's Been A Long Time, I Shouldn't-a Left You....

Well, well, well, look who's decided it's time to get these squeaky gears turning again over here!!!!  It's been at least 8 months since I last wrote you.  There's been much under foot.  I decided in the late spring of last year that I was completely over trying to make traditional schooling work for the Pyrate.  Between bullies, peers out of control, over populated classrooms, not up to par gifted student programs, and a complete lack of concern about any of these issues by school officials and staff, I'd had enough.  But what was most hurtful was the fact that I am raising a exceptionally gifted child who has the potential to be a prodigy and nobody seemed to care about what that means.  The Pyrate, bless his heart, has textbook characteristics for what is known about children who are highly gifted.  School work was easy and therefore frustrating, socializing was precarious because his mind works faster than most kids his age, and he needed special attention in the area of keeping organized.  He needed academic attention and consideration that he didn't get in public school OR previously the private schools he was in. He needed to be able to work at his own pace, doing curriculum that was both entertaining and challenging, he needed peers on his level so that he didn't feel the need to diminish himself to fit in, he needed more intensive guidance with organizational and study habits.  He was never going to discover his potential in a normal school.  So I signed him up to attend the California Virtual Academy.  It's an online California charter school based on the K12 virtual educational system.  K12 is a program built by the top scholars and researchers in the fields of cognitive learning and child development.   We started in September when the Pyrate started 8th grade.  I am happy to say that this was the best decision I have ever made as this child's mother.  It has changed his life tremendously.  At the end of the first semester, not only did he have straight A's, he'd finished an entire year of school... his entire 8th grade curriculum in one semester.  The school approved his early advancement to 9th grade, so he's now taking 9th grade classes and one 10th grade honors english because he took the 9th grade one in his 8th grade curriculum.  I have never seen him happier, and part of that is because he has been allowed a set of circumstances that give him the opportunity to truly see what he is capable of.  Instead of diminishing himself to fit in, he and his new friends challenge each other and goad each other to keep up with whoever is ahead.  I am able to work more intensively with him on issues regarding organization, and just as importantly he gets more direct guidance from me in regards to values I believe are necessary in becoming a young man.  It's a profound difference from what he got out of his former life where my only influence was in the evening hours and weekends.  Some are of the mind that he's missing something be not having the influence of a normal school.  Well, we tried that and he was miserable, bored, frustrated, exposed to things no child should be exposed to, and worse of all, had no idea how smart he was.  Now he knows and just that one thing has been enough to make him a happier teenager.  He'll be applying to join Mensa at some point this year, and the Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth, both whose members are children of phenomenal talent and academic ability.
That's what I've been up to.  It's been like a boot camp of sorts for both of us, getting used to how homeschooling works, learning to be his learning coach,  him learning to be more active in the planning and execution of his education.  It's been challenging and exciting and nowhere near as difficult as most people think it would be.  If you find that your child is having trouble in any way in normal school and you have the ability to school them at home, this program is available free of charge, as a charter in most larger cities in the US and the program is also available as a teach-on-your-own curriculum for purchase wherever you are.  They also have an international school as well .  Some US cities even have coops or flex facilities so your kid actually goes to a live facility to do their schooling through this same program.  If you think your child is too unruly for you to want to deal with them at home, I think you'll find that they behave much better at home than they do when you're not there... the one person who really cares, to keep them in check for real, like no teacher will ever do.  Check it out!
Other than homeschool, there's not much else to tell.  LOL  I've been deep in it for a good while.  My next blog is going to be about this doggone soup the Pyrate made for dinner last night.  Then the first part in a series on how to plan a special event party.  I will share step by step planning for my sister's wedding shower that takes place in May.  If you like to host guests in your home, you will like that a lot.
Music is on hold in the moment, perhaps some new stuff on the horizon soon... I'll keep that close to the vest til there's something substantial to tell.... xoxo

The Story of Stuff.

I'm gonna show this to the Pyrate today when he gets home from school.  I hope that this will impact him in a way that motivates him to participate more cooperatively with things like... making sure to put the darn re-usable grocery bags back in my car so that the next time we go shopping, we don't have to use those awful bags that cause such a horrible mess in the oceans he wants to work in as a marine biologist when he grows up.  He and his 13 year old mind sometimes has bigger fish to fry, such as this month's crush, or how dope that olly was that he impressed his friends with.  I can't tell you how many times we get to the store and I look in the trunk and there's no bags.  grrrr!
Anyway, I digress.

Below, there is a video that I received in my email inbox this morning in celebration of Earth Day.  Please, please PLEASE watch it.  It's 20 minutes out of your day.  Just 20 minutes.  But if you allow it to sink into your brain, perhaps you will be changed inside and an awareness... an awakening will begin to occur inside of you.

It's a short film about our non-sustainable way of living... it's about our planet and all our stuff.

Now, I know some of you will say that one person doesn't make a difference.  But I want to tell you that this is a lie, and I love you but it's lazy and irresponsible to drink that koolaid.  Please let me tell you very quickly, of a very personal example of how much of a difference you can make.

A few weeks ago I watched the film Food Inc. and one of the things I immediately decided that day is that from now on, when I buy milk for the pyrate's breakfast cereal, and baking, (i don't really drink it otherwise), I would only buy organic milk from cows not treated with rbst or rbgt (hormones to make them  produce unnaturally vulgar amounts of milk to get more milk from less cows to save money on backend expenses and boost profits).  The first time I looked for organic non-treated milk on my local grocer's dairy shelf, 3 weeks ago.   I looked closely at the labels of all the milk cartons and bottles.   I almost accidentally picked up one brand because it had a little shield printed on it where it said something like, "There is no evidence to show a difference in the milk from cows treated with rbst's or rbgt's".
Yes, just like that, the real message in tiny letters, the hormone initials in bold to trick you into thinking it's a hormone free brand.
On the contrary it was just the opposite, trying to belay the fears of the consumer should they take the time to actually pick up the container and squint to read what it really says.    I always tell the pyrate, that we are striving to be a SUCKA FREE FAMILY.  He enjoys saying his mama don't raise no fool... and the Austrian?   He, with his small European mountain village sensibility, chuckles with amusement at both of us.
So, anyway, thanks for your patience, and let me get to the point,  there was only one lone brand there on the shelves, from Iowa... yes, all the way from Iowa.  Did you know California is one of the nation's biggest producers of  fruits, vegetables, and dairy products that supply a great deal of our country and the demands of others as well??? Yet the only organic milk on the shelf came from thousands of miles away.  So begrudgingly, I bought it, even though I'm also on a local foods kick, because it's more environmentally sound, and even though it was a little more expensive. I felt a little discouraged and wondered if these big companies would even care whether or not I buy their poisoned milk when everybody else is too lazy to care.  But I stood my ground and bought the more expensive out-of-state imported milk to let these companies know that they can't have my money.
BUT WAIT!  Here's the punchline!  Last week I went to the same store and we needed more milk, so I went over to the dairy section and was to grab the same Iowa brand.  It just so happened that there was a store employee there stocking the milk shelves and she overheard the pyrate and I discussing how ridiculous it was that there was no California produced organic milk available.  The stock lady butted in our conversation suddenly with a cheerful smile, and informed us that she just filled an entire shelf with organic milk from California cows with no hormone treatment.  She said this was a new shipment and the first of its kind that she'd seen in that store from not just California dairies, but from SOUTHERN California dairies all within 100 miles of our neighborhood.
My little consumer stand for what I believe in DID make a difference, when added together with others in my community who obviously also made some sort of a stand and boycotted the milk from hormone treated cows!!!  This was an exciting moment, and I'm just talking about a carton of milk here in one store, in one city.   There is so much more to be done.

