the Clematis and the Mosquito

Once a day

Albert Einstein

If you think you are

too small to make a

difference, spend a

night in a room with

a mosquito!

African Proverb

Sweet Autumn Clematis’

Writing a memoir is a little like writing a Haiku, a process of subtraction.

The pregnancy that shouldn’t have been possible was about to reach its final hours. After two successful IVF babies were born, now ages 3 and 4, I chuckled when my doctor asked what I was using for birth control. “Fatigue”. Being no slave to a menstrual cycle, I impulsively thought to take a pregnancy test, when it occurred to me that I didn’t recall getting a period. No symptoms, no expectations and my greatest pleasure came from an opportunity to snuggle up to a pillow.

Failed efforts were a sorely common theme of our infertility days; dumbfounded with awe when the infill of the ‘+’ became stronger. I slept on the secret until I penned the news in a card to my husband, Rob. The pregnancy progressed as did the the other two– well, three, if you counted a horrific first trimester of nausea and migraines followed by a D&C. There was something different though, I wasn’t as disabled by nausea. Hmmm, is that significant?

Despite being sworn to secrecy, I knew the baby’s gender. Rob was on record as loving his ‘girls’ and had never expressed any interest in having a boy. A harem would have been fine. Upon returning from the hospital –with the yet unnamed baby boy– I noticed a veil of white covering part of the window. The hastily planted Sweet Autumn clematis, true to its name, was a glorious tangle of vanilla scented blooms. The randomness of the vine’s proliferation, then reveal, paralleled the introduction of our treasured –yet nameless–new life.

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Like a Haiku

To be defined as an Artist, an entrepreneur, an educator, writer, curator, mother, would miss the life that created the whole.

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