Archive for the ‘Deep Thoughts’ Category

What’s on Your Hat?

A man lost his way while hiking in Joshua Tree National Park and was rescued six days later. He kept himself alive by staying still and writing his last wishes on his hat. He wrote love notes to his family and children, in the event that he perished.

What would be scribed on your hat if you wanted to leave behind something for your loved ones? What would you wish for ? How would you ask your friends and family to celebrate the life that you have lived?


I love this kid. She reminds me of the best in us….

The Ethics of a Legacy

I recently visited Dr. Feelgood for my 26th week OB appointment. In between questions about swelling feet and low carb diets, she started to speak to me about this book she is reading. It seemed rather fascinating so I did a little research. I just wanted to pass the information along as it seems like a deeply moving novel.

As I read more about this book of non-fiction, I think of the ethics of science vs. divinity. What is our truth and obligation toward one another? Toward the respect for life and a higher power? Toward racial and social equality?  If Mrs. Lacks (the subject of the book) were alive today, would she have been treated differently ? I certainly hope so.

I think about the subject of biomedical research and ethics, I reflect upon our own journey through IVF and all the questions of stem cell research that our doctors presented to us. Have we, as a diverse community of people, moved forward in the way we regard and preserve the value of life? I suppose that is for each of us to decide.

The book touches on so many issues. I would like to learn more about this woman and the time she lived in. It certainly makes me think of my humanity, and take a deeper look at things. 

Please let me know your thoughts…..


By Rebecca Skloot

Illustrated. 369 pp. Crown Publishers. $26

For a review of this book, please click here. BOOKS OF THE TIMES

Deep Thoughts : )

Hey there! I have no original ideas of my own today, so I leave you with a few quotes from Jack Handey.

One thing kids like is to be tricked.  For instance, I was going
to take my nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old
burned-out warehouse. "Oh no," I said, "Disneyland burned down."

He cried and cried, but I think that deep down he thought it was a
pretty good joke.  I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but
decided to go home instead.
The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the 
Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo,
flying across in front of a beautiful sunset?  And he's carrying a
beautiful rose in his beak, and also he's carrying a very beautiful
painting with his feet.  And also, you're drunk.
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not our
children's children, because I don't think children should be having 
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell
him is, "God is crying."  And if he asks why God is crying, another 
cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."
If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the
mirror, because I bet that's what REALLY throws you into a panic.
I hope if dogs ever take over the world and they choose a king, they
don't just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with
some good ideas.
Instead of having "answers" on a math test, they should just call
them "impressions," and if you got a different "impression," so what,
can't we all be brothers?
I wish I would have a real tragic love affair and get so bummed out
that I'd just quit my job and become a bum for a few years, because
I was thinking about doing that anyway.
If you go flying back through time and you see somebody else flying
forward into the future, it's probably best to avoid eye contact.
It's easy to sit there and say you'd like to have more money.  And I
guess that's what I like about it.  It's easy.  Just sitting there,
rocking back and forth, wanting that money.
If you ever reach total enlightenment while you're drinking a beer,
I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.
To me, clowns aren't funny.  In fact, they're kinda scary.  I've
wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I
went to the circus and a clown killed my dad.
As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red
again, I sat there thinking about life.  Was it nothing more than a
bunch of honking and yelling?  Sometimes it seemed that way.
I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate.
And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
I hope some animal never bores a hole in my head and lays its eggs in
my brain, because later you might think you're having a good idea but
it's just eggs hatching.
If I ever get real rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like
I am now.
Here's a good thing to do if you go to a party and you don't know
anybody:  First take out the garbage.  Then go around and collect any
extra garbage  that people might have, like a crumpled napkin, and
take that out too.  Pretty soon people will want to meet the busy
garbage guy.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights,
even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is 
you're talking to. Then on the way out, slam the door.
One thing vampire children have to be taught early on is, don't run
with a wooden stake.
If you go to a costume party at your boss's house, wouldn't you think
a good costume would be to dress up like the boss's wife?  Trust me,
it's not.
Most of the time it was probably real bad being stuck down in a
dungeon. But some days, when there was a bad storm outside, you'd look
out your little window and think, "Boy, I'm glad I'm not out in that."