I don't want to waste a moment more of your time with my babbling on about milk.  This video is not about milk, it's about living.  Please, do me the favor and watch this video all the way through to the end with an open heart, then afterwards share this blog with your friends on all your social network accounts, through your emails, and however else you can.
Please share it with your children because it is their world that is being affected, so they should be involved, like the pyrate, who is, for example in charge of recycling, composting, and making sure the doggone re-usable grocery bags get returned to the car for the next visit to the store.
Make a difference in your own life and that of those you care for and share what you know and do something about it.
Just scroll to the bottom of this page, and stop my music player then come back here and click the"story of stuff" link below to start the video!
Much love, and Happy Earth Day!!  Brig

the story of stuff




******************

 

Deacon Fielder Strikes Again...Boston Fielder and his Muthawit Orchestra

I came to be acquainted with the inimitable Boston Fielder about half a decade ago, believe it or not, on Myspace.  I'd been writing a blog there while promoting my music and building up a following which consisted of myspacers worldwide.  We were mutual fans of each others music.  

At some point I'd posted a blog chronicling a particularly challenging period in my journey and the next day, in my inbox there was this message from him... It was raw, straightforward, scolding, as if he'd ordained himself an authority on the subject of Brig Feltus, and it was a profound moment for me.   I'm telling you this up front because there's no use in pretending to be unbiased when it comes to Boston Fielder, the Muthawit Orchestra, or Underground Railroad Broadcasting Alternatives, aka URB ALT.   We have been devoted friends for longer than linear time can define.  We knew each other in another lifetime even.  I'm sure of it.  I am a proud member of the URB ALT Family.  

 I'm telling you up front because though this is meant to spread the word about the art this man creates, it is unabashedly personal.  Let my honesty about this fact represent my confidence that what you will experience will more than justify my love of all things Muthawit!

So by all means, explore for yourself when you're done here.  You'll find me to be an honest report on the virtues of the man and his art.  I am confident of that much. 

The music of Muthawit Orchestra will not be contained in the structure of conventional musical genre descriptions.  But, oh... it is in every way music, encompassing all genres and none all at once... neo-classic, jazz, rock, funk, bluegrass, gospel, experimental, metal, psychedelic, blues, electronica...and it's own indescribable something-or-other which can only be experienced and never explained.  You can forget about trying to put this man's art into a box and tying it up in a nice neat bow.  If there is any thematic, that be it. 

You will be challenged.  You will be challenged to free your mind, to let go of your own preconditioning, break loose of the chains of stereotype, archetype, and cultural characterization.   The Muthawit orchestra's sound is beautiful noise that will touch your most guttural conscience and your most ethereal dream scapes as well.  It is frightening and sexy and comforting and confusing truth all wrapped up in compositions you can relate to despite your own conditioning.  If you are afraid of your tail feathers shaking, do not listen.  If you are afraid of arousal, do not listen.  If you fear your own emotions, this is not music for you.  Go and have a cup of tea and carry on. 

Every time I listen to this music I rejoice.  lol... I choose my friends wisely, you see...  

URB ALT is also Mr. Fielder's brainchild... a community of artists, filmmakers, photographers, poets, musicians, and their admiring relatives and friends, all attempting to live on the cutting edge of free thought and inspiration.   For me personally it has been a place where I can get to know others like me... alternative thinkers who don't quite fit the manufactured grooves of this groupthink society we all live in.    He will say differently but for me it is a movement, by pure definition of the term.   You see, I have been moved more than once since becoming a member of URB ALT.  Movement is the nature of the beast!  

Visit URB ALT

Boston's orchestra ensemble Muthawit releases its next album soon and I am honored to have been one of the first to hear its jewels pre-mastering and I couldn't wait til the proper time, so I'm telling you all about it now and getting a jump on all the promotional hype that's coming down the road closer to release date.  

As far as I'm concerned, the character of the artist will tell you a lot about their art.  This man is extraordinary in every way that I know him, and has many layers of depth, not to be digested all at once.  

Being his friend is a constant temptation to be greedy. There's stuff I just intuitively know about him but don't have to think about most of the time because it's beneath the surface.  His surfaces, when you meet him, are slow, and easy going, and gentle, just like his southern drawl.  

But don't be deceived.  Every now and then he says something or does something and I'm reminded about that other stuff beneath his skin... things that can be intimidating when one considers to look straight on.  

(Do you think people understand you? Not really. If they did they'd run...)

I gotta look with sunglasses, because he's like the sun.  Most know the sun is strong, so we resist the urge to look at it straight on.  The timid don't bother looking at all, won't even stand naked in its rays for fear of getting cancer, and in the process end up with vitamin deficiencies because of it. The foolish, in their greed, forget and try to look straight into it, and end up with scorched corneas.  

That's what he's like.  Seductive ease on the surface, and raging nuclear energy underneath!  His music is evidence of all that stuff beneath the surface, organized a bit, and recorded for posterity, which is a good thing because his sub-surface stuff evidently doesn't like repeat it self in order to keep you on your toes!

As if to prove my point, while I was writing this last bit a minute ago Fielder emailed me a disclaimer warning me not to hold him to his answers because he plans to contradict himself regularly over the next few months... Schizophrenia Convenia he calls it apparently.. ( one of a thousand Bostonisms I've had the pleasure of cracking up over all these years.)  THEN  a minute or two later, a post-post-disclaimer requesting to add Igor Stravinsky, Samuel R. Delany, and Jack Kirby to his influence list... Did I ask for an influence list? Perhaps he was referring to his heroes... Uncle Baldy, and Co...  He also informed me that this is one of a handful (literally) of interviews he's ever allowed. 

What? I haven't said much of anything about the new album? Perhaps you should go back and read this posting again and pay attention this time. 

There's an appetizer on URB ALT's Sampler Dos which was just made available (for free!!) recently.  Come back after the interview and click the link to get to it! 

URB ALT Sampler Dos

Other than that?  You'll just have to wait!

Below is a quicky email interview I sprung on him today without warning.  These are his off-the cuff answers.  Thank you Boston for your friendship, for your music, for your wisdom, and for your most admirable existence!!   May your purse reach you...

What is Muthawit? A loving homage to my elders, peers, children and folks who use common sense.  

When did you start Muthawit? When I was 7 years old.

What was your inspiration for its creation?  My grandmother's singing voice and my grandfather's speaking voice.

What is the Urb Alt Movement?  Following the North Star is a movement that inspires me personally but I wouldn't call URB ALT a movement.  The financial component would make that hypocrisy.

