I've been pegged as an Amazon too many times to not believe it's true.  Someone I know who does Celtic history alluded to it and he has an objective yet informed opinion.  Even though I abhor war I can see the tendency in my personality to rise to the occasion if threatened.  I choose to exhibit this in tenacity and sometimes stubborn resolve with results varying from triumph to dire loss. 

I was born at home at a time when hospitals had been taking over the birth process for quite a while already. When I tell people I was born in Aptos, they hesitate…and then say something like “Oh, you mean at the hospital in Santa Cruz.” or “You were born at HOME??” 

Mom and Dad were republican hippies. They believed in doing things themselves as much as possible.

We raised our own chickens, cows and apples. We always had a big garden, Mom made her own butter,

soap and bread and Daddy made a minimal amount doing advertising for some local firms. They never

wanted to be under anyone else’s thumb and due to rapidly rising property taxes took a drastic step

when I was almost six in moving to a 200 acre ranch in Missouri. It was a major culture shock for us

kids but I was a lot younger than my sisters and adapted well to the freedom it gave me. I never

melded socially but that was something I have carried most of my life. I’ve made stabs at it and carried

it off well once in a while but the time I cherish most is when I’m alone or with close family/friends.

Missouri was the best in summer when I could wander the ranch all day only returning to the house to

eat. We had animals from the time I could remember and they and my Granny were my best friends.

In winter it was torture attending the backward elementary schools and dealing with the locals, some of

whom were hesitant to accept outsiders. It wasn’t much different when we moved to Florida; backward,

hot, buggy and the ultimate nail in the coffin was that Daddy died there.  After his death we all kind of

drifted like scattered leaves. My sisters went off to college and to start their own lives. Mom and I sold

our house and moved into town. I found solace with a friend who taught me boys, alcohol and

various other incendiary new experiences. Then my oldest sister returned to California and Mom and I

followed her.  Thus started my second life.

I had only been living here about 6 months when I met my future husband.  I was babysitting for some

neighbors and he happened to be a friend of theirs.  In the ensuing months we were able to spend a lot

of time together in various venues.  Now the partying had started in earnest and those experiences

serve as a reminder that to really live one must follow one's own heart.  The experimentation and

exploration was necessary to relieve the heady intoxication of being young.  I felt as if I could do

anything and go anywhere.  However I wasn't really in control of anything; just along for the ride.  As

soon as I got pregnant with my daughter that all changed.  I became mindful of the influence I was to

exert over a small new entity and felt I needed to clean up my act for her benefit.

Another aspect of my life that was forever altered was my awareness of the world around me.

A few close friends were radical liberals and because we respected each other and didn't want to create

problems in our friendship we avoided talking about politics.  It isn't that I was heavily right-wing but I

had adopted the political bent of my parents without knowing what I was supporting.  My then husband

was a democrat and he gave me the first intimation that I was not cut from the same cloth as my

predecessors.  This mainly evidenced itself in my voting preferences and later when I met my second

husband blossomed into an avid interest and critical thinking regarding how this country conducts

itself.

But I digress; my daughter was a major turning point in my life and with the insistent, head-long dive

into parenthood I began to find my calling in life.  Caring for others in an intimate circumstance is the

most difficult, frustrating, rewarding work I can imagine.  It has all the challenges of a partnership and

frustrations of any major corporation.  The best epithet I can use to describe it is 'the road to hell is

paved with good intentions'.  It's like walking down a road but the road keeps undulating beneath your

feet tilting and throwing you off balance.  No matter which way you think you are going the road is in

command and takes you where it knows you need to go.  How tiny a child is!  And how powerful,

working you over like a good keel-hauling.

Add to this the challenges of dealing with another parent and I wonder how we have survived as a

human race.  But there is something to the adage about forgetting the pain of labor enabling women to

choose to go through it again.  We do it because of a primal urge but being thinking and reasoning

creatures (for the most part) we also do it for the intensity of the pain and pleasure.  It is akin to the

addiction to tattooing.  As the body produces anodynes to combat the pain it brings a sense of

euphoria that is difficult to replicate in any other activity.

Going through the birthing process is, I'm sure, different for each mother.  However universal it is there

are so many variables that no two are even similar.  As I stated before I was born at home; however

this necessitates that you have the right support.  My husband at the time was truly a decent coach.

He went through the Bradley Method classes with enthusiasm and did his job well when the time came.

But he was no match for a woman in labor however prepared we tried to be.  As soon as it was over he

headed home to sleep and then immediately upon waking retired to the bar to pass out cigars and

discuss 'his' labor.

Looking back on this I realize how remote it seems; a long time ago in some other dimension.

Perhaps as the Tralfamadorians would say "All moments, past, present and future, always have

existed, always will exist."  You would have to have very good eyesight to see them all though.  Don't

get me started on cosmic philosophy.