The News from Here

The past week has been one of those whirlwinds that sweeps everything up into a muddle. Can it be March already? It's arrived like a lion in southern California with wind and rain and temperatures all the way down in the 50s. But this chilly spell won't bring those pretty spring wildflowers that make long and brutal winters fade to old memories.  The Midwest may be miserable right now but in a couple weeks they will have the advantage.  From great suffering comes great beauty: crocuses, snowdrops, jonquils, spring beauties, Dutchmen's breeches.  We can buy some of those at the garden shop here, but won't find them in a woods damp with melting snow in southern CA.

Aside from the quantity of rain that has fallen in the last few days, refilling reservoirs and saving wildlife and lawns, we have had a quantity of events.  My sister came to visit, but I'm afraid she awakened rather than satisfied her longing for sunny skies as she writes on her blog.  We spent a wonderful long weekend doing things we like to do - pretending to shop on Rodeo Drive, while only spending money at the Beverly Hills Goodwill, eating Indian food, walking and talking for miles along the oceanfront, scouring thrift shops in Ventura, sharing dinner and wine with friends, and wandering the campus and hills around Thomas Aquinas College.  She got to be rescued from a rip current by my teenager - I, fortunately, was walking her baby around the beachfront neighborhood and was not a witness to their near drowning.  Since that scare happened on one of her last days, I'm afraid that's the memory she'll harbor, rather than the scene of getting photographed with Dick Butkus at a fancy fundraising dinner the second night she was here. 

After she flew away home, I had to jump back into the routine with the kids' events, meetings, and doctor's appointments.  The older boys made it to the semi-finals of the county mock trial event, so we had some late nights. My second grader had a mini-retreat for her first reconciliation coming up next week, and she had to present her ancestor report, which entailed making 34+ whoopie pies as an example of something her ancestor (her grandma) makes. My husband spent hours on these while I put together a dinner for a friend who had a baby a couple weeks ago. (Shepherd's pie - I'm always at a loss about what to send to people. Something that fits in throwaway pans, can be easily refrigerated/frozen, satisfies potentially picky eaters, and can be made with what I have on hand since I didn't have time to grocery shop that day. Last time I made chicken enchiladas which my kids love, but not everyone does.)  I washed but still haven't had time to put away the bedding and towels from my sister's visit. (oh wait, am I spending time on the internet instead?) 

The upshot of all the busyness - or maybe of the change in barometric pressure - is that I woke up yesterday morning before daybreak with strong, regular contractions.  Got a drink of water, hoped they would go away for about an hour before waking up my husband.  Instead, they grew more frequent and strong. Thought of everything undone: borrowed crib unassembled, the carseat unwashed, no diapers and wipes, no name decided upon.  Laundry needs to be put away and more laundry needing to be washed and sorted. I called the doctor, and was told to go to the hospital. 

After some monitoring, iv fluids, and a shot of terbutaline, the contractions subsided.  I wasn't dilated very much or effaced, so the doctor is hopeful that we can postpone this baby's delivery.  My due date is 5 weeks away, so I've been put on modified bed rest for the next two weeks.  I've always kind of wanted an excuse to get more help with laundry, but the week coming up is full of fun activities:  I was supposed to help at the school again during the day for the academic decathlon, my husband's cousin just arrived for a visit (staying with his brother), and tomorrow is supposed to be my not-a-baby-shower party: a food walking tour in Ojai.  Then we've got the second grader's first reconciliation, the first high school track meet and first soccer practices, and at the end of the week, the Seabee Ball, for which I finally found a dress stretchy enough to pass for a maternity gown for a reasonable price. Good thing I didn't remove the tags. 

And, not to be forgotten: Ash Wednesday. 

So Blah.  Missing these fun events will be a true sacrifice that I can offer up for those women with really scary pregnancy problems or for those who suffer from infertility.  The challenge will be not to make bed rest a treat.  I spent yesterday in bed comforting myself by reading A Room With a View, and then I watched the movie on Netflix while the kids and husband hung out with the cousins and went to the Mock Trial awards ceremony. The book is a real indulgence - I'm so glad Forster stuck with a happy ending here, unlike Howard's End. I had forgotten how long ago it had been since I had seen the movie - it was made in 1986. One of Helena Bonham Carter's first successes and one of the formative movies of my youth. I thought I saw it at the theater, but I would have only been 13. My sister thinks my grandmother took us. There's that gleeful scene of Freddie, George, and Mr. Beebe bathing in the pond, chasing each other around in the buff, that I'm surprised wasn't censored by our parents, but they did let us read and watch some rather challenging material. Would that scene now (and was it then?) be interpreted as young men indulging in unspoiled nature, or as a suggestion of homoeroticism?  Sometimes I'm sorry that subtext is more obvious now. I miss reading it as innocent.  And I know I missed the conflict between religion and the Emersons' skepticism. I probably was influenced by the "abominable tourist" discussions, but didn't catch the subtlety of Lucy's rejection of being a "student" rather than what she really is - a tourist. It's a romantic book, but full of lots of interesting side conversations in addition to the unconventional development of the love affair. 

Now I've got to pick out what to read next and make a plan for Lent.  Of course, making a plan seems unwise; at this point, every day is going to be a day of anxious waiting and observation. The Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and penance will be easier to remember without the distractions of the daily bustle. Now to add in almsgiving. And to decide on a name.

Anna Maria Is Coming, or Maybe Thomas Barton, or Max!

BY HILDA RAZ

New life! Will he toe out like Dolly, like John? Will her eyes be fires?

Blue and green, like Papa's, the ocean at the shore?

Will she sing in the bath? Play piano in her diapers?

Will her heart leap at large machinery? Will he say, "Dribe dribe,"

to his daddy, entering the tunnel? Will his hair be red? Will her hair curl?

Will her little face have the circumflex eyebrows of her mother?

   The pointed chin?

Her hair be fair, bright blonde? Will she frown at the light by the river?

Oh, let her head fill with Greek Owls, her mouth with honey wine.

Let his hands cup the keys, the air of the studio filling with sound, the crunch of

cornflakes, the sift of raw sugar on the tongue, the great chords.

And let the parents be fierce forever, Lord, as You are, exacting

price and penalty for Your gifts, so they grow strong and joyous,

blessed by the memory of the black car, open to air,

chosen by a child in token of the power they give over,

their lives in service to new life, the great melt of petals under snow, the green rising.

Hilda Raz. "Anna Maria Is Coming, or Maybe Thomas Barton, or Max!" from Trans copyright © 2001 by Hilda Raz and reprinted by permission of Wesleyan University Press.

Source: Trans (Wesleyan University Press, 2001)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/180265