Ladies Pee in the Woods

A reasonably long time ago, when I just had two babies, we moved to a small village in Umbria, Italy, and lived for a few years in a medieval tower that was in the center of the village. 

Life was good. I hung out with the ladies of the village, the crones, and I learned Italian. One story that was told was about a very devout, good-hearted woman who was a child during the Nazi occupation of that area of Italy. A young German soldier came to her and asked her what the best leaves were to wipe with after having a crap in the woods. She carefully led him to a patch of stinging nettle and assured the poor young man from Heidelberg or some other urban center that this plant was definitely the best for bums. Luckily, there was no retribution, I imagine the young man was just too embarrassed.

But the takeaway is: be careful what you wipe with! My funniest peeing accident was when I was on a fantastic cross country ski trip. We were in a little glade so I told the group to go ahead as I had to pee. No wiping was happening: it was cold as balls and I just needed to get the job done. What I hadn't counted on, however, was the irritating fact that my pee would become a slippery slushy as it hit the cold snow, and so my skis became as wings and I shot off down the hill with my pants around my knees. Great hilarity!

About a month ago I got a call from an absolutely lovely woman who was consulting with me during her late pregnancy and birth. She had gone camping with her partner around her due date, and had wiped with poison ivy!!! I basically never wipe with anything that has a three-leaf pattern. Well, actually I'm more of a drip dry gal, but more of that later.

Poison ivy or any of the poison oaks are NOT something you want to irritate your vulva with, ladies! 

If we are talking poo, then learn about some of the common leaves you might want to use. Make sure you are hiking or camping with a latrine trowel, and if you're packing in and using toilet paper then you have to pack it out or burn it (depending on your opinion on the matter). Leaves that are good to use are mullein, or any mosses. 

For pee, for us women, we have a few options. I don't like squatting in the forest because I'm very conscious of ticks in my area. So I like to find a rocky or sandy spot, or I'll use my Shewee. This is a handy little device that helps you pee standing up. I know there are quite a few women out there who are good at directing their urine without help, but I find the Shewee invaluable. Wandering around some foreign town with no bathrooms in sight? Your male friend can just duck behind anywhere and take a leak? On a trail run where you don't want everyone to catch sight of your behind? In a tick-infested forest and you don't feel like squatting? Also, just saying, with five sons and a husband I do find it fun to finally be able to do what they've been doing since they discovered peeing: spray urine hither and thither! Best to practice in the shower...

 Shewee↗                          ↖Kula Cloth

If you just want to squat and for whatever reason you don't want to drip dry (chafing, especially while trail running, is a big deal), then please don't pack in wads of toilet paper or kleenex! No matter how well you think you've hidden it, it will reappear and pollute and look awful.

Enter the Kula Cloth! This excellent little anti-microbial, colorful, creative piece of gear is a must for all of us who enjoy hiking, camping, trail running, or any activity where you gotta squat and you don't have the tp. Living in a big city where public bathrooms are gross? Kula Cloth! Running long distances in urban spots? Shewee! 

Remember, if you're peeing or pooping in the woods, please be conscious of others. Don't poop within 70 steps of any water source, campsite, or trail. Don't pee near smaller creeks or ponds. If you're in a bigger river, lake or the ocean, feel free to pee!

Also, for those who are thinking of others less fortunate: when I was working in the refugee camps in Greece, the portapotties were very scary places at night, and filthy during the day... could someone without a home benefit from a sheewee? 

Wherever your travels take you, home or to far off lands, you'll always have to pee! Please, avoid the poison oaks, avoid throwing your tp around, and have fun!

