QUAIL MUTTERINGS #36. An Imperfect Wedding (July 13, 2015)

Posted on by

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #36.  An Imperfect Wedding (July 13, 2015)

There’s that saying about when bad things happen: What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. I can lean one way or the other depending on the situation, but I still pretty much straddle the fence on that one. One thing is clear though, life is full of those events which can fall into that category. For each and every one of us. Often there is some sliver of a silver lining even if it’s obscured, delayed or presents itself years later in an altered attitude in some distantly related way.
Our beloved canyon was, once again, home to a beautiful wedding between Kali and Edwin. Months of planning and extensive yard work occupied us yet again. Two years ago, Jessie and Sean tied the knot here, providing the stage for her sister and his cousin to kindle their romance. Several of us had noticed the two of them, rocking chairs pushed close together on the front porch. Getting to know each other after the main festivities were winding down.
The magical day arrived on Saturday as our log cabin bustled with the bridal party and helping friends and relatives. Kent and I did our best trying to keep ahead of the game: providing food and scrambling under the avalanche of details, crossing things off our own list of things to get done and adding new ones as they presented themselves. Two hours before ‘Show Time’ our parking attendants were already directing cars up the side of the canyon to the cleared fields. But the flowers had not arrived yet. The bridal bouquets and boutonnieres were to be delivered by the florist at noon and it was now after 12:30.
The photographers wove through the house arranging varying groups of individuals together for digital preservation. The loft was strewn with the remnants of the morning’s hair and make-up scene, furniture pushed aside to make room for artful gatherings of the bridesmaids. Out front, a few guests milled around under the oaks listening to the music coming from the speakers of Kali’s dad’s band.
An hour later, the flowers still had not arrived. Kali had just confirmed with the florist two days before and everything had been set. She’s extremely organized and on top of things. Nikki, my assistant; my sister, Bo; and Jessie and I brainstormed and made phone calls as we were getting dressed. I then decided to get Susan and Dina to pick up whatever they could find on their way back from town. The two of them had already spent all morning decorating the split-rail fence as well as the front porch entry and had gone back to the motel to shower and change. Of all the people involved, Susan would be the one most likely able to pull this off on such short notice. The minutes ticked by as we continued to get ready while trying to not appear too concerned – for Kali’s sake.
It was now ‘Show Time,’ but still, no flowers. I know it’s not a huge deal in the scheme of life, but we were finding it more and more difficult to simply smile and enjoy the moment. When I called Susan again they were just leaving the store. I sent Bo out to grab our cousins and my artist friend Helen, who was also serving as the officiator for the ceremony, joined the flower team. I asked Kent and Chance to meet Susan and Dina as soon as they drove in as I laid out scissors and leftover ribbons and accessories on the dining room table. Nikki apologized to the guests and explained the reason for our delayed start.
Kali came into the kitchen holding an assorted bouquet of fresh-cut, colorful flowers. “Look what Edwin gave me. He wandered around the yard and picked them himself. They’re perfect.” She carefully wiped her tears with the corner of a tissue, touched by her soon-to-be- husband’s thoughtfulness.
“They’re beautiful!”
“I wish my husband would do that for me.”
“That’s the most meaningful bouquet of flowers.”
“Far better than a florist would do…” We all shared the specialness of the moment.
“This is what you’ll remember,” I told her.
Helen added, “You have to have at least one thing go wrong at a wedding or it’s bad luck.”
Susan and Dina stormed in the door and the group sprang into action. As they arranged, clipped, pinned and tied ribbons I pointed out to Deborah, Sean’s mom and the groom’s aunt, the number of actual working artists in that magical circle surrounding the table. It wasn’t exactly an assembly line, but the creative efficiency was miraculous to witness.
Better late than never, we sashayed in to Vivaldi’s The Four Season’s, down the aisle on the wood chippings and found our seats. Edwin and his best man danced in to The Imperial March, Darth Vader’s theme, and laughter erupted. And then we all stood when Kali and seven-year-old- Ian came down together to A Thousand Years played by The Piano Guys, bringing tears to our eyes.
A special seat was left vacant, except for some flowers, for those special, close relatives who had passed on before this very special day. Hopefully, they too felt included in this blending of our families. I was struck by how beautifully elegant and simple the bridesmaids’ uncluttered, white flowers were. So appropriate, I thought, for this occasion. And Kali’s special, hand-picked by the groom, bridal bouquet. An unexpected upgrade had come out of the failed, best-laid plans to create an even better image to deposit into our memory banks.
Three of us: Edwin’s two aunts, Lori and Deborah, and I read special passages. Kali, Edwin and Helen performed a sand ceremony layering the different colors into a glass frame. Ian took his rightful spot joining his mom and Edwin in the pact. They had written their own vows and, of course, more tears. And laughter.
The band played. Tacos were served. Hilarious, tear-jerking toasts were made. For about an hour several of us searched, off and on, for the missing garter. Again, not a huge deal in the scheme of things, but another funny little glitch in an amazingly well planned wedding. By this time, Kali really didn’t care, as someone had handed her a left-over ribbon to use in lieu of. It was finally discovered by two members of the bridal party, in the dumpster, still wrapped in its zip-locked bag. Another one for the memory banks.
Earlier, during dinner, while talking with a long-time family friend, I watched as one end of our split-rail fence toppled over after one of the groom’s cousins had attempted to vault over it after being summoned by the photographer. I turned away shaking my head, not wanting to see the damage. I turned back to watch Kent prop it back up.
“You know, Chi,” my friend said. “You really have a blessed life.”
I studied her face and thought about it. “I guess I do,” I answered. “I have a pretty bitchin’ life.” I looked around and surveyed the scene. Friends and family eating, talking and laughing together. At peace under the oak tree canopy.

