We arrive

Our first view of Haiti. We were running late, as first there was a problem with the manifest, which held us up for about 45 minutes while they checked everyone’s passports. Then they had to top up fuel because we had sat on the tarmac with the engine idling for so long. Then they had to take out a few suitcases because we were too heavy. Yup. I think that was our fault. Somehow, they got those cases to Miami and they arrived at Cap Haitien only an hour after we did.

Serendipitously, we didn’t have to go through inspection at customs, so after trusting our bags to a MBH employee, we piled into the official MBH car and went on an adventure.
Cap is its usual appealing self.

Sarah took the five of us new volunteers to the Hotel du Roi Christophe for an orientation.

The outside of the hotel is so interesting that it took us a few minutes to get inside.

This is Henri Christophe, who was one of the leaders of the revolution against French rule. True to Haitian form, he was ironically proclaimed Henry I, King of Haiti in 1804. He was an unpopular monarch and shot himself with a bullet rather than face a coup.

There is something about Haitian art that speaks to me.
It says Susan, buy me.
And I answer, But my husband will hate you!

This is Sarah, the hard-working midwife who directs the clinic. She gave us the low-down on daily life at the clinic and gave us time to unwind after our long-winded travels.

After a bumpy, dusty, hot, crowded drive to the clinic, it didn’t take Dolly long to find a baby to cuddle. This little cutie’s mother died and when the dad brought her to MBH she was almost dead. She’s two months old and is the size of a newborn. Sarah has hired Dad to do some painting around the house and sends him home with formula for the baby. Hooray for all our friends who donated formula! Baby is doing much better, smiling and eating and acting curious. Her hands and feet are so tiny.

By the time we got to bed on Saturday night, I was so exhausted that I couldn't sleep. The nocturnal noises of the clinic and the neighbourhood kept me awake most of the night. Imagine birth noises, midwives talking outside your room, cocks crowing all night, dogs barking, and crickets striking up the band. 

Ah, Haiti, how I have missed you!

This post was going to be a lot longer but it took me four days to get these pictures loaded.

So there ya go.

The journey begins. And a birthday.

Jonnie turned thirty on Thursday. 

Here he is, in all his glory.

About all that gear he's rocking?

Don't ask! The child is incorrigible.

He got a bag of Lindor truffles, some cash, a kiss, and a cake from his Mom.

Buttermilk cake with whipped cream mousse frosting.

Drool if you want.

If I didn't know better, I would say he loves his Squeaker more than anything else in the world.

On second thoughts, maybe I don't know better.

As for me and Dear Dolly, we're on our way.

With all our eleven-plus bags

And here we sit in Terminal 4 at Fort Lauderdale Airport, waiting for our early-morning check-in.

A not-very-helpful Haitian porter transported our bags about twenty yards to the shuttle, for which he earned a very handsome (in retrospect) tip.

When we got to Terminal 4 and were off-loaded (with no ceremony) by the Haitian driver (You're killing me, he said) we sat on a bench by the curb in the balmy night air, collecting ourselves and planning a strategy for the night. Our check-in tomorrow is at 3:30am, so we needed to find a place to hang out. We were feeling thrifty after the porter thing, so decided to hunt down some abandoned carts.

Did you know that airport carts cost $4 each nowadays?

Daylight robbery!

After having no luck taking turns wandering the parking lot, we stalked a couple of people with carts and nabbed them (the carts) as soon as they were alone.

Score for us!

If you haven't seen middle-aged women celebrating free luggage carts at the airport, you haven't seen jubilation.
Trust me on that.

Here he is...

...the little darling.

Darn, I feel another trip to the East Coast in the offing.

Some news and a b(r)ag

First off, in news that makes me about the luckiest nana this side of the Mississippi (that was just to show you that I could spell it), I have a new grandson. Gabriel Edwin, born yesterday to Annie and, you guessed it, Edwin. He's a healthy little chubbo and the birth was relatively smooth. I was very grateful to Annie for not announcing the labour proceedings until they were almost at an end. I have a couple of photos but they're on my phone. Hopefully, one of my savvy children will post a photo on the web soon and I can steal it.

