The End

Those last couple of days of my pregnancy were fraught with emotion. Thankfully, I had D to carry me through as well as being constantly checked up on by a doting nursemaid.

For a while it wasn't clear if there would ever be bright days again...

I was about as round as I could be and felt picked through like

the pumpkin patch I visited.

All my sisters were in St. Augustine for my dad's funeral service.
D was tasked with the heavy order of providing the face-to-face missing cynical humor with an UBER-dark slant. For his part, I must admit he did a great job: joking that all the crying I was doing would leave our kid with shaken-baby syndrome and offering to make me a bloody Vergina when the frustration of passing my due date started getting to me.

After we sifted through the rawness of the service, we were left at home in the silence on our couch ... waiting for the baby to arrive. It was such a hollow let down, and it felt best to refocus on the promise of the baby again. Our doula offered to come henna my belly and it was just the sort of thing that seemed strangely appropriate since I could get old-fashioned fuzzy. The baby moved around the entire time loving every bit of the attention and joy it created.

The Sunday before my water broke, D and I took Ginger up to Elk Meadow for a hike. The weather flirted with snow and we saw three elk nestled in for the afternoon. Ginger made it all the way without the angst or anxiety she has come to adopt on any given walk. It really was the brightest point.

This is our last family photo with the baby in utero
(can you dig Ginger clocking the belly?!).

What is, is.

I've been overusing the word bittersweet in my mind this past week. It's mostly because I'm not talking to too many people and because I also don't want to sound like a douche bag (spoiler alert: I have adopted a sailor's vocabulary so I apologize now). In any case, life is bittersweet in so many ways. On the "eve" of the bird's debut, I lost a piece of my heart. I was expecting an explosion of happiness and instead just got the explosion. I was waiting to meet true love and rather have been reminded what a bastard heartbreak can be.

Needless to say, it's been rough to face the reality of my dad's death and the timing of the bird's birth (which now seems to be put on hold indefinitely perhaps). I can't get past the feeling that, in some ways, I have to let go of one to welcome the other.

Rather, I want to just sit and post photos of him and find pieces of memories to tie down his spirit. I want to memorialize how it felt to hold his hand at different ages: as a young kid with just room in my palm for his pointer finger all the way to being a bride arm and arm with a friend who was so excited for me. I want it all back. I want to go on the ride again. I want to write about how beautiful it is to remember a man who gave me so much. I want to write about how comforting it is to have my sister's to share the "knowing" of what luck we had in this father and what pain we feel in the wake of his absence. In the same breath, I want to keep it all for myself like some treasure I am too stingy to share for fear it will be stolen away. Nothing will be enough: no tribute, no words, no photos will ever encompass the time we had together. It will all be fragmented from this point forward.

In any case, even a new entry feels too soon. And in many ways, I know this is what needs to be done. There is no sense to be made from this: it was just a beautiful thing that now feels so bittersweet.

Silver Thunderbird

Marc Cohn

Richard A. Cornish, 76, of St. Augustine inspired family and friends to enjoy life through his smile, his quick wit, and his creativity. He died at his home last week.

Born in the Bronx, NY to the lighthearted family of George and Rita Cornish, he was an older brother to his good friends George, Jerry, and Ginger.

He is survived by his siblings...

...as well as his first wife, Pat, and their daughters:
Debbie, Chris, Jenny, Tricia, Nancy, and Amy. 

He was an affectionate father who proudly raised six daughters with patience and unending support. He is also grandfather to seven beautiful children.

In life, he fondly remembered his second wife, Helen.

Dick was an artist, a veteran of the Korean War, an engineer and mathematician, and a lifelong learner.

He was a thoughtful, wise man with a calming ability to listen and a long view of events.

His warmth and intelligence drove his enjoyment for the simple things in life: healthy discussions, keen intellect, and good stories.

He found interest in the lives of others; smart and kind people were his kin.

He was also a funny man who had a silly side and liked to laugh…even at bad jokes.

He will be greatly missed.

Enter October

This month brings a finish line of sorts. Friday morning I flipped the calendar in our mudroom. By the next flip, I will be a mom; and as a good friend said repeatedly the other day, not pregnant. It's like I'm in the town limits and can almost see the train station.

