Packaged Up with a Bow for T-Clog

He knows where he stands on the issues. He just wants to cut through the bullshit and know who he should vote for.

The Candidate Selector, brought to you by Minnesota Public Radio.

I found it a little frustrating, as there were some issues where I was forced to choose an answer for which I would have added a caveat. But it is what it is.

My candidates, in order:
Edwards/Obama: 25
Clinton: 23
Richardson: 21
Kucinich: 19
Gravel: 15
Guiliani: 10
Paul: 9
Romney: 7
McCain: 6
Huckabee: 4
Hunter: 4
Thompson: 4

T-Clog - this is an example of how someone can be a partisan, but not for the sake of being a partisan. I can answer questionaires and do blind surveys till I'm blue in the face, but I will always end up looking like like a duck, quacking like a duck, and voting Democrat.

Later Addition: Dan's Take

I returned from a theatre rehearsal about an hour ago to see the results of the Iowa Caucus (see previous post). Understanding that I see things pretty much like Mixdorf (on all things except music and perhaps abortion), and having just wonked out to NPR for the past 45 minutes, let me offer my take on the picture, as it clears a bit.

Democrats:

Obama: To listen excerpts from his victory speech: chills. I'll tell you, there is something about that guy. He is electric, and politicians like him don't come around too often. He is a rock star, and one that seems to be on the right (read: progressive) side of pretty much every issue.

Hillary: To listen to her, she sounded mad. And Stephen, she used that "Ready to be president on Day One" thing. I'm with you on that - it just sounds wrong. It's almost like Obama caught up and passed her as soon as she started that shit. Even if it's just subconscious, I think it's tripping some kind of trigger in the back of people's minds where they wonder if the last 20 years of her life, including her time as First Lady, were not mere "experience" for the job, but a premeditated warmup. And it's freaky. Nobody should be thinking about being president for that long.

Edwards: I can't believe he's in this much longer. I haven't looked at how he's polling in New Hampshire, but it can't be good. He's been working on Iowa for 12 years now, and pretty much just blew his wad to come in 2nd (see Romney, below).

and that's just about it for the Democrats at this point.

Republicans:

Huckabee: Let's get real here. This was not a "winning the hearts of Iowa" thing, nor a huge surge in his popular appeal. Well, there was a little of both of those. But for the most part, this was all about Evangelicals doing what Evangelicals do: becoming politically active when their pastors tell them to. If you look at the non-Evangelical exit polls, he got destroyed by Romney, 3 to 1. I don't think they go for that shit in New Hampshire. The longer this race goes, the smaller the percentage of locked-in support he's going to be able to count on.

Romney: That was about the feeblest, most depressing "there's still a lot of fight left in us" speech I have ever heard. I guess it's what you should expect from A Man With Nothing. And, see "blew wad in Iowa" (Edwards, above).

McCain: This may be the guy to beat - which would be good only in this sense: on the odd chance we have to have a Republican in the Oval Office. Bad, in that I think he'd be the toughest draw for Obama when it came right down to it. That whole bullshit "maverick" thing.

Guiliani: Perhaps this is the last mention we have to have for this awful, mean little idiot (and Man Who Has Nothing #2) who is so close to being done that he should hang it up now.

no one else worth mentioning

Yay!

Obama wins. 220,000 Democrats turn out!!! That's, like, 1/10 of all Iowans.

It'd be interesting to know how many Republicans came (but, Mixx, I don't feel I have the time to seek out the answer). I do have a theory that they are much less motivated, all but admitting that their field of potential candidates sucks balls.

I also have a theory that the better Obama does, the better Obama will do. I think a lot of groups of people with traditionally low percentages of turnout (black people, young people) will consider jumping on this bandwagon when it looks like the possibility of him actually winning the nomination looks realistic. When I learned over Christmas that Obama was at the top of my dad's list, it was one of my first, "My God, this could actually happen" moment.

Dan's Movies: 2007

Friends, expect this email in the next day or two.

Simpsonized!

All I Got for Christmas Was Tagged

Christmas Questionnaire thanks to Aaron.

Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3. Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs*.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.Welcome to the Christmas edition of "Getting to Know Your Friends."

