Okay, I asked Carri if it was alright to tell this story and she said, "Go for it!' (I'm hoping that when I asked she hadn't just taken an after-chemo Ativan. She didn't call me "Eduardo", though, so I feel pretty safe.) This is the story of Carri's visit to an Open House of A Nudist Colony.....
Several years ago, when her firstborn son was, I'm not sure, less than two years old- my friend told me that she had seen a notice about an Open House at a "Clothing Optional" camp. When she told me, her conservative Southern friend, that she planned to go check it out I was dumbstruck. I had visions in my mind of debauchery, lecherous old men and Swingers Club "Meetings". I'm not proud of my ignorance.
She was a nursing mama at the time so she planned to take her baby with her. She assured me that the Organization carefully screens the people to keep out potential predators so I felt a bit reassured. She sounded so confident, so laid back as if she did this sort of thing everyday. I asked her how her husband felt about it and she told me he was just fine with it. This was just another casual day in the lives of this little family.
I think to myself, as the day approaches, all the ways I can try to stop her. (A pretty tough feat as I live 3000 miles away). I seriously consider cashing in my meager 401(k) to buy a plane ticket out to physically restrain her. So convinced was I that this was a bad idea, I even thought of calling her husband who I barely knew to ask him if he really was just "fine" with the idea. Alas, I did none of those things and it's a good thing I didn't because the story that she told me about her experience kept me giggling to myself for weeks!
This is MY interpretation of how it went based on the things she shared with me and the movie playing in my head as she spoke:
The sun burned brightly in the sky as she packed up the car for the day's adventure.(What, exactly, does one need to have at a nudist resort?) The confidence she once exuded about doing this had taken a mysterious leave-of-absence. A shaky sigh escapes as she thinks to herself "200 rainy days a year in the Pacific Northwest and I pick the one day I WON'T have an excuse to wear a raincoat." She puts the baby in his carseat and off she drives with her "just fine" husband waving proudly at his courageous and forward thinking wife.
They arrive. No neckid folks to be seen right away. Now a new dilemma presents itself. Where to disrobe? In the car? Do they have a special room? (I never did ask this question so, in my story I get to ad-lib. Thank goodness for creative license.) She disrobes in the tiny car.(In my imagination there's lots of grunting and cirque-du-solei contortions resulting in honking the horn, jumping at the sound of the horn causing her to jerk her elbow into the door and pulling her arm back so fast she hits the gear shifter as a crowd begins to assemble outside. Tee hee hee heee! Wouldn't that be a funny skit? No? It was pretty funny in my head. ) Her hand quivers a little on the door handle as she takes a deep breath for courage and pushes it open. She quickly dons the baby carrier so, once in, the baby becomes a shield. (Oh, sure, she'll tell you it was strategically placed so the baby could nurse whenever he wants, but this is my script.)
With her cell phone tucked snugly into the pocket of the baby carrier, the two embark on their woodland hike. Starting up the path the phone suddenly vibrates and she's surprised to hear her husband on the other end. "Just wanted to make sure you two got there safely." He asks no questions. Just a quick "I love you." and the conversation has ended. Onward the mother and son go. She takes in the nature around her. She loves being outside, loves being in the buff and she's thinking to herself that she's proud she's come to satisfy her curiosity. This isn't bad, not bad at all. It's then, that coming down the path, there is another nature lover..an older man. Should she speak as they pass? Wait to see if he speaks to her? Do people talk when hiking in their birthday suits? And what about eye contact? Oh please, let there only be eye contact. She is very conscientious about not letting her gaze drift downward. As they start to pass, the older man has a kindly smile and he makes a comment about the cute little guy she is wearing. This starts a little conversation. (Now my imagination is really kicking into gear. What do two nude people who don't know each other talk about? A sample conversation that played in my brain is below.)
Old Man: Such lovely skin! Whar products do you use? I have a few wrinkles in my birthday suit. Can't
really use an iron.
Carri: Oh, just organic lotions and soaps. You can find them almost anywhere...but I don't recommend
WalMart. I'm opposed to sweat shops.
Old Man: Oh, my. Me too. Speaking of sweat, you smell lovely dear.
Carri: Why, thank you sir. I use a special stone for deodorant.
Old Man: Well, top of the mornin' to ya. I must get going. I'd tip my hat but I'm not wearing one...ha ha ha!
Yikes! Carri's gonna flip her lid when she reads what went through my head all those years ago. She never knew her friend was so ignorant. (Can we just call me naive? It has a nicer connotation.)
