Can I be a doting Nana for a few seconds?

I know most of you have already seen these gorgeous photos that Bethany's friend took of Madelyn, but channel Maurice Chevalier, if you please.

Thank Heaven for little girls

for little girls get bigger every day!

 Thanks Heaven for little girls

they grow up in the most delightful way!

Oops, how did he get in here?

Hi little Gabe!

Those little eyes so helpless and appealing

one day will flash and send you crashin' through the ceilin'.

Thank Heaven for little girls, thank Heaven for them all,

no matter where, no matter who, 

for without them, what would little boys do?

The Un-Anniversary

Our anniversary was on the day before I got back from Haiti. In anticipation of future guilt, I booked us into the Garibaldi House on the Oregon coast for New Year's weekend. I had a Living Social coupon that needed to be used anyway, so it was a winning deal all around.

So, our New Year's Eve was spent away from home for the first time in years. Luckily, little Madelyn co-operated by being born in the nick of time and we left town on Friday. I was ailing, but soldiered on.

Garibaldi is a small fishing town with not much happening in the middle of winter, but it is within a short drive of Tillamook and Cannon Beach, which are fun places to visit.

We walked into the foyer of the Garibaldi House and our nostrils were assailed with the smell of clam chowder. There was a tureen of soup, accompanied with biscuits, available in the foyer all evening. After we took our bags up to our room we came down the glass elevator...

...and sat by the fire, eating chowder.

It was cozy and peaceful, with light jazz playing on the stereo and the occasional guests checking in at the desk.

Another nice touch was the coffee urn and iced water available all day, although the water had sliced cucumber floating in it, which was not appreciated by moi.

A covered platter of Tillamook sausage, cheeses and crackers was also free for the nibbling in the foyer.

The hallways were still tastefully decorated for Christmas.

Next to the elevator was a table set up with a jigsaw puzzle. I confess I became fixated on making sense of it. We spent some time on it on Friday night and made some progress. It was a fun puzzle, with fantastical images and glitter all around.

The room wasn't the most glamourous  we have ever booked but there were many unique and comfortable features. 

The towels were all folded artistically and were fluffy and soft.

The sheets were a soft cotton of high thread count and the covers were European-style duvets, so you never have to sleep under an unwashed coverlet. One of my favourite things. 

I forgot my pillow, but these pillows were bearable.

I didn't realize that we had booked a "romance package", so we had some surprises on the table.

Two bottles of water. Gratis.

Some full-size toiletries to take home and a little package of European chocolates, which were quickly eaten.

              

On Saturday, after a full breakfast in the dining room that was included in the room price, we walked around Garibaldi.

It didn't take long.

Not much going on but grey skies,

grey sea,

grey boxes, 

and rusty old chains.

We drove up to Cannon Beach later in the day. We walked around the shops for a while but the day was drawing down so we walked all the way across town to get a bowl of Dooger's famous clam chowder. I was feeling wobbly from the cold meds I had taken and the long walk proved to be my undoing, so after dinner we drove back to Garibaldi. We passed the rest of the evening quietly, working on the jigsaw puzzle, eating hamburger sliders in the foyer and watching TV.

I loved the Garibaldi House. You can get a room for under $100 a night and the little niceties make it feel like it is worth much more. If you want a quiet, comfortable get-away, this is the place for you.

On the way home on Sunday we stopped to take photos of mossy trees.

I am unreasonably fond of mossy trees.

How about you?

Thirty-two years wiser

I read some great advice in Amy Dickenson's column in the newspaper today. A six-year study at Cornell university gathered advice on life from more than 1,200 Americans who were mostly over age 70. These specific tidbits are about marriage.

1. Marry someone who is a lot like you: Similarity in core values in particular is the key to a happy marriage. And forget about changing someone after marriage: the elders say it just doesn't work.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

2. Friendship is as important as romantic love: Heart-thumping passion has to undergo a metamorphosis in lifelong relationships. Marry someone for whom you feel deep friendship as well as love.  

