Wide Open.

So, there are very few moments in life when "closed" is a word you want to hear...

Closed-minded? No...
The parachute remained closed? No!!!
Despite the fact that you are 39 weeks, your cervix is closed? No!?!
I'm sorry, the restaurant is closed? Oh no.
The road is closed? Argh, no.
The ATM is closed? Ahh! No.

Today, on the day of our supposed settlement, these are the only words I wanted to hear: We have "closed". But, no such luck. There is some hitch in the process. We must now wait an undetermined amount of time. Maybe later today, maybe next week. We have no idea. As of now, we are...

...And a time for every purpose under heaven. -Simon and Garfunkel

Sometimes, we must take a step back. We must run our hands along the stalks of our burgeoning plant friends, and taste the freshness of life returning.

I am not good at it at all, but I have found that I love taking pictures. There are few things in life more satisfying that photographing something that begs to be captured.

To anyone who is reading this, thank you. My words are unbridled and the themes are disordered, but they are mine. And now yours. :o)

Also, occasionally, there will be funny things. Be ready.

I know you are...but what am I?

As time passes, and the burden on my heart lightens somewhat, I continue to screw my brow over one conundrum. I know how hard and wonderful it must be to be a mother. I am sure of it. People write about it in blogs, gripe about it over the phone and advertise it on holiday cards. And, I know no one would ever brood over its pleasures and pains to tug at my raw places. These things, I understand. For these parents, it is just a now-elemental part of the their existence. But I do not know what it feels like to hear my child cry out for me, or for my heart to break so beautifully as my daughter reaches out to be held by me, or to sneak up on Bill holding her and looking, sharing a moment with their river eyes. I do not know what it is to wake up at all hours and nourish my sweet girl to quench her sadness, to change diapers, a pungent endeavor but resulting in a clean and healthy baby. I have missed the opportunity to bathe her, teach her, walk her to her first day of kindergarten, or watch her march the stage with her tiny cohorts. I will never have one of those wonderful holiday announcements brandishing Sophie's picture, nor will I be the mother of my bride.

After all the lamentations, however, I know I have loved my daughter as much as any mother. I was born to love her. I have held her for moments too brief, and carried her for nearly countless weeks. I have shared moments with her, even now as she sleeps silently. It is hard to be Sophie's mother. I have to love her and her memory without ever holding her again. I will never see her grow up, but my love for her will grow as would any mother's. So, this brings me to the question. Who am I? I am not a mother. I am a mother. I have no children. I have a daughter. I do not have a family. I have a family, rich in love and memories. There is no answer to this question that is now an intrinsic part of me. Just something to think about.


I am a body of deep royal sadness.
Tangible moving living breathing
The waves roll in
The waves roll out
Like captured salt brine water
In the sea
The wisdom sadness lives forever
Birthing swelling within me
Empty shallows of skin
Sandbars of golden wheat
Peeking from beneath hot bath
Breasts once teeming
Now empty and hanging across an almost boyish chest
Hands once trembling with the need to give
Now depressed and deflated
Holding nothing
Hips, spread and stretched
The skin peeled back - lashed red striations -
I have drowned in feeling myself a mother.

I Hear a Guitar and Remember.

I hear Bill playing the guitar very softly in the candlelit living room. The chords he plays are those of melancholy, and yet somehow of promise. His voice is lilting and quiet, rocking along with the chords he knows so well. As he stumbles and finds notes he has never sung, the familiar rain continues to pelt the window beside me. I am reminded of something I wrote close to this time last summer, when I was heavy with our Sophie and the sky was crying still...

We needed rain yesterday. I've been preaching about it for weeks. I want a colorful fall, and, for that, we need rain. Finally, yesterday, the sky opened up for a few minutes and gave Maryland her much-needed shower. It was an awesome feeling - the rain pounding on the roof of our clean and basically-finished house. Bill, Miles, Sophie the Unborn and I lay in the bed for over an hour. After the storm, we ate dinner and I retreated to the bedroom, where I read, write and just plain old mess around on the computer. Suddenly, my guitar serenade in the living room stopped short. "Tuffy?" was the address I heard from the other room. "Yes, tuffy," I replied. And then came the sweet words that always remind me how much he really cares: "Have you started looking at schools yet?" A feeling of guilt washed over me as I realized that I hadn't been looking as hard as I knew I wanted to. But, he doesn't give up on me. He decided weeks ago that we would make graduate school happen for me next fall and has been pushing me since to send letters, get applications, etc. Instead of reprimanding me or letting it go, he came in the room, took the computer and lay down next to me. We spent the next two hours shuffling through universities, literature programs, cities, and assistantships on the net - me squirming, whining and acting silly, and him typing my information over and over again. It is amazing when you begin to know what your partner needs and just how to give it to them without being imposing or neglectful. As we finished up and I sent emails to the schools I wanted to pursue, I felt a rain of my own wash over my shoulders. All this, with the most exciting moment of my life and the greatest gift of all about to unfold; right now, my favorite spongebob cup is on the porch full of rain and it is literally running over.