Funny how it goes: things somehow seem perfectly timed in line with silly dates. I know life is never that punctual but Friday was a conglomeration of happy events that made me feel like it's all coming together. I stayed home to receive the furniture we ordered back in August. By noon, our naked guest bedroom started to look like a nursery. I began the laundry that has been piled in a bin for a few weeks. As I awkwardly folded some things on the belly-shelf I've acquired, I thought about how I was folding a REAL person's clothes. I went and placed them in the dresser drawers and let the bird know every time we were in the room. Admittedly I also lounged in the new glider I debated so hard against D about buying (I must admit, it's a pretty smooth and lush little ride). 

Later I went for my (now) weekly visit to the doctor. I came home to find a box sitting pretty by our front door. In it was a kick arse CD of Lullaby Renditions of The Smashing Pumpkins. It was so suiting as I literally was driving home from the doctor listening to Today (randomly playing on the radio) and thinking how great the Pumpkins will always be in my memories. Underneath the CD, sat the most lovely little quilt my friend AF made me. It was wrapped in a lime green ribbon with a tag addressed, "To: A new friend. From: An old friend." I pulled apart the ribbon in one of those long, smooth strokes you imagine from any good moment in life. 

I explored the awesome retro patterns and colors up close...

...and unfolded it more...

 

...and stood up holding it out, flipping it back and forth,

wrapping it over my belly

(there might have been some giggly gasps involved).

Later I would come to find out it's the first quilt she has created and it's been in the works for some time now. She had the help of Cheryl at Barn Red Quiltworks to machine stitch the star pattern (which you know stole my heart). Can you believe this fantastic piece of art?

(I outlined the pattern so you can see it on film)

I promptly draped it over the newly structured crib and waited for Mr. Maillet to come home. When he finally did, we looked at the furniture in the room - how it all fit together - and I said, "and did you see what else came today?" He began to look under the crib when I just laughed and said, "No the quilt!" Admittedly, it's not a race BUT the quilt kicked the furniture's arse!

This is just one little nugget from the treasure friends have bestowed on us. I can't wait to get the nursery done and do a proper photo shoot with everything in it's perfectly folded, organized place (you know before it gets chaotic around these parts and never looks like that again).

Harvest

We have a dwarf peach tree in our front yard. I have to point it out all the time; for some odd reason most people miss it when they come to our front door. It started as not much more than a stick a friend gave us about five years ago. At the time, he commented he wasn't sure if it would even grow. I planted it anyway (as part of my "landscaping" effort for D's birthday). Today, it's at least seven feet tall and this summer was the second time it bore fruit.
 

The first year the squirrels claimed most of the treasure for their own. There wasn't much to begin with that first round. This summer I knew we would have another harvest. The tree, already slightly off balance, was more uneven. I watched as the it leaned over with the weight of many more promising peaches. I felt a kinship with the poor girl. D supported to keep it from toppling over. Friends had to duck around the leaves when on our walkway.

One day a few weeks ago, I tried to pluck a peach from the tree. The squirrels had already left remnants of fallen soldiers in the yard and I figured I needed to start beating them to the punch. I felt for a soft give under the velvety skin. I felt for a looseness - a letting go. One day, I had my own little bounty (FU squirrels).

The smell was unbelievable: a sweet freshness that encompassed all the summer days and cool nights (considering my schnoze, that's saying a lot). What was a girl to do? Perhaps pie, or jam, or cobbler?! Yes, peach cobbler it would be. And it would be the BEST peach cobbler...

...born from some second-rate recipe off the web...

and minus some much needed lemon juice for a bit of tartness...

 Needless to say there was plenty of butter, Crisco,
and sugar to go around.

So maybe not the best cobbler...

but a solid effort that bubbled out of the oven and is a fine companion for some butter pecan ice cream.

P.S. As our days are now truly numbered and I search for metaphors to represent the ensuing process, I mentioned to D that it would be ironic if the day the last peach fell was the day I went in to labor. I'm sure he didn't digest the thought but you can imagine my superstitious reaction yesterday when he told me he had picked the rest of the peaches off the tree. I couldn't bear to remind him. I just hope he missed one hiding in the leaves.

