SIXTY. REALLY?

8-20-1952. The day I was born. Younger readers will think that's the dark ages, and in some ways, they'd be right. It was actually dark at night on Long Island. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face if the moon was new and you were out in the woods or at Gram's farm and out back in the orchard. There were still lots of places that didn't have streetlights. When you were lucky enough to be out at night, it was fun and mysterious. I remember driving to my grandmother's house in the dark, and how the trees overhanging the roads were like a tunnel that was lit only by the headlights of the family car. Mysterious, I tell ya! I loved it. Every once in a while I'll be driving somewhere and notice that effect; andit's like going into a time warp. I feel young and adventurous. The funny thing is, I really do still feel young. I remember my grandmother telling me that even though she was getting older on the outside (she was sixty-nine at the time), on the inside she still felt like she did when she was eighteen. I decided then that she had some particular wisdom about the situation, and that I would do the same. She lived to be ninety-two. I think she really had something there.
But sixty! How the heck did I get here? Wasn't I just thirty a few years ago? I guess not, because my eldest daughter turned forty this year. That was one of the few birthdays that made me realize that I really am old enough to be hearing from AARP, and that I can eat the senior citizen meals in the restaurants.(I don't). Did you know that many supermarkets give discounts to seniors on certain days of the week? I didn't either. I just found out a few weeks ago. I refuse to identify myself for the five percent I'll save. If I begin to think of myself as a senior, I may defeat my grandmother's inheritance of a youthful interior. That's way more valuable than two bucks at the checkout counter. 
 So....HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! I received lots of beautiful cards, and lots of greetings and blessings on Facebook. No one mentioned my age but me. Wasn't everybody nice?
I have heard it said that for the younger generation, our ceiling is their floor. I have even had that said to me by one or two who thought they were giving me a compliment. Actually, they were. But my response was and will continue to be, "Well then, you better get your climbing boots on, 'cause I'M NOT DONE YET!"
Thanks for checking back every now and then friends. I hope you enjoy the variety. And all you seniors out there....you ain't done yet either.

Welcome, Baby Owen

Baby Owen. His name means "young warrior", If his birth is any indicator, he certainly will be. My daughter gave birth after nearly thirty hours of labor. She gets the gold medal for her endurance. Front and back contractions, back to back, for hour after hour. She used "The Alexander Technique", which teaches you to focus on what's happening to your body and to stay in control, rather than to focus away from your labor onto something else to gain control, as Lamaze teaches. Rather than many breathing techniques, she used low sounds and groans as she rode wave after wave of pain. After about twenty five hours, the midwife decided it would be best to break her water and hopefully bring a quicker delivery of this little one who had stalled. Meconium in the fluid indicated distress in the baby, and Jessie was moved from the birthing suite to the labor and delivery rooms, where there would be faster access to doctors and any emergency measures that might need to be taken.  A quick consult between midwife and daughter, and the decision was made to have an epidural, so that Jessie could rest for about an hour and then begin pushing and deliver her baby. A wise decision, as she immediately went to ten centimeters dilation. After pushing for about twenty minutes, and a baby who wouldn't stay where he was sent, the obstetricians were consulted and then stayed and took over. The cord was around his neck and kept pulling Owen back in after each contraction ceased. A vacuum was neccesary to hold him in place so that he could be born with the least medical intervention possible. Three pushes more and Owen entered into the world! I have spared you some of the more graphic details, but I'm sure you get the intensity of the situation if you've ever been in a delivery room. Anyway, he cried almost immediately, which is what they hoped for; no complications from the meconium. His Apgar score,(which indicates the strength and alertness of the newborn) was 9.9 of a possible 10, which, according to an obsetrician friend of the family, is unheard of in such a difficult birth.
So I now am the proud grandmother of six wonderful children; two girls and four boys. Jessie and Doug hope to have one more, and if they do, my heart will be full with seven.
It was wonderful to be there for Owen's birth. I had made arrangements for a flight to San Diego in advance, knowing I would probably have to change my plans. But booking and changing guaranteed me the ability to get on a plane at the last minute, as long as there was still a seat. I didn't get to California until about fourteen hours after I got the call that labor had started, and I prayed that she would deliver before I got there as it would take so long. I couldn't get to the airport for the earliest flight; it was rush hour, the plane would take off in an hour and a half, and the trip to JFK would probably take two hours instead of one.
I am so glad I was there. Doug was so wonderfully supportive and calm that you might have thought he did this every day! Some of Jessie's friends were there too, and they took turns massaging her back and encouraging her, and praying for her and the baby. It was really an amazing thing to take part in. I am thankful that I was asked to be there, and thankful for all those who helped my daughter through a very long and very difficult birth. The girls brought their ipods and dock and there was worship music playing the whole time while we were in the birthing center. One of the nurses commented on how beautiful the music was. There was peace and there was quiet for the longest time; the only sounds were the music, Jessie's soft sounds and breathing, and the gentle comforting words of her husband, friends and me. The midwife and the nurses were as non-intrusive as they could be, giving space to us and instuctions as we needed them.

Owen; young warrior. You fought your way into the world and avoided a cesarian section delivery. You yelled as soon as you got here and avoided the NICU. And you rested after your arduous journey into the light and this next phase of your existence. You lay in your mother's arms and listened  as she cooed and talked to you. I have a friend who says that rest is a weapon. You seem to have that in your arsenal without being taught. Welcome to the family, little fighter. We're all so happy you're here.