by the Night Writer
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A couple of babes
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Author Archives: The Night Writer
No snoose, please
by the Night Writer
I used to tell the Mall Diva that she couldn’t go to Keegan’s with me unless she blogged something that week. Apparently the lesson became so ingrained — or Keegan’s appeal so great — that the baby has taken the message to heart. With the MOB summer party coming up on August 14th, little Moose took advantage of all the free time he has to launch his own blog.
I’m not surprised, given the pedigree, but I thought he’d hang around here with the rest of the family. Oh well, if you want short, first-person accounts of his take on this brave new world he’s encountered be sure to bookmark and visit MooSnooze.
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With arms wide open
by the Night Writer
On Friday night, two weeks past his due date and as his mother was enjoying a kitchen-sink burger at the Groveland Tap, my grandson started to indicate that he was finally serious about moving out. As the pre-labor contractions firmed up we all headed for home to wait. According to Tom Petty, the waiting is the hardest part, but then he never gave birth. Make no mistake, the waiting is pretty hard but while one’s butt might get tired and sore from sitting around, it doesn’t compare to one’s body preparing itself to expel another living human.
We went to bed Friday night with some restless anticipation, but nothing significant transpired. Saturday morning Faith (aka, “Mall Diva” and “Mom”) had an appointment with Dr. Sharon, who the Reverend Mother dubbed “the Spin Doctor”. She’s a chiropractor with a specialty in “spinning” babies into position. I went with Faith and Ben to the appointment as Faith had “silent” contractions. That is, she’d stop talking in mid-sentence and close her eyes as the wave passed. Dr. Sharon did her thing and put Faith on a special table for about an hour and a half where she was able to really relax; it was an important break because Faith hadn’t slept much Friday night and it was going to be awhile before she could again. By Saturday afternoon the contractions were “louder” in that Faith managed the pain by using lower-pitched groans. It was upsetting for me at first because it triggered the “Dad the Defender” synapses but once I realized it was a useful technique I settled down. A little. Faith’s voice and breath training as a singer paid off; she stayed in key and projected, though her normal contralto was now more alto. The mid-wives, Maureen and Allie, arrived about 10:30 Saturday night to take over. Great – let’s have a baby, right? Not so fast (believe me, not so fast).
Anyway, things went along pretty much according to nature and God’s timing, and it appeared (to me, anyway) that we were on-track for a delivery sometime after daybreak on Sunday. I mostly kept myself out of the way but would come upstairs every couple of hours Saturday night/Sunday morning to check on the situation. The Reverend Mother, Tiger Lilly and another friend, Anna, took turns laying next to Faith and rubbing her back while Papa Ben stayed face-to-Faith. I’d pop my head in and say things like, “I love you” and “You’re doing great!” or “What’s taking so long?” (Everybody’s got to have a job, after all). About 6:30 in the morning I went out to get doughnuts for the team, thinking we’d be ready for a celebration or otherwise need a sugar-rush to power through at the end. This ever-so-reluctant-baby, though, was still not finding things to his liking. Allie called Dr. Sharon and asked if she could make a house-call, which she was happy to do. Turns out that the mother’s pelvis was not at the right angle and it was keeping the baby’s head from dropping down into the delivery channel. With a little show and tell, Dr. Sharon fixed the situation and — Voila — the baby was ready to hit the beach. Well, again, not quite. It was late morning by now and Faith was exhausted. Her and the baby’s vital signs were all good (except for the brief moment when the baby’s heart-rate plunged while everyone else’s tripled but all went back to normal after a shift in position) but Maureen said that Faith needed a couple of hours of rest, now that the baby was in position, so she could have the strength for the delivery itself. (We’re pretty certain, btw, that if Faith had been in a hospital and the baby wasn’t getting into position that the doctor would have been calling for a C-section). We discussed the situation and contingency plans with Maureen for “if-then” scenarios. Since mother and baby weren’t in any distress, however, and Faith was adamant about having the baby at home, Faith would take some Benadryl and rest for a couple of hours. After that, the hospital was a distinct option, but only if there was a problem.
