Home at last...

Five days and 12 hours after her birth at NYU, Ellie arrived home in Brooklyn.


Slept most of the journey, Mimi said. Slept as Tim carried her up to the apartment. Slept in his arms.. Did baby things. Ate, cried, the rest you know.

Funny how much detail comes in the telling of bringing a baby home for the first time....

Settling in. Rested. A little freaked out not to have the dozens of NYU doctors/nurses/whatevers hovering around.

Just Tim and Mimi and Ellie, for the first time, truly on their own.

All will be well, I pray. And a new way of living began for them about 12:30 p.m. today.

No kidding....

Home tomorrow, maybe

Little Ellie has been in Newborn Intensive Care since Thursday afternoon. It was a hard birth and she swallowed and inhaled a lot of fluid. She also decided, since she was there, to develop jaundice--so she's had incubation, feeding tubes, IV's, heart monitors, x-rays, cat-scans, and blue lights...until today.

She's finally unhooked and nursing and might come home tomorrow. Mimi and Tim have been, understandably, wrecks since Ellie went to NICU and Mimi left the hospital Saturday morning. They've been with her a lot of the time, but have also gotten some rest, which will serve them well if Ellie comes home tomorrow.

Mimi and Tim are remarkable people. It's been awful but they have held each other up and tasted each others' tears and kept each other sane.

They'll be wonderful, remarkable, magic parents--as soon as they get that baby home!

Tomorrow, hopefully.....

My boy's birthday

August 14

My son, Josh, is 41 today!

How can my little boy--that I rocked to sleep, changed his diapers, took him to daycare, drove to school, moved from Charleston to New Haven to Cheshire with, saw off the college, saw off to England for a year after college, lived with when he worked for Yale, saw off to law school, married to Cathy Chen, baptized three babies of Josh and Cathy...how's all this happened and I wasn't aware of the time passing.

I remember that day 41 years ago like it was yesterday. After all the birthing classes, his fetal heartbeat went off and they did a C-section, wheeling Bern away from me and pushing me to a waiting room. I saw him through a window, still caked with blood and goop. And he was perfect, just perfect.

That little child, our first born, is 41.

Give me a break, that can't be true....

But it is. I know it is.

Happy, Happy birthday Joshua Dylan (Bob, not Thomas).

I love you so, so, even after all these years. Perfect still.....

400th post one more time

Sometimes I just check on which posts have been most viewed. This blog out of 1700 is the 3rd most viewed and one, in my opinion, of the worst I wrote.

 

Go figure.

 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

400th Post

I just realized this is my 400th post on Under the Castor Oil Tree. I'm too intimidated to go back and read the first one. Jeter got hit 3000 and Mo got save 600 a few days ago. Now I've got blog 400. Who knew?

Since I waxed semi-eloquent on the weather in West Virginia, I decided I'd do the 400th blog with my favorite West Virginia joke.

A Washington lobbyist grew tired of the fast lane and retired to a cabin in the mountains of West Virginia. He couldn't see another house from where he lived and he was delighted with his new life. He read and wrote and ate simply. He couldn't have been happier.

But on the very day he began to feel lonely for the first time, about three months into his wilderness retreat, there was a knock at his door.

When he opened the door he was confronted by a huge, hairy mountain man.

"Hey there," the man said, "I'm your nearest neighbor. I live over the ridge of that second mountain out there to the west and I've come to invite you to a party."

The city man thought that might just be the best thing to cure his newly arrived loneliness--a party in the mountains.

"I'd love to come," he said to the Mountaineer.

"I hav' to warn you," the native said, "there'll be some drinkin'."

"I like a drink from time to time," the city guy replied.

"And there'll prob'ly be some fightin'," his guest told him.

"Well alcohol will do that," said the man from Washington.

"And, last but not least," the West Virginian told him, "there will most likely be some sex."

The city guy wasn't ready for that but he knew he was a stranger in a strange land, so he agreed and said, "well, I understand that might happen."

The mountain man gave him directions to his house, just a mountain or two over.

"Well," the DC guy said, trying to fit in to the culture, "what should I wear?"

"Dudn't matter much," the huge Hill-Billy told him, "it'll jist be you and me...."

Heat, cold and the social order of Cheshire

Cheshire, Connecticut is a very civilized place.

Neighbors wave and talk to each other across fences.

People let you out in traffic (traffic and garden supplies are two constants in Cheshire).

Even total strangers smile and say hello in the stores.

A very civilized place.

But extreme heat and cold break down the social contract in entirely different ways.

When it's cold and snowy everyone keeps sidewalks clear but (and a big 'but') people don't pick up their dogs' poop! Along the snowy canal where many walk pets, there's poop everywhere....

Heat and Humidity, like the last few days, seems to keep people from putting grocery carts in the spots reserved for them. On normal days it's what people in Cheshire do--roll their carts to the place designated and even keep the small carts and large carts separated!

But when it's 92 with 80% humidity. the normally civilized people of Cheshire dump their groceries in the car and leave the carts right there, making the job of those who collect them and take them back in Big Y or Stop and Shop a nightmare.

Extremes are hard on the social contract we've come to expect here in 'the Shire'....

8/11/16--Happy Natal Day, Ellie

At 12:36 a.m. on  8/11/16 Ellie McCarthy was born.

Tim and Mimi are her parents.

Bern and I are one set of her grandparents. Tim's parents live in Florida.

We met her today.

She is, obviously, the most beautiful baby in the world.

And she has Mimi's dimples.

And Mimi is going to be as great a mom as Tim is going to be a Dad.

(I'd forgotten how little newborns are. I wouldn't dare pick her up! At 6 pounds 7 ounces she is almost a pound lighter than the doctors thought. So, tiny. Not as small as our twin granddaughters Morgan and Emma were--both under 6 pounds--but tiny enough.)

Dimples. How great is that?

my favorite button

At the General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Columbus, Ohio in (don't ask me what year, as you should know by now, I'm lost in linear time!) Bishop Jim Curry saw me across a room and came hurrying to me, a look of delight and mischief on his face.

Since Jim was easily jerked around and I am unable to resist jerking around the easily jerked around ('jerked around', in this case, means 'embarrassed' or 'confused' or 'confounded') I could never resist.
I once licked his Episcopal ring rather than kiss it (and Episcopalians don't, most often, kiss bishops' rings, much less lick them!) I loved to annoy him and, far beyond that, I loved and still love him. He is a good and decent man, a tad more naive than any bishop I ever knew, and a better bishop for that.

So, we had a light and joking relationship for years. And I loved him.

Earlier that week, when Gene Robinson was approved as the first openly gay Episcopal bishop, I walked from the Convention center to the hotel with Jim. At some point, he stopped dead in his tracks. I turned back to see a look of utter transformation on his face. "What is it, bishop?" I asked.

He smiled and laughed. "We've created a totally new church," he said, "I only hope we can nurture it."

What a wonderful and wondrous thing for a bishop to say.

Anyway, back to this story: when he got to me he said, "I found something that's perfect for you in the Exhibit Hall. General Conventions are ever 3 years and one of the biggest draws about them is a huge Exhibit Hall where you can learn about all the church does and buy anything your little heart could desire.

He held out a button in his hand and I took it.

It is bright pink with what may be a halo and what may be a crown of thorns in black and in the middle, in a nice font, it says "Heretic".

He was so delighted I couldn't help but be delighted too.

And I knew he meant it as a compliment, not a criticism. He is a devout man. And every devout man needs a heretic in his life, just to keep his bearings.

I was proud to be his.