...These are moments I have written in the annals of my life, and with them, I remember. I remember Sophie. I remember those brief and edenic moments during which she thrived in my womb, now drained of her. I remember how Bill loves her still with his guitar, and his work, and his poetry. And somehow, when I must reach deep inside to touch the hollowed space in my heart where she lives, still warm and wanted, I am comforted. How is it possible, with all of the pain and emptiness, that I still feel so very lucky. I have always felt so near to the word "providence", and today I remember. I remember how truly graced I am to have a man in my life who knows the truest and most essential parts of me, deeply sad and overflowing with joy, and, for them and their polarity, loves me all the more. Even in the dark days following our Sophie's sleep, Bill and I were able to look through the brimming tears and acknowledge how truly "lucky" we were and are to have each other. I am "lucky" to have a flitting, living spirit - an angel to forever watch me. And, as I hear Bill whispering my name now in song, I know how blessed I am to have a soul mate.

And...After!

The kitchen.















The living room.















The bathroom.















Our bedroom.
















Sophie's nursery.

Umm...Before.

Here are the before pictures I promised of the old matchbox we live in now.














The kitchen.

The bathroom.















The living room.















Our bedroom.















Sophie's Nursery.

This Old House.

So, recently I realized that this blog would be nothing if I were not to catch you up on my life thus far. Anyone who has lighted upon this page has surely gotten the basic gist of the most important happenings, but how about the intimate details? No, seriously. I plan to log in detail our move to the new house that we are oh-so-excited about. And, it would be unfair to do that without letting you know about 9708 53rd Ave, where we live now.

The house we have just begun to disassemble in preparation for our Friday settlement is in College Park. Do I need to say that this is a "college" town? While our neighborhood is quiet and pleasant, mostly families, the majority of CP, as we lovingly call it, is generally rowdy and filled to the brim with students in overpriced housing and gleaming new cars.

As I said though, our neighborhood is comprised almost entirely of families. Plenty of children can be seen and heard in the streets throughout the afternoons and all weekend. Each house looks basically the same with few variations on the two models, mostly in the way of color or facade material. But, this was truly a fixer-upper and we did our best to make it our own. Here are some before and afters. But first, weren't we cute???

So handy and "tuff".

Me, cute and happy, and wielding a crow bar.

Vulture Strut.

Hot Hot Lightning

The Maryland weather has been balmy at best. And, for the last week, almost a constant rumble has shaken the sky. Here is a bit of lightning I captured dissapearing behind the trees accross my street. But, like any storm, dark and exhilarating, there are the delicious moments of peace that follow.

A Sweet Room of her Own.

This was the room waiting for Miss Sophie to arrive. I think it was absolutely beautiful, with all of the accoutrements of a little girl's paradise. I believe heaven is peach, so I did my best to create a perfect heaven for my Sophie. So, now as we pack up the tiny shoebox we have lived in for the last year, I lament leaving my sweet girl's beautiful nursery, empty. But, hopefully, someday another family will raise a little girl here. But Sophie's spirit will be coming with us; she is in our hearts always...

Pops G. Heart of Steel.

On Monday morning, I awoke to find four new messages, two left by my oldest brother Phil, boding bad news. Talking to him, I was alarmed and terrified to hear that my father had had a heart attack on his latest adventure in Scotland. I spent at least 20 minutes in hysterical tears before dialing the 357 numbers it takes to contact the UK. After babbling back and forth in equally incoherent English with a young attendant, I was connected to my father's room. I was told I couldn't talk to him, but that he was doing well. In true Dr. Charlie G style, I heard him squawking in the background, "Who's calling? Who is it?". In tears, I told the nurse to tell him I love him, and that I would call back soon. The last week has been a trying one, knowing my father is alone accross the ocean and I am unable to hold his hand through monitoring, angiograms, angioplasties, etc. But, I am convinced by conversations containing all of his typical witticism that all will be well when he returns on Tuesday. Needless to say, changes will be made. To our lifestyles and our attitudes.

