savory wood pulp

I was struck by a passage in a book I recently finished reading. Tom Robbins wrote, “…one could detect in a childless woman…the various characteristics of all the children she had never issued. Her body was haunted by the ghosts of souls who hadn’t lived yet. Premature ghosts…They applied at her womb and were denied, but, meant for her and no one else, they wouldn’t go away…they hunkered in her tear ducts. They shone through her sighs. Often to her chagrin, they would soften the voice she used in the marketplace…They called out her name in the bath or when she passed real children in the street. The spirit babies were her companions, and everywhere they left her lonesome…” I took liberties with the passage to condense it and highlight specific portions.

Of course, I am not childless – I have a beautiful, fiercely independent 14 year old daughter. I love her so much and I am grateful to have her. But, its been 14 years and my body has started reminding me. I only noticed it recently – the last year or so. I have never had particularly difficult cycles. Some women are confined with horrible cramps or debilitating headaches all of their lives; I have been pretty lucky. In the last year or so, though, I am much more aware of them. Each month that goes by is one fewer where I may produce a another child, another missed opportunity and that at my age every missed opportunity exponentially reduces my ability to do so. Each tiny egg is holding on for dear life, kicking and screaming until its too late. They are being agonizingly wrenched out of my body. I feel a pain inside that surrounds a deep, unfathomable emptiness and a hollow, aching loneliness.

Not particularly cheery thoughts to be having, especially after reading so fantastic and uplifting a book, which was left for me by my most beloved (I believe it is now his favorite). I have to admit, it took me awhile to get through it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it – au contraire, it was marvelous. The language was rich. There were thought provoking points which needed to be savored – like Godiva chocolate, you eat each sumptuous piece individually and stretch the experience out, rather than devouring the whole box in one sitting, succeeding only in making yourself sick. We both wrote in the book, underling passages and making notes. I don’t write in books (caveating: except those I am using for projects and research and which belong to me); its not really a practice I approve of, but I think its interesting to see those things he deemed noteworthy next to those I did. I think this beat up, marked up book has earned a permanent place in our collection.

I added another photo to the main page. I am still having size issues – sorry 🙁