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Today Is Alice Wheeler's birthday. I thought if I posted something to that effect, It would be like sending a card or getting her a present. I haven't heard from her, though I did look for her E-mail adress today. I have her mailing address somewhere, but I can't bring myself to write. The last time we spoke she accused me of abusing her in childhood. After all these years I have finally understood why my parents do not want me to write to them. George Wheeler claimed that I attacked Mrs. Wheeler as well. I really did care for them as parents, and I loved them. I never tried to really hurt any one but I did pick on Alice, Imitating My parents critical style When my son died they blamed me in absentia. Well, I have finally realized that there was more to the picture. I still remember the way I felt running barefoot under the stars though dark woods I couldn't make myself run faster or open my throat to yell for Pamela, The Nurse who midwifed the birthing. When I burst into their house, she was just taking the phone call from our cabin. She had a flashlight so the trip back seemed to take no time at all. She went to the child immedeatly and took his pulse, listening for breath. I remember she said, "I think we lost this baby." But that was before she spent 45 minutes breathing air into his lungs while her husband drove the ambulance. Deborah was the midwife with us who made the call to Pamela; she took turns performing the CPR and she rode in back with us on the return trip. For years, I could not remember her name. Until I read"Voices from the Farm."