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Chi directs the Ramona Dance Centre. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #35. New Beginnings (May 2015)

Posted on by

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #35.  New Beginnings (May 2015)

Once again I find myself both proud and concerned. Four years ago our son, Chance, graduated from high school and began his university career. And now, this week, he is graduating from CSU Chico with an engineering degree. Kent and I have experienced the empty nest syndrome while at the same time have gone through the emotional yo-yo of his comings and goings during university breaks. I’ve spoken to other mothers who concur about this phenomenon. Just when you get used to them being gone, they’re back again. And when they leave it can’t help but tug at the heart strings again. It’s not easy. I suppose it’s a process in degrees of letting go. Of course, it’s never complete. We will always be their mom or dad.
This spring, in our canyon, the cacophony of avian fledging is everywhere. House finches are nesting all over the cabin under eaves or on top of protruding logs. Red-Shouldered Hawks call incessantly from above the tree tops as the Cooper’s Hawks careen through the canopy uttering their staccato warnings. Sometimes I hear a juvenile Red-Tail Hawk with its unmistakable pleadings. From pre-dawn to after dusk I love being privy to the symphony that this community of ours provides. California Towhees hop around as Canyon Wrens call their descending trills and quail mutter as they scuttle through the underbrush. After night falls, the Poorwills and owls make up the music of the canyon. Abundant plant and animal life celebrate this time of year.
Chance’s fledging now assumes the role of trying to find employment in this uncertain job market. Yes I’m concerned, but hopeful, for his own spreading of the wings. Just as the young birds take flight for the first time and begin to find their own food, Chance will be attempting his version of this. A mother can wish all she wants for her child to find his path and launch, but ultimately it’s up to the fledgling to take those first flights alone. New beginnings can be both scary and exciting.
As for my new start, I’ve launched a home business. One of the upstairs bedrooms in our log cabin is now available for guests through www.airbnb.com. Our rural lifestyle in this beautiful canyon can provide respite for those seeking a natural sanctuary. I’m beginning to feel like my new purpose in life is to share the natural world and a different pace of life with others who want to experience a more organic lifestyle. They could hike the mountain; lay in a hammock in the creekbed; read, write or bird watch from a rocking chair on the front porch; bicycle down Mussey Grade or simply breathe fresh, clean country air. This new endeavor feels right as if this is my true calling.
In two days, Kent and I will take leave of our paradise and head for Northern California to see Chance graduate with a BS in mechanical engineering. We’re towing our itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny 1970 camping trailer so we can take our own food and save on motel bills. We’ll be gone ten days in order for our son to take an engineering certificate exam in Redding, six days after graduation, and then move him back home. There may not be much rest in store for him as he continues his job search. As the buzzards in the eucalyptus grove display their wings to the morning sun with the luxury of time, he’ll be hunting, networking and channeling his energy toward a productive goal. As his mom, I want him to launch successfully even though I know his comings and goings will put me back on that emotional roller coaster. I’ll remind myself to take a deep breath and continue to breathe. So, here’s to graduations, fledgings and successful launchings. Just remember: smile and breathe.