The phone vibrates again. Mr. Just Fine wants to know where she put the ingredients for his beer maker. He really feels like making beer today. "Same place as always, honey." she says. "Oh, yeah. Yup. There it is. Whaddya know? Can't believe I didn't see it. You gonna be much longer? " (I am totally making up the conversation. I have no idea what he was calling her for or how many times he called but in my head, Mr. Just Fine About My Wife Being Naked in Front of Someone Other Than Me is really Mr. Old Fashioned I'd Really Like My Wife Naked At Home. I should mention that I really like her husband. He is a great guy with really, really great hair.)
After completing her hike and gathering information about the place she gets in the car, dresses and heads home. (In my movie, I have her forgetting to get dressed again because she's so comfortable and then gets pulled over by a cop for some mediocre traffic violation.)
She calls me on her way home to tell me all about it and I was just so relieved to hear her voice, that she wasn't abducted by some naked hippies or broke a limb trying to swing naked from a tree. I realize that I am just as proud of her for doing something I don't think I could've done as she is for herself. (To be fair, when I visited her out there a couple years ago, I did get naked in a sauna. It was only in front of other women but that's a huge step for me.) And when I gave birth last year to a baby who came out of me wearing only her birthday suit, it was only appropriate and fitting that I name her Carri. May she be as brave, stubborn and loved as the Original!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The New Mommy Smell
Everyone who loves babies talks about that beautiful "new baby" smell...powdery and warm and supposedly "all natural". Ah yes, the new baby smell gets a lot of attention. Your baby is taken out of your arms and passed around to all the grandmas and grandpas and well wishers and occasionally some hospital passerby that everyone thinks the other people know and the very first thing you hear is that tell-tale inhalation of your tiny baby's head like it is a tube of Afrin nasal spray. I swear, you get somebody big enough and one day, a baby will disappear up his nostril just so he can keep smelling that new baby. (Try explaining that to Hospital Security.)
No one ever talks about that New Mommy Smell. Like all less-than-desirable subjects, I think people suppose that if the subject is avoided it will go away. I'm here to tell you it won't.
Sleep deprivation has a number of side effects...one of them is the loss of the ability to find your way to a shower after that sweet smelling bundle comes home. Maybe it's the bleary eyes that can not focus on anything that doesn't resemble a swaddled blue or pink capped Lump in the dimly lit room. ( Let's just admit, if only to ourselves, that it's a good thing cats don't wear hats.)
Those moms who have been blessed with boys know relatively early in the new adventure of parenthood what pee tastes like after a two am diaper change while trying to find the edge of the diaper tabs in the dark. (And isn't it funny when you locate them and pull on them that they rip right off the diaper itself and you have to start the diapering process all over again?) Because of the tiredness, it doesn't dawn on you while you're rinsing with Listerine that the pee made it into your hair and onto your nursing shirt. And after fumbling with baby snaps and diaper cream we just can't make it to the dresser to pull out a clean nightshirt. No, we just throw a towel over the wet spot on the bed and drop right in.
So, you've made it to daylight...an "appropriate" time to groom yourself when there is a knock at the door. Enter all the baby sniffers who couldn't make it to the hospital. (And isn't that the Roto-Rooter man who's only connection to your baby is that your husband thought those tiny diapers were flushable as long as no one was looking?) Once again, the baby is passed around but you're not even thinking about getting cleaned up. Now, you're making sure there's enough hand sanitizer to go around, that no one's been sick in the last two weeks and that no one's been on any international flights to tuberculosis-prone countries.
Once they leave, you realize you haven't eaten and this is also a new process to learn-especially if you're breastfeeding. Learning to prepare and eat food with one hand (not always the hand you're used to) is also an adventure. (Try spreading peanut butter on soft bread with one hand-I dare you.) No matter what you are making or eating, some of it IS going to land on your newly baptized nursing shirt. (And your once discriminating tastes will no longer apply here...you don't mind picking the food off your shirt and popping it down the hatch.) You may be amazed to find that you have created a whole new kind of tye-dye...yellow mustard, tomato soup, egg yolk, mayonnaise...and let's not forget that the majority of your shirt will be awash in spit-up. Spit-up on the shoulder is a sure bet that it's also in your hair somewhere. Again, we give it no thought, so enamored are we of this new baby.
About the third day, Dad goes back to work and the visitors stop coming. If you're lucky, a new Grandma comes over. Again, the sniffing begins...only this time, there's a funny look on her face (and she ain't holding the baby yet).
