valeriesbookofme

  I haven't written anything political for a very long time. As a matter of fact, I don't know if I have ever written anything--publicly--about American politics. My friends know I have a lot of opinions though. Between COVID and this presidential election, I have felt myself spiraling down and down over the past few months. COVID is bad enough, hearing so much bad news constantly, wondering if we will ever get back to "normal" again. If I will be able to travel outside of this fairly small bubble I am in. I did manage to get to La Jolla California last weekend and will be blogging about that soon but, even there, masks everywhere. Restaurants severely limited, hotels socially distanced. I enjoyed myself but overlaying the three days was a tinge of sadness for a world that is, currently, so much changed for the worse. And then we have the specter of Donald Trump possibly winning a further four years. I have followed the election cycle with an almost unhealthy ardor. P

 As I write this, forty one years ago, almost to the very minute, I gave birth to my one and only child. As birth stories go, the actual labour was pretty good, about 3 and a half hours. Felt like more than that, but, really, it was only the last hour that was super painful. As I reflect back today, I think it's funny that the person being born is the one who is feted. But the one who gave birth, well, she’s left to her own thoughts and memories. And yet, the person who gave birth is the one who got the greatest gift of all. Forty one years ago. I was living in a room in Teddington, England. The landlady was very kind, took me in when I really didn't have any other place to go. The woman I’d been sharing a flat with had said categorically that she didn’t want a baby in the flat and, actually, didn’t really want a pregnant roommate either. Although she did give me a very nice gift after Laurie was born so perhaps it was all too overwhelming for her. One thing I learned during m