Why is it so terrible to have belly fat? Maybe Ameria is preparing for an upcoming emergency and we need the stored fat to survive. And same with sunshine on the bare naked skin - without sunscreen. The skin cancer police want us to slather on chemicals which for all we know contribute to skin cancer years down the line. AND now we are all deficient in Vitamin D -- the little time many of us spend in the sun has been cloaked by sunscreen, leaving us vulnerable to bone fractures, coronary problems and cancers (besides skin cancer). They sell us sunscreens and then osteoporosis medicines, statins and chemotherapy. Mmmm - very profitable.
Yes-- I want to live a long and healthy lilfe. But do I have to believe every health bulletin that comes along? It's only when I'm too busy or too unsure of myself, plus exposing myself to the harmful rays of the media that I take in that bullshit. I have never been into sunscreen. So for me to now buy into "the studies" about excess belly fat making me a likely candidate for heart disase and diabetes -- well, enough of that negative expectation. It's fear. Fear of being like my grandparents, my parents. Fear of not being attractive. Fear of death or disability.
I actually like my heavier, more womanly body, after I adjust my wardrobe to fit. How many women don't get a bit more belly with age? And one of my heroines, Susun Weed says it helps with menopause to have 10 lbs of extra to help with estrogen production when the ovaries ramp down.
OK-- so is this denial or am I standing in my own truth?
08 September 2008
11 August 2008
Grandma and Her Plants- memoir
It all began when I was just a baby, crawling about on the ground. For some reason I wouldn’t venture into the grass. My mom could put me down on a blanket in the yard and I wouldn’t wander off it. Maybe it was the texture of grass—all pokey & tickly on my tender hands & knees. Or could it have been the color or smell?
As I grew I learned to love plants from my Grandma Johnson. She kept plants at her house, inside & out. The dormer window in her living room afforded them year round light. There was a fern that grew like a green fountain on top of the white, metal water heater in the kitchen. Its wispy, lanky leaves trickled down towards me, inviting me to play with them. I remember secretly, gently petting the velvet leaves of African violets. Grandma taught me as a young one not to touch the house plants, to look without disturbing them. This instilled a sense of awe.
When I was old enough to carry a child-sized watering can, I helped water the summer blossoms. Next to her back steps was a large rose bush with fragrant pink blossoms. There behind the bush, under the water spigot was a gray metal washtub. We filled it each evening with cold tap water so that the water could warm to air temperature before the next evening when we would sprinkle it lovingly on the plants.
We each would dip & fill our watering cans and I’d follow behind my big Bertha Grandma in her familiar house dress to each flower bed in turn – the purple pansies, the two large purple clematis vines growing on each side of the front porch entrance surrounded at their feet with red & white petunias, the lilies of the valley hidden in a shadier spot, and the pink snap dragons, bluebells, & cosmos flowers between the white picket fence and the driveway.
Afterwards we would sit outside a while in the white lawn chairs Grandpa had made in his wood shop & enjoy the summer evening air. (Of course I had a small chair made just my side.)
This nurturing of plants nurtured something in me that has grown through out my life, wherever I may be.
As I grew I learned to love plants from my Grandma Johnson. She kept plants at her house, inside & out. The dormer window in her living room afforded them year round light. There was a fern that grew like a green fountain on top of the white, metal water heater in the kitchen. Its wispy, lanky leaves trickled down towards me, inviting me to play with them. I remember secretly, gently petting the velvet leaves of African violets. Grandma taught me as a young one not to touch the house plants, to look without disturbing them. This instilled a sense of awe.
When I was old enough to carry a child-sized watering can, I helped water the summer blossoms. Next to her back steps was a large rose bush with fragrant pink blossoms. There behind the bush, under the water spigot was a gray metal washtub. We filled it each evening with cold tap water so that the water could warm to air temperature before the next evening when we would sprinkle it lovingly on the plants.
We each would dip & fill our watering cans and I’d follow behind my big Bertha Grandma in her familiar house dress to each flower bed in turn – the purple pansies, the two large purple clematis vines growing on each side of the front porch entrance surrounded at their feet with red & white petunias, the lilies of the valley hidden in a shadier spot, and the pink snap dragons, bluebells, & cosmos flowers between the white picket fence and the driveway.