Our New House!

Welcome to 1902 Gardenia St, Sykesville MD 21784. This beautiful home is our own little island - a shell of serenity waiting for us to fill it with the memories of our hearts and our brilliant future together. We are waiting for closing, scheduled for within this upcoming week. And, at that point, the new chapter of our lives as house broke homeowners begins. :o)

Today, Bill is out picking up empty boxes and packing paper, so that we can begin the dreaded moving process. The only upside is that we won't have to move our thousands of books, cds, plants, paintings or picture frames again for a long long time. We will be eating mac n'cheese and ramen noodle soup in this house for a very long while. Mmmm ramen.

We are supposed to close on June 30th. Keep your fingers crossed. We really want to be saddled with immense debt.

My life not yet Bayly.

Welcome to my simple, complicated, painless, excruciating, beautiful, gruesome, luck-ridden, tear-filled life.

Right at this moment, I am known as Catherine Angelina Gelso. Yes, reader, I am employing a literary trick known as foreshadowing. Haha. But, seriously, as of September 30th, 2006, I will be Catherine Angelina Bayly. My consciousness will heave a great sigh of relief on the moment I say "I do". We have truly had a tumultuous run of it, and some pleasant stability will be much appreciated. Finally, we will feel complete in the small family we have created together. Let me introduce you to the crew...


Catherine soon-to-be-Bayly, me. I am beyond emotional - there are literally emotions of all breeds sitting ready for action beneath each and every one of my millions of pores. Tears spring to my eyes at the park, watching tv, cooking, drinking water, driving, breathing. My greatest fault is feeling all things far too deeply. My greatest strength is humor. I have the ability to laugh at myself and others - I am not self-conscious, in terms of what strangers think of me. I love books and I plan to someday write my memoirs. Trust me, as you will see, I have much fodder for it. I love bright colors, and also subtle colors. I am a walking contradiction. I am a vegan, but not at all an animal lover. I love nature, but hate photos of it. I believe the ridiculous wivestale that "if you like butter," a buttercup will reflect yellow beneath your jawbone. Never has my soft chin glimmered yellow when taunted by flowers. And, fittingly, I have always hated butter. I love music, but never think about it. I take for granted that I live preserved in the beautiful jukebox that is Bill Bayly. I love words woven in strange combinations. My life is composed of strands of soft phrases, cantering over dappled ground. I look like a middle schooler. I teach middle school. Right now it is summer, and hot with boredom, I rest.

Billy Bayly. My man. Bill has proven himself strong beyond anything I ever could have fathomed. And, yet, somehow he is loving beyond even that. His hands dance deftly over strings tightly wrapped around guitar pegs. He makes music that can only be described as bittersweet. He is vain, and yet somehow coated lightly in the dust of self-doubt. He thinks I am beautiful.


Miles. Miles is a dog - a lab-hound mix they say. He is neurotic. He might bite you. But, he is cute and he loves to snuggle. He eats only lamb-based food to control an odor problem unmatched by man or beast. He likes to walk and run. Red is definitely his color.





Last, but certainly not least, Sophie. There is no way to describe her in words.

She is our angel born sleeping...

"Mama is sitting on the floor of the baby’s room. She was a girl. I can tell partly by the walls, dripping the heavy sad color of overripe peach flesh, and the pastel butterflies floating like sky above the empty white crib. Mama’s arms are empty, as she holds onto what I guess must be an invisible baby. What she is doing is not quite cradling. Not per se. For every so often, Mama’s arms tear out in front of her and she grapples with the empty twilight for something only she seems to see.
It was not long ago that my mama was happy. You see, my mother was swollen. With happiness, that is. More often than even she would admit, I saw Mama’s eyes well with tears. She looked at me. My father. Or at her belly protruding, full of what I can only assume was something that gave her unsurpassed joy and overtook her with a love that caused her to stroke it gently, father to kiss it, and the two of them to talk and read to it incessantly as if it were something surely more than just blood and bone. But, it is spring now, and I am sure that life is just a phantom. I just know I have never seen her."