Belonging and Ur: Thinking about Home

"You finally leave home, the Ur of we, and you find another we? Another place that's just like that, the substitute for that?" *

I know so many people who are drawn to a place. They consider it their home. I've never had that feeling about a place. Yes, I loved the smell of the market in Kampala when I returned 20-odd years later. I'm guessing it stimulated something in my amygdala that my lizard brain appreciated. And I do love the Rockies, as you all know. I love remembering the feeling of being young and fearless, and I love the feeling of recognizing how tiny I am in the bigger scheme of things. Oh, and I love hanging out in my house in Montreal, I love the couch, I love the smell of patchouli in the air from my morning baths. 

But drawn to a place? Having roots, like a tree or whatever? Not for me. I yearned after it for years. I ran to Africa and traipsed around there for a couple of years, trying to imagine myself at home. I joined various communities: the radical feminists, the Left, the Ultra-Orthodox Jews, the underground midwives. I created a large family and I generally feel "at home" when I'm with my kids and their spouses. I always feel at home with my baby grandson!!!

And I always feel at home when I out there running, placing one foot on the ground, then the other, then the exact same thing, over and over and over again, the farther the better. And I feel at home when I'm curled up on my couch, reading a good book. Or when I'm on a trip, going somewhere in a car or a train or a boat or a plane. In the Sahara desert in a truck. In the mountains of Morocco with a young girl who's leading me to a cool mountain stream. 

But I digress. These are all the places I've been ... not really places I actually could call my home, in any true sense of the word. Although maybe .... maybe what I feel is home just ain't what you feel is home. Maybe my wanderlust is deep, so deep that only when I'm moving do I feel "at home". That's why I speak English with a kind-of British accent; French with an Italian accent, Italian with an English accent and a couple of words of Hebrew with a Canadian accent... it's why I can have wonderful conversations with people who I've never met before, and with whom I don't share a language. We use sign language, love, and a willingness to understand and be understood.

I've met many people over the years who have had to flee their homes to settle in a completely new place. I've met families with young children who left a home that was destroyed, who walked for miles only to get on a leaky boat, and if they survived that they walked some more and then had to live in a tents for months and then they could start their new lives in a new country... and they always had their old home in their hearts, even if they knew they would never go back. 

I dream about the house I spent most of my childhood years in. But I don't look back and think "ahhhh, home." But if I just remember a feeling that I had in the back of a truck in Saskatchewan when I was fifteen, and I could feel the wind in my hair and I had no idea what was coming next ... "ahhh, home". Home, for me, is the movement from one place to another. It is never "we". It is always "I" and it can get lonely. I share my home with others - my husband shares it, and my kids and their lovers and my grandson. It's a big tent, but a moveable one. A nomad's home. A snail shell.

When I'm assisting a woman giving birth, one of my many goals is to create a "home" for her, for her baby, and for her circle. I do this in many ways: sometimes with my physical presence, sometimes with my knowledge, sometimes with suggestions for her about choosing her team of support. Giving birth to another human is about one of the biggest transitions a person can make, so if I can facilitate a feeling of being "at home" through that transition, I have done my job well. To clarify, when a woman is "at home" during her birth-giving experience, she feels as if she is at the center of that experience, which is exactly where she actually is. Many maternity situations these days successfully pull a birthing mother away from that center, and away from that home. Whenever she is told that she "should" or "shouldn't" do something; whenever she is made to feel ignorant or foolish; whenever she understands that she hasn't somehow lived up to other peoples' expectations of her, then a birthing woman will feel exiled from her home and pushed out of the center of that primal experience.

And I want to make clear that I am not saying that it's only experiences that are within hospitals, or with OBGYNs that can make a woman an exile in her own birth experience. It's more common within these institutions, for sure, but then again the majority of women now in Canada are giving birth within institutions. I am saying, however, that WHOMEVER and WHENEVER and for WHATEVER reason a birthing mother is spoken to, she must be spoken to with respect, with humility, with honour. There are social media influencers who are shaming women every single minute, with "facts" about her birth choices and her life choices that are just not true. There's a whole world out there full of people who want to drive a birthing woman from her home, by imposing their own personal choices upon her. 