What makes the Urb Alt Movement important in these times?  I don't know that URB ALT is important.  Is making people feel good about themselves and others enough to say that it's important?  Hmm. 

Would you compare Urb Alt with other movements in music history? Pouring glass as slowly as possible into a pitcher.

What kind of people are participating in your movement?  People who probably don't consider it a movement because movements tend to have a head, the head is lopped off by history and then it dies, is placed in a museum or cryogenically frozen in a state of mediocrity.

Who are your musical heroes past and present day?  Uncle Baldy, Marvin Gaye, Alice Coltrane and that old dude who used to sit on the front row of the church is Tupelo and chanted "Yap, Yeah, Yap, Yeah" during Reverend Pulliam's sermon.

In 10 lines of PROSE or less, describe your musical compositions in poem. "Beauty. Booty. Baby. Bounty. BOOM."

Do you think people understand you?  Not really.  If they did they'd run.

Does being understood matter to you on a personal level?  It means everything and nothing.  Too much to do.

Does it (being understood)matter to the successful spreading of the music?  Only if the music is good does it matter and even then pirates will hijack it on the seas of change before the purse reaches the hands of the chosen.

What do you believe your art contributes to the world?  Joyful cacophony and a good reason to get out of bed or stay in bed depending on the situation.

Is there a subject matter you are afraid to write about?  No.

Is there a subject matter you love to write about?  No.

What is the story behind your new album's title Men and Women?  The death of individualism, the rise of the IRS in the micromechanics of governing and the joy of watching tadpoles swim downstream.

What was the most joyful moment in creating the music on this album?  Mixing PMS Junkie.  It was a bloody good time.

What challenges did you face in making this album?  Tenant revolt.

Is your music influenced by any esoteric or ethereal experiences?  Mainly dead people who walk with us and share our experiences.  They like to dance and eat popcorn.

Did you have any experiences of transcendance during the creation of the music on Men and Women? If so, explain.  I got regular sleep for the first time in well over a year due to roommate overhaul.  It released a torrent of positively kinetic energy.

Which song is your favorite and why? What's it about?  My favorite didn't make the album cause it hasn't been written yet.  It'll be the greatest song ever written in history.  Better than anything Lennon and McCartney or Liberace could produce on their best day.

When will the album be available in stores?  May 9th.  Mutha's Day.

What are your thoughts on overcoming incomplete paradigms in life?  A paradigm by nature is complete.  It's a simple signpost of change that has served it's purpose.
What are you dreaming up for the near future artistically?  Children.

What are you dreaming up for the near future personally?  Protection.

LOVE

CAN YOU STILL LOVE ME IF WE DISAGREE ON SOME FUNDAMENTAL LEVEL?
Love is one of life's basic principles of effective living.
We must love each other, even as we hate deplorable behavior. It takes discipline.
So now, what of your neighbor, or the driver who cut you off on the freeway, the teacher you cant seeme to please, or the head of the NRA?
I don't know about you, but my body is made up of dna that was born in a place known to be the very womb of the human race...
I am born into this world from a sacred origin, and there is no deed, no offens, no ill word that can sully my holy title!
I am God's child, my very atoms passed through vessels of the spirits of my ancestors, born of the land Africa, thus so am I!
My ability to love, be loyal, be honorable, be responsible, work hard, be honest, do not depend on the actions of others.
I manifest these things because they represent that sacred identity in me, the pure that transcends this body and its mind engine.
Do you see your reflection? In the darkest of battles, love is the sharpest of swords, the atomic neutralizer, the great peacemaker.
Today, and every day, I encourage you to LOVE.
Yourself, others, no matter the situation, let your actions be lead by love.
Tomorrow? Honesty.

Cook 'n Dine with Brig Feltus

What happens when you learn how capitalism has completely corrupted the way we eat in this country?  You buy less processed foods.  You stop feeding your kids fast food.  You start educating yourself, and you try to cook more.  You buy fresh produce and meats from the supermarket and prepare them yourself. 

Are you safe then?  Well, no, it seems the horrifying truth is no.  Even if you do these things you are exposing your body to foods riddled with pesticides, genetical engineering, chemical fertilizers, hormones, and antibiotics.  That's just for starters.  The horror story gets worse because beyond these very tangible and obvious crimes against humanity, we are purchasing meats that come from animals raised in the most atrociously unnatural conditions in the name of mass production and high yield.  Animals are being fed foods they would never normally eat because those foods are cheaper, and because those foods manipulate the animal's metabolism, making them grow faster... up to 3 times what they would have without any manipulation. 
Produce is plucked green and unripe before the sun has gifted it with the nutrients, color, and flavor, just so that it can survive its journeys to far away places where that produce may not be growing at that time of year.  It's often treated with chemical gases once arrived, so as to create artificial ripeness.  This is why fruit from a tree in your yard tastes so different from fruit bought at your local big chain supermarket.  
We eat this food without knowing... thinking if we cook fresh food, we're doing good by our families... not understanding the growth hormones given to animals is being ingested when we eat them and our children are reaching puberty at younger and younger ages because of it.... not understanding why when we buy fruit in the grocery store the flavor is so hit and miss.... not understanding that there is very little if any research to determine what the consequences are to eating genetically engineered foods.... meanwhile cancer, diabetes, autism, immune disorders, and hundreds of other ailments continue to plague us and we don't know how we get them.

I'm only so far talking about those of us who try to do good. I don't even want to get into what's in all the packaged foods and fast food we eat in this country.  Why the hell are we in such a hurry anyway?  Greed is killing us.  It's the other name for capitalism and convenience,  if you really think about it and it's killing us one bite at a time. 
I am always outraged at the way you can walk into a grocery store and there can be two seemingly identical items on a shelf, sometimes from the same corporate source, one says 'organic'  the other not.  The organic is always more expensive.  It's preposterous.  Why, after all should it cost more to get your food the old fashioned way, with less chemicals, less pesticides, less interference in general?  Shouldn't it be if we mess with it less, it would be cheaper?  Wouldn't it make sense that if the produce grew an hour drive away, it would cost less than the one imported from South America???  Well, unfortunately, the way our food system is set up, there's no way for organic to compete on a large scale.  So we reject it.  Throw our hands up and give in to the poison... We are literally drinking the koolaid and we don't even realize it. 
So what then?  What happens when you realize this?  Well, in my case, I had the opportunity to live in other countries where the food systems are not all about capitalism. 


They might be fascinated by our bright colors and shiny flashy labels, but back home in their countries they do things a little differently than we do.
When I was living in Germany 13 years ago, there was perhaps one or two supermarkets in the cities I lived in and they weren't very popular.  Why not?  They were not needed. They were really just a novelty you could find in the really big cities where there were a lot of Americanized amenities.  That's what they call it... Americanized.... Shameful...

