I speak here to BabyNoBaby. BabyNoBaby is a brave and funny woman who blogs about the buffeting winds of choice and possibility. To assume the cloak of motherhood, or not? So many arguments for, so many reasons against. Today it is yes, tomorrow it is no. As the clock goes tick tick tick. Continue reading
“I just can’t imagine my life without my child.” I hear parents say this, and it seems to imply, that their life without children would be unimaginable—as in, degraded, or meaningless. As in, life without children is not worth living.
This is what a childless woman sometimes hears, but the fact is that, to a mother, life as a non-mom may be exactly that: impossible to imagine. Asking a parent to imagine life without their child can be like asking a fish to imagine life as a bird. Continue reading
Age 43 • Cortes Island, BC
Music composer, web developer, land steward
When my partner and I were travelling in Jamaica, we camped for a month at Mr. Buck’s place in the ghettos of Ocho Rios. The ghettos were this strange sort of post-apocalyptic jungle where the hustlers lived, among abandoned banana groves and overgrown cars. Mr. Buck was sort of a primitive permaculturalist. He liked his white rum and his weed, raised fish in little ponds, and grew green bananas to offer his many guests. Continue reading
Probably #1 on the list of Things Parents Should Not Say to Aging Non-Moms—not even with the utmost irony, as your adored progeny scream like torture victims for ice cream or beg for car privileges or phone from Juvenile Remand—is this: dodged a bullet.
Just a year ago, a friend with teen kids asked me why I hadn’t done the baby thing. I replied with as much Zen stoicism as I could assume, that it just never happened. I took a different path. He turned to his partner with a mischievious wink. Dodged a bullet, he said. Continue reading
A pair of wrens is nesting in the porch beams. Mama wren arrives with a live worm in her beak and the nest erupts in frantic chirping and squeaking as four tiny heads on long thin necks shoot out, blind eyes open, beaks stretched wide to receive. Quickly she pops bits of worm into the open mouths and flits away for more, just as dad arrives with another juicy morsel. He feeds, they switch off, and so it goes, from dawn to sunset.
Soon the nest will be stuffed with bodies and the chicks will take wing. The porch will go quiet for a while. In spring the wrens will be back, to lay a new clutch of eggs and do it again. Not a bad life, for a bird.