We all need to find a home where we can dwell with some measure of peace. When babies are born in environments of fear or anger, they don't feel that peace. Good things can come from stress and desperation: women who have been torn apart are now trying their very best to repair and heal the birth environment for others to come. I love to do a big huge houseclean every so often: where everything is turned upside-down and cleaned before it is put back in its rightful place. I air everything out, make things smell nice, repair broken things, clean underneath.... maybe we need to do a little housecleaning! 

Please reach out if you want to be part of the new birth attendant course @mbcdoulaschool!

*from Philip Roth's masterpiece The Human Stain. 

I Love Housework!!

It's true. Although you probably couldn't guess it looking at the state of my home right now. Cobwebs everywhere. And dog hair. (update: I got a Dyson, and I vacuumed all that shit up)

When I first started doing housework, my mother was working teaching math at the university, and doing art in her spare time, and being a proper wife and mother. I thought she was a slob, so I cleaned up. It was probably an obsessive reaction to being a misfit adolescent, but it did teach me the thrill of cleaning.

"Some people may regard the little details of the physical environment as mundane and unimportant. But very often, the disturbances people feel come from the atmosphere around them." This phrase from Chogyam Trungpa's book "The Sanity We Are Born With" jumped out at me when I first read it, and it affirms what I believe about the simple tidying-up that we can do as housewives, as friends, as mothers, as roommates, as doulas. 

The table I'm working on is a little cluttered. I ran this morning so there's my running detritus. My agenda. A vase of flowers and in the distance you can see some stuff on my kitchen counter. It mirrors my state of mind these days: a little cluttered, some half-finished business here and there, some worrying issues in the sink.

Mother's Day was originally conceived in 1872, and was accompanied by a plea to all mothers to rise up and end war. It took almost 40 more years until Mother's Day was made a formal North American "day", and the one that was accepted into the calendar began as a liturgical tradition in a Methodist Church. 

The original Mothers' Day Proclamation, Julia Ward Howe 1870

“Arise, then… women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of tears! Say firmly: We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says: Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice. Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence vindicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of council.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them then solemnly take council with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after his own kind the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women, without limit of nationality, may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient, and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.“

~ Julia Ward Howe

Today was Mother's Day. I began my day with a text from one of my daughter-in-loves. Then a son. Then another son called, and I got to have a long discussion with my grandson (who's ten months old, so our discussion was mostly da-da. Da-da-da. Da-da-da-da, and so on). Then another son and his partner invited me for brunch, but I wanted to go for a long run so I declined, then another son called, and another son's girlfriend texted. I went for my run.

So much love!! There's love all around us. And somehow, for me, when I clean it's almost like I'm shining and dusting and uncovering that love, brushing the cobwebs off my worries, shining up my compassion, scraping off my resentments and my hatreds. 

I did three loads of laundry, changed the sheets on the bed, vacuumed and washed dishes, I dusted the wooden furniture and shelves and I replaced the screens in the windows. I watered all the plants. These simple tasks help me stay reasonably sane, in an insane-seeming world.

Every single one of you was born from a mother. Some of you are mothers yourselves. Let's hold hands, in motherhood, in sisterhood, as housewives, as writers, as athletes, as bank managers, as painters, as machine operators, as ourselves. Let's dust off our hearts and spread the love!

To Dye or Not to Dye

In the reflection of the reflection of the reflection you can see an older women with actual smile wrinkles who is participating in that age-old activity: vanity. I figured I would grow out my hair and wear it loud and proud grey. But then the grey looked yellowish and I was wondering how many women actually do have that lovely silvery grey I see around. Anyway I decided not to visit my old hairdresser because of Covid, so I snuck into the bathroom armed with a box of evil-smelling dye and turned my hair red.

I used to have beautiful coppery hair. When I went to Bali in 2012, it almost touched my bum it was so long. But then I started running seriously and it was too heavy to carry around, so I cut it medium length. Now it's around my shoulders and growing more slowly, I guess that's one other thing that happens as we age.

