The Friday (Night) Confessional, February 27th

Confession Number 483:  I am a total pen kleptomaniac.  No excuses, no apologies.  But I do have class, meaning I never snag the only pen on the counter or pens from little old ladies with lilac colored hair.  But other than that, they somehow wind up in the center console of my little coupe or the back pocket of my jeans and I hand them out freely to those in need of ink.  I like to think of myself as the Robin Hood of pens, stealing from the [pen] rich and giving to the [pen] poor.

Other than that, my morals are fairly high.  Just to be clear.  'Cause we can never be too clear on morals.

Climbing

I stride over these steep mountains with a small flock of birds winging in my hair, circling my head, securely riding my shoulder.  

No one ever said the life of a mountaineer would be easy, and I never asked for a level path.  But these last few days, I've had to climb on all four, the footing has been shaky, and the smallest stones have threatened my progress.  When I've run out of food, these birds have brought sustenance to me.  When I've been tempted to throw my bags down and wait out the storm, they've shown me a steady path.  Solitude they've respected, but silence was never a barrier.

The phoenix breathed trust to me, in me, rekindling that flame of self-belief.  

The raven cried comfort, in her beautiful guttural song, "I too am here, and we are not lost." The owl with the bright yellow plumes rode close and quiet, but firm in her support.  

The humming bird asked, in her silvery song, and that was enough.  

The chirpy little shorebird, always clear to my soul, reminded me of my purpose, reminded me how to laugh.

And from the spindly branches of the birch to the deep burgundy buds of the cherry blossoms, a host of robins, starlings, and chickadees trill together in lilting chords:

Winter, the great cleanser, the great quiet, the season of silence and struggle, is passing

And Spring, our beloved Spring is coming, riding the breeze from the East

So look up.

Stop thinking so hard.

Breathe.

Give thanks.

And now as I sit here today, I feel hope flooding though my limbs.  I have crested this precipice. And the scales are slowly falling from my eyes.  

We're going to make it.

Please remind me when I forget.

- Umber

Just Sitting...

And feeling very quiet.

On this weekend of Love

Which I might add

is a very tricky time indeed

I wish for you love

from the unexpected

And hope

where you thought there was none

For me, love looked like

miles of urban exploring

cerviche and churros

dreams about the future

and of course

chocolates.

The Friday Confessional, February 13th

Confession Number 55:  I keep a secret stash of junk food in my studio.  As my studio is right next to the International District, and therefore my favorite Asian Supermarket, that stash is usually written in foreign languages that I can not read, and therefore, can not be held responsible for their ingredients (read: corn syrup).  Currently there may or may not be a box of "Pocky for Men (and what does that mean? Men get the dark chocolate and women get the milk? I think that's all backwards!)," a package of those vanilla wafers (you know, the really addictive ones that you have to put away after having two or else you'll crunch through the whole pack), and one or two stragglers in a bag of sour chewy things.  I hide them in various places.  From myself.  But somehow, I always seem to find them.  I'm taking this to mean I need a bigger studio.  

Ambling and Rambling

The Short list of where and what Umber Dove has been up to for the last few days...

1)  A week in sunny California.  I know, I always mean to post a bit before I leave, but the whirlwind that is me packing (including the grueling debates between which over-the-knee socks make the biggest statement with which skirt and hat combo - I like to bring a hearty dose of "crazy artist" to the rather small town I grew up in - and the frequent hollers to BC asking if I've completely exceeded my 50 pound suitcase weight limit) combined with my total and complete lack of time-concept generally results in, you guessed it, no time for the blog-o-sphere.

2) Ringing in my baby sister's 21st birthday over clear martinis with a twist (me) and pretty pink ones with a cherry on top (her).  Ringing in just-because-we-could with my middle sister over lip-smacking (and seconds inducing) margaritas.

3) Swinging hammers, listing to Allison Krauss and Robert Plant, crafting rings in the wee hours of the night with my mum (in case you did not know, she is a fabulous jewelry designer to boot, and you can visit her shop right here).

4) Beignets and Café Au Lait, followed shortly by a powdered sugar high.

5) Finally exchanging Christmas gifts with my family.  I genuinely think I get just as much pleasure watching them opening gifts as I when I open my own.  And as far as "my own" I was terribly and wonderfully spoiled as ever, feeling incredibly blessed with a family that knows me and all my eccentric tastes so well.

6)  Running the old routes through the streets of Lodi, around the lake, through the nature area, startling huge gray squirrels and garnering the wrath of stellar's jays.

7)  Eating boiled kale, baked potatoes and dill-Havarti cheese.  After eventful meals (and going to TWO brunches on Sunday) it felt stupendous to eat my strange but favorite  food combinations.

8)  Playing with this little mongrel, my parent's new addition to the family, Fritz of Finney Rock the Yorkie of Spunk.  I don't care who you are and how you feel about small dogs, this one is FREAKING ADORABLE I WANT TO EAT HIM HE'S SO CUTE!

I know it doesn't sound like much, but that was exactly the point - I've been in desperate need of a week of "not much."  And a visit back home fit the bill.

So here I am, back in Sunny Seattle (yep, it actually is today), holding my to-do list off at arm's length, breathing deep, nesting in, glad to be home.

I

think

it's 

time 

for 

a

cappuccino

cheerio,

- Umber