Cost of Labor

“GIRL”, ceramic, steel

I was born in a car.


No joke.

As I am the eldest, my mother was naive to anything having to do with motherhood.

I still have the yellowed and crumpled piece of paper where she wrote down her contractions keeping track of the urgency quotient.

The list of scrawled numbers ends with an unintelligible “STOPPETTE!

It is a painful list to look at, I tell you.

Seems she was coached incorrectly regarding the urgency of contractions and she thought she had more time.

So Dad took off in the merry Oldsmobile for the hospital and he just about got there..

But not quite.

And I made my entry accompanied by a mortified father and exceedingly brave mother.

Right there in the great outdoors! (So to speak)

The story I heard was that I was instantly labeled “IMPURE” though I can’t imagine medical folks using that word, actually.

The stigma meant I spent a lot of time with the staff trying to get me back to a ‘pure’ state by incubating me and rendering the precious initial mother-daughter bonding moot.

We never got it back, the two of us.

So I had to find ways to create it for myself.

I’ve had mentors, surrogate mothers, teachers, friends and a rich spiritual life infused with Grace to shore up the foundation that wasn’t.


Probably a no-brainer when I think of it now but a fine legacy all the same.

This may seem like an odd segue from my birthday event to my enchantment with cars but it’s all about imprinting, right?

I love different kinds of cars.

Low-riders are the ride of choice here in New Mexico.

Never ridden in one but there’s still time…

A lean and sexy sports car slicing through clear evening air on a road somewhere driven by a trustable someone not worried about looking in the rear view mirror.

A vintage truck in robin’s egg blue patiently restored by the hands of a man who knows love and women well.

I, myself, drive a Subaru at the moment which is practical for my periodic dusty jaunts into the backcountry.

But I have cars in my blood.

And I am unashamed of my inattention to your very important story if I see a Ferrari out of the corner of my eye.

I’ll look every time.

It won’t mean I love you any less.

Wait for me as I’ll be more fortified when I return to our conversation.

With a slight upwards turn to the corner of my mouth.

And my blood running a faster mile.


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