Everything is Gonna be Alright

Danny's Song by Loggins & Messina

This summer I’ve been really attracted to people “owning" where they're at. I find myself admiring it in others like smooth skin or good humor. When I see someone owning it, I find it powerful – even when it’s vulnerable. There is no more strength in what we can share with each other than to be present where we are and living what we are living; all the while holding on to our integrity…or not holding on to it; there’s a lot to be said for bleeding too (I wish I could do it more openly).

I wanted to write a really empowering piece about "owning it" and this first paragraph has sat in my blog post for a little bit now. This morning I approached it from a different angle.

I have finally come to terms with the end of the Summer...or at least that's what I'm telling myself today as the first official day of Fall squeezes it's big toe in to my life. Although this morning I still wasn't quite ready to say goodbye so I strapped myself in to a bright coral dress and hopped on my bike to ride to work. I knew I had a sweater at work if it got cold; I knew I could always take the light rail home if another afternoon rain gloomed out the day; I knew I could call D if my water broke.

Downtown I walked to meet some friends for lunch. I felt a bit obnoxious in my leggings with the bump not so subtly hidden under the colorful coral of my summer dress. The grey skies and business lunchers seemed so monotone. I felt the looks that have become so common in stranger's faces - it accompanies the promise of what lies behind the curtain of clothing (it's a strange amount of attention I never realized happened to pregnant women). But today it was the color that "woke me up" - it was the stark difference as I clearly was "individual".

Here's the deal, it's not the Fall I'm avoiding. Give me some colorful crunchy leaves, a light jacket and a scarf and I will find joy in the day (I would do Spring - Summer - Fall - Spring - Summer - Fall all year long if I could). This year, the Summer - Fall transition has a more profound effect on me because I really do feel like it's my last "summer of love" so to speak. It's like I suddenly lost my virginity in some 80s movie and have to say goodbye to my first love. And though I am ready to move on, I know Summer will never be the same...because I will be a mom.

Now I know this sounds harsh and fatalistic but it comes from a place of higher thinking. It has something to do with a comment my sis made to my friend, CP, when she was out visiting a few weeks ago. We were sitting at a brewery in Breckenridge and NR asked CP, "so did Amy tell you she was pregnant?" It was a classic NR comedy moment (and god I wish I could have done that to someone - what a trip) but the comment snagged at something deep in my psyche. In a way, I don't think I told myself I was pregnant. I certainly anticipated that CP would expect me to party like we were in college still. I was lost trying to figure out how to be fun while sober and slow moving. CP of course, had no problems and at one point in the visit even said, "I knew you were 8 months pregnant when I booked the trip." I think it was because I kept apologizing for the absence of my old ways. Admittedly I was lost.

When I think back on it, I've been lost these past few months coming to terms with the change headed my way. As is true with most things in my life: I never really considered what it all meant until I started taking the steps. And these are steps I chose to take; steps that I have been waiting to take for some time now; steps that I was FINALLY ready to take physically and emotionally. Steps that I've been trying to embrace, though it's scary. My innocence is fading quickly and I am left with the reality that this morphing belly is home to the next adventure in my life. One that, if punctual, will be here a month from today.

________________________________________________

I finished digesting the underlying thought of today through this entry. Afterwards I put on some jeans, a black shirt, a light scarf and jacket (no where near able to button). I was out the door to meet D and a doula. Could it be the night air or maybe just that I was ready to dress for the weather?! Rain drops hugged the car and slipped away. It felt good to wear the extra layers though I didn't need them for warmth (it just felt right). At the meeting we discussed the expectations and anxieties I have surrounding how we get this bird out of the oven. By the end of the conversation I felt lighter, I felt capable.

I can embrace change - I've learned to - I just wish I could do it with a little more confidence, a little more grace. I've always been one for self-deprication but enough with that BS. I'm ready, and if I'm not, I'll figure it out. This is the path and I gotta believe that everything will bring a chain of love.

Escuela Tlatelolco Mural

For weeks, I watched this mural unfold as background to the early morning chill of spring and the traffic whizzing by on Park Ave West. Sometimes in the afternoon, on my way home from work, the students would be busy painting and I would take photos from across the intersection as they glanced back at me. I watched them sit in groups or work in twos supporting each other on a ladder while the teacher offered instruction up and down the length of the project.