Afterwards we would sit outside a while in the white lawn chairs Grandpa had made in his wood shop & enjoy the summer evening air. (Of course I had a small chair made just my side.)
This nurturing of plants nurtured something in me that has grown through out my life, wherever I may be.
30 July 2008
Menstrual Memories - Part 3- The Menopausal Transition
My moons had been quite regular, about 28 days apart and lasted about 5 days, medium the first three days and light the others. (To me medium means I change my pad 3-4 times a day and light is 1-2 times). Frequently I marked ahead in my calendar when my moon bloods were expected to appear. It felt comforting to include it more as part of my life plan, to honor my fertility and myself. I kept track of my moon cycles on moon calendars and have them back for about 10 years.
My moon times began to come closer together & less regularly as my late 40’s progressed. Sometimes instead of PMS I seemed to get post menstrual syndrome of feeling down. I never knew when it would hit. There were times when my estrogen was supercharged, my body busy trying hard to get pregnant. This got the blood going because the lining was extra thick -- and also the fertile mucus at ovulation time. Once, I remember sitting on the toilet and when I went to wipe seeing a long thick thread of fertile mucus that stretched from my bottom to the water. Now I know that by knowing when I ovulate I could have know my moonblood would appear about 14 days later. Women are internally consistent on their time between ovulation and bleeding, for the most part. That too becomes a bit more wobbly during the menopausal transition.
Then around becoming 50 years old my moonbloods spaced out and became lighter. Sometimes I didn't have fertile mucus and would have anovulatory bleed. At that point I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t always have my period. I had finally embraced my moonbloods as a big part of my womanhood, counter to society’s norm. Now I had to let go it again. I began to wonder each time if this were my last time to bleed and savored the bloodiness of it. I even used it to paint several designs. Sometimes there were phantom periods where I felt like I was getting my bloods. Nothing came out but my sensations and emotions were very menstrual. Then it became six months between bleeds and my final moonblood was in April, 2005. I was 52, the average age for menopause. Of course I didn’t know for another year if I was totally done.
The hormones seem to be settling down now. I've learned from Susan Weed, herbalist, that after the period stops the hromones take several years to toally settle into the final levels of cronehood. My body is changing. The skin on my hands seems thinner and less elastic. More skin tags are appearing as my estrogen drops suddenly now and then. So far my libido and yoni haven’t suffered. I’m 55 now.
The hot flashes are few and far between at this point – maybe days between now. They were never too troublesome for me—just a bit of disrobing when the heat came and then redressing when they passed. The hardest part of hot flashes for me is that getting too hot can trigger them. Whenever I cuddled with my sweet husband I would get too hot and have a hot flash and have to push away from him. Thats gotten better at this point. Herbs did help me through —shatavari root, an ayurvedic female tonic and taking Oregon grape root tincture about 5 days a month before menses or, when I stopped cycling, 5 days a month near the full moon.
All in all there was much emotion, experience and meaning that came through my moonbloods. I treasure my memories and learnings about womanhood that came through them, even though sometimes they seemed like a curse and society still insists it is.
My moon times began to come closer together & less regularly as my late 40’s progressed. Sometimes instead of PMS I seemed to get post menstrual syndrome of feeling down. I never knew when it would hit. There were times when my estrogen was supercharged, my body busy trying hard to get pregnant. This got the blood going because the lining was extra thick -- and also the fertile mucus at ovulation time. Once, I remember sitting on the toilet and when I went to wipe seeing a long thick thread of fertile mucus that stretched from my bottom to the water. Now I know that by knowing when I ovulate I could have know my moonblood would appear about 14 days later. Women are internally consistent on their time between ovulation and bleeding, for the most part. That too becomes a bit more wobbly during the menopausal transition.
