On Sunday she was still chatting about Friday's funeral-related events and went over her mental checklist for us as she was about to ask another question:

"Mommy, you know Aunt Patsy, the lady who died and was primated..."

"No honey," I replied, stifling my snickering, she was "creamated."

"Oh yeah, creamated," repeated the kid.

Naturally her dad had to chime in, "Yeah, they didn't turn her into a monkey!"

In typical kindly fashion, he reminsced on fun family times, special treats mom made for the kids etc etc. I began thinking about what memories I'd like to mention as being utterly palpable and yet solely associated with that person being eulogized. I thought of my 82-year old grandmother and how, when she'd come to visit, she always had one of two "surprises" for us girls.

If she took the train to our house from Center City, she'd somehow manage to tote her purse, a small suitcase and a large box of oversized cupcakes from a bakery in Suburban Station (now, gone from there many years) called "Hanscombs" or "Hanscomes" - I tried to google it thinking I could hardly be the only Philadelphian notstalgic for their baked goods (cupcakes and ladyfingers were specialties) but I came up with nothing.

Anyway...

My husband's Aunt died on Sunday; she was on a ventialtor in a hospital in Florida and per her Living Will had the plug pulled. So...

He and I aren't saddened by it as she was a relation by marriage, not a person we had much contact with largely due to geography, she was never a healthy person to begin with (thus little-to-no shock in her demise), and she wasn't particularly young (we are guessing mid-70's.) Basically I only really conversed with her a handful of times since I married into the family. And that's likely one handful less than the amount of contact my husband had with her.

I feel badly that I don't feel badly about this.

On my first day back home...oh man, I have so much to do so I anticipate even less in the way of thought-provoking blog postings for awhile. Kiddo went to the pediatrician today, hubby has an interview tonight, I have an architect's visit to schedule, kid goes back to school and I get to visit the gyne! What a week!

Here are some Philly pics from Friday - gorgeous weather as we walked around Center City - mostly near Penn campus and then around the Art Museum/Logan Circle area

I'm heading off with my kiddo to Philly for a 5-day family visit tomorrow - I just hope the winds and thunderstorms will die down by then.

Since then I have seen her for routine annual exams, and other issues that have cropped up. I have never felt rushed or "shushed" in any appointments with that practice. Their office is also quite conveniently locted to my home, they are one of the "preferred providers" in my insurance plan, and they have ultrasound and other diagnostic tools right in their office. Their waiting room is clean, but far from posh. I may suggest that they add some magazines - there never seem to be any when I go there!

To me, a competent practitioner taking the time to listen and talk is among the most "premium" qualities a patient could ask for.  And yet, when I go there, the waiting room is usually dominated not by the upper-middle-class matrons of my community but of more "forgetten' women.  I am usually the only English-speaker in the office. The other women are sometimes surprised - pleasantly - when I chit-chat in (somewhat halting) Spanish. I relish the opportunity to practice and - as one young mother told me - she enjoys the chance to practice English.

The OB/Gyne/Midwifery practice is located a few blocks from a local internationally-known racetrack in our town. Living behind the grandeur of the grandstand, the elegance of the various dining options, are a series of bland dormitories known as "the backstretch." The backstrech dorms were built to house the numerous horse and track workers (grooms, stall cleaners, track maintenance workers, etc.) Originally intended to house only the workers during race season, the workers bring up their familes from Mexcio, Central America, etc and squeeze a family into a studio apartment built for one man , or perhaps two.

Bowing to social and political pressure, racecourses across the country are now beginning to upgrade living quarters to be more suitable to the realistic needs of the families that live there. Our community has begun to recognize these families - especially the children - and provided a variety of health, educational, and social services to them. One example is the mobile dental clinic provided by our local hopsital and local dentists. Our local library makes a bookmobile stop there with books and A/V materials in Spanish.

Considering the geographic location of my OB/Gyne's office to the track, it makes sense that I would see so many backstretch moms-to-be there. But I think it has to be something more than that. I do know that midwifery services are considerably less expensive than a tradiotnal OB/Gyne. I have to wonder, if also, women from rural parts of Central America are culturally more accustomed to midwifery than their American counterparts? Whatever the reasons are, I am glad that these otherwise hidden, sometimes-forgotten members of my community have access to caring and competent healthcare providers to bring their babies into the world.