It was late May when I finally stopped to ask what it all meant and who they were. Jaime Gomez, a teacher at Escuela Tlatelolco, took a few minutes to explain the mural and the process. As any good procrastinator would mention right about now... I should have done this blog post back then when they were weeks away from completion. But alas I blew my chance and let this information disintegrate in my brain.

SO - as far as I can remember, the mural was a project instigated by another art teacher at the school. This is her second time putting up a mural in the city. She won about $400 selling her artwork at a show in town (if I remember right - she might have won an art contest) and used it to purchase paint for this mural. The owner of the building had donated the side of the wall to use as a project for her students, who would participate in bringing this artwork to fruition during school hours. They had been perfecting their own likeness all semester and, in that way, each student was incorporated in to the mural.

The mural is a consideration of the effects of capitalism on nature and our society. From the left end, the subject matter moves from the mountains where there is music and nature, flowers and a rainbow. The people on that side are pulling on a chains wrapped around the heart of the world, which gives it life. From the right end, the chains are being pulled by people entrenched in modern day society, which is more concerned with money, producing food, and bringing it to the City – the place where dreams are made. In the middle, the chains are breaking from the cogs - the system is not working.

There are so many other great pieces to consider in the art. I wish I could remember what the wings behind the planet represent; what the fire breathing snakes represent; what these people on the chains throwing the spindles mean (perhaps how industry can destroy your heart's desires)...

But most importantly, what is the name of the mural?!

The one thing I do remember is how much the surrounding community benefits from these types of projects. Consider this: $400 and some run of the mill building on ugly old Park Ave West turns in to artwork. Students get the chance to experience real-life application of their studies and take pride in a major accomplishment that the whole community can enjoy. The community is brightened by something beautiful to look at and converse about rather than the run of-the-mill graffiti (which I do love too in it's own artistic way).

Childhood

Just started reading the book club book for September - The Whistling Season by Ivan Doig and found this little nugget literally two pages in...

"childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul"

Isn't it so true? Whether the story is fantasy, all magic, suburban humor, diversely urban, or at times tragic - it is a thing we all have in common - finding our way in this world. I hope my kid's story will be a good one.

LOVE > FEAR

I saw a LOVE>FEAR bumper sticker on a woman’s car one day when I was walking to work. There was something about this sticker that struck me right - so I got online and ordered two, one for me and one for a friend who needs some positive thoughts these days. It’s not like me to buy bumper stickers. Rather I collect ones people give me and keep them in my office so I can mull over those simple smug thoughts to myself. But this one just made me feel like I would be putting some good out in to the world - eventhough it's sitting on my desk.

In picking it apart, I realized I wanted to compartmentalize love and fear as opposites. It is not a Battle Royal of Love versus Fear. If it was, Fear of course probably would believe it can kick Love's arse; and Love would participate believing all would be right in the end. And neither one would be wrong because in those intrinsic forms, they would both need each other. I guess then, it's what side you choose to sit on. Love is not greater than fear but rather the much needed counterpart to "life" that provides perspective that might ease the whole experience.

It's from that vein of thinking that I choose love these days (as cheesy as it sounds). If I could package the concept, I believe it would be the new skinny, fountain-of-youth, lottery-winning elixir of the moment (and I wouldn't need this blog anymore to make all my money - wink). I think it would help all of us to to find peace in where we are at in our life.

The ironic thing is, fear has ruled my life. I've been stifled by how much I've come to understand that in the past year. I can’t even begin to explain how mousy it's made me (in an unmousy, more snotty sort of way). Perspective is everything. There are so many times when I'm caught in the moment knowingly wishing I could just let the fear subside. It’s silly but then again I've been bred to worry about the inevitable or make worry of what’s to come, even when it doesn't. Anticipation is king in my life and anything I can do to analyze the situation, I will. And when it does come, I find a way to muddle through.

In the end, doesn’t it always work out? Sure, it might not work out as planned or how you achingly wanted it to work out but in some strange way, it all makes sense somewhere down the line (maybe that’s the optimist in me). Life moves on, we age and forget pieces of our folly in youth, we get jobs and more responsibilities, we grow more friends and family, and we loose some too. And then we get to the end of the ride and hopefully it has been exhilarating - not without both sides of the coin but with both sides of the coin balancing out (and hopefully landing on heads more than tails).