Then around becoming 50 years old my moonbloods spaced out and became lighter. Sometimes I didn't have fertile mucus and would have anovulatory bleed. At that point I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t always have my period. I had finally embraced my moonbloods as a big part of my womanhood, counter to society’s norm. Now I had to let go it again. I began to wonder each time if this were my last time to bleed and savored the bloodiness of it. I even used it to paint several designs. Sometimes there were phantom periods where I felt like I was getting my bloods. Nothing came out but my sensations and emotions were very menstrual. Then it became six months between bleeds and my final moonblood was in April, 2005. I was 52, the average age for menopause. Of course I didn’t know for another year if I was totally done.
The hormones seem to be settling down now. I've learned from Susan Weed, herbalist, that after the period stops the hromones take several years to toally settle into the final levels of cronehood. My body is changing. The skin on my hands seems thinner and less elastic. More skin tags are appearing as my estrogen drops suddenly now and then. So far my libido and yoni haven’t suffered. I’m 55 now.
The hot flashes are few and far between at this point – maybe days between now. They were never too troublesome for me—just a bit of disrobing when the heat came and then redressing when they passed. The hardest part of hot flashes for me is that getting too hot can trigger them. Whenever I cuddled with my sweet husband I would get too hot and have a hot flash and have to push away from him. Thats gotten better at this point. Herbs did help me through —shatavari root, an ayurvedic female tonic and taking Oregon grape root tincture about 5 days a month before menses or, when I stopped cycling, 5 days a month near the full moon.
All in all there was much emotion, experience and meaning that came through my moonbloods. I treasure my memories and learnings about womanhood that came through them, even though sometimes they seemed like a curse and society still insists it is.
27 July 2008
Poetry - Twin Souls
Now it does not matter that our births were a decade apart.
We are twins, born together into each other’s arms.
We have grown from one egg & even when we divide & differentiate into our separate lives
Each of our cells remembers the unity of floating together in the Great Ocean of Motherness.
We cannot help but desire that oneness again in the midst of this disjointed world.
So we meet again-
First our eyes, which have looked upon the wide wide world, return to each other.
Then our laughter & stories meet until they are the moan of our merging.
Our hands clasp & then speak silently while all of our skin becomes ears to hear their poetry.
Our lips & mouths conjoin – form a wet bower for our baring bodies.
The whole of our flesh finds entrance into what we were before each of us was,
as we dive again into each other, & the waters part in waves around us,
And we are floating forever
And all to briefly
Before being forced through the tunnel of love
Back to where we are both separate & seeking.
We are twins, born together into each other’s arms.
We have grown from one egg & even when we divide & differentiate into our separate lives
Each of our cells remembers the unity of floating together in the Great Ocean of Motherness.
We cannot help but desire that oneness again in the midst of this disjointed world.
So we meet again-
First our eyes, which have looked upon the wide wide world, return to each other.
Then our laughter & stories meet until they are the moan of our merging.
Our hands clasp & then speak silently while all of our skin becomes ears to hear their poetry.
Our lips & mouths conjoin – form a wet bower for our baring bodies.
The whole of our flesh finds entrance into what we were before each of us was,
as we dive again into each other, & the waters part in waves around us,
And we are floating forever
And all to briefly
Before being forced through the tunnel of love
Back to where we are both separate & seeking.
24 July 2008
Menstrual Memories Part 2- Learning by Experience
It’s interesting how I often got, as Kate Clinton (feminist comedian) puts it, "menstrual amnesia." I'd start feeling off, more tired, cry easily, cranky, poor digestion and then achy in my lower abdomen. Suddenly I’d realize or my husband would remind me -- it's time for my moon blood! Once the bloods started flowing freely my cramping was better.
When I took space and time in my life for my increased premenstrual and menstrual sensitivity and did only what felt good for me, I felt nourished. When I tried to ignore it and go on as though I was no different at this time, I ended up feeling out of touch and unfulfilled.
When I learned the teachings of Ayurveda about menstrual self care it coincided with my own experience. Resting allows the body to really let go well and use its energy for cleansing and rejuvenating. Eating warm, cooked foods eases digestion. Balancing the body throughout the month brings an easier time during the menstrual cycle, as well as healthy fertility.