Send a hug

Please read my friend Egghunt’s posting on her blog and leave a comment.



What is “REAL”?- ICLW

When my baby niece was born, my sister would sit with her in her nursing chair and “count her blessings” with her before bedtime. Being only a few months old, she couldn’t do much more than gurgle, but I was so taken by their bond and their little rituals. When it was time to say goodnight, my sister would play George Winston’s piano accompaniment to “The Velveteen Rabbit,” narrated by Meryl Streep. My sister and I love this story and it has always meant a great deal to us. It was a treasure to share it with the next generation of little girls in our family.

I think it will always touch me deeply, now on the cusp of my own pregnancy, after a long hard journey to get here, it becomes even more poignant.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day… “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse.  “It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse.  “You become.  It takes a long time… Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him…”


I don’t think REAL is about becoming pregnant, or being loved by a child. For each of us it is very different. REAL for me was acknowledging my strength and my flaws, my uniqueness and my hope to touch others. To love myself even with shabby edges and pain and imperfection.

To come out of this journey and feel WHOLE and find joy again on the inside is truly inexpressible. It has been a long road to get to this place inside my head. Once you have been diagnosed with infertility, whether by age or physiology you are somehow changed. But if you can find that spark to love and honor yourself, even through the hurt and pain, you are truly REAL.

Much love to you…..

Here is the opening to the Velveteen Rabbit. It’s quite beautiful. Enjoy!


A Secret…

Trying to sit in the moment today. I awoke to the most beautiful snowfall. Well, from the inside of my cozy condo its beautiful. If I was a traffic cop or a manhole worker I might not think so. I guess it’s all about perspective.

The Bear has asked me to stop reading so many blogs right now. I think he has a point, although I really don’t believe in censorship. It’s just that I can be in the most positive and centered place, and then I start reading. I think I wear my soul on the outside because I really FEEL everything and my heart is going out to many ladies right now. I can’t begin to expres how much I feel when I hear someone is hurting.

I wish I could just stay in my grounded place, exhaling deeply, and not wear so much of this on my heart. But Infertility is so hard, and once you experience it you feel somehow bonded with others on the journey with you. Even if you haven’t met them (yet).

I guess that’s why we created RubyFeather. As a way of reaching out.

Someone once asked me why I chose to call this blog Romancing the Stone. It’s not because of the film. I feel that infertility is this dance that you seem to do with yourself. You may have a partner in it (or not) or family and friends for support (or not) but inevitably you feel incredibly ALONE. Sometimes you look at your body as if you are an outsider, examining and judging every nuance, every curve and blunder. But if you can learn NOT to judge it, to somehow love it’s flaws and it’s honest womanliness would you be happier? For a time, after a major fibroid surgery, I was mad at my body. I thought that life would never take root inside it. Now I am trying every day to love it a little more. Whether a child comes into our lives through our bodies and our cells, or through adoption, I know the Bear and I will have a family. I used to think of my uterus as a STONE. A non-living hard stone. Now I try to think of it as a FLOWER. No matter what springs forth from it.

So that’s me today. I am hoping for a day of rest where I can eat matzoh ball soup and wear my pj’s all day and snuggle up with my big Bear. The fireplace is to my left, David Brubeck is playing on the Ipod, and the snow is draping the windows of nearby Victorians outside my living room.

Sit in grace, I hear my little voice saying. Ground yourself. Exhale…..

Wishing you peace and a warm refuge.

The Pink Elephant

It’s so hard to talk around the “pink elephant” in the room. To not put a flag in the sand and proclaim our preggy test results one way or another. Know that I am thinking of you and this is the best thing for my self (my sanity) and my family. I will try to keep posting until we are ready to talk about the pink elephant and not just drop fluffy articles into the blogosphere.

I’d like to say HELLO to all the ladies from cyclesista and that have recently checked out this blog. It means a lot to me that you have dropped bye. I also wanted to thank everyone that has been here before and has come back again. Please leave a comment if you feel inclined, so that I may follow YOUR posts, or just know what’s on your mind….

