Talking today about family and lovers. A lesson in how to fall in love. A lesson in how to be in love.

I had a dream the other night, I'll tell you about it later. Ran into a friend. Not in the dream. Thought of you, all of you.

I can't even remember who my friends are anymore.

Give the baby three oranges and watch her roll them around. Take a walk in the cold. Remember that you have a body. Remember what that means.

Sometimes these things come back to me: a smile, a hand, the way the phone rings. I am trying to make these things into rag dolls. Not like poets do but with fabric and yarn. Most of it scraps.

I wish you would call or write. I have more to say about lovers and more to say about family.

One year ago cold air, phone call, quick ride crying to the city to MGH. Time for a few words him listening me talking baby's good, going to be okay, love you, love you. Tried to get up can't get up can't talk smiles and tear in his eye. Morphine drip drip swab his mouth heep him comfortable hold his hand. To the chapel comfort sister to the gift shop busy the boys to the cafeteria salad bar and the hallway coffe shop. Gift shop stationary green with white edges and pad with dots and pen. Write letters never sent. Gift store again sample sale baby clothes for the wee one to be. Brother gives blood borrow shirt sleep in scrubs solitaire knit and read. Ice from the nurses station drinks from vending machines backpack brought in with things we need. Pizza boxes on the window sill brother on the floor father not opening his eyes second night no response heart slowing third day waiting watching holding hand ball to squeeze swab his mouth keep him comfy talk and talk new nurses familiar from before transplant doctors come to say goodbye pay respects. Take the elevator to the top floors Blake 10 nice waiting room look over the charles he was here once come up at night stars and dark and feel alone alone alone but sister's there and we are alone. Tired worn out getting toward peaceful time for bed Sam and I in one himin the other stepmother next to him go to sleep we're all going to sleep together family like and we sleep two three hours nurses come in Jane wakes us he's gone. Wake up relieved hug eachother kiss his forehead hold his hand hand on head again goodbye and put my head on the bed and cry. Say thank you, thank you gather our stuff pack it up clean up pizza boxes call people say goodbye elevator down hospital empty walk outside into the cold first time in days cold air cold drive home route 1 drive east into the sunrise.

Miss you, Da, love you.

James is sniffling, time for soup. Into the truck, to the market, to play our favorite game. Best Shopper. Come home with everything we need while saving the most money. Today I win with 34 percent.

Onions, garlic, carrots., celery in the pot. Chicken and water. Boil. And boil. And boil. Remove chicken, strain. Add new onions and garlic cut smaller than needed. Add carrots and celery. Add broth. Pick chicken.

When picking a chicken be sure to have a bowl of cold water handy for when you burn your fingers. My first chicken picked in this house, counters are different so I set myself up new. Put the old vegetables in a second pot and add whatever parts of the chicken are not going in the soup. Add water and boil for a second batch of broth to freeze.

Careful with the chicken. Growing up a knuckle or two found their way into my soup. Unpleasant to find. Some people like it, like they like tendon or tripe. My grandmother would gnaw at the ends of chicken wings.

Add chipotle peppers, roasted corn. Simmer. Make a grilled cheese with red onion, Dijon mustard and tomato. Test soup. Try not to turn the television on. Sunday night, baby nursing and I’m not tired enough to go to sleep. I will regret this in the morning.

Nine o’clock knock on the door, Abigail and me still in bed. Next-door neighbor, faux-fur collar, looking to babysit. Extra money. Christmas season. House up north, rising taxes. Business not going so well. Sitting , listening. Abigail upstairs.

First take out the rocks and the jackets then take the car to Linsky’s. No coffee left in the house so stop at Uncle Moe’s. Jack says: Hello Beautiful. Jack says: I know you love coffee. Grilled cheese, turkey soup, coffee. Old woman comes in. Plumber comes in and tells her she has a flat tire. Guys at the counter banter, argue about who can and who will help her out. Banter ends with no resolution, until I offer to change her tire. Someone gets up to do it right away.

Home now to balance the checkbook. See how much for when the mechanic calls. Sounds like the head gasket. How much is too much? How long is too long? She’s a good car, I’d hate to see her go.

It's great to see you. I have a baby, yes, a girl. She's home now. With her dad. I'm not working, no, not really. We live in Gloucester. Just bought a house. What are you up to?

Hi! Yeah, this is great. I'm not sure if you saw me with my husband. I eat breakfast with a lot of men. But we've been married for seven years. No, just one, she's lovely. I like it a lot. Good to see you too.

