A Crack in the System

A couple of years ago, when I was deeply into my work at my cafe, and running longer and longer distances, I told my husband at some point "Yeh, The Man won." I meant that crippling internal conflicts had brought me to a decision to abandon my volunteer doula organization; that the arrest and conviction of unregistered midwives in Canada and around the world meant that women were left with less and less choices; and that my simmering suspicions about the nature of feminism were possibly true. 

So, I took pleasure in my cafe. I ran faster and had a load of fun doing races. I made new friends. I ignored the birth world, and only answered a call if one of "my" students had a question about a birth or a pregnant client of theirs. Occasionally I would check in with midwife friends around the world, just to check in. I was happy giving it all up. I put my doula bag away and forgot about my plans to go back to Greece to attend women in the camps there.

Then that crazy virus hit and I spent two month at home, with my family (husband, two sons, nephew). I made myself a small cocoon, and I crawled into it and meditated, thought, wrote and pondered. And then women started calling me. Women who had planned to give birth at home but whose midwives were forbidden to attend. Women who planned to give birth at the hospital but their doula were forbidden to attend. I gave advice, gave comfort, affirmed choices, made suggestions. 

I met with a few women who were planning to give birth in their own homes, without a midwife in attendance. I spoke to them after their births and got the idea I would interview them for an article or a podcast episode. Then I looked at the footage and I realized - you women are amazing by the way! - that I have some beautiful, inspiring footage. And then I realized, yes well, women experience less-than-optimum births and they're also worth interviewing....

So, now I have interviewed about thirty women, I have so much beauty on my Google drive and so many words of wisdom... so I'm making a documentary to celebrate our strength, tell our stories and let the world know that our care of the birthing woman needs change and needs it NOW!

There is a crack in our maternity care "system" and women are falling in. Luckily, the Covid crisis is a chance for us all to have a little time to check in with our reality and make some changes. Fast. 

Some questions to ponder:

• Why are women expected to "reach for the top" in their professions and then called "too old" when they decide to bear children?
• Why are women expected to go to the hospital to give birth? As we now know, hospitals are where sick people go. Pregnancy is not an illness.
• Why are women threatened with the death or morbidity of their babies, while they are in labour?
• Why are there so few midwives in Canada?
• Why are doulas so expensive? Is a birth companion a luxury?
• Why do women feel ashamed for their birth experiences?

And some mantras to reflect on:

• Nature is not gentle, it is powerful and untameable.
• Heal birth, heal earth.
• Powerful women can change the world.
• Just a reminder, when a woman gives birth, she is BIRTHING A NEW HUMAN! 

So, I have my work cut out for me, and I am feeling good.

If any one of you wants to participate in any way, let me know: do you want your voice to be heard? Do you want to be involved in production? Do you have an idea you want to tell me about? 

I'm listening!

Safe Birth Take Two

A couple of weeks ago one of my dear friends gave birth, at home, surrounded by her family and small community. She is a paragon of strength, but also a tower of gentleness, and she's funny, athletic, and creative. Her first son was born in the hospital, and from then she knew that she wanted to birth at home, without interference, peacefully.

I do know that the way she gives birth is not for everyone. In fact, the birth reality that I envision is very different from her reality. I see women giving birth in all sorts of ways, attended by all sorts of caregivers. But the most important thing about the birth experience will be that the woman giving birth is at the very centre of the experience. She is giving birth; it's her body, and she makes the decisions.

I've been talking to a lot of women lately, and I'm hearing some shocking stories. Don't misunderstand: I know that there can be mistakes, sometimes tragic and foolish ones, made by women and their caregivers who try to create more caring, gentler paradigms about birth. Believe me, I know that Nature is far from gentle; that babies and mothers can die; and that modern western medicine can and does save lives.

But, and this is the most fundamental and important thing, there exists in our maternity care system a systemic and pervasive misogyny that allows maternity caregivers to debase, abuse, destroy, demean, reduce, insult .... the women who come to them for care ... and this has to be ended! 

This systemic sexism is linked, of course, to the racism that we see around us to create a poisonous brew that is literally killing black women in the US (https://www.nationalpartnership.org/our-work/health/reports/black-womens-maternal-health.html). 

In the past week, I've spoken to women all around the world. I've heard tragic and disgusting stories. Doctors are doing unspeakable things to women. Doulas and midwives are deciding to leave at random times, women are being left alone when they most need attendance. It should be no act of bravery to bear a child. What I mean, is, of course it is a brave and courageous act to make the jump to bear a child, but that act should not be met with conflict and derision on every front.

"They didn't even look at my birth plan."

"My midwife went out of the country."

"They botched the c-section and told me I could have a VBAC, but I couldn't because they had made a hole in my cervix."