Questions:
1. Wrapping or gift bags? As I get older, I'm coming more and more to terms with my list of limitations, which includes the ability to wrap packages. I'm about 80% gift bags now, and it's just getting higher.
2. Real or artificial tree? Artificial
3. When do you put up the tree? My family's tradtion, Dec. 1. Sharon's, Christmas Eve. It has led to a little Holiday Butting of Heads. This year, things were in such disarray, the tree went up on Dec. 22, and has yet to be decorated.
4. When do you take the tree down? Shortly after New Years
5. Do you like egg nog? Not generally. But the pre-alcohol mix makes interesting French Toast batter.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? Either Hugo, or the Hoth Playset.
7. Do you have a nativity scene? No. We're holding out for something really cool (but probably expensive), like something made of olive wood from the Holy Land.
8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Possibly something from my step-grandma. We'd get something really kitcschy that really didn't belong in our house, year after year. I specifically recall this garishly dressed teddy bear that screeched "Silent Night" if you squeezed him too hard.
9. Mail or email Christmas cards? Arg. Nothing. We really need to start doing something.
10. Favorite Christmas Movie? It's a Wonderful Life.
11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I'm pretty early. Like, before Thanksgiving, usually. Sharon, not so much so; and one way or another, her dilemma ends up dragging me in, somehow.
12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom's brownies. Or my mom's macaroni & cheese.
13. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Multi-colored, definitely.
14. Favorite Christmas song(s)? I know it's Catholic, but Ave Maria is just beautiful. I do also love the more secular White Christmas, I'll Be Home for Christmas, and The Christmas Song. There's lots I love.
15. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel to W'loo for Christmas, or a week beforehand. It alternates each year.
16. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? It seems like I could, but I'm guessing I'd end up forgetting one.
17. Angel on the tree top or a star? Angel would be cool. We have nothing, for now.
18. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning? Christmas morning, if possible.
19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Co-opting of two local radio stations that would normally be in my lineup for Christmas music for an entire two months, at least. I cannot even begin to imagine how annoying this would be if I were Jewish.
20. Do you decorate your tree in any specific theme or color? No.
21. What do you leave for Santa? Nothing yet.
22. Least favorite holiday song? Hmm. Maybe that "better not shout, better not cry" one. Nothing like threatening kids for Christmas.
23. Favorite ornament? Gibbons' Galileo 7 with the Spock voice that says: "Shuttle craft to Enterprise, shuttle craft to Enterprise. Spock here. Happy Holidays."
24. Family tradition? Going to W'loo. A few Christmas movies I'm trying to make more of a tradition. A number of others (unwrapped gifts are from Santa, pancakes, etc.) - but not anything particularly huge & noteworthy.
25. Ever been to Midnight Mass or late-night Christmas Eve services? I think so. A lot of Candlelight services at my old church in Iowa. The only church services out of the year that I enjoyed.

* As always, I'm sure whoever tagged me tagged everyone I would have tagged. So the buck stops here.

Good Ol' Lucy

At the doctor's with Sharon, the other day:

Doctor: So, what do you want for Christmas?
Lucy: Chapstick. My lips are very dry.

(Doctor, to himself: "Christ almighty, get the kid some chapstick already!")

About Face

I stand at a potentially pivotal moment in my lfe. The theory governing the entire history and intent behind my wardrobe may be at stake.

My entire adult life, the guiding principal of my clothes selections has been one of comfort over fashion. While I, admittedly, may have some vague conception (correct or not) of general styles that "become me" or somewhat adhere to my notion of myself as a hispter doofus of sorts, in the end, it comes down to comfort; both physical comfort, and psychological comfort that comes with threads that are tried and true, and not rocking the boat (think: the old Adidas hat).

Here I am, not quite three weeks out from my 37th birthday, considering throwing that entire philosophy out the window and concentrating entirely on looking good. It all depends upon whether I can find a really nice sweater to go with these amazingly hip new shoes I just purchased. I'm thinking, a sweater with argyle diamonds down the front and a collared shirt with tabs sticking out over my belt. Thoughts?

Out of the Loop

As in, I'm so friggin.

For the past few years, I've (probably somewhat proudly) considered myself as being in the highest percentile of folks in terms of being abreast of events going on that shape our world. This has been a really busy, stressful, and somewhat sickly Fall that has pulled my focus away from current events and fixed it on staying afloat of my own life. It's been necessary for me to operate at such a high level at work that I actually cannot focus enough if I have public radio going on the web stream - a common practice of mine in the past.

Put maybe more influential in this drift away from connectedness on my part has been Wonk Overload. News related to three subjects in particular; 2008 presidential campaigning, Iraq, and Iran have been so relentless; yet seemingly, the story lines never change. I think I am actually experiencing what so many politically apethetic people in this country do when they hear the name of the Attorney General or something about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and their eyes glaze over. "Oh no, here we go again." It's why they tend to glom onto the latest cable news fixation (read: the Omaha gunman, and before that - take your pick). The latest thing is where it's at; it's why Alicia Keyes is outselling Jimi Hendrix.

In my adult life I've held fast to the notion that an informed citizen is a powerful citizen that can make a difference in the world. Of course, all the informed, "powerful" citizens didn't prevent the election of George Bush, or the Iraq War, et. al.; and I must confess, the ceaseless barrage of news of the world, little of which is positive, has a pretty disheartening effect that can almost drive me to a state of "What's the point?" In my free time (a reminder, readers - that this generally begins around 8:30 or 9:00 pm), I am choosing escapism (pleasure reading, movie watching), rather than studying the NY Times.

A sense of civic duty may be about to drive me back into an attempt to get back on track, but I thought I'd just make this admission as some sort of late-2007 milepost.