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Chi directs the Ramona Dance Centre. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #34. The Circle of Life (March 2, 2015)

Posted on by

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #34.  The Circle of Life (March 2, 2015)

Oh, father and mother, sister and brother
If it feels nice, don’t think twice
Just shower the people you love with love…

I inserted the CD into my truck player and rocked out in excitement as I drove down to San Diego on Thursday morning to help out and “Be There” with my daughter. Jessie had called earlier saying that she was feeling “Different,” and her contractions felt stronger than the Braxton Hicks she’d been experiencing this week. Caught up in singing along with James Taylor I missed the turn and had to backtrack to her street.
I lay down on the bed beside her and held her hands. We practiced breathing together. After a walk with her auntie, who lives in the front house, she was following what she’d learned in the Bradley method classes. Opting for a home birth thrilled me. The same wonderful midwife who had delivered Jessie and her siblings was now going to assist her in the magical circle of life. I brought a salad for us to share for lunch. Sean came home after his morning shift, grabbed a snack and changed his clothes. Kali, my other daughter, arrived and shortly after Deborah, Sean’s mother, joined us.
Early labor progressed and we talked quietly between contractions – allowing silence for Jessie to focus inward when she needed to. Her dad came in for a while and rubbed her feet joining in the camaraderie that this phase permits. Other family members came and went enjoying the concentrated calmness surrounding us. Hours later we called the midwife.
The midwife’s colleague and her apprentice came first pulling a wheeled, medical suitcase. Things continued in a relaxed manner and Diane came later with her own medical bag. We all listened attentively as she monitored baby’s heart tones. She asked Jessie, “How are you feeling?”
“Alright, I guess,” Jessie said. I don’t have anything to compare it to.” We laughed. In the evening there was a smorgasbord in the front house that other family members had prepared. By then, there were three aunties, a cousin, Jessie’s dad and his other daughter and wife on the scene. We spelled each other so that we could grab sustenance for the long night to come. They partied way into the night with puzzles, movies and socializing. Two of them had just flown in from Northern California.
Meanwhile, in Jessie and Sean’s tiny abode, we helped Jessie out as best we could. During the first half of the night the midwives slept in the front house as Sean, Deborah, Kali and I lay down with Jessie, rubbed her legs, fetched her water and Gatorade, helped her to and from the bathroom, or held pressure on the heating pad against her back. By midnight, she only wanted Sean lying in front of her holding her hands and breathing with her.
“Don’t leave me,” she kept saying.
“Don’t worry. I won’t, Honeybuns,” he’d say.
“Relax your legs. Limp legs now,” I’d whisper. “Relax your jaw. Put your feet down.”
Jessie wanted to spend more and more time upright, but it could cause her cervix to swell. I spread a blanket and pillows on the floor so she could spend some time on her hands and knees. This worked for a while.
Sometime during the wee hours Diane came back and took Jessie’s focus away from Sean allowing him to fall asleep beside her. Contractions slowed down, but remained formidable. Dozing in chairs, or on the little floor space in the one room dwelling, each of us snatched minutes of shut-eye time. Power naps. Diane worked her wonders with my daughter, coaching Jessie through the intensifying storm within her. It became clear to Diane that Jessie needed to lie down more, as this brought on harder contractions and more progress could be made. Time was marching on and Jessie was getting tired.
When morning came one of the aunties stuck her head in the door, “There’s coffee.”
I have to say, we all perked up with that offer. As I brought back two cups for Sean and me, Jessie said, “No coffee.”
I darted back out the door gulping mine down and leaving the cups outside. The smell was too much for her. She’d already thrown-up once. Poor Sean never did get his cup of coffee. Or any breakfast. She held him tight. Diane said that our core group was good to have on board. Any more made for too many people without jobs to do. And the space was so small. The others would not be coming in now as this labor became longer and slightly worrisome. More concentrated efforts needed to be made without distractions. Each one of us women in the room with Jessie and Sean had gone through natural childbirth ourselves and were knowledgeable about it. We made a good team.
It was getting close to mid-day when Jessie was finally ready to push. In order to make a long story short, I’ll be brief here. With a harrowingly tight cord behind baby’s neck, meconium staining, and a rare velamentous insertion of the umbilical cord that the doctors and ultrasounds had missed, we were touch and go for a while. Thirty hours after the initial labor pains little Seamus cried his way into the world. He had to be suctioned out and prodded to get the junk out of his lungs. Afterward, we were so grateful that this all took place at home. If Jessie had been in the hospital there most likely would have been a caesarian section and neonatal intervention along with a longer stay away from home. Thankfully, we had avoided all that. Everything worked out all right in the end.
Jessie and Sean became the proud parents of Baby Seamus (eight pounds, eleven ounces). I became a granny, for the second time, of another beautiful, loveable grandson. Ian has a brand new cousin and Kali became an auntie. Generations go on and the circle of life comes around. So –
Father and mother, sister and brother
If it feels nice, don’t think twice
Just shower the people you love with love…

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Chi directs the Ramona Dance Centre. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.