"The midwife left when I went into surgery."

"The nurse broke my bone."

"I told them it still hurt but they didn't believe me."

"The doctor jumped on my stomach."

"They wouldn't tell me what was going on."

"They didn't believe me when I told them the baby was coming."

"They didn't believe me when I told them I was in labour."

The are real women with real voices, telling real stories. They suffer immense trauma and feel pain, and grieve their loss of self-esteem. And do you know what they do? They love their babies, and raise their children, with love.

Women deserve more. Speak out! Let's start to talk about our experiences ... it's time to stop the slaughter of birthing mothers (literally, in the case of Black women). It's time to birth on our own terms. We need to seek out birth attendants who put the birthing woman at the centre of the birth event; who treat women as they are: the bearer of children. The vessels of life. The nurturers of our babies.

I am Listening for a Heartbeat

When Ahmaud Arbery went for a run in February, he was shot and killed. In the running world, a global campaign went up to run 2.23 miles to remember his birthday, February 23, which was a few days after he died. Later, I noticed the #runwithmaud hashtag on my running feeds, so I checked it out.

On Instagram someone I follow had proudly posted a picture of a 2.23 mile run, with the hashtag. The comments were in the hundreds. Having time on my hands, more time than usual anyway, I scrolled down a little until I got to something interesting, and terrifying. There was actually a conversation going on about whether or not Arbery was a "real" runner, since according to the poster, he was wearing khaki shorts and boots (he wasn't, actually, but anyway). The conversation proceeded about "who is a runner?" and "do you have to wear fancy expensive clothing if you're a runner?" (By the way, the answer is no, you could run naked if you want.) No, but that's not the point, is it? The actual argument was: if he wasn't wearing "runner" clothes, and he was wearing "thief" clothes, then somehow that made it alright to shoot him twice in the chest? Because he was a Black man running?

Most people by now know about the most recently famous racist atrocity to come out of the U.S., and I'm sure there have been more in the interim, and before, and after. The fires are burning, the people are on the move, justice is being called for. Lives are at stake. We know that "I can't breathe" was not something someone said when they were ill with Covid19. We know that George Floyd was murdered by a white man, and that the end of his life he called out to his mother.

As a white person, in fact one of the last colonialists in Africa (I was born in Kampala in 1956, when it was part of a British Protectorate), I am fully aware of my privilege. I am also fully aware that, as a feminist, I am offended and supremely annoyed by the spectacle of a man declaring how much of a feminist he is, and explaining my politics to others. A man cannot understand why I am a feminist down to my core. That's that, end of discussion.

That discussion feeds my understanding of exactly how I should approach the movement, the resistance against racism (institutionalized and personalized), the demonstrations, the anger. I am not going to shout out my support. Neither will I say that racism goes both ways, or that it's us, the people, against them, the racists (and colour doesn't enter into it). No, I don't want to be in the limelight as that amazing white woman who supports Black Lives Matter. I don't need to fill the limelight so that the people who really have something to say are, again, silenced. 

We all posted a black square on Instagram today. With the unfortunate use of the hashtag #blacklivesmatter, we inadvertently covered up important information that is covered by that hashtag. I believe that is a metaphor for what white people are always doing, with our louder voices and our automatic membership in the club of privilege. 

I think we all need to take a good look at ourselves, an honest look with a touch of humour, and figure out what exactly we are doing with our support. Are you giving money? Or are you posting a selfie of yourself at a demonstration and taking up space? Are you providing care for your black friends, or are you proclaiming to everyone about how many black friends you have? Are you clarifying stuff for your white friends, or are you keeping quiet and letting black people speak?

So, here I am, with all my black, brown, yellow and beige friends, patting myself on the back and being oh so PC. But I really only wanted to say one thing: 

I worked as a birth attendant for twenty years. I've listened to hundreds of heartbeats; I have looked into the eyes of hundred of birthing mamas; I've witnessed hundreds of babies being born. Every single baby is a special being; every single birth is a miraculous event. We are born the same: naked, from our mother's wombs. From the moment we are born, we have the potential to love each other or not. Choose love! White mothers, it is up to you to teach your children well. A naked, tiny baby doesn't deserve to be taught how to hate. And a naked, tiny baby doesn't deserve to be hated. 

I'm not prepared to pat myself on the back right now so that I can feel better about how I'm not part of the problem. The problem is such a stinking, complicated mess that OF COURSE I am part of it. For what it's worth, I support the fight for justice, for peace, and against racism. I submit my support with the understanding that no one needs or wants it. That your anger may be greater than my "support". In the meantime, I'm going to continue to work towards a world where every baby can grow up loved, cherished and fulfilled. Where mothers of babies can be loved and honoured and valued. Where people are not measured by the colour of their skin. Let this pain be the final labour pain in the birth of a just world. 