Post Just to Post: My Netflix Queue Top 10

My full queue is up to 150, but here's the next 10 on tap (and the one I have at home):

(at home) Glen or Glenda: Ed Wood debacle from 1953. He was trying to make a social commentary on crossdressing, unbeknownst to Bela Legosi and his girlfriend, Dolores Fuller (both of whom were co-starring in the film). A car crash at which I cannot resist a peek.

Dracula: I've always had a bit of a fascination Dracula lore. Currently about three chapters from finishing the Librivox reading of this wonderful book, I am all the more curious about a seemingly unlimited array of interpretations have played themselves out on the silver screen. I saw the 1929 silent film Nosferatu a couple of years back and this one, released in 1931 and starring Bela Legosi (a crazy, pure co-incidence he is in my next two queued movies!), is pretty much considered the chronological 2nd of the landmark productions of the Dracula genre.

A Mighty Wind: In difference of opinion from some others, I felt Christopher Guest fell off pretty steeply in Best in Show; however, the earlier brilliance of Guffman and Spinal Tap still place his mockumentaries in a "must see" category for me.

Silent Movie: Bold concept of Mel Brooks, back in the era where he was still fresh & funny (1976), this has been on the periphery of my "gotta get around to this one" world for years and years now.

The Apartment: I'm a big Jack Lemmon fan; I think he's a tremendous actor. And this is supposed to great film, by almost any measure.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown: In my queue purely as a result of this recommendation by Aaron: "I suggest you add this movie to Your Queue. I think you'll enjoy it!" A documentary about a little-known group of background musicians for untold number of Mowtown hits througout the sixties. Think, the Jordanaires of Mowtown.

Clerks: First Cut (Not Theatrical Version): I've never had a huge yearning to see this film, but it's been generally very highly regarded by my peers. And the entire Jay & Silent Bob phenomenon came and went before I'd even heard of it, so this is me going back to gather up some of that hipster pop culture long after the parade has passed on by.

Calendar Girls: Basically, the writeup reads like a female version of The Fully Monty, which I think is one of the best comedies of recent years. Mixdorf take note: "viewers like me" rate this movie 0.4 of a point more than the average viewer.

Harvey Birdman: Vol. 1: Disc 2: My review of Vol. 1: Disc 1 was something about a great concept and moments of comedic brilliance sprinkled amidst an offering that is insubstantial and unengaging enough to not matter in the end equation. Like so many other animated comedies, in my opinion. One of my general rules of TV series, however, is: all TV series have a right to get their footing. Therefore, although I expect more of the same, the comedy was good enough when it was on to let me give disc 2 a chance.

A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy: A Woody Allen adaptation/spoof of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Slowly working my way through the Allen catalog, which ranges from OK to brilliant for me.

Local Hero: The Doc Hollywoodish sounding synopsis would definitely not have landed this in my queue, but the Mixdorf recommendation did.

Impossible Feats And Broken Cleats

(or, I've never missed a recap of a friend visit or visit to a friend and I'm not about to start now)

So, without going into too much detail surrounding my relative absence from the blogging community of late, I will embark on this by saying that the unestimable Mr. L. of Cedarloo treated me to a much-needed respite from what has been an incredibly stressful, frustrating, and exhausting beginning to The Great Relax. Perhaps more on that later, time pending.

Last Friday:

Having finished my tenth consecutive ten-plus hour day at work (only one of which included a lunch break), I violently trust my wheeled office chair back into my cubicle locker. "To Hell with this," I snarled between gritted teeth as, ripping my earbuds out and flinging them into the open mouth of my stunned superior, I crammed everything on my desk I suspected I might need on a late night drive into Iowa territory into my shoulder bag. And I walked out of that office with the walk of a man who would not return without a healthy dose of non-work-related non-stop excitement.

It was an utterly uneventful drive, marked by a journey through an 18-song blues CD given me some years ago by a younger Aaron J., and a full pass through the unearthly, ambient sounds of a mysterious artist who goes only by The Fireman. Cory was right by the big picture window just as I pulled in, almost like he was expecting me. Taking only the time to bring a thing in through the door, we traipsed down the lane to this crazy bar which - face it - only gets our patronage because it's within walking distance. My request for a pitcher of a beer that was on tap seemed to meet with about as much understanding as if I had asked the server for a look at his Sanctus. We ended up each drinking two quality beers each, at quite excessive prices. Especially since I had eight beers of even higher quality already sitting in Cory's fridge. But it was all good. It's always good to hang out at a bar with good friends. Loud, obnoxious retelling of oft-told tales and brazen planning for the good times ahead do not rise above the general din of revelrie that surrounds your table. And the fact that some funky-ass gentleman got Bill Withers' "Use Me" going on the jukebox and then cranked it, was quite alright with me. Twelve tiny cheese curd nuggets for $6.95 was not so alright. Then it was back to home for a little quiet conversation (for you see, under the auspices of an utter lack of soundproofing, QUIET is the name of the game in the Bear Den, come nightfall). But going to bed was not so bad - we had a big day ahead of us, what with hanging out with the L kids in the morning and the much anticipated matchup against college-level athletes that were 10 years our junior.