I began wearing a moon blood gown for at least my first day of bleeding. It was brownish red with bleach dyed spirals on it. It flowed loosely around my body with voluminous sleeves that made it easier to let go of doing too much activity. I rested as much as my life could allow. At prenatals my apprentices would take up the slack for me those days (and visa versa when it was their time of month.) They’d bring me my tea and lunch and clean up for me, as well as doing the linear things like blood pressure, measuring the belly, weighing for the pregnant women. Somehow the birth energy coordinated well with my menstrual state—they seemed similar in terms of the expanded consciousness, openness of mind, and instinctual connection, so births didn’t seem to disturb my menstrual rest as much as the more linear world. My family knew it was my moon time and would give me more space and fewer demands as well.
When I learned about Maya Abdominal Massage and healing their teachings coincided with those nurturing practices, as do most of the native medicines of the world. Maya Massage uses massage techniques to reposition a tipped uterus, which eases menstrual cramping.
I had a Maya Massage first from Miss Beatrice Waight, a Maya midwife and healer who visited Boulder. After just one massage from her my next menses was painless. The brown blood which preceded and followed the red went away. She told me that the brown blood was old blood due to poor drainage during previous periods. After beginning to do the self massage techniques taught by Rosita Arvigo, another Maya massage teacher, I never had brown blood again!
Over the years of menses I used tampons of varying types, disposable pads of differing brands, sea sponges, a diaphragm, recycled diapers & finally, nicely sewn cloth pads to catch my blood. A few times I bled directly onto the Earth and this felt particularly satisfying. When I used the cloth type of pads I often soaked them and fed the moon water to my houseplants. This blood demanded more respect and utility than being treated it like garbage.
Using tampons seems counter to the body’s wisdom, not only because of toxic shock syndrome, or Ayurvedic teachings about disturbing the downward energy. They can irritate the cervix, causing more cramping, in my experience and other women I've talked with. And that sensation of blood coming out is a primordial experience of womanhood – it may be a key to the mysterious processes of fertility and birth which we do not yet understand.
When I took space and time in my life for my increased premenstrual and menstrual sensitivity and did only what felt good for me, I felt nourished. When I tried to ignore it and go on as though I was no different at this time, I ended up feeling out of touch and unfulfilled.
When I learned the teachings of Ayurveda about menstrual self care it coincided with my own experience. Resting allows the body to really let go well and use its energy for cleansing and rejuvenating. Eating warm, cooked foods eases digestion. Balancing the body throughout the month brings an easier time during the menstrual cycle, as well as healthy fertility.
I began wearing a moon blood gown for at least my first day of bleeding. It was brownish red with bleach dyed spirals on it. It flowed loosely around my body with voluminous sleeves that made it easier to let go of doing too much activity. I rested as much as my life could allow. At prenatals my apprentices would take up the slack for me those days (and visa versa when it was their time of month.) They’d bring me my tea and lunch and clean up for me, as well as doing the linear things like blood pressure, measuring the belly, weighing for the pregnant women. Somehow the birth energy coordinated well with my menstrual state—they seemed similar in terms of the expanded consciousness, openness of mind, and instinctual connection, so births didn’t seem to disturb my menstrual rest as much as the more linear world. My family knew it was my moon time and would give me more space and fewer demands as well.
When I learned about Maya Abdominal Massage and healing their teachings coincided with those nurturing practices, as do most of the native medicines of the world. Maya Massage uses massage techniques to reposition a tipped uterus, which eases menstrual cramping.
I had a Maya Massage first from Miss Beatrice Waight, a Maya midwife and healer who visited Boulder. After just one massage from her my next menses was painless. The brown blood which preceded and followed the red went away. She told me that the brown blood was old blood due to poor drainage during previous periods. After beginning to do the self massage techniques taught by Rosita Arvigo, another Maya massage teacher, I never had brown blood again!
Over the years of menses I used tampons of varying types, disposable pads of differing brands, sea sponges, a diaphragm, recycled diapers & finally, nicely sewn cloth pads to catch my blood. A few times I bled directly onto the Earth and this felt particularly satisfying. When I used the cloth type of pads I often soaked them and fed the moon water to my houseplants. This blood demanded more respect and utility than being treated it like garbage.