But again, those stores were novelties, mostly marketed towards homesick expatriots living there or poor souls who somehow thought anything Americanized was cool. 
The average person didn't go there.  It wasn't not as convenient, as inexpensive, as fresh as what they could find right outside the door to their home...
Each little neighborhood... I'm talking about a couple of blocks square... had a butcher who got his meats from the farmer who raised it, somewhere within 30-50 miles on the outskirts of town, and he received it whole and cut it into the various cuts of meat himself on the premises and sold it within the same week... each had a produce stand (or two) where you could buy fresh fruits and vegetables grown nearby... yes, they still had bananas from south america and such, but the majority of the produce came from a farm close by... and if it was out of season, they didn't have it.... simple as that... I remember thinking to myself I must be tripping off of culture shock or something because I could have sworn that the vegetables tasted better and I didn't understand at the time why... each neighborhood had a bakery with fresh baked bread and such.... and if you wanted things like cereal or other packaged foods you'd go to a store that pretty much only sold that kind of stuff... even there, was no frosted flakes, cocoa puffs, cap'n crunch, or honey bunches of oats.... there were different sorts of whole grain cereals, oats, grits, wheat meal, muesli, and the occasional granola... there you could also buy your dairy products which came from a farm which was, again within 30-50 miles of the city you were in... Cheese could be bought there too, but you could get that fresher and better quality at the cheese monger in your neighborhood.  All of these would be within easily 5 minutes walking distance and everyone owned one of those rolling market baskets that fold up like an umbrella.  People didn't even often drive to get to these places. 

It was customary to buy only what you'd use in the next couple of days and that was fine because you knew that at any time, on your way in from work or school you could stop through and pick up fresh items.  
Foods didn't have to be advertised as organic because it was the law that they be that.  They didn't need not to be because the farmers could manage to keep up with their livestock... enough to supply just the butchers in their town, and not an entire country.  By the way the entire country is smaller than the state of texas...

Did you  know that in America there used to be several dozen suppliers of meat?  Now there are about a handful... yes, actually less than 5 major meat suppliers in the entire country!  Do you know what that means?  These companies have streamlined the raising, feeding, and production of meat in this country in such a way that they can cost effectively supply a country that is probably 50 times the size of Germany!!!   You can imagine the atrocities without actually seeing them with your own eyes. 


In countries abroad, the way they produce their food is more sensible, safer, less expensive, and truly, truly more convenient and NO ONE IS COMPLAINING!  Yes, logistically it means they eat less animal products than we do.  We eat too much animal products anyway... feeding the greed in us... But the truth should hurt!

 Here, you can buy a cut of meat and there is no regulation that says they have to tell you if it has been treated, for example as some ground meats with fillers are, with ammonia... or to inform you of whether or not the meat is from a cloned animal.  Or whether the 3 lb chicken you're buying has been fed animal waste products mixed in its meal and  is really 2 lbs and the rest is salt water injected into it to make it look more plump.... (by the way, they're selling it to you by the pound and you're paying for that pound of salt water... basically paying to be lied to... )  Our regulations are in reverse.  There are regulations for those claiming to be organic but none saying that non-organic food producers have to disclose anything... Okay, they disclose "ingredients" but nothing about the processing, nothing about the growth, nothing about the pesticides, hormones or antibiotics... because we would be outraged! 


So what now?  In my case, I am now slowly weening my family off of non-organic eating habits.  We are shopping farmer's markets for produce when we can and buy from the organic section in the supermarket.  We're eating less meat because it's expensive to buy free range, grass fed, hormone free, antibiotic free animal products.  We also shop at small bodega type markets which we know buy their fresh foods locally within our state.  
I cook more often.  I seldom eat at fast food places anymore except in an emergency, and I try to hit up one such as Chipotle which is a known practitioner of sustainable foodsWe are not religious about all of this.  But everytime I buy food, I am conscious now.  I am aware now.  I don't ever put anything in my mouth without understanding the consequences.  It is a matter of awareness. 

And this is how Cook 'n Dine with Brig Feltus was born.  I wanted to share what I'm learning with people who would listen.  We're making it fun by visiting farmer's markets, watching films, cooking together, and then dining together. 

The first one was a great success, with a sold out attendance and raves afterward.  We went to a farmer's market, watched a film about farmers markets around the country, and then cooked a delicious Sunday Brunch style meal. 

This month, we'll be headed out early in the morning to a local organic farm that supplies fresh produce to high end restaurants and farmer's markets in Los Angeles county.   We'll be watching Food Inc.  and then cooking with the foods we bring back from the farm. 
If you are an Los Angeles local and any of this post inspires or moves you to make a change in your own life, please join us!  Let's learn together and spread this information to others that we love.  As corruption crumbles this obscene way of life all around us, just like in other living species, only the fittest will survive.  I don't intend to be among the feeble.  I intend to be among the strong, and  I'm starting with this small baby step and I hope you'll take it with me. 
Monthly sessions can be attended by signing up at brigfeltuscookndine@earthlink.net
You can also join our facebook group to stay in the loop regarding future events.
Co-Ed Cook 'n Dine with Brig Feltus group page on Facebook

Stating The Obvious Volume I

I state the obvious to remind myself to first test the simple solutions.  Here is my first collection of advice to self...

If you're looking at the equation and it's not adding up, the numbers are all wrong.

If you don't like where you are, go somewhere else.

When it's dark and it seems like you can't see the end of the road, #1 open your eyes, #2 perhaps you missed your offramp.

When it's dark and it seems like you can't see the end of the road, #1 open your eyes, #2 perhaps you missed your offramp.

When you think you have it all figured out, remember that it's all an illusion.

When you feel exhausted with how long it's taking, put down one or two of those heavy bags you insist on carrying around.

If you already think the answer is "no", then what do you have to lose by asking?

If you're not happy with who you are, then you're not yourself.

You should know you're addicted to something when it costs you more than you can afford and you still don't let it go.

When a brick falls from the sky and hits you in the head, MOVE! don't wait for the rest of the building to fall on you too!!!

If you want something to grow, you have to feed it daily.

Before you go looking for the answer out in the world, clean out your cabinets you might already have what you're looking for.

The truth hurts? It may sting a bit but the devastation a lie can cause is immeasurable.

There's no one else like me, and that's just like everyone else in the world.

Greed kills... mind, body, and spirit, but generosity creates life.

~All of the above Statements of the Obvious were written by Brig Feltus


Thankyouverymuch.  :)

The Plight (flight) of the Polymath (butterfly)

The other day I received a message on twitter that caused me to take pause and contemplate.   
"  (By the way), I thought I was a polymath.....you may have me beat. ;)  "


Now, I kinda knew what the word meant but I would in no way have ever held that perspective of self, so I stopped and looked up the word to make sure I understood what it meant, because, by my definition, he must have me confused with someone else who's a lot less disfunctional than I am. 

I often find myself stuck unable to decide what to do next.  About what?  About most anything.  It's not because I lack imagination or education, or resources.  It's not because I lack initiative. It's not because of fear of failure.  It's not because I'm depressed.  It's not because I'm lazy.  Although most of the time when I feel stuck, these things are exactly what I've been conditioned to think of myself, mostly due to being diagnosed as such throughout my life at one time or the other by well meaning grown ups who never really took the time to actually get inside my head.    Occasionally, I get up the gumption to get things done, and there's almost always some sort of measurable success. 