I am very lucky to have a group of friends who love to braid hair. When I go and visit them, I get sat in the fancy chair and my friend combs my hair and then another friend braids. It's such a lovely, comforting activity. I remember when I travelled around in Africa on my own back when I was just a twenty-something, I used to envy the women I would see sitting together everywhere, braiding each other's hair. 

I've been reading Iron John by the American poet Robert Bly. It is an exploration of the mythical fundaments of masculinity, but of course he also touches on the fundamentals of the mythical feminine. "If an ancient Greek saw a man who had Zeus energy, he would never say, "That man is Zeus." His mythology distinguished the layers. Now that mythology has collapsed, contemporary men again and again confuse a living woman with the Woman Who Has Golden Hair. A living woman with stomach, small intestine, and a disturbed childhood is not the woman of light. A person who discreetly farts in an elevator is not a divine being, and a man needs to know this."

Hair is very powerful. There is hair in so many of our myths and stories. Animal hair, human hair, men's hair and women's hair, they are all significant and infused with power and life force. Human newborns are (mostly) hairless, or if they do have hair it is only on their heads and shoulders, and it is thin and powerless just like the human babe.

So should I color my hair with powerful alchemical chemicals? Or should I let the grey grow out and wave my freak flag? For now, I'm voting for color, keeping the reddish tints alive, at least in my dreams and in my mirror. 

It's A Free Country and Other Random Thoughts

We had a bunch of snow a few weeks ago and I was driving to work one morning when I saw what, to me, was a typically Canadian sight. A man in a little car had failed to turn left and he had pushed his car deep into a snow drift that was right in front of a construction site. The guy wearing constructions clothing - orange mostly and many layers so he looked huge - was trying to push the car out of the snowbank. The man driving the car was pedal-to-the-metal and spinning his tires in reverse. He looked confused. Traffic was at a standstill. Another car, a larger one, behind the stuck car, stopped and the driver put on his flashers and ran to help Construction guy push other guy's car out of the drift. The light turned green so I had to go but I'm assuming all ended well.

I saw a photo the other day of some young Afghani girls who are just starting to be able to attend school again (online of course). When Canada pulled its military presence from Afghanistan, they had no idea that the Taliban would regain power so quickly, or maybe they didn't care. Anyway women and girls there certainly took a beating, but hopefully we will see some change one day so that education will be available for girls and boys both.

Meanwhile, every step I take while training for a half marathon in April and a marathon in October is a step towards raising money to support Free to Go, which is an organization that provides girls and women in war-torn areas the opportunities to participate in sports. Running, hiking and learning about other sports help girls and young women to develop their independence and give them the strength and endurance they need to grow into strong, healthy adults. 

A final thought for today: be kind to each other, don't try too hard, let life unfold as it will, keep the peace, don't forget to laugh.

Fear and Bears

I went to the Rockies over a year ago with my husband. We had a great time, hiking, hanging out and generally enjoying being in the magnificent Rocky Mountains. They are definitely one of the most beautiful and haunting places in our wide world.

I used to go there often when I was a young woman, and the mountains gave me a feeling of peace and confidence I've remembered often throughout my less peaceful life. So I was surprised to hear the many warnings about bear spray: how there were so many bears, how aggressive they've become, and how everyone should be on high alert and carry bear spray.

There are excellent arguments for and against carrying bear spray. 

Arguments For: bears have changed over the decades. Apparently they have gotten much less afraid of humans and perhaps they've become more aggressive, and perhaps the populations have grown. And, why not? It's easy to hook on to your belt and easy to deploy if you need to.

Arguments Against: for decades people have been living, hiking and exploring in the Rocky Mountains and we've always learned that making noise or travelling in groups and following simple rules will avoid nasty incidents with bears. Also, most people obey traffic laws but every so often some poor law-abiding soul gets hits by a car.

