Belle took her first steps without assistance last night. We were sitting on the kitchen floor, listening to Miles Davis' "All Blues" when Belle rose up and took a few short steps from me to a closed cabinet. She spent the rest of the evening power crawling.
Belle has also started spoonfeeding me and herself. She recently brought me a jar of beef puree, not for herself, but to feed me. Belle used her tiny fingers as a fork and seemed rather pleased with herself for feeding mommy.
I am actually looking forward to Belle's upcoming 15 month appointment. While Belle may still be more petite than most, she can walk. She has one tooth slowly breaking through. She has a hearty appetite for healthy foods. If I am pleased, which I am, so will the doctor.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Identity
I was always "Camille, her parents are deceased." I always knew that I would receive a yearly sum at a certain age for a specified time. I always knew that I would inherit my paternal grandmother's duplex at her death. That is what I was groomed for by my grandmothers. Who was I really? What did I really want?
I have only gone through the motions in my adult life, never truly living, only having brief moments of brightness amidst darkness. I had survived a childhood trauma, reaped financial and material benefits from the trauma and later used those resources to numb any residual pain leftover from the trauma. That is all.
This came to a head in Alameda. I had real money and property without a real job in a changing economy. I was also new in town and open to meeting new people, particularly inside bars. Some people, especially men, couldn't handle me. Tensions grew so thick that I had to stop frequenting a coffee bar or else. It only went downhill from there.
It literally hit home when one of my neighbours rejected me. He made it very clear that I did not belong here. This rejection, coupled with minimal peer support and weak connections to my family of origin sent me over the edge. I gave up. I disappeared into a dive bar, drinking and flirting with the socially alienated. I grew bloated and belligerent, a far cry from anything my grandmothers had ever groomed me to be.
I sealed myself into a vacuum here at home when this failed, calling forth my right livelihood through various prayers and rituals. I worked my way through the wine cabinet and chocolates, steadily clearing out the clutter and getting organised. I quickly attracted a boozy romp with Belle's dad. This triggered a return to eating local, organically grown foods (Belle's dad used to live in a house located along the farmer's market.), and, eventually, Belle. Who am I really? What do I really want?
I am Belle's mom. I am recouping a sense of self through motherhood. As challenging as it is, this is work I must do without her father, my parents or his. This is work I must do in Alameda, despite any adversity I once experienced as a young [black] woman with real money and property without a real job. I am stepping out from behind "Camille, her parents are deceased" and finally being reunited with my creativity and playfulness, something which became repressed in my maternal grandmother's apartment. I am becoming my authentic self.
I have only gone through the motions in my adult life, never truly living, only having brief moments of brightness amidst darkness. I had survived a childhood trauma, reaped financial and material benefits from the trauma and later used those resources to numb any residual pain leftover from the trauma. That is all.
This came to a head in Alameda. I had real money and property without a real job in a changing economy. I was also new in town and open to meeting new people, particularly inside bars. Some people, especially men, couldn't handle me. Tensions grew so thick that I had to stop frequenting a coffee bar or else. It only went downhill from there.
It literally hit home when one of my neighbours rejected me. He made it very clear that I did not belong here. This rejection, coupled with minimal peer support and weak connections to my family of origin sent me over the edge. I gave up. I disappeared into a dive bar, drinking and flirting with the socially alienated. I grew bloated and belligerent, a far cry from anything my grandmothers had ever groomed me to be.
I sealed myself into a vacuum here at home when this failed, calling forth my right livelihood through various prayers and rituals. I worked my way through the wine cabinet and chocolates, steadily clearing out the clutter and getting organised. I quickly attracted a boozy romp with Belle's dad. This triggered a return to eating local, organically grown foods (Belle's dad used to live in a house located along the farmer's market.), and, eventually, Belle. Who am I really? What do I really want?