If you haven't been keeping track, that makes two babies in a little over a week.

I know, lucky us!

I expect somewhat of a dearth on the procreation front for at least the next year.

Second big news; I am leaving for Haiti on Friday morning. I feel less prepared this time, but maybe it's because I was going into the unknown last year and was obsessive about packing and getting everything ready early. My friend, Dolly, is going with me and I am so thrilled to spend this time with her. We are packing bags this afternoon and will also take some over for the MBH board, so will be loaded down with luggage again. 

I told Jeff that I wanted a netbook for Christmas so that I could blog on the go and not have to carry so much weight, so I got a sweet little Acer netbook from Costco. The timing was fortuitous, because my laptop has been having some connection issues when we're away from home. After several hours on the phone with HP, I had to do a recovery on it, which is a nasty, inconvenient process. I'm unwilling to restore all my files until I can test it out some more, so the Acer has been my weapon of choice for the last week or so. 

It is a cute, teeny little thing and I couldn't wait to make this adorable pouch for it. 

I made it from two layers of leftover fleece that I had hung on to for such a purpose. 

You can see in this picture that I pieced small remnants of the fabric together. They were left over from some instrument bags that I made. It's very easy to do with a zigzag or other decorative stitch. 

Three old buttons and some bias tape completed the job.

I didn't think ahead one this one very well and had to get creative on the edging. 

On the first envelope I made for my HP laptop, I had a larger piece of fleece and was able to sew it right sides together and turn it inside out, so I only ended up with one edge to finish.

I also sewed velcro onto the fabric before sewing the side seams...

...and a few sunny daisy patches.

I am unreasonably in love with the small one.

I know it's not a tutorial, but tutorials abound on other websites.

Yup. This blog will never be a moneymaker for me. Pure labour of love.

Here, here, and here are some decent tutorials on making your own laptop sleeve, although if you have sewn anything I think it is kind of intuitive. Any of them would be easily adaptable to sewing with fleece, which I like because of its natural padding qualities and lack of fraying edges. It is such a versatile fabric.

In case you haven't seen enough of my handiwork for one day, here are pics of some of the bags I've created by using the natural shape of each instrument as the pattern.

My doumbek has a head cover as well as a bag.

Ukelele bag with a carrying strap and velcro at the wide end.

Bodhran bag with carrying handle.

And that, my lovely readers, is the end.

Thank you for staying with me.

Till next time.

The littlest angel

Repentant me

As I was in the middle of a stress-induced "flight or fight" mode last week, lying awake for two nights, praying and pacing the floors and tending Bethany's four sick children all day while she was at home labouring to deliver her baby, I became so desperate for her to be relieved of her travail that, in my mind, I ran out into the cold, wet night and shook my fist at God and shouted to the heavens, Why, why, when you see every sparrow that falls and notice every lily that blooms, do you let my Bethany suffer for so long? Why don't you reach down and just give that baby a nudge? All night long, I railed against what I perceived as His lack of concern.
You see, I thought I saw the big picture.
It was this simple: Bethany needed to deliver her baby and she didn't want another C-section.

Now, you may think it irrational of me, but unless you have had a daughter such as Bethany, who is a determined woman when it comes to delivering a baby, you cannot judge me. This is not a treatise on the joys of giving birth at home, but it was my choice as a mother and that of Bethany also. Her first baby was delivered prematurely by Caesarean section. She laboured at home with her second but ended up in the hospital and another Caesarean, mostly due to problems caused by the first. I was with her during that labour and also the third, when she rejoicingly delivered naturally and at home. That was a tough labour and I was awed at her determination and true grit. I'll spare you the details, but if I had ever had to endure such a labour it would have been general anesthesia for me from then on!
Number four was a little smoother, so we didn't expect much trouble from this last one.