I am dedicating this to the innocent black people killed in the US, and to the innocent babies who want to grow up free, and to the mothers who have lost their children, everywhere.

Support Your Local Business! Update!

OPENING MAY 25, MONDAY TO FRIDAY 12-5PM

ONLINE ORDERS, PICKUP AT THE DOOR

GOURMET GROCERIES

SUSTAINABLE PRODUCTS

and more...

On Friday, March 13, we had a nice busy morning. We cooked up a storm and prepared ourselves for a busy lunch rush, which never happened. We looked outside around noon and cars filled the street in front of the cafe, like it was the afternoon rush hour. That was the beginning. Everyone had been told to go home. We packed up the food and we, also, went home. Back at home, my son and my husband, both at different colleges, had also been sent home.

On Sunday, March 15, we came back to the cafe to give it a "final" cleaning. We figured we'd have to be closed for a couple of weeks, and we planned to keep cooking for take-out and delivery. Over the weekend, our wizard chef decided to come and live with us. He brought his 20 year old chihuahua, his pet fish  and his cooking skills. My nephew who was studying at McGill also moved in with us, and so our household started the long period of staying at home. 

We cooked - a lot! We ordered in groceries. My sons went out to get stuff we couldn't order in. We argued about safety measures. We cooked and ate, and made cocktails. I increased my weekly mileage, and kept up my 2020 run streak. One son started a new career project. The other tried to study film, without being able to attend class, or do group projects, or leave the house on public transit. Of the five of us, my husband was the only one who could continue working (prof). 

One thing I know for sure: Caffe della Pace will survive! But from riding high, being busy and having fun, we are now wondering how our cafe is going to adapt to the new world we are looking at. And we will adapt! We're good at it! Our cafe has grown organically since we opened - as our public grew and changed, so did we! 

And now, we need your support! We know that you miss hanging out with your friends, lovers, colleagues and family in our warm, welcoming space. We do too! But for the next little while, we will be accepting online orders, for pickup only, so that you can eat our lovely, loving food at home.

Check us out online, choose your meals, and come on down to the Peace Cafe where you will be welcomed with love; food ready; smiles ready ... until we can get back to our intimate, boisterous, warm, human way of cooking, serving and eating meals together.

We need you! And, come on, admit it, you need us! Share the news, check us out, get in touch! Stay safe, stay well, #spread love. 

https://www.caffedellapace.com/online-ordering

COVID19 in-house Day 56: The Corona Virus Blues

Like I said before, gratitude is a state of mind. But I'm not going to fall for the easy peasy lie-down-and-take-it bullshit that every cloud has a silver lining. So, no, I am not grateful for the Virus.

Today is "be grateful for V" day.

I'm not grateful for the Virus.

I'm grateful for the love that I have and share in abundance.

I'm not grateful that the Virus has killed tens and hundreds of thousands of people. Every single one of those people was born, and had a life and love.

I'm grateful for my health.

I'm not grateful that the Virus has appeared to reduce people's senses of compassion, love, and courtesy.

I'm grateful that I have a warm, comfortable house to hide in.

I'm not grateful that the Virus has put a huge strain on our health care systems, all over the world, and that our health care workers are suffering.

I'm grateful that I live in a country that has not taken advantage of the crisis for political maneuvers.

I'm not grateful that I haven't been able to visit two of my sons, and they can't visit me.

I'm grateful for the technology that allows us to "see" each other every day, if we want.

I'm not grateful that I have to close my cafe, which I love, for an unknown time.

I'm grateful I can survive financially.

I'm not grateful that I had to cancel my retreats ... and I paid back my deposits.

I'm grateful for the future, when I'll be back on my mountain.

Turn, turn, turn.

COVID19 in-house Day 51: Grateful for W

I've been thinking about which "W" I should be grateful for. This has been one of my themes while I'm out running. I've been arguing with myself, not out loud I hope... Words? Women? Or Wine?

Back in 1991, when I was pregnant with my fourth son, we were looking for a farm to buy and live on. We were living in a medieval tower in a small village at the time ... yep, there it is. Long story, but anyway we moved into this tower with no anything except the ghost of the poor guy who had lived in the top floor and drank himself to death, and a lot of birds, and we fixed it up, got some electricity and running water, and made a bathroom and fixed the roof, and made friends with the village people and ... eventually sold it to an artist from LA... 

So, in March 1991 we found our farm and moved there. 7 acres, a vineyard, fields, a spring where I got our 18 litre jerry can of water every day, a pond for the ducks and geese and for the kids to almost drown in... and a big stone farmhouse, and all that.

