NEW LIFE

 

“The Constitution is neither pro-life nor pro-choice … and leaves the issue to the people to resolve in the democratic process,” Kavanaugh said.

That is the legality of it in a nutshell. Constitutionally speaking, this (along with most other things) belongs to the States and to the People.

The scientific information available today is not the same as what was available fifty and more years ago. Scientists have captured on film what is referred to as the *spark of life* when an ovum is fertilized by a sperm.

That tiny burst of energy signifies that the joining of the genetic information carried by the male and female gametes is generating an entirely new and unique combination that will develop into a person whose final chromosomal identification carries the signature halves contributed by those two gametes.

From the instant the chromosomal halves join into a single complete DNA strand, the replication begins and the development of an individual commences.

That's the science of it, and it's irrefutable.

That spark? Apparently it's zinc 'exploding' and it creates a sort of *halo* announcing the newly-forming individual.

That having been said, it is also irrefutable that the means of preventing conception and terminating pregnancy have been around for a long LONG time. Mother Nature herself provides the ways, and humankind has known (and presumably used) those ways for heaven only knows how long. It's not like this is a recent sort of thing.

The fact that I live in the United States which is governed by the Constitution, in conjunction with the science and the history (and the admonition to *judge not*), means (to me) that you are as free as I am to make your own choices. I don't have to agree with yours any more than you have to agree with mine - but we had both dang well better respect each other's rights to not make the same choices.

The only caveat I would add to that, if I could, would be that ALL of us, when making a decision about ANYTHING, search out as much information as we can, and do some long hard thinking, BEFORE we choose.

I Was Broken

This was an article that came into my fb feed a couple of years ago. It's poignant and, for me, heart-breaking.

 Faith, Farming and Family

NovtSemb0poel1t7r4 4, s201r199ae2  · 

Between the uncooperative weather and the breakdowns, it seems that most farmers are wondering if harvest will ever end.

They are weary.

They are broken.

They are defeated.

But they will not quit.

They will rise before the sun, kiss their families goodbye, grab their lunchbox, and head back to the field.

They’ll battle the mud, the rain, and the snow. They’ll fight breakdowns and stresses out of their control.

But they will not quit.

They’ll miss supper around the table, bath times and bedtimes.

But they will not quit.

They’ll work late into the night, and do it all again the next day.

Because that’s what farmers do. Even with the odds stacked against them, exhausted and broken, they will not quit.

I'm not a farmer, but this was essentially my life for years.

I wondered if the need for me to keep on keeping on without respite would ever end.

I was weary beyond what I thought I could endure.

I was broken, inside and out.

I don't recall being defeated, but it was close.

I did not quit.

I got up well before the sun, kissed my sleeping daughters without waking them, grabbed my day's food supply, and went to work - sometimes relatively nearby, sometimes 40 minutes away, sometimes two hours away. Regardless of distance, I had to be on the job by the time the sun came up, and stay on the job until after the sun went down - for much of the time, that meant six in the morning until ten at night.

I battled mud, rain, snow, hail, high winds, extreme heat, intense cold, watched tornadoes getting closer, mechanical breakdowns, emotional breakdowns, physical breakdowns, stressors and pressures beyond my control.

I did not quit.

I missed breakfast, dinner, and supper with my family, bath times and bedtimes, birthdays, holidays, school and athletic events.

I did not quit.

I got home late at night, kissed my daughters without waking them, slept for a few hours, and got up to do it all over again the next day.

Because that's what single moms do. Even with the odds stacked against us, exhausted and broken, we do not quit.

My daughters, now grown, don't understand and still resent the lost time. So do I resent it. The best I can hope for is that they never EVER understand. Because, in order for them to truly understand, they would have to live it. I can deal with their resentment a lot better than I could deal with them having to live that.

MAMM BOOKS TRAILER from 2014

 FAITH, FAMILY, FRIENDS, FREEDOM, FUTURE

I've let myself become derailed for much too long - 

it's time for me to get back on track with the series 

THEY ARE MY SONG.

The Mamm Books

Danann

The Youngling Books

The RICIMER Books

The Alianora Books

F Words (Faith, Family, Friends, Freedom, Future)

NEXT UP:

The Sass Books (600-1100 AD)

The Caileen Books (1100-1600 AD)

The Aine Books - The Americans (1600-1900 AD)

(LOL, the baby of the family has a head start with a couple of her books already done; as the family expands every which way from Tuesday, we'll have to switch to short stories)

The Young Ones (short stories covering whenever and wherever they want to go - this batch is COMPLETELY UNCONTROLLABLE)

FIND YOUR BALANCE

 

TIME FLIES WHETHER YOU'RE HAVING FUN OR NOT

 

SO ... ARE WE HAVNG FUN YET?

Yes, I know that it's been the longest two weeks in the life of the Universe.

"Two weeks to slow the curve," they said. 

"Everyone just staying inside your own homes will stop it," they said. 

"Masks will stop it," they said, after they told us not to wear them because they don't work anyway. 

"Staying at least six feet away from everyone else will stop it," they said. 

"The vack-seens will stop it," they said.

Since last February they've said a hundred thousand different things. That two weeks to slow the curve has been going on for a year and eight months for cryin' out loud. At no point during that time has anything they've told us been the least bit of fun. And nothing that they told us would stop it has stopped it yet.

My goodness, how time does fly!