So, you live in Gloucester still? Me too. I never see you. I have a baby. We walk downtown. What do you do with your time? Financial advisor? I never would have guessed. I play violin. At a third-grade level. Maybe fourth. What music have you been listening to?

Read any good books lately? I read that when I was pregnant. Yeah, I used to say when people asked if I wanted a boy or a girl that I wanted a boy OR a girl. She's a girl. Abigail. Tell your wife I'm sorry she didn't come. And I'm sorry. I hope she's doing well.

I remember catching minnows with you when we were in sixth grade. No, we only did it once, but the way they moved in the sun, shiny and silver... Your Abby is 4? She must be lovely. A tomboy? I guess mine will be too, with all of those cousins. We should get together sometime.

So, you knit? Me too. Do you remember when you pushed me out of our group of friends in sixth grade? It was for the better, I think, especially after seeing you all here. You look good, pretty hip, but what the hell does that get you in Gloucester? Anyway, I like your hair. I don't think I'll bring my film in anymore. I wonder what else your friends know about me now.

Have you got any extra drink tickets? It's good to see everyone. I'm not good at burning bridges but I'm great at letting them crumble under their own weight. I had a crush on you in seventh grade but you were cuter then. And less of a flake. Your engaged? And living in Kingston? I don't know why you would live there. But living here doesn't seem to matter much, nobody leaves their houses anyway. I'm a rare book dealer. Yeah, lots of money to be made there.

Funny, yeah. No, I get out a lot, even with the baby. I bring her to a bar on weekends to wacth soccer. A Scottish team. You don't play anymore? That's too bad. I can see your wife is furious with me for talking to you. That's okay. I'm just trying to talk to everybody I recognize. The airforce? New Jersey? Wow.

This is your boyfriend in the Red Sox shirt? Nice to meet you. We new eachother a long time ago. Used to swim to Ten Pound Island and flirt with tuna fishermen on the docks. You're living a few houses down from my sister. Are you still hanging out with the guy I had a restraining order on? I really never understood taking his side. I didn't ask anyone to take sides. Just not to tell him where I was going to be. That's okay. Everything passes.

Bathtub caulked, ceiling painted. Everything done means something left undone.

Slices of quince for breakfast. No runcible spoon- does that affect flavor? I always assume that fruit we Americans tend not to eat is tart and not suitable for smoothies. I like tart. The quince, however, is not tart. Its texture is a little grainy, like pears from the tree in the back yard. Its flavor is light, like watered-down old wine. A little musty. I think I will cook the rest to see if it improves.

I was just saying last night that I hadn't seen Woody HArrelson for along time and there he is today on Ellen. Doing Elvis.

Abigail has fallen asleep. Today isn't going so well. I had an idea of what I should do today but it depended on other people and they didn't know. I tried to tell them. Now I am contemplating the list of things I could do today. Paint the bathroom ceiling. Put weather stripping on the cellar door. Recaulk the bathtub.

None of these things sound good to me today.

When ABigail wakes up maybe I will drag her out. The car doesn't like starting these days but we are picking up some kids at Waring this afternoon. Maybe a little trip to Cabot Street. I'm sure we'll figure something out.

The thing about it is that you never know when someone is thinking about you. My ficus tree is dropping its leaves, I haven't found a place it likes in this house yet. Ficus generation.

I don't know what my options are but for this: I must not add to the confusion. Two new valves for radiators. I will master this system by spring. I need a mirror and clear plastic. Power tools and foam.

Each move leaves a six. This is Main Street, this is Rogers, that is Porter. Two bars closed. One owned by the cook from the White Lion, the other by a new friend. One building torn down at the station. Another one, as well, but earlier and already replaced. It's easy to mess things up these days. Just one slip and it's done. Note: Do not remove weight-bearing walls on the first floor. How many restaurants does any one person need? Or any three?

I used to read things and hope that they were written for me. I know better now.

Oil burner's broke again, we all have to break sometime. Ice cream is cheaper than Zoloft and doing the dishes tonight makes tomorrow better. Even if it's cold. Abby's talking to a ball and I am trying to keep a positive solitaire score until the diapers are ready for the drier. Or is it dryer? For the life of me I can't remember. Abby's talking is nearing crying.