I am Belle's mom. I am recouping a sense of self through motherhood. As challenging as it is, this is work I must do without her father, my parents or his. This is work I must do in Alameda, despite any adversity I once experienced as a young [black] woman with real money and property without a real job. I am stepping out from behind "Camille, her parents are deceased" and finally being reunited with my creativity and playfulness, something which became repressed in my maternal grandmother's apartment. I am becoming my authentic self.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Sunday
I had one of the best Sundays ever spent in Alameda today. I took Belle to the Catholic church across town for a change. I noticed we arrived early despite commuting by bus (We always arrive during the homily whenever we walk to our neighbourhood church.). Belle felt so comfortable at mass that she would have crowd surfed had I allowed her. I, too, felt uplifted, which doesn't always happen at our parish.
I treated myself to a large coffee and a lemon bar on our side of town after mass. Belle ate hand torn pieces of fluffy Bosnian bread. I had conversations with the shopkeeper and other patrons of every age. Later we walked across the street to greet a friend before walking home. We were quickly joined by a third woman, making it a lively round table. The four of us walked back over to the coffee market for decaf and more conversation. I felt so energized by all of this, a far cry from my "happy hour" days before Belle. I need more days like this.
I treated myself to a large coffee and a lemon bar on our side of town after mass. Belle ate hand torn pieces of fluffy Bosnian bread. I had conversations with the shopkeeper and other patrons of every age. Later we walked across the street to greet a friend before walking home. We were quickly joined by a third woman, making it a lively round table. The four of us walked back over to the coffee market for decaf and more conversation. I felt so energized by all of this, a far cry from my "happy hour" days before Belle. I need more days like this.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
astro career
Libra Midheaven. Venus in Cancer conjunct Sun, sextile Jupiter, conjunct Saturn and square Uranus. Venus in natal seventh and relocated eighth house.
I am an artist, designer and writer.
I was on the right track with the creative writing major, the acting workshop, the scam modeling agency and even the adult telephone acting.
I should have completed that interior design course.
I didn't know how to market myself as a makeup artist after I completed the course.
I had ZERO support from my grandmothers as an actor or writer.
I traded in my creative writing degree for elder care, property management and real estate.
I lost myself.
I used alcohol, food, sex and shopping as an escape.
I tried to force my way into alternative healing fields because I am genuinely motivated by holistic health, personal growth and the occult.
I am damn good at tarot and the intuitive arts.
I keep going in circles.
I am an artist, designer and writer at my core.
It is time I embrace this truth and create a lifestyle around it.
I am an artist, designer and writer.
I was on the right track with the creative writing major, the acting workshop, the scam modeling agency and even the adult telephone acting.
I should have completed that interior design course.
I didn't know how to market myself as a makeup artist after I completed the course.
I had ZERO support from my grandmothers as an actor or writer.
I traded in my creative writing degree for elder care, property management and real estate.
I lost myself.
I used alcohol, food, sex and shopping as an escape.
I tried to force my way into alternative healing fields because I am genuinely motivated by holistic health, personal growth and the occult.
I am damn good at tarot and the intuitive arts.
I keep going in circles.
I am an artist, designer and writer at my core.
It is time I embrace this truth and create a lifestyle around it.
15 mos
Belle is fifteen months old now. I am embracing motherhood, attachment parenting Belle, cooking the fruits of our harvests against a backdrop of jazz music. Sometimes there is beer or wine, but often not. To pass the time, I brain storm with psychics and spiritualists on internet radio as I create money and work I love from home. I accept and love myself and Belle and I understand our role in the macrocosm.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Kea Dinner
Belle brought me a bag of elbow macaroni she'd found in the pantry. I knew she wanted me to open it for her and feed it to her. I was already standing at the stove. I quickly boiled water and made Kea Dinner: macaroni tossed with butter, a jar of an organic fruit and vegetable infant food blend and cubes of sharp cheddar and smoked gouda. Belle loved it!
Earlier I'd made a soup: carrots, celery, chickpeas, two jars of corn puree, dried chilies, garlic, onion, pork sausage, seasonings and spinach. I enjoyed a bowl after trying Belle's mac & cheese. Belle even had a sip. Maybe tomorrow she will try a carrot.
Earlier I'd made a soup: carrots, celery, chickpeas, two jars of corn puree, dried chilies, garlic, onion, pork sausage, seasonings and spinach. I enjoyed a bowl after trying Belle's mac & cheese. Belle even had a sip. Maybe tomorrow she will try a carrot.
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