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

3. Don't keep score: Don't take the attitude that marriage must always be a 50-50 proposition; you can't get out of it exactly what you put into it. The key to success is having both partners try to give more than they get out of the relationship.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

4. Talk to each other: Marriage to the strong, silent type can be deadly to a relationship. Long-term married partners are talkers (at least to each other, and about things that count).

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

5. Don't just commit to your partner, commit to marriage itself: Make a commitment to the institution of marriage and take it seriously. Seeing that marriage is bigger than the immediate needs of each partner helps people work together to overcome the inevitable rough patches.

When I was a highly impressionable teenager and madly in love in the all-consuming passion of the young and the hormonally-driven, I had a vision of marriage. I dreamed of cozy evenings, lying on the couch in front of the fire, waiting for my hard-working man to come home. I suppose I though that we would cuddle all evening, basking in our love. Kinda makes me want to fall on the floor, laughing, now that I think about it.

When Jeff and I got married, we were virtually strangers. I hate to admit it, because it goes against the grain of everything that I believe to be sensible, but it's true. My kids have thrown the fact back at me on more than one occasion. Our first year of marriage was a journey of discovery. It was full of the woes of pregnancy, the trials of poverty, and the joy of having each other. We learned some things about each other that weren't so great. But every evening, my heart was glad for him to walk through the door of our little apartment in Orange County.

Since then, we have had three decades of more discoveries, many changes, more trials, and more joys. To be honest, there were times when one or the other of us felt like packing it in. As in: leaving. But we didn't. We were committed to more than each other. We were committed to the idea of marriage and to the community that we have created with our marriage. And that kept us going when we sometimes didn't like each other very much.

Does that admission shock you?
Probably not if you've known me at all!   


I think it is important to be honest about this, because most people have similar struggles. I want to stand up and be a witness that marriage is work and that it can be successful and worth the fight if two people are committed to it.
Sometimes, when I look at my children and the way they struggle to create a partnership with their spouses, I worry for them. Then I remember our own struggles and I know that they must pave their own way to wedded bliss. And I try to be patient for them and hope that they will continue to strive for their own version of peace.

And then I think what a strange word struggle is. Don't you agree?

This Valentine's Day was pretty awesome at our house. You could have knocked me down with a feather, but Jeff actually read my last post. We ate in, stuffed pasta shells with a bottle of sparkling apple cider. Then, because he wanted to get out of the house (even though I was feeling sluggish and wanted to stay home), we went to the mall. We shared a piece of Wild Blueberry White Chocolate cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (it was way too sweet and we regretted it) and scored a free Donald Trump shirt for Jeff from Macy's. Story to follow later, because it was a classic. And we talked about how, after all this time, we are happy to be together.

And maybe, one of these days, we'll be answering those questions about life and marriage and feeling wiser than Solomon. 

The Un-Valentine

Saturday was a balmy day for February. 

I felt the need to be productive in the garden.

I'll just go out and prune the roses, I said.

Then I grasshoppered around for a couple of hours, spreading lime and alfalfa pellets because that's what my master-gardener friend said needed to be done.

I weeded.

And spread slug bait.

And admired the snowdrops and yellow crocuses that are bravely blooming.

And I thought that next time I move the birdbaths while the spring bulbs are dormant, I should be a little more careful. 

These daffodils actually knocked over the cement birdbath as they grew up underneath it.

And these yellow beauties grew up inside the hollow base of the glazed blue birdbath.

My sweetheart was feeling particularly benevolent and dogged my footsteps for an hour or so. He cut up all my rose prunings for the recycling bin and emptied my buckets of weeds. He even went down to the flowerbeds by the road and trimmed the perennials. 

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day.

All those over-priced cards and bouquets leave me cold. 

And goodness knows I don't need any more chocolate. 

You should see my stash lately! 