Thirty six hours later, when the little darling still wouldn't cooperate, Bethany and her entourage went to the hospital, and, after a light epidural that let Bethany relax a little, our little Madelyn Nicole was born in a couple of pushes.
Later that day, when we took the four siblings to the hospital to see their new sister, she related what happened during the birth, as I had only received sporadic updates during the event. Then she casually mentioned one last detail of something that happened at the hospital.
Ah, I said, it's just as well you ended up coming in.
That's what I thought, she replied.
And there you have it.
Just when I had decided that my wants weren't being met, I discovered that my needs were really being taken care of.
Again.

And no, I'm not being overly dramatic.
My thirty-six hours were that bad.
Although, I will allow that they pale in comparison to Bethany's thirty-six hours.
Just so you know it's not all about me!

If you want to see some more cute pics and read Bethany's rather more understated version of the birth, go here.
And thank you for reading. May your year be wonderful.
Oh, and I removed word verification from the comments.
Just in case, you know, you're so inclined!

Those mice and men and their blasted plans again

Our main Christmas gift to the grandkids this year was an outing to see ZooZoo at the Imago Theater. I had things well in hand, or so I thought.

First, there would be a stop at The Sweetest Thing cupcake shop, where we would stock up on sweet things.
Then the theatre.
Then a stop at Coldstone Creamery on the way home.
The first thing to go awry was at the cupcake shop, which no longer offers vegan cupcakes.
Boo, hiss!
The guy tried to tell me that they cost $5 a piece to make.
Right.
Just as well I had a blueberry bar for Josh to eat.
He took it like a man, but does not look quite as excited as if he were eating a cupcake, does he?

With the remaining cupcakes boxed up for later, we piled into Bethany's van and drove into Portland.

Back-of-the-van high jinks ensued.

It was then that I discovered that our Coldstone plans had also bitten the dust.

The branch for which I had purchased the living social coupon had closed and no other branch would accept it.

Cool.

Oh well, onward ho!

It was a bitterly cold day.

Daniel was being all manly.

Apparently, the cupcakes didn't stay in the system for long, because by the time we exited the van, snacks were requested.

Just as well Nana never goes anywhere without a bag of food!

The Imago is a bit of a dive, but wondrous things occur inside.

Natalie stayed home with her new doll, a consolation Christmas present. Bethany didn't think she'd be able to handle the visuals of the show.

We had front row seats, as usual.

Fun things happen when you sit in front at the Imago.

Which you think would guarantee us a great time, wouldn't you?

Well, the kids had fun, but I was so distracted by the rude adults behind us that I had gritted teeth through the whole show.

A young mother behind Jeff narrated the whole show to her children.

I did send her one glaring glance, but I think she mistook it for admiration, because it didn't slow her down one bit.

I wanted to say Lady! There's a reason the show is non-verbal. You're supposed to use your imagination! 

But, this is Portland, and no doubt the woman micromanages every other moment of those children's lives. With the same lack of concern for anyone else in the universe.

And then there was the old lady behind me, who was so enamoured of the show that she let out continuous oh, oh, oh's and ahhhhh's that were so heartfelt and enthusiastic that I wanted to tell her to get a room.

But I didn't.

Because I'm polite that way.

But I did spend a large amount of mental energy trying to think of a way to ask these two women to hush their mouths in a way that wouldn't make them feel embarrassed.

I have since decided that next time this happens, because you know it will, I'll be less tactful and more assertive. No more will my good times be ruined by people with no consideration!

So here, for your enjoyment, and mine, is a quick snack of ZooZoo.

I highly recommend the show.

Only, maybe, not the matinee.

And be careful who you sit by.

Plenty more driving time, as we stopped by the art studio on the way home to glaze our clay pieces.

The treat for the day was a two-pack of Lindor truffles for each child.

Score!

I suggested another brisk walk around the "don't feed the ducks" park, but was resoundingly turned down by one and all.

We stopped by Wendy's to get some Frosties to make up for the Coldstone thing.

And then we went home.