At long last, it is another mom who recognizes the New Mommy Smell and though it may have been thirty years ago for her, she realizes no one ever mentioned it to her either. The only thing she recalls are the words uttered by her own mother-the words she speaks to you now without letting on that you reak: "Grandma's here, dear. Why don't you treat yourself to a shower and a nap?"
Your hormonally, tear streaked face brightens at the mere thought of fresh hot water and a few moments to yourself knowing your baby is safe in Grandma's arms.
And thus, the New Mommy Smell is gone...for at least another two days. :)
No one ever talks about that New Mommy Smell. Like all less-than-desirable subjects, I think people suppose that if the subject is avoided it will go away. I'm here to tell you it won't.
Sleep deprivation has a number of side effects...one of them is the loss of the ability to find your way to a shower after that sweet smelling bundle comes home. Maybe it's the bleary eyes that can not focus on anything that doesn't resemble a swaddled blue or pink capped Lump in the dimly lit room. ( Let's just admit, if only to ourselves, that it's a good thing cats don't wear hats.)
Those moms who have been blessed with boys know relatively early in the new adventure of parenthood what pee tastes like after a two am diaper change while trying to find the edge of the diaper tabs in the dark. (And isn't it funny when you locate them and pull on them that they rip right off the diaper itself and you have to start the diapering process all over again?) Because of the tiredness, it doesn't dawn on you while you're rinsing with Listerine that the pee made it into your hair and onto your nursing shirt. And after fumbling with baby snaps and diaper cream we just can't make it to the dresser to pull out a clean nightshirt. No, we just throw a towel over the wet spot on the bed and drop right in.
So, you've made it to daylight...an "appropriate" time to groom yourself when there is a knock at the door. Enter all the baby sniffers who couldn't make it to the hospital. (And isn't that the Roto-Rooter man who's only connection to your baby is that your husband thought those tiny diapers were flushable as long as no one was looking?) Once again, the baby is passed around but you're not even thinking about getting cleaned up. Now, you're making sure there's enough hand sanitizer to go around, that no one's been sick in the last two weeks and that no one's been on any international flights to tuberculosis-prone countries.
Once they leave, you realize you haven't eaten and this is also a new process to learn-especially if you're breastfeeding. Learning to prepare and eat food with one hand (not always the hand you're used to) is also an adventure. (Try spreading peanut butter on soft bread with one hand-I dare you.) No matter what you are making or eating, some of it IS going to land on your newly baptized nursing shirt. (And your once discriminating tastes will no longer apply here...you don't mind picking the food off your shirt and popping it down the hatch.) You may be amazed to find that you have created a whole new kind of tye-dye...yellow mustard, tomato soup, egg yolk, mayonnaise...and let's not forget that the majority of your shirt will be awash in spit-up. Spit-up on the shoulder is a sure bet that it's also in your hair somewhere. Again, we give it no thought, so enamored are we of this new baby.
About the third day, Dad goes back to work and the visitors stop coming. If you're lucky, a new Grandma comes over. Again, the sniffing begins...only this time, there's a funny look on her face (and she ain't holding the baby yet).
At long last, it is another mom who recognizes the New Mommy Smell and though it may have been thirty years ago for her, she realizes no one ever mentioned it to her either. The only thing she recalls are the words uttered by her own mother-the words she speaks to you now without letting on that you reak: "Grandma's here, dear. Why don't you treat yourself to a shower and a nap?"
Your hormonally, tear streaked face brightens at the mere thought of fresh hot water and a few moments to yourself knowing your baby is safe in Grandma's arms.
And thus, the New Mommy Smell is gone...for at least another two days. :)
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Photo
I have a photograph that captured a brief moment in time when a young woman was facing divergent paths and uncharted terrain. The photo was taken in the hills of Oregon on a sunny day in May...a day in which my friend was to share with me a real mountain hot spring-the first I was to have ever laid eyes on.
It was not meant to be. At the base of our hike we were stopped short by engineers who had closed the springs to remove a fallen tree.
So, we wandered by the glassy lake and ooh'd and ahh'd the sparkling cascade of a waterfall. The sound of tribal drums beating drew us to a high ridge overlooking the lake. There sat a Native American woman chanting her prayers of restoration to the Spirit of the Mountain. The woman wore a kerchief over her thick, dark luxurious hair. Accepting a silent invitation, my friend sat quietly next to the woman, her own mostly bald and patchy head also covered by a kerchief, her once long and glorious locks sacrificed to the Chemo God.