I have all I need. I feel thoroughly loved.

Happy Valentine's Day to Jeff, who had me from Hello.

Now, if he ever reads this, he would know!

Feeling a little too grown-up

I'm not a fan of Edna St. Vincent Millay as a person, but I just ran across this poem, entitled Grown-up, and I like it a lot.

Was it for this that I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past-eight?

I had to laugh.
I've been back from Haiti for a little over a week. We arrived home at about midnight last Friday. The next morning, I had to be at a music therapy conference from 8:30 till 5pm. Same thing on Sunday. It was a great conference, full of thought-provoking stuff, but I barely made it through the Sunday session. All that sitting, three days in a row, nearly did me in, in spite of the therapeutic knitting that engaged my fingers all the day long.

I worked a lot this week, but every evening I have been just sitting. It took until Wednesday for the jet-lag haze to visibly clear. Every morning, I woke up at four. Every night, I was falling asleep by eight.
Sad.
Now, I think I'm coming down with another cold. 
I may have to find another line of work. All those adorable, snotty-nosed preschoolers will be the death of me!

Well, maybe not!

But seriously, it doesn't seem that long ago that Jeff and I would frequently go out dancing at night, or hiking and bike-riding on Saturdays. What has happened to us?

I'm feeling stodgy, old, and unmotivated.
I think I need a party.
Anyone?

A cheery thought from Ogden Nash.

At another year
I would not boggle,
Except when I jog
I joggle.

Maybe tomorrow I will get my mojo back.
After I joggle.

Just for fun

One has to be careful when taking photographs in Haiti. It's best to do it surreptitiously when out in the open, because if there are people nearby they are likely to yell at you and ask for money. 

Children, on the other hand, beg to have their photo taken.

They boss each other around and try to sneak in on each other's moments of glory.

And then the whole gang will cluster around the camera to see the end result.

Notice how many times this girl was in front of the lens. 

There she is again, different day, lower left.

And walking with Dolly on one of our village walks.

Grandmas admiring the new baby.

Random photos.

This young Romeo thought he was hot stuff and insisted on my taking his photo when we were on our walk.

Little Romanov, whose mom is a cook at the clinic. Romanov hangs around after school. He is a little darling. 

He is eating spicy Haitian peanut butter on cassava bread, a favourite after-school snack.

This young woman spends her days mopping and cleaning the clinic. It's astounding how much dirt is generated by all of the residents and visitors to the clinic.

I'm pretty sure that her fashionable shirt is one of the t-shirt dresses that we made at church. I must have sent some to MBH. Can any of my lovely readers verify the fabric?

/

Zeenia, my favourite roaming naturopath, and Howard, the WWOOF'er  who arrived at the clinic just a couple of days before we left. He is from Portland and is a very likeable and adventurous fellow. They had been out visiting an organic garden that morning and I thought the whole American Gothic thing was too good to pass up!

Now for some street pictures.
This was on the way back down the mountain.

Motorbikes are the most prolific vehicle on the streets of Cap. These young men were happy to have their photos taken out of the back window of our car. And yes, we asked their permission. Traffic proceeds slowly  in the city! One of the best things I ever saw was a man driving a motorbike with a twin-size box-springs and mattress set balanced across the back of it. I have no idea how it stayed on.

Now for the surreptitious picture-taking!

You often see men pushing or pulling enormous loads of goods. 

                               

And women (and sometimes girls) carrying large loads on their heads.

                    

Haitian women have the most incredible posture and an unconscious "come hither" walk. Or maybe not unconscious, I don't know. It seems to be in their DNA. 

                    

Concrete is everywhere.

                               

                               

And that, my lovely readers, is the end of the Haiti posts. There are more stories untold, like the day we spent at the orphanage, but you will have to see Dolly or me face-to-face for those, if you care. I hope I have given you a small inkling of life on the island. But more than that, I would hope to have stirred you into starting to contemplate what you can do in the wide, wide world to make a difference. It's okay to contemplate the idea for a while. Sometimes I contemplate for years before I actually bring an idea to fruition. But when you decide to do something, I would love to hear about it.