I have, in my lifetime an innumerable collection of these small successes.  But I have always put a lot more credit (or charge, as it were) towards the long periods of time in between them, when I was stuck in seemingly endless bouts of ruts asking myself "What to do, what to do?"  This has always made me feel like I lack direction... like I can't make up my mind who I am.... like a need to stop hopping around from one thing to the other and just choose something reasonable and stick to it.  But that's not who I am, so attempts to do this have always ended in disappointment and injury to my self esteem.   I used to dread anyone asking me what I do.  What should I tell them?  I'm a mother, I'm a volunteer at the pyrate's school, I'm a hobby gourmet...soon-to-be cookbook author and home cooking teacher, I'm a writer, I'm a vocalist, I'm a songwriter, I'm a blogger, I'm a former makeup artist, I'm a poet, I'm a bridge connecting many people, I'm a painter, I'm a crafter, I'm a business partner, I'm a supporter of the arts, I'm a wife, a daughter, a friend to many, I'm a motivator, I'm a teacher, I'm a truth seeker, I'm an entertainer.  Those are the things I am everyday.  On occasion, I am my family's hub, I am an activist, I am a therapist, I am a world traveler, I am a speaker of several languages, I am a healer, I am an employer...
I suppose I could go on and on if I think about it long enough.  Most of the time I don't think about it like this.  All I see is that over the last year I didn't accomplish any of my goals from the year before... except getting married... and that feels like failure on first pass to me when i'm in a rut.  I've been as hard on myself as those who would, in the past, judge me harshly without knowing me... almost as if I don't know myself.  All those things that I am... collectively they can feel very overwhelming if I hold myself to the high expectations in my head.  When I sort of finish something or it comes to a halt for some reason, I find myself unprepared with the next thing because I've dedicated my focus on doing the one thing with some sort of grand ambition.  Then all of a sudden that space in my head is wide open, and all the other things that I am come flooding in and I realize how many things I want to be doing, should be doing, have to be doing, in order to feel authentically me, but I'm overwhelmed.  I get so overwhelmed sometimes that I can't even think about it all.  I have to just be silent and pretend like I am none of those things... don't answer my phone, don't check my mail, just shut down and allow my mind to be silent and still until the feeling passes and I can pick something to focus on... It never occurred to me that it would be okay to just be them all at once.   That's the way it is to be multi-talented I suppose.... but I never really would have called myself this.  These many facets of me felt like indecision at best.  Most people, after all don't even understand what it means to have so many options so to them, I just look flighty.  It would be so much easier to just have one title. 

The newer stuff that I do is the hardest.  The music I make is good.  But I often feel like I cheated because I've not been doing it all my life.  I don't practice it for hours everyday til it's perfection.  I just do it, with some degree of organic movement and emotion.  It is an expression and not a science for me.  I expect to not get acclaim because I feel that there are so many others who work harder at it for a lot longer than I and they deserve to reap the benefits of their labor.  I can't even tell you how many times I walked into a room full of fellow artists and felt like I would be exposed for the impostor that I surely must be.  Because, how could I be a music artist AND all these other things? 



Then the other day, this message came, from a virtual stranger, a cyber friend, who doesn't know me from Joe Schmoe.   I thought to myself "Huh?  Polymath?  Me? Yeah, right... quit yankin' my chain bro."   That's what happens when you're a grown ass woman and someone pays you a compliment that seems to be a bit superfluous by definition.  You think your chain's gettin' yanked.  :) 


But I didn't respond right away because experience has also taught me to take a pause in moments like that and utilize my resources.  So I did just that and looked up the word.  Here is the wikipedia definition of the word.  Scroll over the little icon:

 Polymath






Now, in the first few lines of the definition, I was still convinced there was no application where this word related to me.  I'm certainly no expert at anything... at least not by my own allowance.  After all, there's an artist's rendition of Leonardo Da Vinci there as an illustration.  That's a lot to live up to.  lol..

But as I read on I began to see things in the definition that actually sound a lot like me... if I put aside those judgements ordained upon me in my youth and allow for a different perspective. 


I am a Renaissance (Wo)Man.  That information is quite empowering in this particular moment, when I've been having one of those periods of being stuck that seems to have gone on for almost 2 years now, since just after the release of my debut album.  Which if I allow myself to be honest about it, was a huge accomplishment.   Ever since, I've been bumbling around doing a little bit of this and then a little bit of that, but doing nothing with any significant amount of commitment because I felt ridiculous to do so.   The wedding planning distracted me for about 8 months, but that ended very quickly when all the festivities were over.  (Another hugely successful accomplishment considering it was mostly do-it-yourself styling and planning for 250 guests...)    But now, I think I realize, this is just who I am.  I have to just give my all, to all of it, in the best way I can, and be thankful for the multiple gifts that I may enjoy including never being forced to endure boredom. 



There comes time in ones life when one must rename themselves, redefine who they are, based on who they are, and put aside all of the externally projected judgments, labels, names, and definitions one trusts in one's youth.


There comes a time when you must either embrace yourself, in all that you are and celebrate or resign yourself to the misery of dissatisfaction with your life.  

I am a Polymath.   Like a butterfly, I may light upon many a different flower and that may seem like "flightiness" to some, but in truth, I pollinate each petal I light upon with life and love and in those visits the world is hopefully in a small way improved for myself and others and life is perpetuated.

I am a Renaissance (Wo)Man, and I am now aware of becoming enlightened to what I must do.  I must stop allowing myself to be overwhelmed with not meeting other people's expectations, and allow myself to just DO what I do,  the best I can do it... all of it... like...
my very own little symphony of ME.

This year's composition includes plans to write and produce a new cd, take a summer trip to Austria to visit the Austrian's parents, get my Cook 'n Dine sessions up and running, write a cookbook, perform live more, a trip to the UK in the fall for my cousin's wedding, the whole family getting scuba certification (which means classes and two dives), start brainstorming for the rock opera I want to write, work on some substantial health and wellness improvements, and somewhere in all of that make a baby! 
So I guess this year I'll just attempt to do it all with some astute choreography.  Let's see what happens.

Things Change Part Two: The Miscarriage

Please read part one before reading this blog.







This part of the story gets a little graphic, so be warned.  I don't want to leave stuff out because I want you to understand what we actually lived through.
I showed the Austrian the test stick when he got home.  I was a ball of confusion inside.  We are still building.  I had my concerns about having a baby.  We had some more really long talks over the next 24 hours about how we would make this work, IF we would make this work.  I didn't allow myself to be immediately celebratory, because, let's face it, this wasn't planned, (At least WE weren't planning it...) and there were concerns... things that needed negotiating... things to consider.
I wanted assurances, if not insurances, and I needed to feel this out with the Austrian, AND with the Pyrate for that matter.   I know, a little late... But sometimes life hits you like that.  We don't have control 100% of the time.  Sometimes there's a design that we can't see clearly.  Sometimes we're distracted by other things... our own designs... or Christmas crafts and recipes... or rock concerts... You know what I mean? Of course you do.
So we talked it out.  The Pyrate approved.  The Austrian swore up and down we could do this and that he had faith that all would be provided, including the strength and wisdom necessary to adjust where adjustments were needed.  I let myself warm up and get happy that, after 12 years believing I would only have one child, I was about to begin the process of having a second.  The three of us kept it to ourselves just then.  Spent some time just feeling it out together, fantasizing out loud about what kind of big brother the Pyrate would be, playing out scenes of the Austrian's first few times changing a diaper and how his mouth was gonna be the reason the baby's first words would very likely be profane... imagining out loud what it would be like to have the sounds and smells of a baby in the house.  We looked at baby product websites and playfully critiqued all the available models of stroller.  We decided that the next week we'd start a registry on a really cool organic baby products website.  We talked about making a webflyer to announce the news to the world.  We did all of this in the first 48 hours after the positive test result.