Last Saturday:

Up shortly after daybreak for a big start to a big day. He fed me the breakfast of champions. Juice, toast, oatmeal (sans sugar, cinamon, brown sugar, or - well, really any staple you would find in an ordinary house), and a bannana. Then it was off to check out some good works by a good man. We saw the school where he teaches, the forest he planted, and the prairie which - desipte the obstacles of prairie seed-lovin' birds, needs only a good, controlled burn to sprout into a prairie such as would make a buffalo blush. Then, off to Hartman Preserve for a little hiking with young Jonah who has the moves of Adrian Peterson but, alas, the small hands of Daunte Culpepper; and the unsinkable, 12-year-old Emily, who is game for about anything and about an inch shorter than me. A little forest football was done, my love of dogs calmed the young boy and made him pet and enjoy a pit bull we met along the way, and then we realized it was getting nigh on lunch.

We ran the kids home, then went to main street in Cedar Falls - not too far away from Cory's house and - I gotta say - a real credit to the region. The type of eclectic, vibrant non-chain businesses that really make a community. Think: the types of places you might see in Stephen's Project 365. Well - I guess the common denominator is "college town." But it's a cool place. Cory was interested in taking me to Los Cabos (the restaurant, rather than the place - which I've already visited with a woman, and thus would be tough for him to top). Despite his great professed love of the Southwest, Cory has never been a fan of either Mexican food or the heat, and I've never had the heart to tell him that there's really not much more to the Southwest than those two things. But he was really doing a stretch for my benefit - a first-class host move, and I hope I told him how much he appreciated it. He locked his keys in the Sombrero (an episode during which he lost his appetite for Mexican fare), but then remembered he'd stored an extra one in his wallet (after which he got it back). We then proceeded to eat far more than two 36-year old men should eat before taking on two sub-26 year old former college football players. Did I mention one was a junior college All American?

Then, it was back to the ranch house for a change into football gear. Cory was upset that I was refusing to deck myself out in Vikings apparel (a choice I'd made for more reasons than one) and, in retrospect, it is my hope that he is just as thankful I made the choice as I now am.

Off for football. Now - over the weekend, the New England Patriots beat the Buffalo Bills 56 - 10. That's a team of professionals beating their peers by 46 points. During the course of our game, Cory pulled a floating groin and I ran (chased these two young fuckers around) on both sides of the ball, going out for most of the passes, and covering the receivers most of the time. For a guy that had (to Cory's dismay) a soberly realistic appraisal of our chances going into the game, I played my ass off, literally getting one of the spikes from my cleats shorn off on a rock-hard and bumpy turf upon which I skidded and landed innumerable times over the course of two hours.

(see New England v. Buffalo, above) I think the fact that we finished the game only down 36 points at the end of two hours (final score: 8 - 44) might be enough to vault this "moral victory" into the realm of being truly one of our greatest victories of all time. Yes, we scored eight. Can you believe it? A remarkable, by-the-grace-of-God-type of drive in which, during a rare role revearsal, the usually flappable arm of me led a quick march down the field consisting of a quick threading of the needle to a sure-handed T-Clog during a crossing route just short of the first down, then a "you wouldn't dare!" 30-yard bomb feet from the far endzone as these guys were expecting us to be satisfied with a chance for our first foray into enemy territory of the entire day. One last little shot into the corner of the end-zone, and then -oh yeah - the exclamation point of a two-point conversion to follow. I just about popped a boner. I hope these guys had a good time explaining to their former teammates - now in the NFL - how these two 35+ year old guys, both under six feet tall, neither of whom played organized football, marched down and scored on their double-team defense. Beeyatches.

After that - it was off to shoot baskets for a couple of hours (I know!), and then back to the L-household for a delectable dish of spaghetti with portabello mushrooms and some hanging out, drinking beer in the bitter, windy cold, sitting by a firepit placed in the easement next to a thoroughfare. What can I say? People were honking. They thought we were striking for the local 352. It was good beer. My beer I brought. I explained to Cory why beer is better from a glass, and why amber ale is a good place to start for someone who wants to try good beer.

Then it was inside, and time for the fast-paced action of the Return of the Jedi: Battle at Sarlacc's Pit board game, another beer, and off to bed.

In the morning:

Fond farewells, a stop at Happy Chef for a meal worthy of a man (me solo by this time), and a drive home during which I had time to think and reflect.

Today:

I was quite sore.

Waking Up, Overcoming Fear

(In commemoration of the birth of Rose, just one year ago, I am including this piece written by Sharon, which documents Rose's natural birth. If you are among those folks who get squeamish about a descriptive portrayal of chilbirth, you may not wish to read on. But if you're interested in hearing about this experience - and hearing about the case against excessive medical intervention in this natural process - read on. And, of course, Happy Birthday, Rose!)