After the nap it was back into production mode. It wasn’t entirely smooth but Faith was so courageous and composed throughout. She never got angry or said anything nasty and even when she was totally exhausted she had the inner resources and determination to push through, with her mother and sister close at hand. Finally, at 5:58 my youngest daughter, Tiger Lilly, hollered downstairs, “Daddy, come see your new grandson!” As I thundered up the stairs I heard a brand new voice — crying at the top of his new but strong lungs — and that’s when my head nearly spun off of my body at the enormity of what had actually happened, right here in my own home, to my own daughter. Just moments ago the only thing we could hear of him was the heatbeat on the monitor, and now — a voice! I’d already well-imagined a face, hair, little fists and feet — but never thought about hearing him for the first time! The stairway seemed to contract on me for a moment as if I were making my own way out into a new world and then I joined the crowd in the bedroom, shouldering my place into line to wait, with arms wide-open, for my turn to hold him.
Benjamin West Worley, 8 pounds, 13 ounces, and 21 3/4″ long, born at 5:58 p.m. on July 25, year of our Lord 2010.
For Faith and Ben:
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Your bright baby blues
by the Night Writer
One of my favorite albums when I was in college was Jackson Browne’s “The Pretender”. While I preferred my music fast and loud back then, I usually listened to this album on my headphones while laying on the couch with my eyes closed. One of the best cuts, for me, was the song “Your Bright Baby Blues”.
‘Cause I’ve been up and down this highway
Far as my eyes can see
No matter how fast I run
I can never seem to get away from me
No matter where I am
I can’t help feeling I’m just a day away
From where I want to be
Now I’m running home, baby
Like a river to the sea
Some 20 years later — and some 15 years ago — I came across the album on CD and bought it and brought it home. After dinner I dropped it in the stereo and stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes. That time, however, I could also hear from down the hall my wife’s gentle tones and the high-pitched talking and giggles of my daughters as my wife bathed them. It was a dizzying, almost out-of-body experience as I listened to the old tune and old words while the best part of my new life ebbed and flowed around me like the fresh bath water.
It’s so hard to come by
That feeling of peace
This friend of mine said
“Close your eyes, and try a few of these”
I thought I was flying like a bird
So far above my sorrow
But when I looked down
I was standing on my knees
Now I need someone to help me
Someone to help me please
Ah, the things we will desperately pursue when real peace is already close at hand and really not so hard to come by after all. And how hard it is to let go of the nominal comforts of the present to grasp the change and greater joy we know not of.
I thought of that long-ago magic bubble of a moment again this morning — and of those little girl voices — when “Your Bright Baby Blues” shuffled up on my Touch as I took the train to work. The last few days have been full of anticipation as the oldest of those once little girls is now due to deliver her first child at any time. We are all waiting in eager anticipation as the little one dawdles and takes his sweet time, apparently in no rush to leave his comfy quarters with all the amenities to which he’s become accustomed.
Baby if you can hear me
Turn down your radio
There’s just one thing
I want you to know
When you’ve been near me
I’ve felt the love stirring in my soul
Come, child, it’s time and there are songs to sing out here and yours is just beginning.
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Reading between the signs
by the Night Writer
Some folks are getting upset that “stimulus” money for road construction projects is also being used to post signs alongside the project that say “Funded By: American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, Barack Obama, President.” It’s a common enough political play (many a governor has done something similar within his/her state). The issue for me is one of truth in advertising, especially since much of the “stimulus” comes not from tax money on hand but from borrowed money, a significant portion of which comes from China.
The signs really ought to read:
“Made In China” or
“Your Children’s Tax Dollars at Work” or
“You Are Driving On the Road to Serfdom”
Since those signs as well cost money we should look for signs already on hand that succinctly reflects this administration’s sentiments:
(HT: Mr. D)
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I’m just waiting on a friend
by the Night Writer
Here’s an excerpt from a poem I wrote several years ago. I wrote it after my final visit to see my grandfather while he was stll alive, but this section is appropriate for the waiting we’re doing today. The poem is called, “Just Waiting.”
And now, just waiting,
back at home I stand by another bedside,
listening to my wife breathe.