I made an appointment with my general doctor because I wanted a referral for a new Ob-Gyn.  24 hours passed.  I started to feel worse physically.  Light cramps if I stood too fast or bent to deep.  Dizziness when I turned too fast or if something smelled to strongly.  I was getting over a cold and was coughing still from that, and suddenly during a fit of coughs felt that I was bleeding.
We rushed to the hospital.  By the time we got there, the bleeding had stopped and they couldn't find anything specifically wrong.  They ran the official blood test to confirm the pregnancy, did an ultrasound, and basically sent me home with the instruction to see my regular doctor as soon as possible, and to avoid all stress or strenuous activity.  That was Thursday night, the 7th of January.  Friday I felt a bit better.  I was scheduled to see my doctor that afternoon.  Then the Pyrate had a lil' accident and we had to rush him to the same emergency room to have his lip stitched up.  Stress.  I was supposed to be avoiding stress.  Yeah.  While the doctor stitched up my son's lip, I was sitting in a chair in the same room.  The smells of antiseptic, anesthetic, and blood creeped up my nose and I broke into a sweat.  The room began to spin.   The doctor was leaning over my son, sewing up his lip, and I heard him ask, "You alright?"   The Pyrate mumbled "Yeah" through his numb lips.  The doctor said, "I was talking to your mom. I gave her the option to wait out in the waiting room... we don't really like to have two patients at once to treat..."   I was so lightheaded I thought if I don't do something I would surely pass out.  So I got up, and walked across the room and got a cup of water, then sat back down in the chair.  The swooning stopped.   I was baffled.  I have never gotten the vapors in my entire life.  I have seen many disgustingly grotesque things in my life, growing up on a farm, you can't have a weak constitution.  So to be on the verge of fainting at the sight of my son's lip being sewn up was perplexing.  The doctor said it might just be because I'm pregnant and that I should get some rest when we got home.
That's what I did.  We called our parents that night to tell them the good news, that we were going to have a baby.  We called our siblings too.  That's it.  The visit to the emergency room told us there might be complications to consider so we didn't go completely public with it just yet. 
The next day was quiet. That was Saturday.  I was told by my doctor to be on complete bed rest, only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom.  My guys waited on me hand and foot... for the most part the entire day.
That evening, the Austrian and I were having an argument about something that happened that day.  It was one of those things... you know, the kind that happens repeatedly and gets under your skin because of the repetition.  Well, because of the fact that I was supposed to be calm, stress-free and still, the fact that this particular thing was happening in that moment was, to me, a double infraction.  So I was PISSED.  We argued.  I should not have gone there.  I should have just let it go.  It was just one of those stupid things and I should have just let it go for the sake of the baby, and my health.  I'll own that much responsibility.  I've never professed to be good at letting things go when I feel I am being wronged.  Chalk it up to that little girl spirit in me who forgets she's not a victim anymore.  Anyway, I was pissed, and let him know every which way I could.  When there was silence again, I lay there next to him in bed, and within minutes felt the warmth of blood welling up between my thighs.  A sharp, hot pain shot through my lower belly like someone had stabbed me with a hot butcher knife.  Then another.  And another.  The blood was flowing stronger.  Whatever I was pissed off about suddenly disappeared.  I was doubled, curled up in a tight ball, screaming in pain, bleeding profusely.  The Austrian jumped up and ran for a towel to put between my legs, then in a panic made this motion almost like he was running in place, not knowing what to do, go this way or that... waiting for me to tell him.  I told him to get my sweats from the chair behind him and that we had to go back to the hospital immediately.  I couldn't even stand up on my own, I was in so much pain.  He had to find my sanitary napkins and figure out how to put it in my underwear.  (that would have been funny under different circumstances).  He managed to get me dressed and half-carried me down the stairs to the front door.

Thankfully, the hospital is only 5 minutes drive from our house and a straight shot once you get down the hill.  He drove carefully, but ran every light.   When we got there, I told him I didn't think I could walk.  He had to remove me from the car to a wheel chair this time.  My knees were buckling under me as he got me from the car to the wheel chair.  By then I was moaning, sobbing, tears running down my neck, in so much pain, I thought my head was going to explode. I couldn't see straight. I felt like I was going to have to come out of my body to get away from that pain. And the Austrian needed me.  He was distraught.  I was talking to myself, telling myself everything was going to be alright, just breath Brig, (why can't he do this without my help?) calm down Brig, just breath Brig, calm down Brig.  Every now and then interrupting this chant to give the poor panicked Austrian instructions such as, "(omg...)You're going to rip my feet off if you don't put down the foot rest on the wheelchair for my feet.  You're dragging my feet under the chair babe!! Just breath Brig, calm down Brig.  That's good babe, thank you. Just breath Brig... (why is he leaving me sitting here and running around the car in a circle like he's lost?) Leave the car and just lock it and take me in.  Just breath, calm down Brig... tell them I lost a lot of blood, babe. Just breath Brig, just breath Brig... "  The poor guy, I don't think he'd ever been in such a situation before.  It was rather harsh.  I can chuckle about it now because I know he was just completely in shock and couldn't think straight.  They took me in and started a morphine drip.  I was upset, in pain, and very much afraid.  I had the Austrian call my mother.  You better know I must have been really concerned if I called my mother to drive for an hour to come all the way up to the north valley to hold my hand.  She came.  What a relief.  Mom's a retired nurse, so she knows how to comfort.  She's a pro at it.  I was so happy to see her.  Within minutes she had me laughing and much more calm and breathing deeply.