Waking Up, Overcoming Fear

by Sharon Hylton

I lay awake. My mind began its middle of the night ritual yet again and ran restless circles around my tired body, wondering, worrying, and planning. I would focus on a soothing, sleep-inducing mantra, only to find myself miles down the road of some new thought. I was 8 months pregnant and terrified.

My first daughter had been born on the train of medical intervention. We had gotten on board when my water started leaking with no signs of labor, and try as we might we couldn’t get off. I had Cytotec, rupturing of my membranes, Pitocin, an epidural, vacuum suction, and the sense that this labor had been done to me. Somewhere along the line I had shut down emotionally, overwhelmed by what was happening. My dreams of a natural birth had been destroyed.

When Lucy was finally born and I got to see her, I proclaimed her perfect and was relieved, more than anything, to be done. I was a mother and I had a beautiful, healthy daughter, yet I felt I had missed out on something essential, something I continued to grieve even years later during the current pregnancy. Here I was, again wanting a natural birth and terrified that this was too much to hope for.

Somehow, in the mysterious way things unfold when they are meant to be, I came across some information on doulas. I hadn’t sought out a doula last time; I would give it a try this time. I found someone quickly, easily, and in the nick of time. We had just enough time for our two prenatal visits with Emme and several phone calls, during which I confessed the deep-seated fears that kept me up at night. Her calm voice reassured me that my fears were normal and that I could believe in myself and the possibility of a natural birth.

The night after our second visit with Emme, I awoke to wetness in my underwear and sinking in my heart—not my water leaking again! I lay awake, tormented by both the thought that I had to sleep to prepare for labor, and the fear that labor would not start. Sleep never came, nor did labor. The next day was spent in frenzied last minute preparations by Dan and desperate waiting mixed with cautious hoping by me as we awaited a call from our midwife.

What relief we felt when late that afternoon our midwife called and confirmed that there was no ferning, no amniotic fluid. Incredible! My heart was filled with lightness. Perhaps inspired by this good news, my uterus began to stir and the world changed. Later that evening, against the precious backdrop of Lucy running down the block in her tiger costume for her first time trick-or-treating, a small aching would come and go at the base of my uterus. It was sporadic and infrequent, but it did not subside like Braxton-Hicks contractions. As I went to bed that night, it continued. When I woke up during the night, it was still going. It kept on going through my morning work meeting the next morning—a steady pulse in the distance, the awakening of a mysterious force.

That afternoon I began to get ready.…just in case….I cancelled an appointment and instead took a nap and a walk…called Emme, called my mom, called my work. I fixed supper and tried to eat. My contractions which had held steady at 15 minutes apart became 5 minutes. And then, talking to Lucy, I found I had to stop—just for a minute—and breathe. The beginning of active labor! That’s not so bad, I thought. But how much more difficult will it get? And how long will it last? It was about 6:30. Would we still be at home in the morning? Hopeful that we might not be, Dan called my mom to come get Lucy and very soon she came to collect her little charge. Lucy ran around as we got ready, full of excitement about getting to sleep at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I was helping on and off and resting on the ball during contractions. By 8 or 8:30 we finally had Lucy packed up and out the door. That was the last time we saw her as our only daughter, as our small daughter. A monumental goodbye.

I got in the tub and stayed there listening to music for about an hour and then thought I’d try to get some rest in bed. Within moments I realized that these contractions were too strong for sleep so on Dan’s advice I returned to the tub, after calling Emme to give her an update. By now I wanted company. So Dan joined me in the dimly lit bathroom, Christmas choral music playing softly in the background. As each contraction came I would tell Dan and breathe deeply while he poured water over my belly with Lucy’s little teapot. Again and again and again. I began to wonder what possessed me to hold on to this crazy idea of a natural birth. I could not conceive of how I was going to get through hours and hours more of this. But Dan kept reminding me how different this was than last time. This time labor that had started on its own and I was doing great and had come so far already. I was afraid to be too hopeful, but I was grateful that he was so positive and encouraging.

I felt my belly to check Chicky’s position—the head was very high, halfway between the base of my pelvis and my hip. Lucy had also been high and off to the side, so of course this worried me. Dan suggested talking to Chicky, asking him/her to move, so I did. Shortly after that a wave of nausea overtook me and I left the tub for the toilet. After several violent heaves the nausea passed and the contractions were stronger. I wasn’t sure what to do to cope, so Dan recommended we call Emme.

By the time she arrived, around 11:30, I had figured out that it helped to stand and hang on Dan, with my head nestled into his shoulder, while he whispered encouraging words in my ear. His body absolutely could not touch my belly. In between contractions I would sit and rest on the ball. Emme joined our rhythm, rubbing my back during contractions and giving me water when I rested. Dan’s neck kept me safe and Emme’s hands on my tense shoulders helped me release them. My breathing got me to the end of each contraction without panicking. The room was nearly dark and the soft music continued in the background. The backrubs were great, Dan’s words were so sweet, the water felt wonderful in my dry mouth. Dan was so involved in helping me. I was shivering so he brought me a blanket and the heater, and my face was sweating so he got a cool wet washcloth for me. At this point my contractions were anywhere from 2-4 minutes apart and lasting about a minute.