What I am grateful for today is wine. Yes, we had a vineyard and we had all the fun connected to that: the vendemmia, the pruning in April, the days in the fall when we would go down and wander through and eat grapes, the hot smell of sulfur when it would be time to spray the vines to protect them against mold...

I am grateful for pleasure, and fun, and being together with friends and family, and good meals with a glass of wine, and I'm grateful for the earth, and for the vineyard that we had, and for grapes, those bundles of sunlight encased in skin and jelly, and I'm grateful for the smell of sulfur, and the smell of wormwood that rose up from the earth on long hot days in the summer.

I'm grateful for the smell of the grapes as they are being crushed, and then when they are being pressed ... the click, click of the press as it is turned ... I am grateful for the acrid sweet taste of the mosto ... and then the taste of the new wine in January.

And, mostly these days, I am grateful for the fleeting pleasures we are given. I've had so many, and uncountable, and undeserved I'm sure. Now, more than usual, I am conscious that we have to take pleasure in the "now", and fully open to the possibilities of the "now". I don't mean tumbling into hedonism. I mean living fully with what we have now. A small glass of wine with dinner. The smell of a freshly squeezed lemon, and the cold surprise of homemade lemonade. The crispness of an apple. The comfort of a piece of bread (coincidentally, I made an awful loaf yesterday ... it is now nourishing the compost bucket...). The warm goodness of soup. The taste of a frozen pizza, eaten while watching a cartoon.

Because? Everything passes. Our vineyard, just over an acre of mostly red San Giovese, and some white... well, that place got all bought up when we left and now it's swimming pools, fancy houses, summer terraces. No more chicken coop, pond, wheat fields... and the vineyard is getting covered by creeping forest.

So, today I am grateful for wine, friends, love, summertime, wintertime, dinner, breakfast ... I am grateful... and I'm hoping you are too. 

COVID19 in-house Day 45: Grateful for X

I started a gratitude alphabet but I'm starting from the end of the alphabet and moving up towards the beginning. It seemed like a good idea in these topsy-turvy times.

Today's gratitude letter is "X".

What is X? X is all those times when you felt bad. The missed opportunities, the broken promises, the betrayals, the words said in anger, the lost friend, the sick child, the lies, the fear, the sneer and the disdain.

Oh, what? Why am I grateful for all these things?

Let me turn that around and ask: would I only be grateful for the "good" things? Should I only be grateful for the things that make me happy? The things that feel nice? 

Or is being grateful a state of mind and a quality of spirit that endures, anyway. In qualunque momento e ovunque. Anytime, anywhere. Because, fundamentally, being grateful implies that you are aware that there is a world that's bigger than you can know, and you are grateful for that world, and open to its possibilities, to the extent that you admit that although sometimes the possibilities are manifest in an unpleasant or downright horrific and traumatic way, you decide to remain open, and to remain grateful.

Grateful for X means that I accept that awful and horrible things can happen in my life, or I can witness those things happening in the lives of others, and I don't have to either pretend they're not happening, or allow those things to destroy my belief in the power of love. 

No, I'm not talking about "everything happens for a reason." Reason has nothing to do with it. People with an intense, firmly rooted religious life might be able to believe that everything that happens to them is part of God's plan. This isn't a reasonable choice, that is, it isn't based on reason: it's a choice based on faith. You decide to have faith, and then you just have it, come what may.

It's the same with gratitude. Like a long marriage, I'm not going to only stay with my spouse when things are fun, sexy, and fulfilling. I'll also stick around when my spouse is acting badly (I'm not talking about actual abuse here), has the flu, gets old, or is having a life crisis. I will decide to be grateful, and then I'll just be grateful. I'm not only going to be grateful for the good, wonderful, fulfilling things that I receive. I have to be grateful for the whole bundle, or my gratitude isn't worth anything at all.

How do we continue to be grateful in these difficult times? I'm disturbed today. It's pouring out, so the streets are empty which means I can go for my 8 k run, so I'm grateful that I can run. But I have things on my mind: a friend lost her child last week - why? Why should someone who escaped persecution and death in Syria, who fled through Turkey, survived the rubber dinghy ride over to Greece, survived the camps, .... then lose a child in his sleep? I can worry endlessly about my kids for various valid and not valid reasons. I worry about my running buddy who is recovering from chemo. Of course, there's this virus out there that is not a hoax or a conspiracy, but is actually a dangerously infectious virus that can kill people. There's another thing to torment me.  I'm worried about my business: when can we open? How will we open? How will I hear what people are saying if they're wearing masks? (I'm a little hard of hearing and often rely on lips).

But I HAVE to be grateful. For the good things, and for the snakes and toads. 

Grateful for the flaws, the dark patches, the cracks, the scars. Grateful for lessons. Grateful for the black crow, glasses too full, mysteries.