Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Mama Rama

At present, I am reading a book titled Mama Rama- A Memoir of Sex, Kids, & Rock 'n' Roll  by Evelyn McDonnell. She writes of eras past but not forgotten by its members and founders. Her memories and life are dictated by a soundtrack and her gender and sexuality. She caught the very beginning of Riot Grrrl, but was almost too old to take part like she wanted. I caught the end, and rode that wave (pun intended) writing papers, making mix tapes (yes, tapes!) and donning the appropriate Riot gear. My thoughts and love on and for the Grrrls were fogged by my need to be intoxicated. I know there were others like me, but I have yet to find them. McDonnell writes of her past with such ease and clarity. She has her hindsight specs on, and she owns who she was, and who she is yet to be. She does not seem to carry shame or confusion about her journey, and her writing is poetic. Long stretches of time are covered in a few short pages, and yet I feel I know who she is. I am envious of her writing, of her dedication-despite-life, and of her ability to push through a male-dominated genre (aren't they all?)
The page I'm on just finished the birthing process she endured while bringing here first (only?) biological child in this world. She goes to a birthing center, forgoes drugs and doctors for hot tubs and midwives. Her experience was one I don't  envy. Both my kids were delivered with both drugs and doctors, a decision and experience I wish I could tweak (for the first one only) but not re-do. Although wishing for something different about the past only makes me feel fearful of the future and unsure of myself, so I try hard not to waste my time on such nonsense. Lucky for you, Dear Reader, the younger of my two miracles is yelling from his crib, so I will spare you my birthing stories. For now.

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