Emme said I was really calm. I told her I didn’t feel calm at all. Panic would rise in me as the aching rose from the base of my uterus, but she said I was doing great. We began talking about when to go to the hospital. Emme said it was up to me, whenever I felt ready. In preparation she pulled our car around to the front of the house for us and loaded some of our stuff. I was nervous about leaving. I didn’t want to get to the hospital and find out I was dilated to 2 or 3. With my last labor I had stalled out at 3 cm for 18 hours, and the back labor without progressing wore me down to the point of needing an epidural. Emme said that 3 cm would be really good. It would mean I was solidly in active labor, and the longest part of labor was getting from 0 to 4.

I now started worrying about the car ride. I didn’t know how I was going to handle being strapped into a seat during multiple contractions. And my contractions were getting stronger, making it hard to stand still. I started shifting my weight from one foot to the other agitatedly, and moaning quietly, my face buried in Dan’s neck. At one point I squeaked out in panic, "I don’t think I can do this anymore!" Both Dan and Emme suggested that leaving soon might be a good idea, since the car ride would only get more difficult the longer we waited. So I agreed to go.

Emme left first so she could park her car and then meet us to park our car. As one more contraction ended Dan and I also headed out into the cold and dark for the dreaded 15 minute ride. At this point my mind was still intact.

The ride to the hospital was, as I had imagined, torture. I had to move—I couldn’t sit still with the intensity of pain deep in my pelvis, and yet I was imprisoned by my seatbelt. With eyes mostly closed I stretched out as straight as I could while strapped in, and gripped Dan’s arm, unconcerned about how this might affect his driving. As I yelled and squirmed my way through contractions, Dan’s desperate updates would reach my ears; we’re on the freeway…we’re heading south now…we’re off the freeway…During the course of this car ride I departed Earth for another world, some deep internal place I’ve never been. Glimpses of outer reality would float past like fish in water when I occasionally opened my eyes.
I felt like a zombie in a tunnel when we got to the hospital. Nothing mattered; smiles were not part of this universe. Only the sidewalk in front of me existed. I was vaguely aware that Emme met us at the emergency room entrance and she and Dan took care of unloading and parking logistics as I took one plodding step after another towards the glass doors. We were barely inside when I felt pain rising within me again. I was desperate for Dan’s shoulder but he was loaded down with suitcases. "Put it down!" I cried and he dropped everything but I collapsed onto my hands and knees and bellowed at the top of my lungs. Someone passed and said something…Then I was able to get up again and we walked to the desk.

A woman appeared with a wheelchair and I sat. We waited. My mouth was so dry…I asked Dan for some water, hoping to drink it before the next contraction…Emme appeared after parking our car, surprised we hadn’t already been taken up. Then the nurse took us up to triage…said something I didn’t understand, a joke, it seemed. I didn’t respond.

We reached triage at 1:06am. Emme has to leave, they said unexpectedly. Privacy, too crowded, or something. So Dan and I were on our own. I undressed from the waist down, Emme having advised me I could leave the rest on rather than wearing a hospital gown. The nurse wanted me to lay down. I tried to comply but the surge of a contraction hit and I heaved myself onto all fours, knocking monitor straps askew and shouting. I was informed that this was not OK, that I would not get admitted until they could get the monitors on me for 20 minutes (20 minutes!?) while I was lying down. "Well, if she needs to be on her hands and knees again, she’s going to do it!" Dan exclaimed in my defense. Somehow though, I managed to lay on my side for them for 20 interminable minutes. My contractions were so intense, I felt completely out of control. My hands were clenched on Dan’s shirt as I breathed into the depths of my guts and yelled. The nurse wanted me to do shallow breathing, though. "Think about it, think about it," she would say with her hands on my chest.

At last, Emme returned. "Breathe it away," she said as I came to the end of a contraction. Suddenly I felt a strange bulging pressure between my legs and a need to push, so I did. A hot wetness gushed out onto my legs. I had the strange notion that no one noticed this, but I was incapable of telling anyone. Someone, Emme I think, tried to mop it up. She called out to the midwife in the hall that my water had just broken and I was feeling pushy. Finally, the midwife came and checked me. "You’re a 10 and the baby’s right there!" she announced. "A 10, Sharon! Isn’t that wonderful?" Dan marvelled. I was amazed on some level, because this blew out of the water all my notions about how labor would progress at the hospital, but I was too busy to celebrate.

Everything was in motion to get me into a delivery room in time. Dan and Emme, our luggage rack, our midwife and a host of nurses pushed my bed down hallway after hallway to a delivery room at the other end of the earth. Whenever I opened my eyes I saw halls hurtling past. I bellowed away, gripping Dan’s hand to keep me anchored. All of a sudden, Dan’s hand slipped away and I opened my eyes to see him receding from my bed. "Dan!" I called out in terror. "I’ll be right there, Sharon!" he answered. Apparently we had reached the room and he couldn’t fit through the doorway along with the bed, but all I knew was that my anchor was gone.