I did a very unscientific and completely informal poll on a Facebook group I belong to with over 25,000 members. It's a trail running group, all women. I asked them whether they carried bear spray in bear country, and who had ever had an encounter with a bear. Some of the women had indeed had encounters. No serious ones. Some of the women carry guns. Most of the responses were along the lines that most bears are afraid of humans, and that life itself can be risky.

Life can indeed be risky. Just last week I heard that a bunch of people were forced from their homes by an adjoining state bombing their country. My heart is pretty broken. A maternity hospital was bombed and we know of at least one mother and baby who were killed. How does that make any sense at all? As a midwife, we said brightly to each other "Meconium happens", until a baby actually died and then we realized, yes, the shit actually can and does hit the fan way more often than we would want it to.

But all of this is just begging the question: when is it smart to be afraid and when is it dumb to carry bear spray? Fear is necessary for life: we avoid dangerous things by working through from fear to avoidance to survival. But we can also get too cautious in life, and our fear can prevent us from living our lives properly. 

Balance is the key, but where do we learn how to balance this tightrope, this knife's edge we call life? And how do we teach our children that balance? When part of us only wants to create a soft cushion around the child so they'll feel no pain? Of course we fight against that urge in ourselves, because at the same time we know that humans need to experience richness in their lives, and part of that richness is darkness too. We've all heard the trope about darkness and light. But it's true. As Alan Watts says, if you want the Yang, you gotta take the Yin: more Yin, more Yang. 

Give me those Rocky Mountains, hold the bear spray. No, wait, YOU carry it, I'll skip blindly ahead. 

Now play this song, close your eyes, and remember everything is fine.

  

Shields, magic, bubbles, screens

 

One of the key qualities that a doula or a midwife seeks to make use of during her journey with a woman as she births is the ability to create shields, bubbles and screens. This quality is akin to magic, and it is hard to access and even harder to use skilfully. 

1. Shields can help prevent a birth attendant from bringing her own baggage to the birth room. To do this, we must place the birthing mother at the very center of the experience, so much so that our own desires, opinions, concerns, and emotional reactions do not really matter. At the same time, we must be constantly aware of the health and well-being of the mother and child, but not in an emotionally infused way. Rather, we have to notice what is happening, much like a Buddhist will notice emotions as they drift past during meditation.

2. Bubbles are wonderfully useful and I made so many of them when I was working as a doula in the hospital setting! A bubble is a protective sphere around the birthing woman. It can include her partner, you as the birth attendant, her midwife, her mother or whomever, but its main purpose is to maintain an emotional or spiritual "space" within which the birthing mother can find her way. Often the woman giving birth has other people's ideas and opinions floating around in her head, which can detract from the intensity of what she needs to do. The bubble will often give her the chance to be fully aware of what her body is doing, so that she can stop thinking through the event.

I will create a bubble by visualizing, but also with physical closeness to the woman (eye to eye contact, light massage), and also with carefully chosen words and a physical distancing (turning my back) from the people outside the bubble. Sometimes it will be necessary for the woman to move to a different room in order to fully accept and embrace the bubble.

3. Screens are effective when there is a danger of you, the birth attendant, becoming emotionally engaged with another person in the birth room. You must erect a mental screen so that your exchange with the other person doesn't infect the atmosphere in the room. For example, if the birth is taking place in a hospital and the nurse is feeling lonely and wants to chat about the patient in the next room, I always like to erect a friendly screen so that the nurse doesn't feel rejected but she knows that conversation isn't appropriate. On the other hand, if a member of the staff is being abusive to the birthing woman I will erect a very strong, impenetrable screen that shields the birthing mother and her family from the anger or ugliness that is taking place. This can be very difficult.

These methods can be used outside of the birth room as well, in stressful situations in all walks of life. Just get your magic on, and you can create a peaceful dwelling for yourself and those around you.