What really happened

Posted by admin on November 4th, 2009 filed in Beren, General, Magdalena, Movies, Pregnancy, Writings and Musings

Today, instead of working on my book, I watched Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs with the kids.  Have you seen this?  I thought it was a pretty good movie.  The part where the sloth sees the silhouettes of the baby dinosaurs through the eggs and then glows with maternal warmth almost had me in tears.  What a profound moment to have in a kids’ movie!  Anyway, you should definitely watch the mammoth birth scene.  You know that story about how Magdalena was born that I wrote earlier this year?  Maybe I didn’t get it quite right.  Now that I think about it, that scene in the movie is exactly how it really happened.  I can clearly remember all the carnivorous dinosaurs, the rock ledge falling away, all the screaming.  The one-eyed weasel named Buck was a surprise, but we can’t all stick to the birth plan 100%.

You might also be interested in how Beren was born, which I have never published on Vernaple.  I wrote this shortly after he was born while I was trying to work through The Event.  This is exactly how I remember it happening,  and I don’t think it was just because of the drugs.  I guess I was kind of imaging him as a grownup explaining this to someone, which is why it’s in the third person.

“She used to tell me she found me in a bottle while she was standing on a stream bank,” said Beren.
“Like you’re a genie?” she asked with interest.
“More like a message.”
He turned his thoughts to the story his mother had described so vividly that his mental image of it was more like an actual memory than something of fiction.  She said she was walking in a park.  She had been for some time.  She stopped on a small bridge that spanned the modest mountain steam that wound its way through the woods to the river.  Even though it was fall, there were still little water plants and moss, signs of life.  Animal paths led down to the water, their travelers’ paw and hoof prints evident.  The yellow, red, and brown leaves on the trees filled the air with their sweet, crisp smell.  The leaves floated to settle on the ground like a blanket.  She could hear the birds and other sounds of vitality from the woods.  As his mother spent some quiet time with her thoughts, she looked upstream.  She could see something far away in the water.  It made its way closer, bobbing down the stream and glinting in the sunlight.  She was drawn to this glass jar as she watched it flow with the current, working its way around rocks and fallen branches.  She descended a small path by the bridge so she could catch the bottle as it passed.  She crouched by the edge of the water, waiting, and the leaves fell around her and in her hair.  It occurred to her that this felt so right, so natural and inevitable, that she was probably not the first person to do it.  It was  comforting to her to imagine many others performing this same task.  She had a thousand flashes and fancies of this scene, but each with slight variations.  Colored blossoms instead of Autumn leaves.  Real snow, blindingly white in the sun.  Fireflies and moonlight.  She was giddy with excitement over this bottle.  Certainly it harbored a great treasure, a mystery that she desperately wanted to explore and possess.  Her elation transformed into anxiety as the bottle drew near and she realized she might not be able to reach it.  She reined in her panic and resolved that this bottle would be hers, even if she had to work very, very hard for it.  At the water’s edge she took a deep breath and jumped.  Her plunge into the current was disorienting.  She was surprised at the depth and strength of the situation.  To retain her control, she grasped a fallen tree with debris swirling around it.  She worked her way to the end of it one-handed so the other hand would be free to draw in the bottle.  She wondered how the thorns and nettles on the log had escaped her notice when she surveyed this peaceful natural scene from the bridge.  The sharp stickers dug into her hand and arm.  She knew there was blood, but she did not look.  She kept her focus and determination despite the pain. Time became distorted.  His mother was unsure how long she was in the water, but at last the precious bottle was within reach.  She was thrilled as she touched it.  It was slippery and she knew she needed to establish a better hold.  Clutching the the very end of the splintery log that connected her to land, she lunged a final time for the bottle and caught it.  Relief pervaded her as thoroughly as the cold water had soaked her clothing.  She held the jar to her body protectively as she fought her way to shore.  It suddenly seemed so vulnerable to her, even though she knew it was durable and hearty enough to survive its adventure down the stream.  On a bed of soft leaves and grass on the stream bank, she opened the bottle to receive her message.  She was surprised she had energy to do anything but lay there and pant as she gently pulled her infant from his jar.  She greeted him and named him.  She touched his flawless fingers and tiny toes.  The look in his eyes said that he had complete faith she would guard and care for him.  She looked at the little body that only simple unmediated words like ‘new’ and ‘beautiful’ could describe.  She held her warm little essence of perfection close and was caught in his spell.  The slept together among the leaves.