Dan and Emme helped me get into the birthing bed and undress. It was 1:32. I lay on my side and immediately felt a huge urge to push. For the pushing, too, I roared. This was nothing like the medicated numbness I had experienced with Lucy, attempting something I hoped was pushing when they told me to. This was a force that took control of my body. Emme suggested I focus my energy downward with each contraction.

After a few moments the midwife asked me to turn over because the baby’s heart tones were low, possibly because of being deep in the birth canal. After I turned over the baby was crowning. They asked me if I wanted to touch the head so I reached down and felt something wet, wrinkled, and fuzzy. I was ecstatic. I was doing it!

The pressure between my legs was tremendous. I felt a slight burning and fear about what might come out of me, but I realized I had to just let go and push everything. The midwife wanted me to slow down, gentle pushes, but I couldn’t. She said she wanted to put a scalp heart monitor on the baby because she couldn’t get a good read on heart tones, but there was no time. Very shortly after crowning I felt an immense whoosh as the baby’s head slid out, and then another whoosh as the body followed. It was 1:41.

Screams came immediately from this beautiful baby, who was then placed on my chest, wet, warm, and the most amazing thing I had ever seen. In my state, I thought we had a boy, but Dan was able to correctly determine that we had another girl…I felt great. I felt incredible! No exhaustion, no pain afterwards, like last time. Just pure joy!

I lay awake the rest of that night, but this time in disbelief and joy. I had had a beautiful and glorious birth, the most energizing, intense, and otherworldly experience of my life, and now I was soaking up every detail of my amazing daughter Rose as I relived the birth, second by second. I cried as I thought about how incredibly fortunate I was.

This could be the end of my birth story, but it’s not. Lessons from that magnificent experience have permeated my life, causing changes I couldn’t have predicted—most importantly following my heart’s desire to stay home with my daughters, something I was afraid to do after Lucy’s birth. I’m finding I have more courage to reach out to others and to follow my desires, more energy and openness, more creative juices flowing.
It feels as though I’m waking up to my life….And nursing notwithstanding, I’m finally able to sleep at night.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Right up there, anyway.

Here's Lucy in the red monster costume she made with Sharon.

And Rose, appearing "as herself" but enjoying the festivities all the same.

...and Lucy, here in the midst of trick or treating with friend Harper, who is really into Elvis right now.

From our family to yours - Happiest of Halloweens!

Big-Time

As in, "We hit the..."

My theatre company hit City Pages' coveted "A-List" for our show that opens this Friday. We continue to incrementally improve both our production value and our visibility, show by show. Let's hope that trend continues.

It definitely helps (and is quite rewarding) to have a personal endeavor that is supported by the immediate community. Warm winds to the sails of motivation in a way I never came close to, in my musical pursuits.

The Great Test: Or, Turning Shit into Shinola

Well - it would appeat that God, or the fates, or some weird karma -is endeavoring to test my efforts at "The Great Relax," as I have been facing a relentless string of challenges to my time & sanity over the past three weeks.

My family, which had been relatively sickness-free for the past two years, got hit in spades over the past month. Lucy, then Rose (both with croup - which led to some seriously long and arduous nights), then Sharon, then me, and then Rose again (though Rose has a couple of teeth about to come in, and some of her current condition might have something to do with that). Then, the computer goes out. A good chance to take a step back from technology, of course; but also more than a bit of an inconvenience, about a week out from the opening of my theatre company's fall show - and a ton of stuff that I simply cannot do to help prepare and follow up on; not to mention a $380 repair bill. We're in the midst of the "Rose again" phase of sickness, and neither Sharon nor I has had a great night's sleep in some time. Add to that two weeks of extra workload (one day of which resulted in me coming in at about 4 am yesterday), and no relief over the weekend, as Sharon worked. I'm running on about two weeks of little sleep and zero time to myself (sans kids) prior to 9 pm, save one night over this past weekend when I went out to see a play.

Nearly the last straw was on my drive home, yesterday, at just after 1 pm. I was heading north on I-94 a few miles south of my neck of the woods, when I heard a tremendous grating sound of something large and metallic dragging along underneath my car. I immediately took the next exit and pulled into the first parking lot I saw, at about 18th street North on Washington Ave. Not the place you want to have car troubles. Getting out, I saw what I feared: the brace holding up the muffler had broken loose and the exhaust system was just resting right on the ground. Fuck me. The parking lot was that of some nonprofit, and they were kind enough to let me use the phone to call my auto club, who told me they could have someone out within the hour. Hanging up, I realized "What are they going to do?" A tow would not really avail me, as my problem was the at the back end of the car. I wasn't sure they'd be able to affect even a rudimentary fix on the tailpipe, and I knew I didn't want to hang around that area for even an hour.