Spit up on mu shoulder and I wonder what will give next. The neighbor tried to trade the cover of my garbage can for his ratty one in the wind this morning. Caught in the act. Not that he thought mine was his but it was easier than looking...

Electric heat upstairs so we won't be so cold. Isn't there always something to complain about? Life is good here with this little girl, her coos and smiles, and still I throw disinfecting wipes across the room. Because I don't get upset often I shouldn't get upset and when I do it doesn'y show so tonight I throw things and they come to an abrupt stop under the cold radiator. A couple tears and that doesn't help anything, family is still family and ashes thrown to Ipswich Bay can not be gotten back. Decisions made can not be changed when pride is on the line. You can't make a son visit his mother or a father visit his daughter. You can't stop a train wreck even if you see it happening.

Coffee with Gerrit this afternoon. Got a package from Glasgow, registered mail, signed for it at the post office. Walked down Dale Ave next to a man in Patriots gear who talked to me the whole time. Saw a woman at the Lone Gull who sort of knew me but couldn't figure how. Spoke with Jack at Mystery Train about babies and writing.

Abigail keeps turning her head like it's all the rage. Talk to the curtain. Wave at the light. Peek-a-boo! I see you.

I wish there were more Moomin books to read. That someone would stop by and say "Hey, want to go geet a quick drink?" That politicians didn't interupt soap operas. That I got more mail.

Why is it so hard to call repair people? Other people don't think they should be plumbers, carpenters and electricians. Why does it make me feel so useless?

Some good advice from eeksey peeksy.

Truth be told I am sick of cool. Like heavy talk with an upspeak like having a dream of talking like talking like yeah. Black and white and drunk and my art and yeah and wow. Of winning and losing and co-authors and blocking projects knit by other people. Complaining and matter and driving around looking at signs- Welcome home sailors and marines and soldiers and No More Bush and Lordy Lordy.

I have to admit I don't understand my boiler. How to keep the water in the glass tube right and which way to turn the vents. Can't afford to have the guy come show me and don't have the guts to admit it anyway. May go to the heating supply store near the state fish pier and ask with babe on my hip. It's cheaper that way. I need a new vent anyway.

What is this crap movie? Animated people talking about dreams. Crap. Referring to Lorca, of course.

I am also sick of weird.

If there are beautiful women at a party and I don't feel beautiful I am not one of them. I do not feel beautiful. I feel more like a machine. There is a list of things that need to be done and I will turn myself on and do them. I will turn myself off and rest. Repeat. No, that's not true. I wish I felt like a machine. There is a list of things I need to do but because I feel about too many things I can't seem to get them done.

I wish I were watching Monday Night Football with Jim Dunn.

Bills keep coming bills are always coming and no one no one knows how to pay them. Camper has a monkey shoe I can't resist but will. Tomorrow might bring me to Portsmouth for Kerry but the baby's in charge and I have no definite plans. Monkey shoes are in Portsmouth. Monkey shoes or boiler? Heat or food or fashion?

I need to say this before I forget: Fuck Curt Schilling.

A night without baseball and instead of sleeping like I should I go out. Six mothers to the Pickled Onion, first time out really for me without little Abigail. We talk about labor and politics and gossip we are all too far out of the loop to have. Out too late baby girl crying and I don't know how she can cry but she can.

She's lying on the floor now two months old and making the most delicious sounds. Spit up on my shoulder but the clothes don't make a girl the baby does. Slept too late today, I'll wake her up earlier tomorrow and we'll sleep for sure. Had another drink tonight to make me feel like I was with old friends. It didn't work.

Instead of falling back asleep after Baby Girl nursed this morning I am up and running. Trash out, two hand-me-down air conditioners moved from upstairs to down, kitty litter cleaned. Coffee half decaf today. If I am going to drink it all day I must compromise.

Fourteen of my father's old shirts are in the middle of my living room floor. My brother is having a baby. Naming him after my father. The shower is Saturday and I am making a quilt. From these shirts. From Richard. For Richard.

I never called my father Richard. Most called him Rick. I heard someone call him Dick in the supermarket once and decided then that I didn't like the name. It didn't worry me since I never used it. But after he died and I didn't know which kind the baby in my belly was I felt guilty, like maybe I should think of it. Like it is the right thing to do.

Funny that last day he was conscious, just barely. Monthly check-up in the morning, happy to be just about iver the miscarriage-hump, 12 weeks and hurrah! Celebratory sandwich at the Grange, mostly to see Zac, and when I finally got home 12 messages on the machine. He's not doing well. They're rushing him home in an ambulance to die. They don't think he'll make it that long. Meet at the house. Go to Mass General.