Using tampons seems counter to the body’s wisdom, not only because of toxic shock syndrome, or Ayurvedic teachings about disturbing the downward energy. They can irritate the cervix, causing more cramping, in my experience and other women I've talked with. And that sensation of blood coming out is a primordial experience of womanhood – it may be a key to the mysterious processes of fertility and birth which we do not yet understand.
21 July 2008
Poetry - From Momma
I know from long ago
the slush of my mother’s guts
the beat beating of her heart –
now part of me now
in the way that I walk & dance
& sing a song, a sing song.
the slush of my mother’s guts
the beat beating of her heart –
now part of me now
in the way that I walk & dance
& sing a song, a sing song.
17 July 2008
Sleep as a Midwife
My mother told me that I loved to sleep as a child. Whenever I rode in the car, I fell asleep. So when I was fussy as a baby or toddler, she’d take me in the car and drive around the block to settle me in slumber. I also napped well past the age that most children gave it up. As I got older, I liked to lie on the couch in the middle of the commotion of our large family and go to sleep.
This ability to sleep in various situations came in handy as a midwife. During one long, early labor, I remember squeezing onto a couch with my midwifery partner, the only warm place to rest up for the work ahead.
Even though I was a deep sleeper, I could wake in a flash. When the phone rang in the dead of the night, I always answered after the first ring and I’d be wide, wide awake as the expectant father told me what was happening with his mate.
Sleeping at a birth was NOT a deep sleep. Usually the woman would be moaning with her contractions, while her mate and my midwifery partner sat with her. I dozed in a nearby room, to the rhythm of her labor song. Her vocalizing was a subconscious gauge for me to know when I needed to awaken—a shift in the sound of her throat often signaled a shift in the opening of her cervix as well.
After staying up most of the night at a labor and birth I would drive home, amazed at how the world kept moving and hadn’t paused in awe at the timeless experience of childbirth. I felt like announcing to each person, place & thing, “A woman gave birth! A baby was born!”
By the time I got home, my tired eyes could barely see, which was lucky since my home was usually in disarray when I got there – like the rest of the world my family hadn’t paused its activities in amazement at another baby’s birth. I’d make sure children were tended, prenatals rescheduled, and stomach was satisfied. Then I’d close the blinds, remove my clothes stained by the blood and waters of birth, bathe away the residue of that intense experience, and FINALLY put my aching body into my familiar bed to enjoy some deep sleep.
Hopefully another laboring family wouldn’t call before I awoke refreshed as that sleep-loving baby I once was.
This ability to sleep in various situations came in handy as a midwife. During one long, early labor, I remember squeezing onto a couch with my midwifery partner, the only warm place to rest up for the work ahead.
Even though I was a deep sleeper, I could wake in a flash. When the phone rang in the dead of the night, I always answered after the first ring and I’d be wide, wide awake as the expectant father told me what was happening with his mate.
Sleeping at a birth was NOT a deep sleep. Usually the woman would be moaning with her contractions, while her mate and my midwifery partner sat with her. I dozed in a nearby room, to the rhythm of her labor song. Her vocalizing was a subconscious gauge for me to know when I needed to awaken—a shift in the sound of her throat often signaled a shift in the opening of her cervix as well.
After staying up most of the night at a labor and birth I would drive home, amazed at how the world kept moving and hadn’t paused in awe at the timeless experience of childbirth. I felt like announcing to each person, place & thing, “A woman gave birth! A baby was born!”
By the time I got home, my tired eyes could barely see, which was lucky since my home was usually in disarray when I got there – like the rest of the world my family hadn’t paused its activities in amazement at another baby’s birth. I’d make sure children were tended, prenatals rescheduled, and stomach was satisfied. Then I’d close the blinds, remove my clothes stained by the blood and waters of birth, bathe away the residue of that intense experience, and FINALLY put my aching body into my familiar bed to enjoy some deep sleep.
Hopefully another laboring family wouldn’t call before I awoke refreshed as that sleep-loving baby I once was.
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