That's when they whole ship of my life may have righted itself. That's when I leapt into such action as I could take. The parking lot was right across the street from a gas station with a logo of bees buzzing around, called "The Colony." I can only imagine at the origin of the name, but the place is most truly a rotten hive of scum & villany. Nevertheless, I marched right in, bought two bungee cords (thank GOD they had bungee cords), and got back to my car, unaccosted. I did some crazy-ass shit with the cords that resulted in the exhaust system being held somewhat tenuously in place -enough for a slow, non-freeway route home. At home, I changed into running clothes, then drove the car (slowly) up to PepBoys to find out about the repair. I ran home (it was a beautiful, crisp and sunny fall day), and got a call not long after telling me the muffler was fine and that they just needed to get a new brace & install: total cost about $100, and I could have it back by the end of the day. (in the world of my financial disasters, $100 is good, good news)

I ended up having a relatively nice afternoon & night, and awoke to find some pretty cool news that may follow in an upcoming post.

Beer & Apples

Fresh red apples, bursting with all the juice and sweetness Summer's sun has managed to pack in; and frothy, bitter Harvest ale, flushing your cheeks with the crisp bite of noble hops and the smooth, hearty taste of roasted malts.

And so, my friend, the question is Put To You. What have you to say for yourself? Only if your statement should suffice (and only then!), shall I deem you worthy of a taste of my beer & apples.

Still Alive, Still Off the Grid, and the More Alive For It

Much less posting, of late. I've been particularly busy at work, as we are in the midst of transitioning into a GIS environment that should be very beneficial to my career in the future, but is putting a tremendous strain on my workload at present.

It's been weird to be without a computer at home for the past five days or so. Without a doubt, I have some pretty strong indications of computer addiction; and I say that in a clinical sense, not a slang one. Beyond a fairly substantial amount of work that I put into working on theatre-related stuff, and home finance (which I attend to almost exclusively on my computer), I spend far more time obsessively checking various email accounts, RSS feeds, and late-night, open-ended cruising about that I think arises from some sort of false hope it will relax a mind that is wound up from day after day full of operating at a high level, both at work and home. I think the reality, though, is that a computer (much like a TV) has some sort of stasis effect on your brain; it emerges from a period of time devoted to the activity in the exact condition in which it entered; and none the more rested. As I stated to PMix on Friday, I aspire to approach my computer activity at home with the same method that so successfully governs my TV watching: I will turn on the device if I have some very specific purpose in mind, and turn it off as soon as that purpose is done.

So - sans-computer this past weekend, I went with my family out to an apple orchard for some annual pickin'; and sweet, fresh apples were feasted upon for the remainder of the weekend, along with Goose Island Autumn Ale and Bell's Two Hearted IPA. I also had the opportunity to see live theatre performance, directed by the guy who will be directing my company's winter show, plus hang out with my two girls yesterday afternoon while Sharon did one of her intermittant naturalist programming events (she works about one day a month). One of the hilights from the afternoon (and there were many): finally getting some glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up on Lucy's ceiling. I elected to represent the Winter Sky, since it'll be a sky she is more familiar with, growing up (dark will always occur before her bedtime). So far, we've got The Big Dipper, The Little Dipper, and Casseopia represented, all directionally consistant with the actual sky outside. Then we ran out of the white, tacky stuff. When our supply is replenished, we'll start in again. You have to pick and choose, since there's only so much ceiling space, but I know I need to get Orion in there, and then probably as many of the Zodiac characters as appear in a Winter sky.

Off the Grid

What I am about to say has been a far, far, far more complicated, painful, and frustrating incident than it sounds: I will be without a computer or email access at home for at least a week.

Great News on the School Front

The probable solution to our "no-good-schools-in-our-neck-of-the-woods" dilemma has suddenly emerged. Lucy's school, as a result of a ton of behind the scenes work & lobbying the state legislature, has been approved to me a Minnesota charter school. As in, for Fall 2007 they will open their doors for K-6 Montessori classes, funded wholly by Minneapolis Public Schools.

On the surface, this is a sublime, miraculous sudden circumstance; particularly as Lucy enters kindergarten next fall. Not only would she continue in Montessori education, which we truly want for her; it would be through a school we already know, love, and trust that lies within our neighborhood. And it would be free.

The only part that scares me is: what happens when the doors are opened to the general public? I fear the influx of high needs kids and or kids from "transitional" families could potentially overwhelm the capacity of the school to maintain its structure and ideal environment. How, exactly, will enrollment work? Will parents have to seek out and show, in some way, they understand the commitment they are making by choosing Montessori for their kids? Or will this school be forced to near-bursting-at-the-seams during the next rash of Minneapolis school closings, and eventually go the way of all other North Minneapolis schools? (and - selfishly - if the latter, can we squeak our kids through before that comes to pass?)

There's definitely some room to be involved with this transition; and much to understand about how this is all going to work. More on this in the future, undoubtedly.

Addendum to "Ass Was Kicked"

Official Eagle Bluff Challenge results, here.

Now, alas, if it has only been Loni Anderson bouncing along up in first place, both T-Clog and I might've speeded up our own respective paces a bit.