Such a strong vision these two women made as they communed silently with their spirits that I stepped back from the scene and concentrated on taking photos of my friend's two young sons as they hopped from rock to rock, chased lizards gleefully and eventually rested, still on the big stones. They sat there, staring pensively at their mother's back. I dared not wonder what they were thinking and felt like an intruder with my camera.
Stepping back from them all, I took in the splendor of the nature around me.
Then a bee buzzed around the boys and the spell of spiritual silence broke as the Indian woman and my friend embraced a heartfelt goodbye to an unexpected moment that could never be duplicated and would never be forgotten.
But that scene is not the photo.
No, the photo is of my friend taking a final walk by herself before we all packed into the car and headed home.
There she stands, practically blending into the scenery around her, wearing the shades of nature on her body. A turqouise scarf, a teal backpack, sky-blue jeans and a dark top.
She is looking down at the ground, her eyes connecting with something I can not see...a creature, a flower, a rock, a thought?
She is standing with each foot on a different terrain. Her left foot is on the base of a rocky slope. The face of the slope-cracked, gray, broken and weathered.
Her right foot, just inches away, is enveloped by mountain grasses and sparse wildflowers. She bears a pondering look upon her face, almost silently wondering which foot to lift first. Her life, this last year, has been full of seemingly nothing but decisions...about her treatment, her doctors, her children's education, her husband's needs...once upon a time decisions were not that hard to make. Now every new choice leads to another slew of options.
The petite woman is fighting cancer, fighting the side effects of the medication, fighting for normalcy and routine, fighting to make choice after carefully thought out choice to the one decision that will lead her to the end of all this fighting so she can once again, just BE.
Though she is surrounded by a friend, her sons and a newfound well-wisher, the photo shows only her and I realize at last that it's the same with her cancer. The walk is a solitary one, the choices hers to make.
But in this photo, I finally see a peace on her face before she lifts her foot to move forward. She is at ease in either terrain and knows that though one may be easier than the other both paths will lead her forward...indeed, she will walk whatever path will lead her safely home.
It was not meant to be. At the base of our hike we were stopped short by engineers who had closed the springs to remove a fallen tree.
So, we wandered by the glassy lake and ooh'd and ahh'd the sparkling cascade of a waterfall. The sound of tribal drums beating drew us to a high ridge overlooking the lake. There sat a Native American woman chanting her prayers of restoration to the Spirit of the Mountain. The woman wore a kerchief over her thick, dark luxurious hair. Accepting a silent invitation, my friend sat quietly next to the woman, her own mostly bald and patchy head also covered by a kerchief, her once long and glorious locks sacrificed to the Chemo God.
Such a strong vision these two women made as they communed silently with their spirits that I stepped back from the scene and concentrated on taking photos of my friend's two young sons as they hopped from rock to rock, chased lizards gleefully and eventually rested, still on the big stones. They sat there, staring pensively at their mother's back. I dared not wonder what they were thinking and felt like an intruder with my camera.
Stepping back from them all, I took in the splendor of the nature around me.
Then a bee buzzed around the boys and the spell of spiritual silence broke as the Indian woman and my friend embraced a heartfelt goodbye to an unexpected moment that could never be duplicated and would never be forgotten.
But that scene is not the photo.
No, the photo is of my friend taking a final walk by herself before we all packed into the car and headed home.
There she stands, practically blending into the scenery around her, wearing the shades of nature on her body. A turqouise scarf, a teal backpack, sky-blue jeans and a dark top.
She is looking down at the ground, her eyes connecting with something I can not see...a creature, a flower, a rock, a thought?
She is standing with each foot on a different terrain. Her left foot is on the base of a rocky slope. The face of the slope-cracked, gray, broken and weathered.
Her right foot, just inches away, is enveloped by mountain grasses and sparse wildflowers. She bears a pondering look upon her face, almost silently wondering which foot to lift first. Her life, this last year, has been full of seemingly nothing but decisions...about her treatment, her doctors, her children's education, her husband's needs...once upon a time decisions were not that hard to make. Now every new choice leads to another slew of options.
The petite woman is fighting cancer, fighting the side effects of the medication, fighting for normalcy and routine, fighting to make choice after carefully thought out choice to the one decision that will lead her to the end of all this fighting so she can once again, just BE.
Though she is surrounded by a friend, her sons and a newfound well-wisher, the photo shows only her and I realize at last that it's the same with her cancer. The walk is a solitary one, the choices hers to make.
But in this photo, I finally see a peace on her face before she lifts her foot to move forward. She is at ease in either terrain and knows that though one may be easier than the other both paths will lead her forward...indeed, she will walk whatever path will lead her safely home.
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