Until then, prayers are good. 

Mountains beyond mountains

There is a proverb in Haiti that has been popularized by Tracy Kidder's book about Paul Farmer's humanitarian work in Haiti and around the world. 

Beyond mountains there are mountains.

Like most proverbs, the meaning has multiple layers. 

In its simplest form, it seems to mean that when you solve one problem, there will be another one beyond it to solve. 

Or, when you surmount a great obstacle, it is only get a clear view of the next one. 

It can also mean that opportunities are limitless.

And so it seems to be.

There is a story to tell that is layered with curiosity, intrigue and pathos. It unraveled over the course of several days and the ending surprised and disturbed all of us that witnessed it.

A woman brought her two-year-old daughter into the clinic. The mother had recently delivered a baby at the clinic and said that the child was a twin and that there was also an older sibling, but that this baby was the only one who was sick. The poor little toddler displayed the edema and split skin that is typical of severe malnourishment and just lay on a bed, whimpering and crying when anyone tried to touch her. The mother told of taking the baby to the hospital the week before and being sent home after only a day. Sarah was concerned for the girl and decided to transport her and the mother back to the hospital and check to see what was going on. Dolly had been attempting to soothe the child by removing her clothes and dressing her wounds, so she wrapped her in a nice, clean blanket and went along to the hospital.

A few hours later, the entourage returned. The baby was admitted and, strangely, the doctor told Sarah that, rather than being ejected from the hospital on her previous visit, the mother had chosen to leave. We thought it was curious, made even more so by the fact that she hadn't shown any affection for the child and that this was the only malnourished sibling. Sarah said that, sadly, sometimes it is almost as if a parent has already given up on a child. We wondered how you could choose which child you would not feed. The other twin was a boy. Male children are often valued more than girls in many cultures and have better survival rates, so we thought that this may have featured into the equation.

A few days later, they were back at the clinic. The little girl didn't look much better, so we tried to give her something to drink and eat. She cried and threw everything on the floor. I was starting to think that maybe she was just ornery and a picky eater. I do not think that one could be a picky child and survive in Haiti. Then, her mother gave her the plate and a spoon and she actually ate a few spoonfuls. When her older sister put some fish on her plate, she got mad and threw it on the floor and stopped eating. I was totally starting to see how a mother would get frustrated with such a child! When you're struggling to feed your children, what would you do?

The mother finally went home after Sarah decided we could keep the baby at the clinic so that we could nourish her for a few days. It was late by now and Dolly was all ready to spend the night downstairs with the baby. I went to bed, as it was getting late. There was a hubbub some time later and I only found out after the fact what happened.

As the real story unraveled, it became known that the child was not the mother's biological child, but that of her husband, who had died shortly before she delivered her last baby and left her with his three other children and no way to support them. 

Mountains beyond mountains.

It certainly explained her lack of natural affection for the girl. 

When the baby's paternal grandparents found out that the mother had left her at the clinic, they threatened to kill her if she didn't get the baby back. Haitians often threaten to kill each other. Whether they ever carry out the threat, I do not know! So mama came back to get the baby so that the grandparents could take her into their home.

We sent her off with some formula and the hopes that she would find a better home with her grandparents. 

It would be easy to judge this woman, but when you think about the adversity she had suffered in just a few months, there must surely be more compassion than judgment. Hardship, bereavement, hunger, discomfort, illness, and deprivation are such a fact of life in Haiti that it boggles my mind to imagine living in such conditions.  And, of course, there are many other countries where life is just as harsh as it is in Haiti.

If you wonder what little-old-you-I'm-only-one-person can do about this, there is a book I would like to suggest. It is called Half the Sky and it will make you mad.

Maybe even mad enough to do something about it.

And then we can talk.