Eventually the pain subsided.  The same tests were run, and nothing was found.  They did an intra-vaginal ultrasound probe and a doppler procedure to listen to my fallopian tubes and ovaries to make sure that traffic was flowing freely through there.  After several hours of poking and prodding, and stabilizing my condition, the doctor came in and told me that my hormone levels seemed to be increasing in comparison to my last visit which means the pregnancy was indeed progressing.  he said, however, that it seems as though my body is rejecting the pregnancy and that it was very possible that I might miscarry.   I was to see my Ob-Gyn on Monday... two days later.   Meanwhile, again, complete bed rest, and... NO STRESS or strenuous activity.
The Austrian waited on me hand and foot, like I was too fragile to even lift a finger for anything after that night.  We were upset, worried, but reassuring each other that it was important to have faith and believe that everything would be okay.  I shared my situation with a circle of female friends, and to my surprise learned from their responses, that more than half of them had gone through this during pregnancy and some even got through it and had healthy babies. So we still held hope and faith that everything would be alright.  The Austrian turned into this prince of a man, with his shape-shifting self, reminding me to have faith, anytime he saw a look in my eye that resembled fear.
The next day we would just try to get through until Monday when we could see the new Ob-Gyn doctor to find out what exactly was going on.
The Austrian was my hero that Sunday.  My husband, sweet as he is, made me roasted chicken with herbs and orange zest, and mac n' cheese to die for.  We ate dinner and just waited. He lay next to me in bed, with his warm palm on my belly, and talked to the baby for 3 hours straight.  Telling it the story of his life, describing the town center in the little mountain village where he was born, promising to take him or her there for a visit next year, describing the fresh mountain air, the lake, the river that runs through town, listing the names of his family and describing each one's personality, telling about the little cousin Daniel who was waiting to play with him or her... I drifted in and out of sleep during this talk he had with our baby.  A peace came over me, a calm, like I was being hypnotized.  For a little while, I believed that everything was going to be alright.  That was just what I needed. 
Monday morning, first thing, we went to see this new doctor.  He looked over the records of our 2 visits to the ER and sat down to talk to us about the results of the tests the hospital had done.  He explained that although the numbers were indeed increased between the first hospital visit and the second, they should have doubled... from 6000 to 12000 in the two days that passed between, and that by now they should be somewhere in the 30,000 range.  He said that the tests from my second hospital visit showed 7000 when it should have already shown 12000, which tells him that the baby was not developing in a normal way, well beyond just risk for birth defect, and that he didn't believe that it would continue to develop at all, but that he would run another blood test to see what the present numbers were.  He said that the bleeding was due to my body's natural defense that would not allow the embryo to continue to stay inside me if my life was in danger.  That at anytime he expected that I would miscarry and that if it didn't happen in the next few days, he recommended surgically removing it to prevent further danger to my health.  He said I would know I was miscarrying because there would be large blood clots, and some bleeding.  Blood was drawn and sent off for testing.  We went home, held each other, and cried.  Then prayed, then decided not to give up hope until we had no other option.  I updated my circle of female support online and via text, and read their words of encouragement.  This helped a lot.  We called our family members and let them know the updated status of things, and then just waited out the night.

So we waited to hear from the Ob-Gyn the next day.  Andreas went in to work and waited to hear from me when the doctor called, and he should have called me in the morning on Tuesday, but he didn't.   Noon rolled around, and I got out of bed to go to the bathroom.  I sat on the toilet to pee, and felt a bit of cramping then two blood clots fall into the water.  I called the doctor's office and told the head nurse what happened.  She said that the miscarriage was probably starting, but that I could stay home and rest.  That I only needed to go in to the ER if I was bleeding heavier than my normal period.  Basically what's normal is one pad soaked in an hour.  She said the doctor was still in a meeting and that he would call me with the results of the test in a little while.  She said that if I pass another clot, if possible save it in a container so that they could run pathology on it.  This pregnancy was ending... just as abruptly as it began... just as I'd gotten attached to the idea.  My heart was breaking but no time for hysterics.

I went back to bed and called Andreas and asked him to come home just in case we had to rush to the hospital.   It took him about a half an hour to get home.  By the time he got here I'd gone through 3 pads (that's 6 times what is normal according the the nurse) and was in a great amount of very familiar pain again.  I could feel another clot inside me but I didn't want to pass it alone and I knew I could not catch it by myself.  So I just lay there and waited for him to get there. When the Austrian got home, I calmly instructed him to get a plastic container from the kitchen, and explained to him what we were about to do.  He got me to the bathroom, and onto the toilet and held the container beneath me.  Then out came this enormous clot the size of a large slice of liver or a steak.  My head was spinning.  I was crying, in pain, devastated, and watching him to make sure he wasn't losing it at the same time, because one of us needed to keep a level head through this horribly grotesque trauma.  He saw the look on my face.  He was reassuring me that he was fine, that he prepared himself mentally on the way home to face whatever was to come and that I should not worry about him, that this time he wouldn't panic.  He cleaned me up and got me back to the bed.  He called the doctor's office again and told the nurse what happened, put the container in the refrigerator. But wait, it was Tuesday, and the Pyrate gets out of school at 1:30 on Tuesdays and it was 1:45!!!  He rushed out the door to drive the 1 1/2 miles to pick up the Pyrate.  I reassured him that I would be fine. The Nicks (Nikki and Nick... friends of ours) were here cleaning the house and Nikki made me a cup of peppermint tea.
When he returned with the Pyrate, Andreas got me dressed and we went immediately to the emergency room after reassuring my son that everything would be fine.   He'd stay home with the Nicks and do his homework and have something to eat.  I didn't know I wouldn't be coming back home that evening.

When we got to the hospital, they knew me immediately.  This was visit number four including the one for the Pyrate's lip.  So I was taken back to a room immediately.  They kept me there again, for hours running tests, giving me morphine through an IV, and liquids.  I was partially miscarrying.  8 hours passed and they hadn't been able to get in touch with my doctor (he will not be my doctor for much longer... but that's another story... not really important here...), who finally called them back and said that I could choose to either stay there in the hospital overnight for observation, or go home, then come in to his office in the morning and either way he would perform the procedure that would completely remove all gestational tissue development from my womb because I was losing a dangerous amount of blood and that could not continue without harm to my vital organs.
I stayed there.  No way did I want to be at home bleeding out slowly with no health professional watching, and the poor Austrian being responsible for making the decisions.  I was still very weak, still in enormous pain, and couldn't imagine how I'd manage to survive the night without supervision and pain relief.  So I stayed.  They admitted me officially and got me a room.   The procedure (similar to what happens when you have an elective pregancy termination) would take place the next day at some point in the afternoon, depending on where they could fit it into the OR schedule.  The Austrian went out and got me a bean and cheese burrito because I was to have nothing to eat or drink until after the surgery and I hadn't had anything to eat that day except a small bowl of oatmeal at 7am and the cup of peppermint tea.   I ate half the burrito, and he ate the rest.  We sat together, and a bit of tv... the history channel.  Then I sent him home to make sure the Pyrate was okay, and make sure he got to bed.