He wasn't talking anymore when we got there but was smiling and squeezing hands and when I told him the baby was fine, heard a heartbeat, this one is going to make it he squeezed my hand and smiled. Tear in his eye. He was so happy I was pregnant.

Now my baby is asleep across the room. The silly aqua and white shirt with the knit collar is on top of the pile. I am making a quilt for Richard out of it and for the life of me I can't do it. The Porter line will continue. What the hell does that mean? Last names. City officials shake my brother's hand, recognize him by name. And they will do the same for his baby- pay reverence to the name. As Abigail sleeps in near anonymity.

I've got to take scissors to the shirts on the floor. Cut them up. Make something new. I wish I had religion right now, that I believed he is somewhere looking down on what I am doing. That he sees Abigail in her cradle. That he's seen her smile. She's cooing now, in her sleep. I've got to go.

Feeling a little disoriented, maybe alienated. Looked online to find my friends but I can't remember which go where. Looked for Pedro's midget, knit Ugg boots, a place to fit in. My arms are tired. I am tired. Could be from the weekend still, could be the non-stop nursing. Baby Girl is on the floor and I should be putting out the trash in this time.

Busy weekend, too much time out. Too much too much too much. Red Sox win tonight and it feels late because the game is over. Last week games at Gerrit's, games and debates and what's the difference? Hitchhikers turn into white crosses. Memorial mass and Abby could be a Catholic for Halloween, no?

Turn the heat on, steam out the back of the furnace. Basement full of steam, no heat, new valves no use and the oil man on the way. Two trips later and heat for the baby, quiet hissing in each room. This will be the soundtrack to our lives.

I don't know what to do tomorrow. Aside from the list of things I have been putting off. Insurance company, IRS, thank-you notes and scones. I should build radiator covers before the baby can crawl. Abigail is watching the debate. All she sees in contrast.

Sunday one day after one month. These moments are hard to find and I should be doing more with them—laundry, dishes, find my clothes. One thing I know to be true: these things will still need to be done. They will not go away.

I bought a camera yesterday and have been wasting time with it since. Pictures of the baby girl. She’s eating her fingers like they’re just another meal.

She’s sleeping now. I got the black skirt I bought to wear to my father’s funeral out of the cellar and fixed the seam that had come undone at the slit. I am going to a wake this afternoon, for my father’s neighbor. At one month after birth I am about the same size as I was at almost two months pregnant. At least I hope I am, I haven’t tried the skirt on. I haven’t got anything else to wear so it must be true.

I should go now and get ready. Abigail is getting into more of a routine; I hope to be able to write more often.

Finding both my hands free for the first time in weeks, dinner done and waiting and Baby Girl on her daddy’s shoulder. Nurse nurse nurse- my daily routine. Little bits of doing things in between. Mostly laundry, mostly diapers, an occasional walk. She sleeps well most nights and I sleep

Wrote that last night, the time was short-lived. Right now the baby is sleeping and that worries me. If she is sleeping now will she sleep later? If she doesn’t sleep later when will I sleep? Strike that, little sounds of waking are coming from where she lies. Some like stretching, some like cooing, some about to be upset that I am not changing or feeding her.

Before I need to go I should say that I read your email and will write back soon, I hope. I look forward to seeing you, hopefully I will make it, but it is too early to promise. It all depends on the baby girl.

Quick note- while I was checking my email I took that quiz about fucked-up composers and was Joe Strummer. A girl (woman, I should say) I knit with is good friends with a woman who was married to Joe Strummer when he died. This knitter also has a mother-in-law who lives in London and is called London Joan. London Joan calls from London and says “This is London Joan.” London Joan sends European baby clothes. Gloucester Abby get them handed down and finds they suit her well.

One week old. I don't know what to say. Waking up to see that she is breathing, singing to her wrapped in my arms. New sleep patterns, new ways for everything. Watching her eyes lighten from steel grey to blue. Changing her and dressing her and taking good care. Friends stop by with love and fruit. Holding her close, as close as I can.

Abigail Faulkner Aisling Cook
born August 25, 2004
at 5:49 p.m.
8 lbs. 2 oz.
19 inches long

Looks like there should be some news soon.

Had something to drink, something to eat, and took a good look around. I'm feeling much better now.