I'm pretty sure I don't have to make a list of all the crap that's been seriously not fun since last February. That's February of 2020, mind you, not this year's February. And for quite a while before that, truth be told. I don't know about you, but I'm getting rather sick and tired of us all not being allowed to just have fun.

Even so, for me at least, amid all the crap, there have been moments of laughter.

I tell you true - just lately we've created our own comic relief, albeit generously mixed with the bitter gall of what we've chosen to laugh at.

LET'S go BRANdon!

clap clap clap-clap-clap

There.

I said it the *nice* way because some folks object to the use of a particular F word, and a whole lot more object to the actual word everyone uses instead of BRANdon. Some college kids started it (imagine that) and it's taken off like wildfire. 

Make no mistake here. The people who are chanting that really do mean it, and not in a nice way. 

At the same time, one can't help but be amused to hear tens of thousands of people all over the United States roaring out that chant. 

It's maybe not all that nice, but it beats the heck out of  killing people, rioting in the streets, looting (aka stealing), destroying property, burning whole sections of cities, jacking up prices on just about everything, sabotaging small businesses and big ones like the energy industry among others, scaring people half to death and cranking their anxiety levels up high enough to put their health in danger, siccing the feds on parents who just want to have a say in their kids' educations, forcing said kids to stay home instead of gong to school or even to church, keeping folks from buying whatever products in the stores that they want with their own money, and picking on people who don't happen to have your exact same point of view.

That list goes on and on and on and is no fun to think about, let alone write about.

Therefore, the moments of laughter are much more entertaining, in my opinion.

Here's one I laugh about now, although at the time it wasn't the least bit funny.

This summer just past, I had set my big tipi tent up in my back yard but not staked it down, and a big wind blew it across the fence into the neighbor's yard so I ran lickety split out of the house to catch it before it took off into the wild blue yonder on its way to Kansas. 

I by golly caught it and was hanging onto it for dear life, fighting both it and that unbelievable wind, when the wind blew the back of my sundress up and over my shoulders so there I was fighting the tipi, the wind, and my own dress, which dragged my hair into my face with it, one more thing for me to fight. That wind was fierce, I tell you. Fierce! I'm not even kidding you. 

I was just hoping the tipi wasn't enough of a sail to carry me clear to Kansas with it when I remembered that sundress was ALL I had on, except my flip-flops but they were on my feet on the ground behaving themselves like they're supposed to. 

Now, a chain link fence isn't exactly a nice solid board privacy fence, so anyone who happened to be looking into that back yard would probably have been laughing. If they were, they were laughing too hard to come and help me, which (not coming to help) is very much NOT in character with my neighbors, so I figure I'm safe in assuming that nobody saw anything. But the point is that they could have. 

It just so happens that next door yard belongs to one of my cousins. When I told him how come my tipi was all bundled up in his garage (the closest shelter, as there was no way I would have been able to fight the battle it would have taken to get that tipi back home and would surely have ended up in Kansas with it after all), he laughed too - and told me I better hope nobody had a phone making a video of it.

Frankly, there has been a lot more tragedy than comedy for quite a while now, so I tend to treasure the moments of laughter. Even if they're at my own expense.

There have been adventures too, but I'll share them elsetime methinks. 

THINGS TO REMEMBER

 

LABOR DAY

Since it's Labor Day, I was going to use a photo of a woman in labor, because I remember a Labor Day Weekend starting out for me in just that way forty years ago now.

So I went looking for photos and changed my mind about using any of them.

Because none of them reflect the reality of that particular labor.

The worst bit of it was in St. Cloud when I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to finish my drive to safety with a 14 month old and the new life my body was in the process of bringing into this world. I wept all the way back to the farmstead some miles from Cambridge, not from physical pain but because I had failed, a pain worse by far than any labor pangs. For the first time in my (since annulled) marriage I had been left a vehicle (just in case), and I *could* have escaped. But I couldn't. I failed in my bid for freedom for me and my children.

Back at the farm, I left our go-bags in the car and turned my mind to focusing on Helen and the new life, still nameless and genderless at the time but very much already an amazing individual. Serenity comes to mind.

Helen was her usual busy self, well used to me being round in the middle by then. She played while I cleaned and did dishes and laundry and what not all between contractions. Then we settled. Helen napped and my attention went inward.

I sang to my children until Lowell came out to the farm between the end of his teaching day and that evening's football game to check on us. He dropped me off at the hospital for safe-keeping, and Helen at a friend's house likewise - and off he went to get ready for the game.

I relaxed then. Staff was astute enough to just let us be, me and the new life I was bringing to the world. Serenity ruled. Between contractions I was mostly sleeping or at least dozing. During them, focusing on the powerful muscles that were doing the work and keeping the rest from doing much of anything at all commanded my attention.

The notes on the chart said it was a very relaxed and controlled labor and delivery. Which it basically was. The relaxation part started to lose ground when they didn't give me permission to PUSH until Lowell got there after the football game, and flew the coop entirely when he insisted on showing off his *coaching skills* by blowing in my face and trying to tell me what to do. But the control was there all the way through.

Now that I had permission, I pushed for all I was worth, mainly to get this part over and done with so Lowell would get the heck out of my face. Which he duly did once Sarah came triumphant into the world and he had preened more than a little before heading straight back out to the post-game coaches meeting.

Relieved, Sarah and I settled in, peaceful once more.

For forty years now, Labor Day Weekend has been a time of poignant remembering. Once I hit the workforce, I rarely actually had a Labor Day Weekend OFF - it has a very different significance for me.