whoa month.

This has been the whoa month. From the love seat in my dear friend K.’s apartment in the Mission district of San Francisco, I am listening to footsteps over my head and cars just out of the window. We spent the day in the de Young museum, looking at dresses in the Balenciaga exhibit, traipsing through Golden Gate park and walking down near the Ferry building all the way to Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square, took a hike out to a great little Mexican place, and are getting ready to head out for a little more fun. This coveted five-day weekend in S.F. comes on the heels of a 24 hour trip to Baltimore to see my Grampa’s 90th birthday speech, a weekend of digging up our front and back yards to plant spring grass, which most people swear will be a failure, and my sister’s second successful baby delivery! And that is a story…

Early the morning of March 13, Hannah and Josh went to the hospital because H. was fairly certain it was the baby hour. They sat for a while, and when they were finally admitted, sent a text saying today is the day. By noon, Mark and I (plus Kyle) were there, along with my ma and J., waiting for labor. Ma and I planned to be present for the halo moment, and obviously the boys planned to flee far, far away. By half past three there was no "progress" (let's keep this PG) so M., K. and I left to run back to H&J's house to grab some things. While at the house gathering the requested materials, we received a text from J. saying that she was about to begin "pushing." We flew like three bats out of the mouth of hell to the car, and drove 30 mph over the speed limit to get back to the hospital. Silence in the car--no radio. Watching for cops, me praying that I would not miss this monumental event.

They dropped me off at the front door, where I jumped before the car even came to a full and complete stop, and ran into the hospital. Of course I had no idea where to go, and frantically reading all of the signs, sort of shouted at this little nurse pushing a cart, "Babies?!" She looked at me blankly-- "Where are the babies?!" She pointed down a hall, through which I began a sprint. I blew past several people, who all stared at me, and turned a corner with a screech (in cowboy boots) where a security guard was standing. Bad alignment of circumstances. He shouted, "Ma'am, please walk!" To which I replied, "MY SISTER IS HAVING A BABY!" To which he replied, "You still need to walk." At this point, I'm buzzing the little intercom thing that lets you into the birthing unit. "Room number?" "168." "I'm sorry, but the woman in that room is in labor." "I UNDERSTAND THAT. I'M HER SISTER! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE!" (Capitalization denotes shouting) Door buzzes and I take of running. Hear the security guard somewhere behind me yelling for me to SLOW DOWN, which I do, for a few paces, and then take off at a sprint again, hear him coming after me, screech around the corner and fly into Hannah's room like a psychopath. I walk in, labor is HAPPENING, and the doc looks at me and says, "Were you running?"


And then William Kyle was born... Good job, sissy :)

march.

Mark and I were supposed to have company for dinner tonight. I bought all the ingredients for this very suave Asian Sesame Chicken dish, and I was ready. My friend Megan called at 6:45 (they were supposed to come at 7) to tell me that her husband was sick, and they'd have to take a rain check. Bummer.

But now, I'm sitting in the writing room with the toad lamp on, which only casts a minimal yellowish glow over the room. The overhead light is offensive and prohibited. Mark and Sidney are curled up in Sidney's bed beside my perfect little desk, and we're listening to Frank Sinatra. I made the meal, and we ate half of it, and put the leftovers in the fridge for lunches this week. We did the dishes together, and filmed a video of Sid and me dancing around the kitchen. Having nothing to do is turning out to be quite a good time.

March used to be my least favorite month. It has always felt like a month-long headache to me, with lots of rain and gray days, inbetween temperatures where you're too hot if you wear socks and close toed shoes, but too cold in flip-flops. April is a little better because my dad's birthday is in April, and April is the month before May. May is an unarguably wonderful month, mostly because of flowers and Hannah's birthday.

In N. Carolina, the trees have started blooming and there are long successions of cloudless, sunny days. Granted, I tend to forget that on the gray ones, but I am being cleansed from this antipathy for March. maybe I will even like March. That's progress, folks. Hannah is going to have a baby any day now, whose birthday will be in March, and Mark's parents are coming to visit in a few weeks to help us grow a lawn in place of the straw that lays in brambles all over the front, and the dirt in the back.

Lately I have been writing a new book. It's called Roma Roma, and it's about this catering company macrocosmically, and this thirty-year-old single mom named Rosy microcosmically. It is written in first person, which is a new challenge. I love this book already, ninety pages in. I'm also sending out Lost Lily week by week, receiving copious silences and rejections. However, bright spot, I got a minimally personalized response from an agent this week who said, "Many thanks for sending me this material, which I read with interest."

SHE THINKS IT'S INTERESTING. Praise God. I can step back because this is a step forward. "This is a totally subjective view," she said.

It feels good to be in March this year - organic and rich, like good soil.