time, so we figured we had a little leeway.) But being pregnant seems to be like riding a bicycle - once your body has done it, there is no prep time required to do it again.
Like much else in life, the second time around isn't quite the thrill ride that the first was. It's also not as scary. While I did still entertain a persistent first trimester dread that the zygote wouldn't stick around to develop into a charmingly little long-tailed lizard, in most other regards it was fine and totally manageable. Sure, I was exhausted and a little queasy and emotionally volatile and exceptionally stupid for about 3 months, but other than that the first phase was no big deal. Also, since I am now living in the land of socialized medicine, I didn't even see a doctor for the first time until last week - so in a sense my pregnancy has been off the radar up until now.
But now I am on the radar, and now begins the struggle and scrape to choose when and how I will perform the big push. I've been fairly interested in having a homebirth, given that a) I had a great birth the first time around and b) I've heard lots of unpleasant stories from local mums about their experiences in NHS hospitals. But apparently if I go this route, the state has no obligation to provide me with a midwife to assist me. They might send somebody if they feel like it on the big day, but then again they might be too busy. This apparent indifference to my birthing preference appears to be largely economically motivated. In the hospital, one midwife can attend up to 5 women at a given time. At home, two midwives are required to be present and they must stay with the woman for the entire duration of her labor. So, obviously, you can pump out a lot more bambinos a lot quicker in a hospital setting. Which is my big problem with hospitals in the first place - the time pressure. Clock watching tends to lead to icky interventions like forcepts and vacuum extraction and caesareans. Apparently 100 years ago, 90% of women gave birth at home in this country. Now it is less than 2%. Amazing how times change. If I was poor, teenaged, or crazy, I would have a better shot at being assigned a homebirth midwife team. But since I am healthy and middle-class, my desires about how my health is managed are of little interest to NHS. I could hire an independent midwife to assist me with the birthing process - apparently they are terrific and even better trained than the NHS midwives - but it would cost us about $6,000 out of pocket. This option is a) financially impossible for us and b) kind of absurd in a country where allegedly the healthcare is free.
So, I'm trying to be patient - a good practice given that I am still less than halfway through my pregnancy. Being pregnant provides the ultimate opportunity to get comfortable with waiting - which is I think one of the secrets to being a happy and fulfilled person. We are so used to being in control, to exerting our agency and influence - it is quite a shock to discover that in some circumstances the best and only thing that can be done is to wait. And I still remember a key lesson I learned in my first pregnancy - the reason it takes 10 months to grow a baby is that it takes the baby's parents that long to really believe in the baby - as a fully fleshed individual entity, not just an idea or a lifestyle prop. It is starting to dawn on me in small ways that another human being is coming to live in our house and that everything we have chosen or planned for our lives is about to change. We don't know if this person will be male or female. We don't know if s/he will be mellow or intense. We don't know if s/he will be sick or healthy. And all those unknowns stir up flocks of other unknowns - where will we be living in 6 months (our lease is technically up December 6th), when will I work again, what will life be like in 5 years (with a 4 year old and a 7 year old), in 10 years (with a 9 year old and a 12 year old), in 20?
Accepting the impermanence of life - that is one of the central goals of Buddhism. Well, I think having babies is one of the most tangible expressions of Buddhism there is - it's all about the unknown and lifes' cycle of constant change. It's all about giving up your ego and acknowledging that you have no control over anything. It's all about the present moment - which today - at this moment - is very good: the sun is shining (after 14 straight days of rain), I went for a power-walk this morning (I finally feel well enough to exercise), and I've had enough time alone to both read and write this blog. I hope the moment is good for you too.
Be well.
Labels: birth, Faith, Mamahood