Undressing, I fit myself in beside her,
our heads touching, our arms
around each other, and we talk…
About the great moments of one’s life,
the excitement before a birthday,
the joy before a wedding,
and how these fall short of the momentous
anticipation and anxiety of the days leading up to
the birth of a child,
of going to bed wondering if this will be the night
that everything will change
and we awaken to bring forth a new life,
at once shuddering in both
the hope and the dread
of the joy that would be set before us
and the trial to be endured.
We also talk about the hope we have in Christ,
and of the days leading up to the joy/dread
in some distant but nearing future
when we go to bed wondering if that will be the night
that everything will change
and we awaken into new life.
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Monty Python study guide
by the Night Writer
Tiger Lilly has been studying for her Western Civ test and plowing through the various philosophers and their philosophies. A great way to learn things, of course, is to make up rhymes or songs of the key details as a memory aid, so I thoughtfully provided the following for her:
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eE7Fe1cGLPk
I sure hope it helps!
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Shine on you crazy diamond
by the Night Writer
Son@Night and I attended our first Twins game at the new Target Field on Monday. I’d been looking forward to it since we bought the tickets a couple of months ago, and felt some excitement as we approached the stadium, so I was a surprised to find myself feeling a little crabby as we walked in and found our seats. Not that finding our seats was difficult; you get in (and out) of Target Field very easily compared to the Metrodome, though we were caught in a clog on the first concouse by the crowd in front of a concession stand taking advantage of $1 Hot Dog day. My mood was as inexplicable as the Twins’ own run of indifferent play of late. I can’t explain them, but I think my mood was perhaps affected by expectations.
Expectations can be a funny thing. Last week, for example, we took in a town ball game at Jack Ruhr field in Miesville and while my expectations then were pleasant, they weren’t exceedingly high for an amateur game in a small town ballpark. As such, when we got inside the small park I was greatly impressed by the immaculate field and the pride of place demonstrated by the community as well as the general competence demonstrated by the amateur players. The staff inside Target Field were obviously and justifiably proud of their field and the fans moving through the concourse with us also seemed quite happy to be there. Plus, it was another gorgeous night for baseball and the new stadium isn’t just “outdoor baseball” on the field, but open and bright through the concourses as well. Still I found myself casting a critical eye here and there, perhaps because of scale: a ticket and a snack in Miesville ran a little over $5; after buying my ticket and some food at Target Field I was already over $50 for the evening. “Alright, impress me,” I thought as I got myself situated in my seat in the second deck of left field while simultaneously bemoaning that I’d forgotten to bring my hat and the early evening sun was coming over the wall directly into the side of my right eye. Never had that problem at the Dome.
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(Out of) Town Ball
by the Night Writer
One evening last summer I was heading back to the Cities from Red Wing when I decided to take the Hwy. 61 route to Hwy. 50 and bypass downtown Hastings. In doing so I passed through the little town of Miesville and there, in the gloaming, was a little jewel of a ball park right next to the highway in “downtown”. The park lights were on and the players on the field in their white uniforms seemed to glow in contrast to the green, groomed grass. I would have stopped but I needed to get back to the Cities so I promised myself that I’d get back down there for a game.
Last Wednesday night was the night I fulfilled that promise, bringing along baseball and burger fan Marty Andrade to celebrate the completion of his MBA. The rest of the family, including Ben and the fully-baked cupcake decided to come along since we were going to eat at King’s Place before the game. King’s Place is something else I discovered in my trips, a historic building now serving as a family-run bar and restaurant. It’s popular with the snowmobilers in the winter and baseball fans in the summer, and hamburger fans year-round because the menu offers more than 50 variations of burgers (including a new one that features peanut-butter, bacon, mayo and lettuce – it’s fabulous, really!).
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The fight of your life
by the Night Writer
Pastor Earl showed this video last weekend at Inside Outfitters. You coud say it was a powerful message for the group since many who attend are dealing with substance abuse of one kind or another. But Inside Outfitters isn’t about overcoming substance abuse, or just for men bedeviled by drugs or alcohol. As Earl likes to say, “When purpose is not known, abuse (abnormal use) is inevitable.” Our biggest, toughest fight is usually with ourselves as we come to recognize and understand our purpose and contend with our “abusive” ignorance in every area of our lives.
Oh yeah, it’s a fight. And people are watching.
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