The next day, 2 hours before the procedure, my Ob-Gyn doctor arrived and sat for a few minutes to speak with me about what would happen next.  When he left, many things ran through my head.  My mom was on the way.  My dad was called.  My sisters were called.  Then I thought of the Pyrate's dad, my ex-husband... who was in Germany and didn't even know yet that I was pregnant.  "What if something goes wrong???" I thought in my head silently... it would be pretty screwed up if he was not informed then all of a sudden got a phone call after the fact when something goes wrong.  So he was called too... all the way in Germany.  The gravity of making that phonecall was the last straw for me.  I was sad, yes, I was disappointed, yes, even devastated, but I was holding it together for the last 24 hours, pretty darn well, mostly out of pure exhaustion.  Processing pain is a tedious, and arduous task.  There really was literally no reserve energy for hysterics.  But the gravity of having to make that 'just in case' phone call to the father of the Pyrate, really hit home.  What would happen to my son if something happens to me?  What if they get in there and find something more serious going on and have to remove all my plumbing?  Had I even considered any of this?  No.  I'd been so busy trying to stay calm, trying to keep the faith, trying to not worry the kid, that I'd made no preparations and there was nothing I could do about it.  I would just have to believe that all would be fine.  I would just have to spend those last moments putting as much positive energy into my path into that OR as I could muster up.  I spoke with the man sent to transport me to OR, joked with him about being a better driver than my husband. The enormous male nurse who transferred me from my bed to the one I would be on during surgery had me put my arms around his neck as he moved me, and I told him how great a dancer he was and that we have to stop meeting like this.   I touched the anesthesiologist and smiled at him affectionately while I silently blessed him and prayed for his astute professionalism as he held my consciousness in his hands.  I touched the secondary doctor when he introduced himself to me and asked a few questions just outside the OR door sending faith infused energy through my fingertips and into his body.  I think he felt it because he gave me a funny look.   The anesthesiologist came back and asked me if I was still in a lot of pain.  I told him yes, and he told me not to worry and that would be over soon.  He put something in my IV and told me to start breathing deeply and count backwards from 100....99... 98....

I woke up in a noisy recovery room with a radio blasting "ARE YOU GOOOING TO SAN. FRAN. CISCOOOOO..."  and people moaning and groaning and crying and nurses rushing around.  I was crying.  I couldn't stop.  So I just lay there and let it come over me.  I cried for all the past week and a half when I couldn't let it out.   I cried for my husband's broken heart.  I cried for my own.  I cried for the Pyrate's.  He was looking forward to being a big brother.... I just let it go and lay there weeping openly and it felt good to just let it out.  A curtain was pulled and I was greeted by a friendly nurse who took my hand and asked me if there was any pain.  I told her there wasn't.  I felt absolutely no physical discomfort for the first time since the middle of  December when the nausea started.  I cried some more for the relief.  She said that in a few minutes she'd go get my husband and sneak him back here because she thought under the circumstances (miscarriage) that I might want the company.  When he got there, he and the nurse were talking back and forth in German, because on the way, she'd figured out he was Austrian and she comes from a German family.  The radio in the recovery unit was blasting "PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUSIC WHITE BWWWWOOOYYYY..."    The hilarity was surreal...   I heard the curtain pull, and there he was, those green eyes sparkling, a careful smile on his lips.  He kissed me and told me he was so glad that I was safely on the other side.  He climbed onto the bed and told me he'd had lunch with my mom and the Pyrate at the local mexican restaurant near our house.  I quickly thanked him for that information seeing as all I'd eaten in the last 24 hours was a half a burrito the night before.  He hugged me and said it sounded like I was feeling better already.  We stared into each others eyes for a minute, and I started to cry again.  "I was thinking, maybe that wasn't Lou-Lou. Maybe we just needed to be reminded that we'd put that aside. Maybe we're supposed to use this to create an awareness of that part of us that we were at best ignoring."  He kissed me again.  We didn't talk much more about it that day.   I got back to the room, settled into bed, my mom and my sister were there.  We watched monsters of the deep until the Austrian realized how completely drained he was.  The Pyrate was at home and needed to look somebody in the eye and see that everything's fine.   So he went home.  My mom and my sister eventually went home, and I was left there alone with my thoughts.  I stayed awake all night long... until about 5am.  I got a text from the Pyrate's father in Germany.   He wanted to see if I was okay.  We chatted back and forth for a while.  He was very kind... shared more words with me than he probably had in the last two years.   I didn't expect him to express that kind of concern at all.  I'll take it without questioning it.  No energy to read into it, and it was nice.  I got a text message from my friend HT who said something so moving that it made me cry.  In the background on the tv was the news, a report about the earthquake victims in Haiti.  HT was saying something about me being sheltering by more love from more people than anyone else he knows.   People were screaming on tv, scenes of devastation everywhere in sight, reports of loved ones missing, some lost every family member.   I, on the other hand, am sheltered by more love from more people than anyone HT knows.  What a gift.
I thanked God for that moment and ever since that moment, I've been thanking God for every little thing.  I thanked God when I got out of bed on my own, with absolutely no pain,  to go the bathroom.  I thanked God for the graham crackers and ice cream the nurse brought me in the middle of the night because all they'd let me eat earlier was a bowl of broth and some nasty jello.   I thanked God for my husband when he arrived in the morning, sparkling green eyes and big grin on his face.  I thanked God for the view as we drove up the street I live on, and for the rose bushes as we walked up to my front door.  I thanked God for his strong arms that wanted to help me up the stairs even though I could do it again for myself.  I thanked God for that.
I thanked God for the smell of old pine needles in my house because our tree is still up due to all the "excitement" over the last 2 weeks.  I thanked God for my bed.  When the Pyrate got home from school, I thanked God for him too, while I held him extra tight and thought about the miracle that he is in my life.
That was yesterday.  Today I'm still thankful for all that I am, all that I have, all that I've experienced.
We will recover from this, and  now we know, that we want a baby.  That's something right?
We'll see what happens.  For now, I'm resting and looking forward to getting back to life!
I don't think I'll cry anymore about what happened to me this past week.  I thank God for that too.  I know folks who lost babies much further along in a pregnancy... several months even.  A week is nothing.    We can get through this.
Things change.   They do.  All the time.  All we have is now.  This moment.  I'm learning that there's no use in being afraid of what will be different in the next one.  What I do with this one is all that matters.  I learned from a friend who recently went through childbirth with her plans spoiled and some heartbreak involved.  When she wrote about those disappointments, she said, "I choose joy."   I remembered that this week.  It's not a hypocritical statement.  It's not either or.  Pain is inevitable sooner or later.  But what will you do when you face it?  Will you crumble under the pressure?  Or will you try to be still, breath through it, go to that other place in your consciousness?  When your hopes are dashed will you pick yourself up and keep moving or will you just give up and cower in a corner defeated?  When sorrow comes will you set up camp and decide to live there forever? Will you pretend like it's not happening and let it fester inside you?  Or will you use the moment, that particular "now" to show yourself what you are capable of?
I learned so much about myself in this last week.  I am full of God-power, a gift that lives in all of us.  I saw it in my man in ways I would have never imagined he could display.  I saw it in the Pyrate whose God-power never ceases to amaze me.  I saw it flowing in and around me between myself and the professionals in charge of my care, the people who were praying for me, the friends who shared their stories with me, the friends who simply spoke words of love and encouragement and sympathy, each one a gift.
So now, it's Friday again.  All that stuff is over.  Past.  I spent the last 24 hours together with the Austrian and the Pyrate... not answering the phone... not calling anyone... We haven't been alone through any of this.  It was good to be with them, take inventory of where we are... where I am.  A new day has come.  I am well.  I am recovering.  I am healing.  I am strong.
And things changing doesn't scare me any more.