I’ve been following the message board on RubyFeather and I am so pleased that the ladies in this network are using the website as a vehicle to reach out to each other for support and friendship. It was so important for me to start this Social Network as I feel this IF journey make all of us feel like we are enveloped in a dark and isolated place. But just think of all the energy a and STRENGTH the woman on this journey possess. Collectively, we have so much hope and love to give. We have so much strength, experience and wisdom. How can we channel this for good things, for empathy and girl-power (and humor when we feel bereft)?

I believe that this experience has truly changed me. I am not the woman I was before I started this journey. At times I have lost my  humor and my grace. At times I have felt powerless and lost. Still I have to say that I have found immeasurable strength inside myself during those dark times. I have also realized the depth of my relationship as we have been through such challenges this year, and not just on the baby-making front.

I would not wish this on anyone, but since I was “blessed” with these fertility challenges, I feel that I might as well look at the things it has brought me. I have a new appreciation for SIMPLE things, like sleeping late, weeks without Dr. visits, sex for pleasure and procreation and the “light “within.

Wishing you blessings and the best of luck!

What simple things do you cherish today?

The Clomid Kid

I love this article by Erica Noonan of the Boston Globe. You can find her online articles at this link.

Posted by Erica Noonan, Globe West August 10, 2009 12:20 PM


It’s a perfectly normal question. Every nearly 5-year-old boy asks it.

I just wish I had a normal answer.

As Dennis keeps dancing closer and closer to the question of where babies come from, my brain rushes furiously for an honest and age-appropriate response.

So far, the line of inquiry hasn’t gone much past:

“Was I borned?” (Yes)

“Was Lila borned?” (Yes, but she did NOT take three days of labor and two bags of Pitocin to come out, my love)

“Can we get ice cream?” (Sure)

But my days are numbered. More questions are coming.

And I can’t see casually telling a 4-year-old the truth:

“When Mama and Daddy (or someone’s mommy and mommy, or daddy and daddy, or whomever) really love each other they try to have a baby.”

“But when they can’t, they cry and fight a lot, then one of them makes the other one go a special doctor, who helps them out.”

“Then, Mama took some medicines that made her ovaries feel like lead weights. And Daddy asked why she was soooooo cranky the whole time.”

“But then Mama got you and was so happy about it, she promised never to ask the Universe for anything ever again. Except for Lila.”

“So the upshot is that without this freak stroke of luck — living in the early 21st century under generous Massachusetts health insurance laws that mandate full coverage for fertility therapy — you almost certainly never would never have existed.”

A Good Poem: Insomniac


I read this poem a few days ago on the Writer’s Almanac and it made me think of love. How lucky we are to have love and friendship in our lives. 

Wishing you many blessings!


by Galway Kinnell

I open my eyes to see how the night

is progressing. The clock glows green,

the light of the last-quarter moon

shines up off the snow into our bedroom.

Her portion of our oceanic duvet

lies completely flat. The words

of the shepherd in Tristan, “Waste

and empty, the sea,” come back to me.

Where can she be? Then in the furrow

where the duvet overlaps her pillow,

a small hank of brown hair

shows itself, her marker that she’s here,

asleep, somewhere down in the dark

underneath. Now she rotates

herself a quarter turn, from strewn

all unfolded on her back to bunched

in a Z on her side, with her back to me.

I squirm nearer, careful not to break

into the immensity of her sleep,

and lie there absorbing the astounding

quantity of heat a slender body

ovens up around itself.

Her slow, purring, sometimes snorish,

perfectly intelligible sleeping sounds

abruptly stop. A leg darts back

and hooks my ankle with its foot

and draws me closer. Immediately

her sleeping sounds resume, telling me:

“Come, press against me, yes, like that,

put your right elbow on my hipbone, perfect,

and your right hand at my breasts, yes, that’s it,

now your left arm, which has become extra,

stow it somewhere out of the way, good.

Entangled with each other so, unsleeping one,

together we will outsleep the night.” 

“Insomniac” by Galway Kinnell, from Strong is Your Hold. © Houghton Mifflin Company, 2006.