Once again I am going to say that I adore this doctor. He is so kind, so thoughtful. He listens. He laughs. He explains. He gives you choices. He touches you on the knee when he talks in a way that makes you feel connected, not weird. Like a real person.
He does not judge.
At least not out loud and I never feel judged when I leave his office.
Today I told him about Jessie's home birth and he loved the story of her having that baby between breakfast and lunch. He told me that at one time he lived near London and he and his friends used to go to a local pub where the husband of the family who owned the pub did all of the front-of-the-house work from bussing to taking orders and pouring drinks and the wife did all of the cooking. One day he and his friend went by and the pub-owner husband told him that his wife had just had their ninth baby, upstairs in the living quarters and was already downstairs, cooking. I doubt he'll ever forget that.
My blood work was pretty okay. When I'd gone in last time after doing blood work, one of my white blood cell counts was wacky and he told me that there was maybe one in a hundred chance that I had Lymphoma and he was sure I didn't but for the sake of everyone's peace of mind he needed to get it checked again and today he said that as he'd expected, that had been a big fat nothing. I do not have Lymphoma.
Which I wasn't really worried about until two days ago when the major anxiety of knowing I was about to go see him kicked in.
That crazy familial cholesterol is still high but half of what it was and he gave me options on that and didn't seem too concerned. He NEVER makes me feel as if I have to take a medication.
So. I survived. The unfortunate thing is that those lovely, wonderful serotonins that usually kick in when I walk out of the door of a doctor's office stayed silent today and it took me awhile to shake the dissociation which is what my mind and body, with no permission from me or whoever I think "me" is, takes over when I have a doctor's appointment. I went to Target though, and shopped for a few presents. I got Magnolia and August both the newest version of the Fisher Price farm although now it's called Little People Caring For Animals Farm and that is just fine with me.
I have had one version or another of this toy for almost forty years and have one still and every one of my kids and my grands has loved it. So now August and Maggie will be able to take care of their own animals on their own farms in their own homes.
Little people are so easy to buy presents for. You could buy them something that cost five bucks or fifty and they would be completely delighted with either. Not so much with kids Owen and Gibson's age and I have not yet found them anything although I offered to buy them a goat. I mean- they could take care of a farm animal for real, right?
Lily wasn't very excited about the idea.
After I walked around Target for a little while, I realized I was hungry as hell, having been able to only get down a bit of yogurt before the appointment and I paid for what I had in my cart and came on home and ate some leftovers and laid down for a nap, having bad anxiety-crash, and slept for two hours without moving an inch. Mr. Moon is on his way to Tennessee to visit an old friend and I am here with Maurice and Jack, and the church next door is playing music. I can hear drums and the singer. I can hear the bass chunking out the holy rhythms. I have my little Christmas tree plugged in and I plan to spend the next few days sewing and embroidering and working in the yard. After I finish with the little fish onesie I think I will make Maggie a flannel dress and I have a pair of August's overalls to decorate with all of the rich colors of embroidery thread.
My old hippie-ness is making itself known with a vengeance these days and I am glad of it.
I will not ever regret being a hippie and I will not ever stop being one, or at least the version of one I can be at my age.
And because I bought Maggie a farm and therefore, there shall be a Maggie's Farm, I give you this.
Bob Dylan playing his song, Maggie's Farm at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965. He shattered the world of folk music by strapping on a Fender Stratocaster and plugging in with Al Kooper and The Butterfield Blues Band backing him. The crowd went insane and not in a good way. Their own Dylan, their own blue-eyed boy, their own mystical poet of the acoustic guitar had betrayed them with the flip of an amplifier's switch and they were not happy.
Dylan, however, was not deterred and as he has since the first time he stepped foot onstage, he did exactly what he wanted.
He still does.
Not unlike Magnolia June. I hope she wants to play with her farm.
And I hope that all of you are safe and warm and at peace tonight. I am feeling emotional, as we are sometimes apt to do at the end of another year. And although I know that no one ever watches these videos, here's another Dylan song, this one performed with The Band on the film The Last Waltz. I truly believe, deep in my heart, that this is one of the most beautiful and hopeful and lovely songs ever written and although of course none of us can truly stay forever young in some sense, in the soul sense, it is quite possible, right up until the day we die.
That's what this old hippie thinks and wishes for all of us on this chilly December night in North Florida.