Fine and O.K.

I know this blog is intended to be about sustainability, community and how we are attempting to survive the impending crash of civilization with the end of oil. But sometimes I am required to cut to the true core and have to look deep inside myself.

I have been trained and follow right in step with the answer to, "How are you doing?" with "Oh, fine." I still want to say that, but I will attempt here to relay what is going on behind the great American facade that everything is fine. When I moved out to the Midwest one of my goals was to be more honest and straightforward, to say it as it is. One of the many aspects of Amy Jackson that I admire is she is a straight shooter. What she says she means. Therefore, if she gives a compliment, it is a true, genuine compliment.

I love Owain and I love Charis, though I have not been fair to either in my habit of always saying things are fine. Poor Owain is suffering. His days are usually pretty great; he coos and smiles, flails his chubby arms and legs around, and he growls right before he eats. Sadly, the poor little guy has terrible nights. At night, he can not sleep on his back or in the fancy and expensive Amby baby hammock we purchased. The acid reflux now starts as the sun sets and he has to be held and upright throughout the night.

Charis and I take shifts keeping him up. This wears on Charis a great deal more than I. I have disillusioned myself into believing I can survive just fine on a lot less sleep. It is painful and sad to hold your child over your shoulder and pin them so he does not flail off because his body is contorting in pain. His back acts like a steel snake, writhing and twisting. Thankfully the snake lasts for five minutes and then he passes out. But sometimes the writhing/pass out pattern will last an hour.

Why do I write this? To practice being more honest. To finally be honest with myself and Charis and Owain. I want to save the world, help us be creative thinkers, be independent of oil, not eat produce from 100 miles away let alone 1500 miles. I want to split wood, make apple cider, set up the garden for next year, cook good food, write more music and practice my horn. All that has to be let go and care for Owain and Charis. I am selfish and want to do all. I have to let go.

Do not dispair - it IS all worth it. I can not imagine life before Owain; a five minute party in my arms smiling and cooing, or a long walk listening to him breathe deeply in his sleep melts away everything unimportant - which is everything else.

Jay